Shit, he must be richer than any of them had ever dreamed. And that little joke he'd made --Is it not enough? -- oh, very funny, trying to impress her with his wealth.

He'd impressed her, all right. He'd impressed her by showing her a whole new reason to hate him. Being a collaborator must pay better than any of the shit jobs she and her friends had been given by their Prendarian masters.

And all you had to do to get those big bucks was betray your race.

She'd hate him if she wasn't having so much fun spending his money. Spending his money and dragging him into swanky department stores like this one.

She followed a skinny, smiling, impeccably-groomed sales clerk down a wide pastel hallway with huge private dressing rooms on the right-hand side. The woman hadn't even blinked at the weird clothes Daria was wearing. Hell, she must know Daria was about to spend a fortune -- she'd seen Gray waiting with a boatload of shoes Daria had bought earlier, and now the woman's arms were full of clothes, clothes she'd taken from Daria and insisted on carrying.

The clerk stopped at a doorway halfway down the hall and stood back, ushering Daria inside.

The room was huge, with a sofa, an upholstered high-back chair, and an elegant, Victorian-looking garment rack. Large mirrors hung on all four walls, strategically placed to give a 360-degree view, reflecting the deep golden brown walls.

The clerk hung the armload of clothes she'd been carrying on the garment rack; enough clothes to fill a whole closet. Daria had never owned so many clothes at one time.

"I'll check with you in a few minutes," the woman said, smiling through her immaculately lipsticked-and-penciled lips.

Daria pulled off her shirt and skirt, then turned to the rack. Even the bras were on hangers. Gorgeous bras, made from lace and a stretchy, satiny material, supportive but sexy as hell. More beautiful than any bra she'd ever seen. She slid the beige one on and hooked it. Beautiful and comfortable.

She grabbed the first garment on the rack -- a rather staid business suit, charcoal gray with a regulation-length pinstriped skirt and matching one-button blazer. Exactly the kind of suit that the assistant to a boring diplomat would wear.

There should be an ivory silk blouse here somewhere -- there it was, in the back, on a specially-padded hangar that protected the delicate fabric. She slipped the blouse on and buttoned it up.

A pity to hide the bra, but the shirt looked great, too. She'd never owned anything this expensive.

And she'd never been in a store this exclusive. Hell, it wasn't even all that exclusive, not like some of the trendy little custom boutiques. Even so, these clothes were pure luxury... and she wanted to revel in luxury for just once in her life. To live the way the wealthy lived, the people who didn't have to spend every dime just surviving. People who could drop ten thousand credits like it was nothing.

People like Gray. This was his money anyway. Might as well blow it on clothes.

Oh, she'd save a little, have a bit of a nest egg, but not much. She might end up in prison when this was all over. Why not live for today?

Live for today. With no home and not a friend in the world, that might as well be her new motto.

When she looked in the mirror, she gave a start. Was that really her? The suit looked great. Very professional. She wanted to look like a real assistant, not a fuck-buddy with a sham title. The more she dressed the part of a serious assistant, the more likely people would be to trust her. And she'd use their trust against them. That was the name of the game.

Gray knew the game, too. He'd get the Earthers to trust him, get them to sign this sham of a constitution, but the Prendarians would still be in control... even more entrenched than they were now, their presence sanctioned by the signatures of Earthers. Earthers that Gray misled. She had to stop him somehow. And dressing well wouldn't hurt.

She went through the clothes one by one, trying each garment on and making snap judgments about whether or not to keep it. After half an hour, Daria had a huge pile of keepers and only two dresses that didn't work.

At least all of the skirts were keepers. Gray seemed to like her legs; showing them off would probably keep him happy. She'd have to remember to pick up a razor. Hell, with ten thousand credits, she could afford one of those new sonalaser hair removal places. Then she wouldn't have to shave for half a year. God only knew where she'd be in half a year... maybe she'd have the smoothest legs in prison.

She checked out the last outfit in the mirror. Another skirt, and this one just might drive Gray crazy. The sky-blue silk was gauzy and almost transparent, the hem fluted and radically asymmetrical -- up to her thigh on one side and just below the knee on the other.

But no matter what Gray liked, she needed to pick up some jeans.

She opened the door and found the sales clerk at the end of the hallway with the same careful smile on her lips.

"May I help you?" the woman asked.

"I'll take everything but the two dresses on the left. And if you could bring me three or four pair of jeans to try on, that would be great."

The woman came in and took the two rejects. "Of course. I'll be right back."

Daria turned to the rack. What else would she need? She pushed through the clothes to check. Jacket, casual dress, coat, casual shirt, business suit, casual pants, a handful of skirts, another dress, silk shirts... Yes, all she needed was a couple pair of jeans. And maybe a few T-shirts. She'd have to ask Gray about the material of the shirt she'd borrowed. The cloth felt soft and silky, but it hadn't wrinkled even though she'd slept in it. Great stuff. Sometimes the aliens did things right... but that didn't mean she wanted them on her planet.

A light knock sounded through the door. The clerk with her jeans.

"Come in."

Gray walked in, a few pair of jeans over his arm.

Her mouth opened in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

He closed the door and put the pants down on the chair. "I persuaded the clerk to let me bring you these... pants."

She almost smiled at his hesitation. "They're called jeans. And they're more comfortable than they look. What are you doing here?" God, she was repeating herself. Must be the shock of having him invade her privacy like this.

"You've been in here for a long time. I wanted to see you."

As if he'd missed her. She bit her tongue to keep from saying anything sarcastic.

His gaze scanned her from head to toe, then seemed to fix on her legs. "I like that skirt."

She grinned. "I thought you would."

His gaze roved up and down her legs... elevator eyes. Finally he focused on her face. "I want to sleep with you," he said bluntly. Bluntly and kind of loudly.

"Gray!" she whispered. "There are people down the hall."

"Yes, there are." He took a step closer, then another, and put his hands on her waist. His gaze dropped to her shirt -- her breasts -- then came back to her face. He smiled a little. "And if they knew what we're doing in here, they'd be envious."

He took her in his arms then, his hands stroking down her back through the thin fabric of her clothes. She felt his cock against her belly, already hard. Damn, he was ready just from looking at her. Ready to fuck her in the dressing room of the nicest store she'd ever been in.

Just like he'd do with a whore.

She tried to push him away, but he lifted her off her feet a little. Swept off balance, she had to cling to his shoulders to steady herself. He kissed her, kissed her with his tongue, making smooth little thrusts into her mouth.

Oh, hell. Why fight it? She wanted him to get hooked on her. She pressed closer and kissed him back.

After long moments of slurping, wet, open-mouthed kissing, he freed her lips and slowly set her back down on her feet. She panted for breath. What had she been saying? After a kiss like that she could barely remember her name, let alone why she'd been objecting.

A cough came from down the hall. Oh, right. "Someone will hear us."

"Then we'll have to be quiet," he whispered back. His smile was all sinful challenge. The kind of smile that said, I dare you. "Can you be quiet, Daria? Can you stop yourself from crying out when you come?"

She gasped. The shock of hearing him say it -- so blatantly -- made her flush with heat. She loved when he talked like this... when he talked dirty in that smooth cultured voice, with just a hint of a lilting accent.

Just a hint of a Prendarian accent.

Hard to care about that now, with one of his hands on her breast and the other on her ass.

His fingers feathered over her breast. "What are you wearing under this shirt?"

What a time to ask for an English lesson. "The word is bra."

"Show me."

His hands went to the bottom of her shirt, pulling it up a few inches. She put her hands over his, stopping him. One last try. "But your meeting... it starts in a couple of hours."

He bit her neck, and her nerve endings fired like sparklers. She squirmed against him.

"We have time," he murmured. "You'll even have time to shower beforehand."

She knew where that would lead. "If we get in that shower together, we'll never make the meeting."

He smoothed her hair back with one hand. His eyes were vivid, glowing like amber lit by fire. "Oh, I won't shower. I want to go to that meeting with your scent on my hands." He dropped his head, kissing her with open-mouthed warmth. "With the taste of your nest in my mouth."

Exactly the right words to melt her resistance, to flood her body with need. She swayed a little, leaning into him, clutching at his shoulders. He bit her neck again.

"I want to feel you beneath me again," he murmured, his lips moving against her neck. "I want to feel you come around my cock."

She could almost come just from hearing him talk like this. "But..." God, she could barely think when he licked her neck like this. "Let's go back to the ship."

"No. Here." He rubbed his mouth on her neck, spreading warmth and wetness. "Now."

Oh, why the hell not? She reached up, tangled her fingers in his hair, and pulled his head down for another kiss. His hand slipped under the hem of her skirt and teased its way between her legs. Clever fingers found her clit and stroked, generating heat and friction. She moaned.

"Shh," he whispered, a long, teasing exhalation against her neck. "You don't want anyone to hear you. Can you be quiet?"

"Yes, yes."

His fingers stilled. "If you can't be quiet, I'll stop."

"No!"

He chuckled. Those wicked fingers curled against her, again and again, lightly scratching her clit through her underwear. "Are you certain? Can you stop yourself from making those hungry little noises when I touch your cunt?"

A finger slipped under her panties, rubbing fire over her aching sex. With every stroke, she whimpered.

He groaned. "You can't. Because you want me."

"Yes," she whispered.

"Tell me."

"I want you."

He bit her neck again, hard enough to leave a bruise. She'd have to buy a scarf to hide it. She tilted her head, inviting him to bite her some more. He licked instead.

"Tell me exactly what you want," he urged, pressing a long finger deep inside... filling her, but not enough. She gasped when he withdrew. "Give me the words."

Maybe talking dirty would get him hot, too. She buried her face against his chest, but still felt the fire of a blush in her cheeks. "I want you to fuck me," she whispered.

He pressed his cock against her stomach, hard, grinding a little in rhythm with his tormenting hand. When he released her, she could barely stand. Her sex felt achy, swollen. Ready.

He drew her to the couch, but didn't sit down. With a quick lift of his hands, her translucent shirt came off and fluttered to the floor like a sexy white flag. The white flag of surrender.

His fingers traced over the lace edges of the bra, his gaze riveted to her breasts as if he'd never seen them before. Maybe it was the bra he liked. "You will buy this."

Hard to argue with his dictatorial tone when he looked at her like a starving man at an all-you-can-eat buffet. "Yes."

Hot hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs stroking her nipples faintly through the fabric. Then he bit the slope of her breast above the bra, startling a squeak out of her.

A low, sexy masculine laugh rumbled against her breast. "Such noise. People will hear you."

And he'd love that. Maybe pain would shut her up. She bit her lip, hard.

With both hands, he grabbed the bottom of the bra and wrenched it up, trying to lift it over her breasts. Stretching a bra she didn't even own yet.

"Gray, stop! What are you doing?"

A frustrated groan reverberated against her breast. "How do I remove this wretched garment?"

He'd never seen a bra before? What kind of women... No, she didn't want to think about Prendarian women now, not with his hot mouth against her breasts. "Shh. Let me do it." She reached back and unhooked the bra. His hands skimmed down her arms, sliding it off.

He bent suddenly, wrapped his arms around her thighs, and lifted her. When her feet left the ground, she clutched his shoulders to steady herself. "What --"

Before she could finish, he set her on her feet on top of the couch. She shifted her feet, finding her balance on the cushions. His mouth attacked her breast. Fierce need radiated out from his sucking lips, his licking tongue.

So much for balance; she groped behind her back for support, then leaned against the wall as he fed on her.

His mouth released her with a little popping noise. "Shh, Daria."

God, she'd been moaning. Everyone in the store was going to hear her -- and from the way he grinned up at her, he obviously couldn't care less.

He reached up and cupped her cheek. "You're blushing, dahsh'kara."

No kidding -- she had every right to that blush. Here she was half naked, dripping wet under a new charmeuse skirt, and about to fuck the richest man she'd ever met... in the dressing room of one of the swankiest stores in town.

"You can't be quiet when I pleasure you," he said, his voice smug.

There's nothing special about you.

Oh, how she wanted to say it. She wanted to deflate his endless arrogance, to punish him for making her feel this way against her will... for making her feel this way about him. Even if she had to lie to do it. Because he was special, God damn him. No man had ever made her feel this good before.

His hands slid up her thighs, up under her skirt... agile fingers hooked in the waistband of her underpants and drew them down. When the fabric reached her ankles, he tugged on one foot until she lifted it, then the other. With a sexy grin, he put the panties in the pocket of his trousers. "You need not bother to wear these."

The thought of him carrying her soaking wet panties in his pocket... Her knees buckled, and she put more weight against the wall.