Page 25 of Thawed Gladiator: Quintus
He nods once and reaches for his clothes. “I should go. Let you rest.”
“Right. Rest. Good idea.”
I walk him to the door, aware of the awkwardness that’s settled between us like a wall. At the threshold, he pauses.
“Nicole—”
“Thank you,” I interrupt before he can say whatever’s going to make this harder. “For tonight. It was exactly what I needed.” I swallow. “And I’m… I’m frightened. That’s not your fault.”
He studies my face for a moment longer, then nods. “Good night.”
After he leaves, I lie back in bed and try to convince myself I’ve done the right thing. I came here to find myself, not to lose myself in another relationship.
I was supposed to learn self-defense and maybe have some good sex before I’m too old to care. Instead, I’m falling for a two-thousand-year-old gladiator who sings lullabies and keeps his word. This is not how I pictured my midlife crisis going.
I can see what I’m doing—treating kindness like a threat because once, it was.
Quintus has never asked me to be smaller, never made me feel like my independence was inconvenient. If anything, he seems to admire my strength and want to support it rather than control it. He deserves better than this reflex to pull back.
As I brush my teeth and wash the scent of him from my skin, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve just made a terrible mistake.
This was supposed to be simple; my heart didn’t get that memo.
Visions of the way he looked at me—like I was something precious—won’t let me sleep. I’m not ready to name what tonight was, but I can’t pretend it didn’t tilt my whole world off its axis.
Chapter Twelve
Nicole
Morning light spills across my sheets, and I stretch with a wince of delicious soreness. Every ache is a reminder of last night—his hands, his voice, the way my body came alive under his touch. The sheets still smell faintly of him, and the memory is so vivid I can almost feel his weight pressed over me. Already, I know last night won’t be the only time. The way he touched me, the way I let him—it feels inevitable now, like the sun rising.
But before the afterglow can root too deep, the rational voice in my head starts nagging. This was supposed to be simple. Casual. A way to claim my body back. Nothing about Quintus feels simple. Which means I need to be careful.
A soft knock interrupts my spiraling. I clutch the sheet around me, crack the door—and nearly melt at the sight of Quintus holding two steaming mugs of coffee. His expression is controlled, but his eyes are warm.
“Good morning,” he says, offering me one. “I thought you might need this.”
That’s all it takes—one thoughtful gesture, exactly what I wanted before I even knew it—and warmth swells in my chest. This man could make falling terrifyingly easy.
“Thank you.” I inhale the rich scent before taking a sip. “Last night was…” I falter, becausebeautifulfeels too raw. “Incredible.”
“It was.” His voice has that same cadence that first caught my attention—low and melodic, like it carries more meaning than the words themselves. Just hearing it makes heat coil low in my belly again.
I force myself to meet his eyes. “I want to be clear about what this is. Casual. Fun. No strings.”
Something flickers across his face before he reins it in. Disappointment? Hurt? But he only nods. “I understand.”
“I’m not looking for a relationship. I just found myself again, and I can’t lose that in someone else’s expectations.” The words tumble out too quickly, as though if I say them fast enough, they’ll feel true. But even as I speak them, I see how they land on him—like I’ve reduced last night to little more than physical relief.
Guilt twists in my stomach. This man brought me coffee without being asked, touched me like I was sacred, and I’m brushing him off as if he’s expendable.
“This is about me learning to trust myself again,” I add, softer. “I know that’s not fair to you.”
“You do not need to explain,” he says, voice steady. “What you give is enough.”
The graciousness only makes it worse. Maybe the most dangerous men aren’t the ones who push against your boundaries, but the ones who respect them so thoroughly you want to hand them the keys.
“Good. As long as we’re on the same page.”
