Greatly daring, she did a dance, not caring when people laughed and called her provincialis, rusticus, and other probably less flattering names. Malcolm roared with laughter, then cut in line behind her. His hands came to rest on her hips, leaving her flushed from scalp to toes. They snaked their way through crowded streets in a wild line dance that ended in front of a tall marble temple. When the dance broke up, Margo staggered dizzily, then fell laughing against Malcolm. He caught her and set her back on her feet. His face was flushed.
Her heart gave a traitorous thump.
”Where are we?” she asked breathlessly. Over there was the long side of the Circus and over that way was the river, but she didn’t know what this temple was.
”That’s the Temple of Ceres, Liber, and Libera.” It came out oddly husky. His eyes were fever bright.
”Who?”
”Ceres, Goddess of Grain and Agriculture. Liber Pater and Libera, very ancient Italian god and goddess. She and Liber Pater celebrate a sacred marriage.”
Margo found herself swallowing hard. “Really?”
”Why join during the Ludi Ceriales. That’s about twenty-two days from now.”
The whole city beyond Malcolm’s bright eyes was spinning in her awareness. “Do Roman gods do anything besides make love?”
”Not in the spring.” He was very close to her. His smile-and that answer-did wicked things to Margo’s insides. The way the corners of his eyes crinkled, the way his hair, fell across his forehead in an unruly curl, the way he took her questions seriously even when laughter made his eyes sparkle-even the sharp masculine scent of him-