She didn't look shocked, or even surprised. She must have realized it when she'd seen the holo-projection of his cousins.

"You knew that already."

She looked shocked then. Shocked and a little... frightened? "No, I didn't know," she said with a little laugh. "But I'm not surprised. And I'm sure he's not alone. I hear those alien women are all sex maniacs."

He smiled at the phrase. He'd have to remember to use it with his uncle. Uncle Jason hadn't forgotten much English. Perhaps he knew that expression already.

"I'm surprised you don't have one yourself," she went on.

He blinked. "A wife?"

"A Prendarian wife." Then her eyes grew wide. "Or do you?"

Was that a jealous frown on her face? He could kiss her. Instead, he merely touched her chin. "No, I don't have a Prendarian wife." Nor did he want one. "Not all men wish for a... sex maniac. Modesty has an appeal all its own, I have recently discovered."

She turned her face away, looked up at the ceiling. "I wasn't begging for a compliment."

"Most women say thank you when they receive one."

But she wasn't most women. And what if she had a partner? On Earth, partners were not always monogamous. No reason a prostitute would not be partnered. Especially one as sweet as Daria. "Will someone worry if you don't arrive home tonight?"

Her eyelids fluttered down, then up again. As if she hid the truth. "No."

The fortunate man who partnered her would surely worry. "I'll give you privacy if you wish to contact him. Or have a security envoy deliver you home, if you will it." He hoped, with an urgent sense of desperation, that she'd stay the night with him. A desperation he'd never felt before.

"No," she said again. "There's no one for me to go home to."

Perhaps she spoke truth. Perhaps she had no partner. There seemed nothing to say in response. He watched her eyes close, and her breathing slow. But he could not let her rest -- he couldn't rest himself -- without learning one more thing.

"Daria?"

"Hmm?"

"Before we bathed... when I found you in the cleansing station. Why were you crying?"

Brown eyes met his. She opened her mouth, then immediately closed it. Her brow furrowed; her gaze seemed troubled. He knew the signs of a woman searching for a polite untruth.

He held his forefinger to her lips. "Don't dishonor me with a lie. Better to say nothing."

Her gaze held steady. "I cried because I didn't want to leave you."

And then she blushed. From speaking a lie? Or from admitting truth?

Gods, how he hoped she spoke truth.

* * * * * Daria woke to the smell of frying eggs. A pink ceiling met her blinking gaze. Where the hell -- oh, right. The ship. Gray's quarters. God only knew why the ceiling was pink, but at least it reflected the dim light evenly. And at least he hadn't asked her why she wanted the lights on all night. She was prepared to tell him anything that might hook him, but not that. Never that. She'd never even told Tank. Ancient history. No reason to dwell on it now. She stretched and yawned. Amazing how well she'd slept, in a strange bed with a strange man. She'd woken once in the night and found him pressed full-length against her back, his arm draped over her hip. He'd felt solid and comforting. She'd fallen right back asleep. As if they'd been sharing a bed for years.

As if she trusted him.

Dangerous thought. Well, at least she knew to watch out for these misguided feelings. To keep a lid on her emotions. And even if --if -- she got attached to him somehow, her feelings wouldn't stop her from completing the mission. Nothing would stop her. She owed it to Tank. To every Earther on the planet.

Her stomach growled. Whatever he was cooking smelled great. Could it really be eggs? Only one way to find out.

She kicked off the blanket and sat up. The room was warm; even the tiled floor was surprisingly warm under her bare feet, as if the tiles themselves were heated. Maybe they were. Even though Gray's quarters were minimalistic, he probably had the nicest ones on the whole ship. After all, he was the most important passenger. And she'd spent the night with him, just like Tank had planned. Now she'd go out there and eat breakfast with him as if waking up in his bed was the most natural thing in the world.

She padded barefoot to the small alcove next to the shower and looked in the mirror that hung on the wall. Her face didn't look all that bad, considering. With a light touch on the side of the metal mirror, the front snapped open to reveal the recessed med cabinet. She found a toothwash caplet and popped it into her mouth. The fizzing mint made her mouth water, but her teeth were clean when it was gone. After a quick finger-combing of her hair, she walked into the other room.

There he was, standing at the small alien stove in a loose pair of pants and a long-sleeved shirt, both black. A bowl filled with an odd purple rice-like substance was steaming on the table, next to a couple of small bowls, glasses of water, and utensils that looked remarkably like normal Earth forks. Quite the homey little scene.

"Good morning," she said.

He turned and smiled at her. One of those smiles that lit up his whole face. One of those smiles that almost made her feel guilty for deceiving him.

Not that he'd been entirely honest with her. He'd evaded her questions, avoided telling her anything solid about his mission. And he'd never mentioned that he was related to the Premier Leader.

His gaze swept her from head to foot and back again. "Good morning. Are you hungry?"

She nodded. "Ravenous."

His smile grew. "So am I."

He came to her and took her in his arms. Before she could even draw a breath, he kissed her. A long, wet, deep kiss. His hands roamed over her back; his tongue swept her mouth with gentle insistence.

Her body swayed into his like a vine clinging to a tree. Christ, she was putty in his hands. Why wasn't she prepared for this? This shower of heat? Hell, nothing could have prepared her. His hair slipped through her fingers, silky soft, before she even realized she'd lifted her hand. Desire rushed through her veins as he stroked her hair, then cupped the back of her head, holding her still, making sure she couldn't move away. His chest pressed against hers. Could he hear her heart hammering? Could he feel it?

He broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers, his breath hot and moist on her face. "Mmm. Minty."

She couldn't think of anything to say. She could barely think at all. And she didn't want to. She just wanted to feel his body pressed against hers, his breath tickling her nose, his arms wrapped around her, strong and secure.

He kissed her again.

His lips made her dizzy. Or maybe it was the lack of oxygen. She could learn to live without oxygen. Kisses like this were worth a few suffocated brain cells.

One of his hands curved under her ass, lifting her until she had to stand on her toes, until her belly pressed against his cock. His already hard cock. An answering heat rose in her own sex.

Her nest. God, in another minute she'd drag him down to the floor.

But first she needed to breathe.

She put her hands on his chest and pushed, just a little.

Those strong arms released her. Slowly. Reluctantly. His eyes were glowing, heavy-lidded. Bedroom eyes. And a bedroom was less than ten feet away.

She leaned closer, not really wanting to let him go... all but begging him to take her. Shameless. Utterly shameless.

And he'd liked the shy act last night. She shouldn't appear too willing now.

"The food will burn." Good, that had just the right note of half-heartedness.

"I'll make more." He sounded frustrated. Regretful. Was he going to press her? God, she hoped he did.

But no -- he took her shoulders and gently pushed her away.

After a lingering kiss on her forehead, he stepped back and turned to the stove again.

She groped for the table, seeking support, and sank into a chair.

She should probably offer to help cook, but her knees wouldn't hold her. And why not let him feed her? At least eating in his quarters guaranteed that she wouldn't have to face the crew, if any of them were awake. After a night of wild revelry, they'd probably sleep all day.

"What time is it?"

He glanced at the identikit card strapped to his wrist. "Oh-nine-oh." With a quick motion, he deftly flipped the eggs in the pan. "We have time to tour the city before my meeting this afternoon. I'd like you to accompany me... if you will it."

Oh, she willed it all right. She needed all the time with him she could stand. She still had no idea how she was going to keep him from getting this new constitution approved. If she stuck close to him, she'd find a way. "I'd like that."

Gray brought a pan to the table and set it down. Fried eggs after all. He scooped some of the purple rice into her bowl, then topped it with two of the eggs and moved to add a third.

She held up a hand. "Whoa."

He stopped. "What does that mean?"

The least she could do was tutor him. He'd played right into her hands with that silly job offer. The man was too nice for his own good. "It's an old word that people used to say to horses, back in the days before gas-cars were invented. It means stop."

"Hmm. Is it in common use?"

She shrugged. "I wouldn't call it common, but I still hear it every now and then."

He handed her bowl to her, then started to dish out food for himself. She dug in before he even sat down. The rice tasted a little nutty, with an almost tangy aftertaste, but it went well with the blandness of the eggs.

"What kind of rice is this?"

He sat down and stirred the egg yolk with his fork, mixing it into the rice. "It's not really a rice. It's quaanti grain."

He looked expectant, like he wanted her to respond.

"It's good."

"I hated it as a child. Only in recent years have I come to appreciate the taste."

"Oh." For the life of her, she couldn't think of a better response. She'd fucked him twice, but she didn't really know him. Not even her research -- facts and figures, physical details -- had prepared her for the reality of sitting at this table with him, eating breakfast, trying to make conversation. She'd read all about him, but in person he seemed nothing like the facts she'd learned. He seemed... sensitive. Nice. Sexy as hell. And even though he might fool her into liking him -- into liking sex with him -- she wasn't about to get attached. She had a job to do.

They ate in silence. It didn't take her long to get full. She rested the fork in her bowl and watched while he scraped out the last bites from his.

He pushed his empty bowl away and looked at her curiously. "You're not hungry?"

"Not anymore. I'm not a big breakfast eater." She should compliment him. "The food was great, though."

He reached across the table and took her bowl, using her fork to eat from it until the last bite was gone. He had a hell of an appetite for a skinny guy. Well, not really skinny... just lean. He was all lean muscle. Lean muscle with agile fingers. And a devilish tongue.

"We should stop at your home," he said suddenly.

Uh-oh. "Why?"

He looked amused, a small smile quirking his lips. "I assumed you'd prefer to wear your own clothing to the meeting this afternoon. Although I won't object if you wish to continue in my shirt."

Clothes. Damn. She had nothing but her hooker clothes. And a lousy ten credits on her ID card. Not even enough for a pair of socks.

But first she had to come up with an excuse for not taking him to her home. One that would make him let her stay with him around the clock. Hell, the truth would do that nicely.

"I'm homeless."

He set his glass down with a loud bang. "Homeless?"

She nodded. "The place I lived in... it burned down."

"When?"

Yesterday? No, too coincidental. Too much had happened yesterday. But if she made it too far in the past, he wouldn't believe that she hadn't found another place to stay by now. "Two days ago."

He frowned. "I'm sorry."

Pity had never done anyone any good. She shrugged. "It wasn't your fault."

His frown cleared. "You do have a home. You live here. With me."

He said it like he owned her. Oh, how she wanted to argue with his arrogance. But she couldn't afford to be stupid. She needed to stay with him. It was critical to finding a way to stop his plans for Earth. His plans to formalize the Prendarian oppression of Earth.

"For a time," she said, repeating the phrase he'd used last night. Good, she'd almost sounded reluctant. Like she didn't want to take advantage of him.

He finished the last of his water and stood, moving to the small cabinet under the stove. He pulled out a drawer, fumbled around in it for a moment, and came back with a small envelope, thin and maybe two inches square. With a flick of his fingers, the packet slid across the table to her.

The writing on it was Prendarian, but she didn't know the word. "What's this?"His eyebrows rose. "It's a female contraceptive. Pour it into what's left of your water."Did he think hookers didn't take care of birth control themselves? "It's not necessary.""Drink it anyway. Best to be doubly cautious."He looked like he'd sit there as long as it took for her to do his bidding. Maybe he didn't quite trust her yet. Maybe other women had tried to get pregnant to have a hold over him. Or to extort money from him.

She ripped open the packet and tilted it over her water glass. She'd expected powder, but a thick liquid slid from the package in a solid, gelatinous glob. Yuck. It spread through the water like a chemical reaction, turning everything a light blue.

She took a small, very cautious sip. At least it didn't taste bad. Kind of spicy, like chicory.He watched her quietly. Seriously."No contraceptive drink for you?""I take one daily. But the female ones are more effective."He took one daily? No doubt he needed to -- he probably had a woman every night of the week. She couldn't think of anything to say. Oh well. She sipped her spicy contraceptive water. "Do you have any possessions at all?" he asked. "Things you'll need while you're with me?" He looked so sincere. More like a Boy Scout than a collaborator. "No. I have no possessions at all." His mouth fell open for just an instant. "You have nothing?" "Nothing but the clothes on my back. Or rather, the clothes on the floor of your bedroom." He didn't crack a smile. "We'll go shopping, then." She drained the last of the birth control potion. "Every man's nightmare." "Why do you say that?" "Most men don't like... Oh, never mind." No point in explaining humor to a Prendarian. And Gray might not be a Prendarian by blood, but he was close enough.

Hell, he was worse than a Prendarian. He was a traitor. Here to do the bidding of the most powerful Prendarian of them all.

And only Daria could stop him.

Chapter Five.