Malcolm sighed. “Not much.”
She glided across the room in a ripple of Parthian folds, then knelt behind him. Before he could protest, she was rubbing his shoulders. Malcolm shut his eyes. God … She was surprisingly skilled, working hard knots out of aching muscles from his neck to the middle of his back. Where’d you learn to do that, little girl? When her touch lightened to the merest whisper across his neck, Malcolms insides reacted mindlessly. She didn’t know what she was doing to him
Did she?
Malcolm shot to his feet. “Gotta see about lunch,” he mumbled, bolting for the safety of the crowded. dining tables. The last thing any of them needed was for him to lose control. If Malcolm ever kissed her the way his body demanded she be kissed …
He called to mind Kit’s blackest glower and held it firmly in place. Grandpa, Malcolm warned himself solemnly, would not be amused.
Not at all.
Margo had never seen anything like the Procession of Attis.
Their inn lay on the southern side of the Aventine Hill near the Tiber. From there, Malcolm led the way around the end of the Circus where the starting gates overlooked a bend in the river and kept going all the way to the Palatine side of the mile-long Circus.
”Hey!” Margo said, pointing to a small, round temple. “I know that one! That’s the Temple of Vestal”
”Mmm … Well, it’s been misnamed that for years, yes.” Margo’s spirits fell. “You’re in good company.” Malcolm grinned. “Hundreds of books still mislabel it that. Actually it was the Temple of Hercules. And that,” he pointed to a squarish temple a stone’s throw away, “is the Temple of Fortuna Virilis.”