No. Even if she knew them, she surely wouldn't want to protect them from prosecution. Maybe she was afraid for herself.

Ah. Maybe she was an unlicensed prostitute. The Enforcers would trace her identity. They'd search her credentials, find no license, and confine her. No wonder she didn't want to talk to them. As an unlicensed prostitute, she'd be locked up like her attackers.

He'd never broken the law himself. Never even bent it. But he couldn't stand to see her look so agitated. And after all she'd been through, he wasn't going to cause her any more anguish.

"As you will," he said. "The Enforcers will collect the men who..." He didn't know the English word for what they'd tried to do to her. "The men who attacked you," he finished. "But you won't have to talk to the Enforcers if you don't want to."

She put her hand over his. Her skin felt warm. Prendarian women were cold, their body temperatures a couple of degrees below his. With so few Earth women on Prendara, he'd rarely felt warm flesh against his own.

"Thank you," she said.

He covered her warm, slender hand with his own. "You're welcome."

She smiled a little. "Who are you?"

"Gray." He didn't want her to know any more, didn't want her to know he was the privileged nephew of the Premier Leader. He wanted to be himself, for once.

"I'm Daria."

He'd never heard the name before, but it suited her. What was the polite response in English? Oh, yes. "It's nice to meet you."

Her smile widened. "So formal," she said, almost teasingly. "After all we've been through, I feel like we're old friends."

If she could smile like that after what had happened to her, she was clearly a resilient woman. Her speech sounded almost normal now, barely slurred. Her lips were full, her mouth too big for her narrow chin. What would it be like to kiss a woman whose mouth felt warm against his?

Gods, what kind of lunatic was he? After enduring that attack, she'd probably want to keep her distance from all men for at least a year. Including him. He pulled his hand away from hers and shifted his weight off the bed, then stood up.

Her smile faded. She reached out and grasped his hand. "Don't leave me."

He sat down again. "You need to rest."

"No, I need..."

Her face flushed with rosy color. Fascinating. Prendarian women, for all their paleness, rarely blushed.

"What do you need, Daria?" The strange name sounded lyrical.

She looked away from him. "I need some water. I'm thirsty."

Hardly a request worth blushing over. He kept a tension bottle next to the bed. He reached down, found it, and handed it to her.

She fumbled with the toggle. "I can't open it."

Strange that her fingers were still weak, considering how well she could speak. Disrupter blasts could have strange effects. He opened the toggle and handed the bottle back to her.

She rocked back and forth, struggling to sit up. Big brown eyes pleaded up at him. "Will you help me, please?"

He'd have to get a lot closer to support her. He gathered her in his arms, blanket and all, then sat on the bed with his back against the wall and her body cradled across his lap. He propped her head up on his shoulder. She fell back against him, resting limply in his arms.

He took the tension bottle in one hand, brought his arm around her, and lifted it to her mouth. "Can you nod when you're finished?"

"Yes."

She took a small sip, sucking water from the bottle. Then another. When she tipped her head back her hair brushed his cheek, smelling like some kind of exotic flower. Why had he assumed prostitutes would wear harsh perfume? This sweet-scented woman was nothing like he imagined a prostitute to be.

Lost in her fragrance, he almost missed her nod. He closed the toggle and dropped the bottle back onto the floor. He should leave her now.

Her hand came up and rested on his chest. "Thank you."

That gently stroking hand became the focus of every nerve ending in his body. If he didn't get her off his lap soon, he'd disgrace himself with a full arousal.

But another moment would do no harm. "You must be recovered now. Your fingers are wriggling."

Those tormenting fingers stopped. "I guess so." She sounded uncertain. "But I'm still cold."

He pulled the blanket closer, up over her shoulders. "Better?"

She nodded, teasing his chin with silky hair again, and nuzzled her cheek against his shoulder. Her mouth brushed his neck in an accidental kiss. "You feel so nice and warm," she murmured, lips moving against his skin.

Gods, those lips were hot. Unbidden, his root swelled against her hip. Sanwar. He didn't know the appropriate word to swear in English.

She shifted away a little, then back against him. Her hips moved, gently nudging his hardness. Though she stayed in his arms, she must have noticed his erection.

"I'm sorry." He loosened his hold on her. "I'm not always the master of myself."

"It's all right," she said, her voice husky. She snuggled even closer, her warm hand curling over his collarbone. "I'm still cold. You're warming me up." When she gave a little laugh, her breath rushed against his neck. "I guess we're both warming up. And I... I don't mind."

But he did. He very much did. Holding her like this, enjoying her body, when all she sought was warmth... This was not principled.

He lifted her and stood, then laid her gently down onto her back, cushioning her head, releasing her slowly. Reluctantly. When he let go of her completely, he very nearly bent his head and kissed her.

He stood up instead. "You need rest. I'll leave you in peace until morning."

"No! Gray, please don't leave me."

How could she look at him with such distress? He had to leave, for his own sanity. And for her own peace. He'd find a different woman -- a willing woman -- to share his pleasure. Or he'd ease his own needs. "No one will harm you. You're safe here."

"I know." Her voice seemed unhappy, and uneasiness still dimmed her expression.

"Do you need anything before I go?"

That rosy blush flooded her cheeks again. She bit her lower lip between little white teeth. "I need you to stay. I need you to hold me again."

That made no sense. "After what happened to you tonight, I'm surprised you want anyone to touch you." Especially a man.

Her blush spread, creeping down her neck, disappearing under the thermo blanket. How far did that rosy color go? He vaguely remembered her breasts as small, but firm. Was she blushing that far?

Sanwar, he had to quit thinking like this.

"Actually, I..." Her blush turned even more fiery, and her gaze dropped from his eyes to his chin. "I think I need to get back on the horse."

He understood the words, but they made no sense. Was she delirious? "Back on what horse?"

She gave a breathless, husky little laugh. The sound made his stomach tighten for some inexplicable reason. "You've never heard that expression?"

He shook his head. "I grew up on Prendara. My English is a bit..." What was the word? Something about metal... an ancient metal... iron. Ah, yes. "Rusty."

"Oh. Well, getting back on the horse..." She swallowed. "After you fall off a horse, they say you should get right back on, or else you'll always be afraid to... to ride."

Afraid to ride? Did she mean... did she want to have sex with him?

It seemed a gift from the gods. He'd been lusting after her, and now she was offering herself to him.

Offering herself out of fear.

No man of principle would take pleasure from a woman in her situation. And in his position, he was expected to have more principles than most.

Unfortunately.

"You have no cause for fear. Those men are in confinement."

She frowned, and her eyes grew misty. "You're turning me down." Her voice sounded brittle. As if he'd hurt her. As if she really did want to lie with him.

He sat on the edge of the bed. "You were attacked less than an hour ago. It's difficult to believe that you want a man to touch you at all."

She gave him a sliver of a smile. "It's like I said... I want to get right back on the horse."

She sounded sincere. What did he know about sexual attacks? Nothing. All he knew was that Daria was asking him to lie with her... and he wanted rather desperately to do it. To join her in this bed, his bed, and show her more pleasure than she'd ever known from any of the callous men who paid for the use of her body.

Her fingers twined with his, spreading warmth through his hand. "Maybe I need someone to remind me that not all men are animals."

Now that he could believe.

"Maybe I just need you," she murmured.

His breath caught. "You don't even know me."

Her fingers tightened on his, as if she'd never let go. "I know that you saved me."

"Anyone would have done the same."

She took a shuddering breath. "Plenty of men would have joined right in. Offered to hold me down. Taken a t-turn."

Praise the gods, he'd been there to save her.

"But not you." Her voice seemed softer now. Tender, like a lover's. "I can tell you're a really nice man."

He almost smiled. A really nice man wouldn't be thinking about tearing the blanket off of her and burying his face between those bare, hairless thighs. "Believe me, the world's full of nice men."

Her eyes shuttered, as if a veil hid her feelings. An expression she probably had a lot of practice using. "I don't meet many nice men."

In her occupation, it was no wonder. Lying in his bed, under his thermo blanket, gazing up at him through those long-lashed eyes... she looked so innocent. Innocent and warm. He could kiss those warm lips... run his hands over those long, smooth legs... bury his face - "Please, Gray," she said softly. "Help me. Help me forget."

Chapter Two.

His name did it. Hearing his name in her husky voice. Nothing could stop him from touching her again.

He stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. Her skin felt as soft as it looked. No, it felt even softer than it looked. And warm. So warm.

"They were going to kill me." She gripped his hand, her eyes huge. "Show me that I'm alive, Gray."

She knew his name, but she knew nothing else about him. Nothing about his influential position, nothing about his powerful aunt. And yet she wanted him.

She wanted him. Just him.

And he wanted her. He wanted to pleasure her with tenderness. The tenderness she must rarely see. The tenderness she deserved.

She nuzzled her cheek against his hand. "Please."

Soft and warm... how would the rest of her body feel? He ached to find out. "As you will."

She smiled again, causing his stomach to give a little lurch. She looked so sweet, with that gamine face and those big brown eyes. How could she look so sweet, so untouched, when chains of men used her body every night?

Men would pay dearly for that look of innocence. She must be very popular.

He frowned.

She lifted her hand to her face and brushed her hair back. "I probably look like a mess."

He must have been studying her intently, making her self-conscious. This wasn't the typical scenario of a beautiful woman begging for flattery. He wouldn't pacify her with trite compliments. She wasn't a beauty, and she didn't deserve a lie.

"You look fine," he told her. "Just a little strained. Like you've been through an ordeal.

Like you need some..." It took him a moment to find an appropriate word. "Comfort."

Her smile was nothing but flirtatious. "You can comfort me better if you get under this blanket with me."

But she was rolled up in the blanket. She sat up, slipped off her ridiculous shoes, and slid underneath the blanket again. With a quick motion, she spread it across the bed and turned down the free corner, then looked at him expectantly.

He wanted to stay on top of the blanket with her, where he'd have more access to her body, more ways to pleasure her -- and himself -- but he restrained the words. If she felt more comfortable covered up, he'd oblige.

He pulled off his shirt and dropped it to the floor. When he stood and reached for his pants, he heard her indrawn breath and froze.