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If he dies, you die...
Solange looked down at her unconscious patient. She'd taken care of his deep shoulder wound, but he was filthy from the battlefield, and now she needed to clean the rest of him. Unsteadily, she dipped her cloth in water to wet it, then dragged the cloth across Leonidas' massively muscular chest, and then down his abdomen until she came to the top edge of his loincloth. Her hand jerked back instinctively from the material and she bypassed it entirely to concentrate on his legs instead. Long, wet strokes smoothed down his hard thighs and thick calves and finally brought her to his feet. He was still wearing his sandals. She tilted her head to get a better look at them. Leather latticework formed the straps on top and a thick sole strengthened with iron studs made up the bottom. She guessed the reinforced soles were designed for long marches, and for fighting.
They were clever, these Romans. Clever and eminently practical.
She carefully undid the sandals and laid them on the hard ground of the tent. Then she washed his feet. It was only after she finished that she realized she was enjoying the feel of him, when usually she recoiled from the bodies of men.
Don’t think of those bodies. Don’t invite the nightmares back.
Solange quickly turned her attention once again to Leonidas’ loincloth. As a healer, she was nothing if not thorough in her job, especially when a patient’s life was at stake. And in this particular case, her own as well.
If he dies, you die.
She must wash all of him. Swallowing hard, she rinsed out the cloth again. She turned back to her patient and reached with shaking fingers for the ties at both sides of the material covering his groin. Saying a small prayer, she tugged.
The loincloth opened easily and Solange quickly pushed it down and out of the way. Dirt had found its way in here as well, and she took a deep breath as she began to swab down his belly to the very root of him. She tried hard to look anywhere other than the spot her hands were tending, but her eyes seemed riveted on his body as she gently shifted, lifted and bathed his most intimate, private parts. She worked as quickly as she dared, but perhaps not as quickly as she could have.
He is your enemy, Solange!
Just as the thought blazed itself into her brain, Leonidas began to shiver. No, no! He could die from a chill or a fever as surely as from any infection. She quickly put a hand to his brow. It seemed clammy. She looked frantically around the tent but saw only his cloak. If this was a chill, the cloak would help, but not enough. She considered calling the guard, but by the time Sylvanus had built a fire in here, the illness might have already taken hold of Leonidas.
If he dies, you die.
With Valerian’s dire warning now more threatening than ever, Solange did the only thing she could think of. She quickly stripped off her gown and climbed on top of Leonidas, briskly rubbing her naked body against his in an effort to warm him, her hands chafing up and down his arms. She tried to cover every inch of his skin with her own, carefully avoiding his injury. She stroked her chest over his chest, her hips over his hips, her legs over his legs. But even amidst her frantic efforts, she was vibrantly aware of how ticklish his chest hair felt against her naked breasts, how soft the skin was underneath and how hard the muscle below. Three distinct sensations, all at the same time.
She swallowed and continued to rub up against him, building the friction between them. She could feel her own body warming and prayed his was, too. She blew hot breath into the crook of his neck, stroked his shoulders and arms with her free hands, pressed her skin against him everywhere. Never once did she stop moving.
Beneath her flexing hips, she suddenly felt Leonidas’ manhood stir. Alarm raced through her and she pulled away from him, rising up on her hands and knees, her long blonde hair tumbling onto his chest. She heard him inhale sharply and she glanced up at his face, shocked to see that his eyes—a glittering, piercing blue—were wide open and staring at her.
His gaze swept over her naked body and then his right hand moved with lightning speed to the back of her neck, pulling her head down toward his.
“By all the gods,” he hissed, “I’ve gone to Elysium and this is my reward!”
Then he pulled her down the final two inches and kissed her.
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