The man's back was turned as Devon entered the chamber. Even so, Devon knew him. Recognition grabbed him by the balls and squeezed hard.

The gladiator stood framed in the expansive window. Sunlight made his boldly sculpted musculature stand out in high relief. His barbarian hair was the color of a lion's mane, but not so shaggy. His coarsely woven tunic top left his brawny arms bare. His sun-darkened skin bore white flecks of battle scars.

This was the gladiator Xandaras. The mighty Xan.

Devon feared his shock and lust were plain for all his attendants to see. He did not dare meet anyone's gaze.

Devon had been in love with Xan from the moment the gladiator first stepped into the arena and killed the men who were meant to be his executioners.

Xan was the most beautiful man Devon had ever seen in his life—not that Devon's life had been all that long. Devon, the Sovereign of the province of Shiliya, had seen only twenty-eight summers.

Devon was not sure whom he had expected to find here in his reception chamber, but it was not Xan.

The gladiator did not turn to face him. Perhaps the sheer number of attendants and the grandeur of this room told the gladiator that someone of great importance had entered behind him, not the sort of someone to slip a cowardly blade between anyone's ribs from behind.

If not for defense, then the barbarian still should have turned around out of respect for his betters.

The barbarian chose not to.

Xan seemed to be watching Devon without looking at him.

Because the barbarian hadn't actually seen Devon yet, Xan could not be accused of disrespect. But Xan knew who was back there. Devon could tell the gladiator knew exactly who was standing behind him.

Disrespect it was.

And Devon could not call the barbarian on it without sounding small. Devon could only command him, "Gladiator, face your Sovereign."

Xan turned. Muscles flowed under his skin like living rock. Devon reeled inside. The gladiator was even more magnificent face on. Devon had never seen his rugged face this close, the uneven slope of his brows, his eyes an amazing color of desert sky. Blade scars nicked one eyebrow, one side of his nose and the side of his chin.

Devon forgot for a moment why he was here.

This man was the center of all Devon's wet dreams. How many times had Devon taken his hand to himself and whispered the gladiator's name in the night? Suddenly Xan was here, in the hard glorious flesh. Devon felt like he'd been caught in the act. He was not ready for this encounter.

Xan was one of the desert breed. This close, the savage's scent came to Devon, exotic, distinct, intensely male. Devon felt the heat from Xan across the short space between them.