then squeezed.
His efforts were rewarded with a seductive giggle. 'Ooh. A man who knows what he wants!'
Just a few yards away, the thick-lipped Arab was still pulling his robes straight.
'More than that,' Marcus whispered. 'I'm a man who always gets it.'
'Then you must come with me.'
There was no mistaking the innuendo, and as he followed the swaying hips along the portico, Orbilio wondered what in gods' name he was doing. His mind flashed back to his failed marriage. Too young, far too young, and good luck to her that she ran off with some sea captain from Lusitania, everyone
deserves a shot at happiness. He was just thankful there were no children involved. Oh, but he wanted children. Sons to go hunting with, daughters he could protect, but, more than that, much, much more than that, he wanted a wife to grow grey and wrinkly with. He tried to picture Claudia Seferius with wrinkles—
'Do share the joke, darling,' his companion begged.
'No joke,' he replied. Claudia would never get wrinkles. The wrinkles wouldn't dare!
'Then what are you laughing at?'
'Nothing,' he said, and suddenly it was true.
He looked at the rich patrons being fed wine, food and the other delights of this sumptuous whorehouse and his gut wrenched. For all its enforced gaiety, this was nothing more than casual, unemotional, pay-through-the-nose sex. Truly the coldest comfort in the whole world. And he should know. By the gods, after all this time, he ought to know—
'How about this room?' His stunning companion paused in a doorway. 'It has the most naughty pictures on the walls—'
'I don't care what's on the bloody walls,' he said roughly. 'Get inside.'
'Ooh, goody. No foreplay, no Smalltalk, none of this my-wife-doesn't-understand-me bullshit.' The giggle was girlish but not forced. 'You know, sweetie, it really arouses me when a man gets straight to business.'
He thought again of the Arab . . .
'You want to get straight to business?' Orbilio yanked off the whore's expensive yellow wig and there was a harsh edge to his voice. Then straight to business it is. Sweetie.'
Red lips pouted prettily, before dropping into an astonished and horrified O.
'Marcus!'
'Yes, my dear cousin, it's me. Now you can pull your skirt down and explain just what the hell you're doing here.'
'I - I don't understand . . . What's this got to do with the Security Police?'
'Bugger all,' he growled. 'Your father asked me—'
The gasp was pure terror.
'My father?' Tears began to well up. 'Does he know about . . . about this?'
Orbilio wished he'd had the courage to follow his desires and walk out that front door a few minutes ago. Why did he have to be so bloody tied to his duties? Family duties, in this particular instance, but none the less binding for that. And how bloody ironic that his uncle so disapproved of his role in the Security Police, until he needed his help . . .
'He'd been hearing rumours,' he explained patiently, because, heaven knows, it wasn't the first time his little cousin had been caught whoring. 'He asked me to investigate.'
Translation, hush it up.
'Marcus, I beg you on my life, don't let my father find out! I'll be ruined. Oh, for pity's sake, Marcus. I'm married.'
The sobbing was pitiful.
'I've two boys and - sweet Jupiter, you know the law. What I'm doing isn't just adultery. It's - it's - Oh please, if word gets back, they'll take my kids away, I'll never see them again.'
'Pity you didn't think of the consequences beforehand,' he snapped. After all, it's not as though you needed the money.'
He'd checked. But no, this was for kicks.
The kohl was making ugly black stripes down the rouge. 'I can't help what I do, Marcus. I genuinely can't help it.'
He drew a deep breath. Held it. Let it out slowly. 'I know,' he whispered.
His cousin wasn't alone. There were plenty of people, wealthy people at that, who had the same problem. Addicted to sex. Addicted to selling their bodies. That was the reason he hadn't walked out earlier.