Love of the Gladiator (Affairs of the Arena Book 2) by Lydia Pax Page B

desire—what if it was turned on to him?
    The thought was not a safe one to have while alone. Lucius may not have been able to fight in the arena as a gladiator anymore, but he still felt as virile as he ever had. Seeing those stark blue eyes burn with desire for him was something he did not think he could walk away from.
    Even imagining that now would have brought his shaft up to a particular hardness and length that was hard to ignore—except for what he had just realized.
    And now he knew, to a certainty, that it was an impossibility. Because if she wanted him like that, then he’d have to tell her the truth. And the truth was that she shouldn’t trust him. She shouldn’t want him as a doctore.
    And she should never, ever want him.
    A long time ago—five years ago, in fact—he had faced her father in the arena, and he had won.
    It was a close fought battle. The sands had been hot that day, and the air thick with the smell of blood and struggle.
    Only a few times had Lucius been closer to death than that day against Gwenn's father.  Leonidas had long, wiry arms. This made his reach long as well, negating some of the advantage that Lucius’s trident gave him. As a damnably good murmillo, he was patient, and chose his shots wisely.
    Four times, the gladius of Leonidas raked against Lucius’s skin. He still had the scars along his back, though they had faded some. The cuts had been deep and nearly fatal. He’d needed to rest for close to a month before the wounds healed.
    But Lucius drew him out of his defense, taking his time. He neutralized his arm and then took away his shield. The net could be used as a sort of a grappling hook if you caught a man off-guard. Leonidas rushed him, then, Lucius losing all his own weapons.
    They scuffled on the ground, tangled together. Wrestling for their lives with a gladius between them. It ended, finally, when  Lucius gained the upper-hand for just nearly two seconds and ran Leonidas’s throat against his own blade.
    He’d had no choice in the matter. If he had not killed Leonidas, then Leonidas would have killed him.
    It was a long, bloody battle. Lucius barely survived. Leonidas fought honorably and earned himself much glory—to the point of immortality, as Gwenn had said, on the Wall of Turmedites. He’d held great respect for the man, both before and after the battle. It was a memory that he had carried with pride, winning that fight.
    And now it was one he carried with shame.

Chapter 21
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    H itting Lucius had made her blood rise. Gwenn retreated to her cell and began knocking out push-ups and crunches, unable to think clearly.
    He was mad at her. That was clear. She shouldn’t have hit him. But she couldn’t help herself. It seemed like the only language he would hear, the hopeless man, and violence was as much a tongue to her as any fighter. She had little issue using it if it meant her point came across.
    Still, she had shamed him. And for that, she felt regret. People did not listen to shame. They did not appreciate shame. It was no way to communicate a point. She’d have to learn. Take stock. Approach him again tomorrow, maybe apologize, and try a new tack on her road the arena. She would fight as murmillo or die trying.
    And beyond all that, there was the shame she felt at the lost opportunity—those brief seconds where their lips had come so close...
    She did not need to wait until the next day to speak with him. Lucius entered the women’s wing of the cell blocks once again. She overheard him greeting the others on his way. He complimented Sabiana on her progress with the trident, and suggested something she couldn’t quite hear.
    The realization that he would be at her own cell soon arrived slow. She felt a need to prepare, and then felt stupid. She was in a cell. There was nothing to prepare. And yet, all the same, she wanted to impress him somehow. Show him that...what? That she was worth his attention?
    Her hands went to her