A Voice in the Wind by Francine Rivers

little liar. Have you so quickly and conveniently forgotten Aristobulus, Sosipater, Chuza, and several others? Even Fadus, poor fellow. I think you just wanted to see if you could win him away from his gladiator. There were bets going on over that little episode. Fortunes were lost when you actually succeeded in making him fall in love with a woman.”
    Her mouth curving, Arria sat on the bench and crossed her legs. Gazing up at him petulantly, she said, “But Fannia, Marcus.
    I must object. It’s simply too humiliating. She’s at least ten years older than I and not nearly as beautiful.“
    “Nor as experienced.”
    She lifted her head. “Then you weren’t particularly pleased with her.”
    “That’s none of your business.”
    Her mouth tightened. “Are you meeting her again?”
    “That’s none of your business either.”
    Her dark eyes flashed. “You are unfair, Marcus. I tell you everything.”
    “Because you’re indiscreet.” His mouth tipped wryly. “And cruel.”
    Her sultry eyes widened. “Cruel?” she said innocently. “How can you accuse me of cruelty when I’ve done nothing but please you from the beginning?”
    “When a man thinks himself in love with a woman, he doesn’t want to hear every detail of her affairs with others.”
    “And were you in love with me?” She rose and came to him. “Did I hurt you, Marcus? Did I really?”
    He saw the satisfaction in her eyes. “No,” he said frankly, watching her expression fall. She had enraged him, yes. Impassioned him frequently. Yet, she had always missed the mark of his heart. She was not alone, either. He had never felt an all-consuming passion for anyone or anything.
    She ran the tip of her fingernail along his jaw. “So you don’t love me?”
    “I find you a pleasing distraction.” Seeing her displeasure, he bent his head and brushed his lips against hers. “At times, more than distracting.”
    She looked troubled. “Did you ever love me, Marcus?”
    He ran his finger lightly down her smooth cheek, wishing the subject of love had been avoided. “I don’t think I’m capable of it.” He kissed her slowly. Familiar territory.
    Perhaps that was what was wrong between them. There was no mystery anymore, no great passion on his part. The feel of Arria’s smooth skin, the scent of her hair, and the taste of her mouth no longer drove him mad. Even their conversations had become boring repetitions. All Arria really wanted to talk about was Arria. All the rest was subterfuge.
    “I’m not ready for it to end,” she said breathlessly, tilting her head back.
    “I didn’t say it had to.”
    “I know you better than Fannia.”
    “Will you forget about Fannia?”
    “Can you? Oh, Marcus, no one will be as exciting as I am.” Her hands moved over him. “I was at the temple of Astarte today and the priestess let me watch what she did to one of the worshipers. Shall I show you what she did, Marcus? Would you like that?”
    Aroused, yet inexplicably disgusted, Marcus pressed her away from him. “Another time, Arria. This is hardly the place.” He was too aware of other things. Laughter came from the house. A gay melody was being played on a pan flute. He wanted to drown himself in wine tonight, not a woman.
    Arria looked distressed, but try as he might, Marcus could feel nothing for her.
    The torchlight flickered, drawing his gaze back to the statue. Watching him, Arria tried to control her tumultuous emotions. Her mouth tightened as she saw Marcus study Antigonus’ statue of the young lovers with far more interest than he had looked upon her. She longed to hear him beg the way Chuza did.
    But Marcus was not like Chuza, and she didn’t want to lose him. He was rich, he was handsome—and there was something about him, a restlessness and deep passion, that appealed to her.
    Swallowing her pride, Arria slipped her arm through his. “You do like the statue, don’t you? It’s quite good. I doubt Antigonus will part with it. He’s in