Knight in Rusty Armour {asylum and Alan23}

If there was one thing Rak Davidson hated, it was an easy job.

It was somehow an insult to his professional pride. Like asking a master carpenter to stick two pieces of wood together with glue, or a surgeon to give someone a manicure. These kidnappers had no skill whatsoever. Using his contacts, it had taken a matter of a few days to find where they had secreted their captive. Getting past their security had been almost a training exercise. If he'd ever gone in for kidnapping he'd have made bloody sure the air conditioning ducts were alarmed, and that the guards set at the entrances to the old house were alert at all times, not chatting and playing cards when all seemed quiet. Tranquilliser darts in their necks (delivered from cover) would ensure them relaxing sleep, but awakening would be none too pleasant.

As he removed the screws of the duct to the cellar, he peered into the gloom, his deep sea-grey eyes seeking his target. There she was, tied on the chair, fully clothed, and almost comatose. Well, he had stuff with him to counteract the effects of any drug they'd given her, and they could go back the way he'd come.

He sprung down onto the dirt floor of the cellar, his lithe body taking the impact with the ease of a champion gymnast. His double-bladed Russian knife appeared in his hand as if it were a magician's slight of hand trick. A blade was better for close work, being far more silent than even a silenced gun, and more effective besides. You never had to reload a knife at crucial moments. And it could cut her bonds as well.

"Hey, sleeping beauty" he whispered. "You awake?"

-Savannah Moreaux, daddy's little Princess, couldn't remember exactly what she'd been doing and she barely knew currently where she was. She just knew that the room kept fading in and out. She knew her wrists were sore, as were her shoulders and neck but she could barely move to do anything about it, she couldn't get comfortable. She would have to talk to someone about their choice in furniture and she could only imagine what the dusty surroundings were doing to her shoes and clothes.

Her chin rested against her chest as it rose and fell slowly. The room was mostly dark, dank and when she was at the very least semi-aware, she could hear, it seemed, every little noise.

A small whimper escaped her when she noticed the minute scrap of something at the duct somewhere above her but she couldn't find the strength at the moment to even lift her head in the direction of the noise. She felt heavy, barely able to flutter her eyes open even briefly to try to see. Her hair however hung in her face, the curtain obstructing any view beyond the point of the floor just beyond her knees.

What she did notice was a patch of light cast over the dirt and the cloud of dust kicked up by something landing against the floor, out of sight. Another whimper, terrified. It wasn't the normal sounds the beasts that held her captives made when they came to torment her, her of all people. Oh Daddy would be so furious!

The voice, reaching out like dark fingers against the shadows, sounded as if it were off in the distance. Her bound feet shifted on the floor, the heel scraping into the rut they'd already made.-

"Go 'way...'

-her words slurred and strained, thick with a dryness. She feared they were back. She feared what they had in store for her now, wondering what other torment they could inflict on her. She strained again to try to lift her head, trying to see. The curtain of dirty blond locks wavered but not from a lift of her head. A small cry of frustration, mingled with worry escaped her, realizing that it had been nothing more than her quickened breath that had moved the dirty locks.

She could do little more than sit there, bound and wait for what they had planned now.-

"So how long have they been holding her?" he asked himself, carefully checking the room, the blade held gently in his right hand. Her father had told him she'd been missing six days. yet judging by her mental state, it was more like six weeks. He'd seen (though he hadn't enjoyed seeing it) tortured children last longer than that before getting into this state. The girl looked already broken, as if her will had collapsed utterly. The way she was allowing small gasps of fear to escape her, whimpering like a whipped animal. Yet there was not a mark on her. He'd have been surprised if she'd been left entirely unmolested - but given her value to those who had kidnapped her, he'd have been even more surprised to find they'd done anything really serious.

He stayed, crouched, under the air conditioning outlet, where he had landed, allowing his eyes to get used to the light after the pitch black of the duct. The tiny, low-wattage bulb was little enough in the grand scheme of things, but after total darkness it made him blink. If there had been any guards down here, they would have had the advantage of him, though he saw no-one. No-one except the scared, helpless looking girl tied to the chair.

Without speaking, he allowed her eyes to run over her. Long blonde hair, currently matted and dishevelled, but probably luxurious enough once he got her to a shower. Shapely legs, and generally a pretty good rack. Not that it mattered to him right now - time enough for such distractions once he'd returned her to her father - but there were things you could not help noticing.

Another whimper escaped the bound girl. Streaks down her dirty face showed she'd been crying. Not one of those hard, defiant types, then. He hoped she wasn't the self-pitying, panicky sort, which would make the job of getting her clear so much harder, though (he ruefully concluded) she probably was.

"Go 'way...' she sobbed.

"I don't think so, Savannah," he replied, smiling. "In fact, I'm sure you don't mean that." Reassured the cellar was now clear of guards, he strode towards her. The knife had an edge that would have put most cut-throat razors to shame, and sliced through the bonds as if they were of melted butter. "Not unless you actually LIKE this little party your none-too-salubrious hosts have invited you to." He took in her clothes. Expensive, though now crumpled and ripped, the tail of her expensive Courrages blouse hanging out from the waist of her skirt, her pantyhose ripped and sagging. He noted that she made little response. Again, the thought struck him how easy the kidnappers had found it to break her spirit. She'd need a lot of rest and security to return to the happy, confident girl her father had described her as. Still, her future was hardly his problem.

He went around to stand at the front of the chair, sheathed the knife and held out both hands.

"Now, can you stand?" he asked.

-upon closer inspection, it would be a little clearer that she wasn't so much broken as she was mostly just non-responsive. Drugged. They'd done so to shut her up. First she'd pleaded. Then she'd screamed. Yelled and threatened, ineffectively but threatened none-the-less, likely with the consequences they'd face when her Daddy dearest came to retrieve her. When none of that had worked, she'd cried.

At times they'd found it funny and while they hadn't done anything overly physical to her, hadn't marked her, save for perhaps a minor bruise or three, all unseen. They'd found it hysterical to take pokes at the frightened little "bunny". Literally, poking her from the darkness with whatever they found handy to do so. Small branches, pool sticks and the like. Just enough to frighten her.

One of them had in fact groped her a time or two, just to further instill fear into her. An attempt to make her complacent. She'd still made a fuss, probably more so about that than anything else and that's about the time they'd begun drugging her. Leaving her in silence then for hours as the drug coursed through her.

Once the bonds of her wrists were gone, her arms fell limply to her sides. Her head still lolled forward, though she'd lifted it slightly as he'd come closer. She seemed to be slowly coming out of whatever state she was in. Her head finally tipped back as she tried to look up at the voice that was now in front of her. Close, too close. One look into her eyes as she stared through strands of what had been quite beautiful hair just about a week ago and it was noticeable by the lingering cloud that clung in the depths of her green eyes.

Even in the blurred vision that stared upward, she could see that he wasn't one of them. She didn't think so anyways. Maybe she was hallucinating or dreaming? Maybe just a figment of her imagination, as her father would say. Her brow furrowed and her eyes dropped to the offered hands in front of her, pulling her hands, arms feeling heavy, up into her lap. She frowned and finally shook her head slowly.-

"No."

-she muttered quietly.-

Rak heaved a deep sigh, So, she was going to be one of the weak ones.

He'd been hoping that once he dangled the carrot of escape before her, she'd perk up. Going back the way he'd come would have been by far the easiest way out. They'd have been free and clear before anyone important among the kidnappers even knew their sanctuary had been breached. Sure, they owned the town, more or less, and he couldn't relax until they were clear of the radar, but getting out quickly and without having to fight would have been a good start.

It looked as if he'd have to do it the hard way.

Rak did not, superficially, look especially strong. More like an athlete than a weight-lifter. yet his body was lithe and wiry, containing hardly an ounce of surplus fat, and he'd carried far heavier than her. Nonetheless, any observer would have been flabbergasted by how easily he lifted her, as if she were made of papier mache. He bent, and in a single move lifted her clear of the chair, and over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. It did little for her modesty, for the activity pulled her blouse entirely free of her skirt, which in itself fell upwards, following the angle of her body, revealing champagne-colored panties of a modest French cut, yet obviously as expensive as the rest of her attire. He was amused to notice that the crotch of her hose had sagged several inches - it was as well she didn't have to run, or she'd be hobbled by them!

Holding her steady with his left arm, and with the tranquiliser-gun held out before him, he kicked open the door, and listened, stilling even his breathing. He'd have liked to have covered her mouth, and not for the first time in his life gave a silent curse that the process of evolution had seen fit to equip out species with just two arms.

He could have gone up the rickety steps that led from the cellar totally silently, and at a run, but hampered by his burden, it was a case of one or the other. A run would make them creak, and bring attention upon them, but with any luck he could win clear before the remaining guards could organise themselves. Against this. silence would mean the possibility of a totally clean escape.

"Shh, shh, pretty one," he whispered. "No sound at all. Get me?"

It took a good five minutes to get to the top of the steps, after which he paused another thirty seconds to make sure no-one was passing. Then, there was a fast run, along a corridor, and around a zig-zag bend in the passage. Ignoring the entrance door, he lowered his burden to the floor and, with a quick twist of his wrist, broke the catch on the window. Not even bars! This lot really were sloppy.

He bent and hefted her again, lifting her over the frame, and unceremoniously dumping her on the ground. At this second, footsteps sounded behind him.

"What the fu -?!"

The tranquiliser gun fired twice in quick succession, emptying the magazine of two more darts, both of which found their mark. But the noise of the guards' bodies as they hit the floor destroyed any last chance of silence. More footsteps sounded in the passage outside, together with the sound of shouting. An alarm bell shrilled.

Rak vaunted nimbly over the sill, and pulled a small bpmb from somewhere inside his jacket. He flipped a switch on the device, hurled it into the room and slammed the window shut. From behind the glass, smoke swirled.

"Should keep them busy for a few minutes," he said, as much to himself as her, as he sprinted across the grass towards where he had carefully hidden the nondescript car amidst a thicket of trees.

Two minutes later he had thrust her into the front seat, turned the key and roared off in a flurry of thrown gravel.

"Now, allow me to introduce myself" he said, turning towards her. "Name's Rak Davidson. Ern... well, it's not, but it is right now. And I bloody well hope you;re Savannah Moreaux, or I've just upset a lot of people for no good reason."

-a grunt echoed softly in the room as her belly pressed against his shoulder. Her arms became the victims of gravity and hung limply toward the ground. Her hair did the same. She could feel the cool air tickling along her back as her blouse slid up along her vertibrae and worse yet, she felt it teasing along the backs of her thighs and trying to snake it's way between them with the way her skirt had shifted up as well. Her hose, she could feel that they'd lowered, quite uncomfortably as a matter of fact, the elastic of the material biting tightly into her flesh.

Her only view was one of his ass and heaven forbid if daddy found out she was making no effort not to look. That thought and consciously knowing of the way her clothes had shifted compromisingly made her cheeks flush. Even more than the blood rushing to her head was.

She was as quiet as she could be, not so much because he'd told her to but she really didn't have full use of anything just yet but she was coming around.

The drop out of the window drew another grunt, louder, more coherent this time and she even managed to roll away from it with a low groan.

Picked up again, she bounced around as he sprinted with her, jostling her into the seat. She muttered and when the door was closed, she managed to press herself against it.

Her hands fidgeted in her lap and then swept against her skirt along her thighs, as if she could stretch the material even lower. When she reached the hem of the skirt, her fingers plucked at the panties hose she still half wore. Her brow furrowed. She couldn't very well straighten them back up onto herself but she couldn't stand to wear them the way they were now either. An exasperated sigh pushed passed her lips and she began to wiggle them down, her feet pushing against the floor board, her read end lifting from the seat, as she pulled and tugged the material captured between her legs and the seat. So concentrated on what she was doing, she almost forgot he was in the drivers seat until he spoke.

Her attention whipped in his direction, her hands stilled in the middle of pushing the hose over her knees. Her eyes meeting his, her pale cheeks pinkened warmly. She swallowed heavily and looked away.-

"Yes, I am. Could you please watch the road, whoever you are?"

-she muttered, trying to put a little bite to her tone but she failed, miserably. She only succeeded in allowing the embarrassing shyness creep in and she felt her cheeks warm a little more.

Her eyes cast quickly to the side, staring from the corners at him to see if he turned his attention away, studying him as well. She would wait until he had diverted his attention back to the road before she'd finish taking the offending material from her legs. He needn't be watching her while she did so.-

"Watch the road? Right." he replied, amused despite the seriousness of the situation. The car he was using was anonymous and unremarkable enough, but you could never be entirely sure. These people had spies everywhere. He was used to watching several things at once - his survival had depended on the ability many times - and the fact that he was now, ostensibly, staring straight ahead at the road before them did not preclude him taking in the sight of her long legs, if which he was now seeing even more as she fought to remove her shredded, baggy hose and retain some semblance of dignity. He brought the small vehicle to a stop at a set of lights. "I think I should mention, though, Savannah," he added, amused, "that we've pulled up next to a truck. And by the look of it, the driver's far less of a gentleman than I am."

The lights changed, and he pulled away gently. You had to get these things just right. Roaring away like a madman, or too slowly like a cautious geriatric, could only call attention. "Nice legs, by the way." He had been tempted to add "cute panties, too," but that would, he felt, have been needlessly cruel.

He continued on his prearranged route, twice as long as it need be, for he had carefully planned a lot of doubling back and backstreet-navigation. If they were being tailed, the tail could not be anonymous, as it would have been if they'd been merely tooling along a freeway.

"Now, the place where we're going to hole up isn't the most luxurious," he said, piloting the vehicle through a small series of narrow chicane bends, "but it's pretty discreet. It's got working showers, though, which is a big plus. Ideally I'd like you to be able to phone your father, but those &^&*^%% that kidnapped you have got the means of monitoring phone traffic, and the local authorities are pretty much in their pocket. They'll expect us to get out over the county line as soon as possible, but in a day or two they'll get slack, and that's when we'll make our break. Got that? And if we should get separated between then and now, get yourself to this address." He handed her a card, marked:

Hibiscus Motel

Aircon. Color TV. Good Food.
54 Galway Avenue
(State name and zip censored by author)

"Check in under the name if 'Mrs Louise Rankin,' and wait. I'll get to you if I possibly can, and if not they'll be a guy come to reception and give his name as 'Clark Howard.' Do NOT leave with anyone else. Got that?"

He smiled.

"But that's highly unlikely. I haven't lost a rescue yet, and I've beaten far better than this lot."

-she breathed a sigh of relief when she noticed his head turning forward again. Stripping the hose down her legs resumed, leaning forward she slipped her shoes from her feet. She would have likely lost them, had they not strapped around her ankles. With shaking fingers, she unbuckled the strap and was setting her shoe down neatly in the well beneath the dash when he spoke again.-

"Hmmm?"

-a slightly irritated reply but the look when she glanced in his direction was more curious than irritated. Wondering exactly what it was he needed to share with her.

Nothing she wanted to hear. A groan escaped her throat and her head snapped towards her window. She sat rod straight in her seat, her hands raking over her skirt again and down to her knees, her nostrils flaring knowing she couldn't cover herself from the offending stare of the guy next to her. The light couldn't turn green fast enough and the blush that naturally colored the apples of her cheeks, crept up to her ears and down her neck as if a fire were spreading through her.

She nervously wiped her hands along her skirted thighs again, her eyes forward as they moved past the light and away from the truck next to them. His words jarred her from whatever thoughts were going through that head of hers. She half looked at him. Her legs pulling up, bending at the knee before she was trying her damnedest to tuck them away from his view. Still missing a shoe with the panty hose still clinging at her ankles and that blush still prominently in place. What thirty year old woman blushed so much? The one who's father had kept her under lock and key since she was young.

She was silent as he drove and after a few minutes once more resumed the removal of her panty hose. Once her legs were free of them, she slipped her shoes back on and promptly tucked her legs as she'd had them moments ago.

Her attention turned to him, a very faint pink still colored her features but it could have been remnants of make up she'd applied before she'd been taken.

Her brows knit softly, a soft snort escaping her nose.-

"You're taking me to...a dump basically. You know they have nice hotels with great security, that rabble like them wouldn't be able to get into? Seriously. Also, surely you have a phone that I could call Daddy from?"

-the most words she'd strung together since he'd stuffed her into the car. He was seeing just a small reason the goons had drugged her up, to shut her up.

She stared at the card he held toward her, looking at it as if it would sprout unsightly appendages and skitter around the car. After a quiet moment where it did no such thing, she took the card. Still looking at it as if she didn't quite understand.-

"How am I supposed to get here?"

-she questioned. Quite the logical question in her mind. She didn't drive and she'd certainly never been to the location listed on the card, so she had no clue even what direction to take.

Her eyes pinned his profile in their stare, a hopeful look actually as he uttered that it wasn't likely to happen. A hopeful expression that clearly said what her lips did not. That she hoped like hell they wouldn't get separated, she needed him more than she cared to admit.

When she saw him turning to look in her direction, she'd look away, forcing her attention out the window instead.-

"Yes, sweetie, I'm taking you to a dump," he laughed. "Nice hotels, eh? With security that rabble like that can't get into." He shook his head, ruefully. "If I had a dollar for every time I've got in, and out again, to a place that's impregnible to rabble... trouble is with infallible security is that it usually isn't. What humans can design, humans can break. Trust me on this, OK? A concierge in a smart uniform isn't gonna stop that lot, not if they really want in."

He made a swift, sharp turn arund a narrow hairpin bend.

"Look, there's three decent hotels in this city, OK? The 'Excelsior' - that's owned by a guy who's good friends with the leader of the lot that kidnapped you. The 'Cremorne' - part owned by a local senator, who's campaign was financed by them. And the 'Poinsiana' - situated three minutes drive away from that place they were holding you. And even I haven't got enough hide to risk that one. Right now, our only security is being somewhere they can't find us." The slightest trace of condescension crept into his Cockney/Antipodean accent. "For your information, this isn't actually the first time I've done this kind of thing. I checked out the 'Hibiscus' and it's guaranteed safe."

He smiled as she peered at the card.

"How are you meant to get there? Well, if you look down at the end of those lovely legs of yours, you'll see two, kind of, device thingies. They're called 'feet.' If you keep putting one of them in front of the other, you can get to all kinds of places. And I believe a noticed these big vehicles, too, called buses. They even have their destination written on them, so there's no nasty surprises. I'd avoid the trains, though... stations are too easy to keep a watch on. And definitely no cabs."

Another fast switch in direction.

"And sure, the place isn't exactly a paradise. But from what your father's agent told me, you've had enough luxury in your life to last any normal person a couple of centuries, so a few days slumming would probably be good for your soul. Anyway, it's purely hypothetical, so I wouldn't fret too much. Anyone wants to snatch you has to get through me, and in case you didn't notice the two thugs who already tried are now sleeping the sleep of the just. Not to mention a couple of our enemy's crack minions that were charged with keeping me out."

He swung his eyes down to her legs again, enjoying the view. He knew he shouldn't, but surely, he reasoned, every job needed some perks. And the tight confines of the car, the cheap slipepry material of the seats, meant that the tight skirt was riding up further every time he negotiated a bend. He wouldn't let himself get sidetracked by her attractive appearance - work was work - but he had to admit, he had always been attracted to girls who blushed, and for a woman to still do so at her age was intriguing.

"So, I suppose your boyfriend's going to be glad to get you back in one piece, then?" he asked, casually. "Or girlfriend, whatever. Or are you one of those girls that keep a harem on a string? An exhausting practice, but for those of us who like variety, it's the only way, I find. ANyway, almost there... just around this corner. And we haven't been tailed. That's another thing you can trust me on."

-her brows furrowed softly and she glanced to the side at him. A quiet little huff flared her nostrils. A dump! Her! A yelp was ripped from her throat as she tipped nearly into his lap with the sharp turn, reminding her that she hadn't put her seatbelt on after she'd finished removing her panty hose. Her cheeks flushed again as she dropped a hand against his leg without thinking, in order to push herself up right again into her seat.

She pretended once again to straighten her blouse and skirt, silently as she listened to him. When she spoke, it was quietly but held an incredulous note to it.-

"My father I'm sure would appreciate you growing the hide to risk it. I mean, you're making all these twists and turns, why not do so back to the Poinsiana. I'd think they wouldn't think we'd go there."

-it made sense to her fluffy little mind, that and she really wasn't all up for being in a dump of a motel room. She'd much prefer her room at home honestly but if she couldn't have that, she'd settle for a nice room at a nice hotel.

Her tongue darted out, roaming over dry lips, wetting them. Her eyes darted to him again.-

"Would you stop staring at my legs, please. Thank you."

-the words briefly interrupted his own before she fell silent again, letting him finish before she gave a snort, her chest rose sharply as she drew in a shaken, flustered breath. Her cheeks were flushed but it was perhaps this time in flustered anger.-

"I know what feet are but if you think I'm walking anywhere on them much less getting on a filthy, nasty, common bus on top of staying in a dirty motel room with....you, then you are out of your mind. As for my fathers agent, he is an idiot and so help me once I'm home, he will be out of a job."

-oh how she huffed and muttered, her dusty mussed up locks bounced as her head shook in denial and she crossed her arms over her chest. Was she actually pouting? On the verge of tears? She stared out her side window until she bumped into it with one of his turns. Then her hands slammed into the seat by her thighs. Her eyes dropped to her lap, noticing the rise of her skirt and her hands began to fidget over it again, tugging it down.-

"I don't have one."

-the reply was simple and meant for all options he'd given. She cleared her throat nervously and even after she'd gotten her skirt situated, she continued to pluck at the hem, the blush creeping back quickly, sliding over the apples of her cheeks, her ears. Along the slender column of her throat and down into the hidden curves of her cleavage. With that revelation, she stared straight ahead as she seemed to wait anxiously to get wherever they were going, not even caring at this point where it was, she just wanted out of the confines of the car. She was warm suddenly and needed away from him to try to gather herself.-

"Back to the 'Poinsiana,' eh?" he asked. "Hmm, nice to see you're thinking. No, that's not taking the piss... it can be a good move to hide in plain sight of the enemy. As you say, they wouldn't think we'd go there. Trouble is, it might just occur to them that we'd expect them to think that way. And then where would we be, eh? Well, you'd be back in captivity, and this time they'd probably start little games like cutting off fingers and sending them to your dad, to stop him having any more silly ideas about saving you. And me, I'd have all the hassle of having to escape them, and then it'd be five times as hard to get back in and get you out a second time. So maybe, we'll just stick with the plan most likely to succeed, eh?"

He grinned to himself as she made yet another tug at the hem of her skirt, attempting to hide her legs, and her mock-polite request to keep his eyes to himself.

"And as for those feet," he continued, "If it's a case of being recaptured, or getting clear, I'm pretty sure you'll decide to put them to use after all. Unless you're a total fool, which I don't think you are. And as for us sharing accommodation - believe me, I like it about as much as you do. I gave a taste for attractive, intelligent women, not spoiled, prissy little rich girls... so you can trust me to keep my hands to myself. You're right about Crawley Nixon, your dad's agent, though. About as much use as a chocolate dildo, and less decorative."

At her statement that she did not have a boy or girlfriend, though, a genuine surprise took him.

"Really? No-one good enough for you, eh? Or good enough for daddy, maybe?" He shrugged. "Still, I'm sure there's been someone in your life, at some time. Anything else would be a tragedy." He bought the car to a halt among piles of discarded rubbish and overflowing bins, in the back yard of a seedy, run-down motel. "Here we are, Xanadu, mark two. Known also as The Poinciana Motel."

Swiftly, he scuttled around and opened the door for her, being careful to keep his body between her and the outside world. That anyone had followed them this far was unlikely (in fact, he was sure of it) but he saw it as his job to protect her and take no chances. Beside which, it gave him another look at her legs as she scrambled out of the car and her skirt rode up yet again.

"OK, now, when we check in, we're Sam and Louise Rankin. Don't worry that we don't hate each other quite enough to be taken for a real married couple - I'm sure we can put on a convincing enough impersonation. And by the way, I just texted Crawley Nixon, a prewritten message telling him I've got you out. Run out on me now, and I'll still collect my fee, and you'll be on your own." He smiled. "And possibly dead, too. Now, chin up and smile on, and let me do the talking, OK?"

-she chewed softly on the corner of her bottom lip as she fidgeted. Listening as he spoke. A snort followed his words and her lips curled at the corners, a malicious touch as the words oozed sugar sweet from her lips.-

"Well, Mr. Davidson. If you are as good as you claim, you wouldn't have so much hassle and they wouldn't have the opportunity to get me a second time even at a nice, posh room at the hotel. I'm beginning to think it's more than hide you lack, Rak."

-she could be a snarky little bitch, that was for sure. Especially when she wasn't getting her way, though the truth of the matter was by all accounts she was usually rather quiet and quite shy.

She fell silent then, her hands grew still in her lap as her attention turned to simply and quietly stare at her own knees. She was quite used to no one wanting to touch her, her father had made sure of that. Didn't make his razor blade words any duller however.

At first the hint of surprise in his words caused her eyes to dart sidelong at him before returning forward, hearing only taunt afterward.-

"Not that it's any concern of yours but no, ok? There hasn't been."

-the words were the complete opposite of the spitfire voice she'd used just moments ago. Barely above a whisper, sad really.

When the car stopped, she looked up. Eyes slowly taking in the view with clear disdain written all over her pretty little face. Her bottom lip twitched out into a brief, small pout. Her nose scrunched softly and she sat there, even when she heard him exit the car. When her door opened, she was still loathe to move, her gaze shifting to him, a glare meeting him as she peered up. Seeing he wasn't moving, an exasperated sigh slid from her lips and she finally swung her feet from the car, attempting to stand quickly and trying desperately not to get too close to him.

As he spoke, she began running her fingers through her hair, an attempt to make it look presentable at the very least. Straightening her blouse and once again smoothing her hands down her skirt, as if trying to push the wrinkles and dirt clean off the material. She'd be damned if she was going to go in here looking like she belonged with the rubbish surrounding them.

She said nothing to him, though when he told her to put her smile on, she did. The expression at first strained and taunting as she flashed it at him but it soon relaxed into quite the convincing smile. Pretty actually, making the slightly ragged look about her just a little less dull and dirty.-

He did not miss the sudden switch in her voice. From her valiant attempts at defiance (they did not fool him, for he had been too long in the game, but he respected her attempt) to the sudden wistful, almost plaintive tone of regret. Kindly - for he could be kind, when he liked - he deliberately made no attempt to follow this up, or tease her about it. Having been abducted and then rescued by someone she so obviously despised, having to sleep in this flea pit, and looking like a rag bag into the bargain, he judged, was suffering enough without him adding to her problems.

Standing behind her, he noticed that despite the efforts to straighten herself, the tail of her blouse was still untucked and, casually, he tucked the loose material back into the waist of her skirt. Looking too dishevelled, he knew, would make her easier to remember. And if anyone was watching unseen from the hotel, the fact he was doing this made them look more like the husband and wife they were pretending to be.

"There - all neat again," he chuckled, grabbing the battered, and almost empty cases (perfectly in character for the roles they were portraying) and leading her into the reception desk.

*****

Five minutes later, he threw the cases onto the double bed, and carefully checked no-one was lurking in the corridor outside, before turning on the shower to further mask his voice, then speaking to her.

"OK, we'll be here a couple of days, unfortunately. I daren't risk making the break before that. You can keep looking at me like I was a piece of shit if you like - I've had worse - but you might think it makes sense to smile a bit, to stop us getting on each others' nerves quite so easily. And if you decide to run out on me, like I said, you're on your own. I suggest don't."

He began throwing the few available cushions, and two of the pillows, onto the floor.

"There you go. Big double bed to yourself. Try not to kick me when you step over me to get to the bathroom, tomorrow morning. Now what's next? Ah, yeah..."

Lifting one of the two shabby suitcases, he removed a few nondescript items of clothing, followed by a false bottom. Smiling, he began laying various items onto the bed. A good quality silk top by Courreges, a tight skirt in a soft material, a pair of sheer hose, and a pair of Jimmy Choo shoes. Finally he produced a small bottle of Chanel perfume. "You'll have to wash your bra and panties and wear them again, I'm afraid," he smiled. "There's only so much I could fit in here. And I needed the space in the other case for this."

He opened the second case, removed the contents and false bottom, and pulled out some slabs of chocolate, expensive tins of fruit with a can opener, a fresh wrapped tin of beluga caviare, wrapped crackers, a jar of high quality coffee, and a bag of unblemished fruit. "I can go down to room service to get our meals," he explained, "but it's likely to be pretty pedestrian stuff. Since you have to be holed up here, I guessed you might like to at least eat decently."

As he spoke, his practised eyes scanned the room, then he knelt and looked under the beds. The chances of the place being bugged was minuscule, but he never took chances.

"OK, all clear. We're safe. Now, I'll go take a walk in the corridor outside, check everything's totally safe, while you get changed."

-she almost turned and lit into him for touching her, but by the time she could have, he was already done tucking the disheveled shirt tail in. He merely received a sidelong look and a falter in the smile she wore and without a word, followed behind him. She let him do all the talking, keeping quiet and pretending.

*****************************

-once ushered into the room, she paced to the middle. Her eyes sliding over the interior. Despite the cleanliness of it, her nose still turned up at the early low class era decor and stayed as such as her eyes lit on him, following him until he disappeared into the bathroom and then resumed when he exited.

As he spoke, her eyes once again surveyed her surroundings and when he was finished, she did turn a smile on him.-

"I won't kick you but I will make sure I wear my heels to bed."

-the implication quite clear that she seriously considered putting one or both of them through either his head or his groin. Unhappy and still a little feisty she seemed.

She stood quiet, still in the middle of the room and watched as he opened both cases. Any trace of animosity she had held until this point, seemed to drain completely from her. Her gaze softened and her shoulders relaxed quite a bit. Arms that were angrily crossed over her chest, fell. The fingers of her right hand fidgeting silently over those of her left as he continued to pull things from the other case.

If she'd been bold enough, she very well might have kissed him, on the cheek of course. She didn't question whether he had thought to bring those things or if her father had made him. She didn't care, she was simply glad that he had brought them and it showed when he'd look at her finally, even if she wished for a clean pair of under garments, she would make due with what had been brought.

She nodded softly when he made mention of walking the corridor. Though she had no intention of simply changing, the sound of the shower running sounded like heaven to her at that moment. She hadn't showered since the day she'd been taken.

Before he reached the door, she tentatively stepped closer and asked a very simple question.-

"Can you bring me some water? Please?"

-and there was the girl that everyone usually spoke of. Soft spoken and polite. Shy. Other than a pair of panties and a bra, it was the only thing she hadn't seen him pull from the case and her mouth felt dry as the dust that clung to her. The coffee he'd brought was good but she needed water first.-

******************************

-once left to the room by herself, she snagged not the beautiful and expensive blouse he'd brought her, nor the skirt but one of the non-descript button down shirts he'd brought, likely for himself. She couldn't however bring herself to sleep or trapse around in this room in the clothes he'd brought for her and she highly doubted she would be let out of this room for the few days they were going to be here.

In the bathroom, she stripped from the clothes she had on. Dropping the blouse and skirt into a corner. Both were ruined beyond repair she was sure. Next, stripping from her bra and panties, she did in fact proceed to run them under the water of the sink, with no laundry detergent handy, she knew she'd have to use the small bottle of soap sitting on the counter but it would suffice, it was better than wearing them gritty or not wearing them at all. She'd seen the maids, as she was growing up, washing her pretty and fragile little underthings by hand for years. She did the same, making sure the soap was rinsed well from them. The bra, she hung on the back of the bathroom door, it wasn't going back on her tonight. She grabbed a small hand towel from the small, rickety shelf above the toilet and laid her panties onto it before folding it in half and pressing them between the material, letting the towel leech the water from the little bit of material. She left them sit as such and turned to the shower that awaited her.

A sigh of relief escaped her as she stepped beneath the flow of hot water, feeling the slight sting as it began washing away the nasty dirt and grime. It felt wonderful and she had a feeling, she'd still be here when he returned.-

After filling the jug supplied by the room with water, Rak left the room without a word, and began to walk casually up and down the corridor outside. To anyone who saw him, he would have been taken either for a somewhat bemused tourist or a man casually walking to keep an assignation, without a care in the world - or maybe even both!

Look, however, can be very deceptive.

By the time he had finished his casual circuit of the hotel, and taken a quick trip to two random floors, he had a complete layout of every detail of the establishment in his head. A carpet that had come away, here, a fire escape stair or door that creaked there, various blind spots, the exact time the elevator took to traverse one floor, every escape route. It still might be possible to sneak up on them, he conceded, but whoever tried it had better be damn good.

Next, he stooped outside their room, making certain preparations. The keyhole was supplemented with a tiny camera lens and transmitter, so state of the art the US Federal Police had not yet began to use it extensively. It ran to his mobile phone, enabling him to look over anyone who knocked at the door, or (since there were also transmitters at both ends of the passage) any person who entered the floor from the elevator or stairs. He also set certain harmless but noisy traps, including some twigs and crackly paper, which he would probably have to replenish every day, since though the hotel was old and shabby he'd already verified the cleaning staff were quite conscientious and efficient.

His next step was a kind of game. He pretended, for a few minutes, that he was the enemy, and mentally rehearsed how he would go about getting in and taking "Rak" and "Savannah" by surprise. He spent some ten minutes trying out different permutations and schemes, and finally satisfied himself that though it was not impossible (a dangerous assumption he would never make) there was, nonetheless, no way that occurred to him.

While doing all this, he took good care to take long enough to allow Savannah to shower and change, and after giving her plenty of leeway he returned, gave the special knock (he had told her to hide if she did not hear it) and entered back into the room.

-she'd stayed in the shower until the water began to chill. She'd scrubbed herself several times over, making sure any grit and grime were without a doubt gone. She'd washed her hair at least twice for the same reason.

Drying off, she muttered half heartedly about the quality of the towels, knowing she was muttering to herself. She was definitely used to considerably softer, larger towels but truthfully, she was just glad she got the chance to shower.

Checking the panties, she was thankfully they were mostly dry. She slipped into them, before slipping into the mens button down shirt she'd taken from one of the cases.

Steam rolled from the bathroom as she opened the door, a towel clutched between her hands as she dried her hair. Her eyes tentatively eyeing the room before she left the bathroom, looking for Rak.

Seeing he wasn't back yet, she draped the towel over the back of the single chair in the room and stepped to the bed. A soft hum began in the utter silence, something to distract her from the disconcerting feeling. She began to fold the clothes he'd brought her, laying back in the one suitcase. Then moved to the other. Moving the food to the scarred and uneven table. She was clearing the bed in order to try to get into it before he returned but she was in mid-bite on a piece of fruit when she'd hear the knock.

She hadn't the time to scurry to the bed before the door was opening and she was caught standing there, in nothing more than a shirt and panties, her skin a faint pink color from the hot water and serious scrubbing she'd given herself. Wide, curious eyes pinned him as he slipped back into the room.-

"Oops, sorry," said Rak, quickly, averting his eyes. Normally, he probably wouldn't have bothered - a woman that modest about herself, he considered, should get herself a Mormon outfit or a ticket to the mid fifties - but he might well be holed up a while with Savannah, and who knew but she might be the shy type. Disrespecting her was no way to make that time go any quicker. "I think we're safe. I had a good check around."

He dug a crisp cracker into some seafood pate, and poured himself a coffee. "The bad news is, though, I tried to call your father, and I'm pretty sure the line was being bugged. They have devices that can pick the rough location of a mobile phone. There;'s no way they can monitor every device in town of course, I guess they just have a computer program set to pick out key words... so i pretended to be a telemarketer trying to sell him a cellphone package." He adopted a comic Indian accent. "If you will be signing up with this offer we will be pleased to be sending you the free telephonic device you are winning. Please be listing me your credit card details and agreeing to the price of one arm and two legs, and waiving your cooling off period in return for a free plastic case."

Sitting down against the wall, he continued sipping coffee and munching on the pate. "Don't worry, though, there's ways to bypass that, and I will. we won't be here too long." He continued to look away from her, but doubted that this courtesy would do much to relax her. After all, the very fact that he WAS ostentatiously looking anywhere but her was only lamp shading the fact that her shirt covered very little of her legs.

-her eyes did not avert from him however, watching him, she fidgeted with the longer tail of the shirt, much like she'd done with her own skirt actually.-

"I hope so."

-she said softly. When he passed her to get to the table where she'd set the food, she stepped slightly back and away from him but didn't scurry as she might have done only an hour or two prior.

Concern stitched it's way across her face as he mentioned the failed call to her father. She kind of zoned out on the technical speak as he went on, though she was still listening, she was merely fretting more over the fact her father couldn't be reached.

The shift in tone and timber of his voice brought her back to attention and her eyes snapped to him when he adopted the fake voice. He'd hear a sound erupt from her so foreign as of late that it even surprised her. An honest and free laugh, melodic and unhindered, though quickly covered by her hand as the shower fresh pink of her cheeks darkened slightly. The sound still snuck around her hand and through her fingers. A laugh that actually reached her eyes.

The sound died slowly as she finally settled into the edge of the bed with a breath pushing past her lips, as if she didn't know what to do. She was going to worry, regardless. Her eyes pinned him in their depths curiously. Earlier he wouldn't stop looking at her and now, despite how naive she was, she could clearly tell he was making an effort not to.-

"I...took one of your shirts. I'm sorry. I just don't want to wrinkle the outfit you brought by sleeping in it."

-she turned her attention from him then, dropping to her lap and the hand that was once more tugging softly on the tail of the shirt. While she realized that he'd been looking at her legs earlier and it shouldn't matter if he was now or not, she realized too that with this shirt and certainly with her sitting now, he was seeing more of her legs than he had before. With that thought, she shot back up to her feet and paced instead toward the window, letting the shirt tail fall and cover a little bit more leg than when she was sitting.

Intent on doing something to keep her busy, she started pushing the curtains back slightly to look out the window. Not thinking of anything but distracting herself.-

"Can't you use a landline? I mean if you think they have something bugging cellphones?"

He laughed, both at her attempts to be casual about her immodesty (though trying to hide this in deference to her feelings) and her technical naivety.

"They bug everything," he smiled. "Cellphones, landlines, computers. Fuck, I wouldn't be surprised if they could monitor carrier pigeons and semaphore, too. In case you didn't know it, you were quite a prize for them." He produced a cheap looking cellphone. "That's why I put this together. It's got a scrambler in it... they can monitor it all they like, but all they'll get is gibberish. It unscrambles it at this end. The bad news is, it eats batteries quicker than a plain girl's vibrator and has to be recharged every half hour or so. 'scuse me..."

He pushed a key, that connected him directly to Crawley Nixon, Savahhanh's father's agent. Speaking softly, he reported that they had reached the hotel safely, that his charge seemed in good spirits and was unharmed.

"Well, nice going," came the deep midwestern drawl (Nixon was from Iowa) - "But I pity you, being holed up with that sexless, skinny-shanked, spoiled little creature. Bet you wish you;d had to save some real babe, 'stead of that plain little virgin. Man, I hope you aren't holding out for any affection, 'cos -

Hastily he cut the connection. He was not a person prone to embarrassment... suffering that emotion on another's behalf was usually as close as he got. But this looked like one of those times! Hastily he looked at her to see if she had heard - but he knew that was a waste of energy. The voice was coming so loudly through the speaker, there was no way she could have failed to.

"Thing is, the translation chip that unscrambles it tends to just do approximates," he tried, in an attempt to spare her mortification. "It was probably saying something like... erm... 'keep a low profile, and be above suspicion' or some such. You know, like translations of foreign films that come out totally wrong."

Carefully, he pushed the key again, and retreated to the bathroom, without even staying to check her reaction to what she had heard. Leaving Nixon in no doubt what he thought of his intelligence, he repeated his report, and provided certain other pieces of information to be passed on to Savannah's father. He added a warning to remember that the phone's speaker was very loud!

It was likely, he thought, once he had finished the conversation, that Nixon would immediately log onto his ebay account, since he now had a spare asshole to sell.

Emerging from the shower, he checked to see how she had taken what she had overheard. It was a sad case, he reflected, that eavesdroppers never heard good of themselves. Even accidental ones!

"Oh."

-she replied quietly to her reflection in the windows glass as she stared out on a sight that had been unseen by her for too long in her opinion. Even while she still felt captive, at least now she could see the outside world, she wasn't locked up in a basement, tied down and in the dark. It was true, she was rather naive to the workings of those sorts of electronics, the best she could manage was her cellphone.

"No. My fathers money was the prize."

-she replied coldly, letting her gaze shift back toward him as he produced the cheap phone. Her eyes dropped away from him directly, the sad truth was that she knew that she herself wasn't the prize. Her attention focused on the little machine as he began his explanation, a genuine look of curiosity dancing in her eyes. It remained even as he pressed the button, she was intent on seeing how it worked. She was hoping to hear her fathers voice but when she recognized it as Nixon, her nose scrunched softly. There was no lack of animosity between the two, she was definitely not a big fan of her father's agent. That had been clearly evident earlier.

The innocent curiosity shattered noticeably, like a piece of fine crystal, as the stinging words left that little object Rak held in his hands. The small smile that had curved the corners of her lips fell, her bottom lip shaking softly. The gleam that had started to return to her eyes was well on its way to disappearing again and the blush of her flesh from the shower was beginning to look almost as if she'd scalded herself now.

Anger and hatred for that weasely little man on the other end caused her to shake as she turned herself away from Rak once again. Staring at the curtain that had fallen back into place, she made no move to even look out the window again. The look Rak himself had received before she'd turned said more than enough, she knew what she'd heard, what he had heard and that what he was attempting to play it off as, sounded nothing alike but there was a measure of gratitude perhaps buried beneath the shame and hurt. He'd tried to make the sting of Nixon's words less painful.

She heard nothing else, paid no attention to the fact he had disappeared into the bathroom. Her arms curled around her midsection, the fruit she'd been nibbling on forgotten but still clutched in her fingers, angrily so.

Angry at Nixon, angry at her father, at being kidnapped, being sheltered.

She drew in a sharp breath and when she released it, a soft hitch in her throat and a flood of tears came with it, unabated. The rush of emotions causing the soft stagger back until she fell to the bed, facing the wall.

There would be no mistaking how she'd taken it when he stepped back into the room. The soft, feminine teary hitch of her shoulders as she stared into her lap, wiping uselessly at the tears that fell against her bare legs.-

There were time, Rak thought, when a person in high stages of grief should be left to their privacy. There were others when such a victim needed a friend, and fast. Sorting out which time was which, he felt, was often one of the greatest skills of friendship. Had he left it purely to his intellect, he would have given her a wide berth, for, after all, how well did he know her? Yet, somehow, an instinct in him screamed out to go to her.

And after all, given that he could plainly hear her loud sobs, how could he make things any worse, anyway?

He stood behind her, watching. The shaking of her shoulders, the fact that actual salt tears were dropping onto the bare skin of her legs. This was no princess, nt simply a spoiled brat, however he might have originally dismissed her. There was genuine pain here. And pain with which, in a very real sense, he was familiar.

"At least it wasn't your dad," he said, softly, sitting down alongside her. "I spoke to him, and... look, he genuinely loves you. That wanker Nixon, he... my guess he has trouble getting laid, and takes it out on womanhood in general. I know the type well." Gently, he laid a hand on her hair, tousled it gently. "Trick is to remember just how good he'd feel if he could know what he'd done to you right now. Sometimes that helps to feel a bit better, just to spite the bastard."

He sat, close, but not touching, save his very gentle caressing of her hair, his voice, a mixture of Aussie and London almost honey soft, yet without the talking down tone one uses to a baby or a small animal. A hypnotic lilt, almost music.

"How about a little thought to keep you happy - sometime, in the very near future, out of sight of your father, he and I will be in conversation, Kind of debriefing, you might say. Now, I wouldn't be at all surprised if, well..." he picked up a small wedge of cheese. "A piece of cheese, something like this, maybe a limburger - the really stinky type, you know - gets rubbed along the bars of that heater in his office, while he's not looking. And that the chillers on the reverse cycle air conditioning get turned up a bit, to make the room really cold, so he feels inclined to turn the heater on, know where this is going? I have a kind of dislike of people who insult pretty girls, see? They rank just below those who hurt cats, and for those only corporal punishment is good enough." He smiled a little.

And then he took a silk handkerchief from the pocket of his jeans and held it out, making sure she could see what he was doing, before beginning very gently to wipe at her tears, deliberately restraining his strength, his touch as soft as the feathers of a swan.

"It'll be fine, pretty girl," he smiled. "Really, it'll all work out."

-she jumped when she heard him speak so close. Her eyes blinking open, scattering tears. A tentative glance in his direction gave him view of the crimson of her wetted cheeks. Lashes, heavy with moisture, framed reddened eyes. Even her nose was a little pink.

She looked a mess, though not worse than when he'd found her in the basement. She sniffled and looked back down at her lap. Her usually straight shoulders slumped low. Her etiquette instructor would have a coronary, seeing her at the moment.-

"Yeah, sometimes too much."

-she said softly. Her hands fidgeting against her legs.-

"Problem is, Nixon liked me at one time. Daddy squashed that and quickly but he really likes Nixon, so when he came after me again, Daddy only reprimanded him. Threatened his job if he didn't get that notion out of his head. He's treated me like that ever since. He's pissed because I told Daddy."

-the cat was out of the bag already she supposed, though she still never verbally admitted to what Rak had heard. The tale was truth enough.

Surprisingly, she didn't jerk away when his hand settled against her hair, though she really didn't have much room to move. There was a wall in front of her, another to her left and he sat to her right.

She actually found the tender touch comforting. As she did his voice when she actually listened. Her head tilted again as he resumed speaking. Her eyes dropping momentarily to the cheese he picked up and then back up to his face. Her brows furrowing in a touch of confusion as she listened, until he reached the end and a small cb hmm left her throat. She did indeed get where he was going, she truly wasn't a complete airhead. She was a smarter cookie than most people gave her credit for really. Where she lacked in street smarts, she made up for in book smarts.

A small spark lit in her sad eyes and she straightened a little, her eyes fully meeting his.-

"You like cats?"

-she asked curiously. Most people she knew, weren't very fond of them. Nixon himself was forever tormenting hers when she tried to rub up on the jerk. Daddy only tolerated Lola because Savannah had begged for the feline when she was younger and Daddy rarely denied her things like that.

When he produced the handkerchief, a hand tentatively reached for it, until it pulled out of her grasp as he began wiping along her cheeks. She offered a weak smile and let him for a second before she gently reached up, fingers brushing against his hand as she sought to take the task upon herself if he relinquished his hold on the silk garment, if not, she simply left her hand there. As if needing to feel as if she were doing something, instead of solely depending on him to do it.

After a quiet moment, his words settling on her ears, she nodded slowly. All she could do was hope it would work out. Her head lowered, her eyes settling on his painted arms, her jaw shifting slightly as she contemplated something. When she drew her gaze back up, her eyes flickering over his features slowly, she finally moved, drawing closer as she slid her arms around his midsection. Letting her cheek rest against his shoulder, her words muffled slightly against his shirt.-

"Thank you."

"Yeah, don't blame him," he replied, somewhat surprisingly,as she explained the source of Nixon's animosity. "He's a bit of a wanker, that guy, if I'm any judge, but at least he has decent taste in women." His voice became slightly more serious. "Not that the guy doesn't have to learn that no means no, though.'

He smiled again.

"Cats? Sweet one, let me tell you, my lifelong friendship with the race is legendary. I firmly believe there's an extremely hot section of hell reserved especially for those that abandon kittens or hurt cats... somewhere between the sections marked out for murderers and country and western singers! Here..." He rummaged in his pocket, pulled out a wallet, and showed her a picture of a sleek blue/grey coloured animal. "Here's my Ella. Named after Ella Fitzgerald. She's a Burmese... or was. Sweet little thing died a year or so back. Been meaning to get around to getting myself another little girl, but what with being away from home so much, I never got around to it, you know how it is." He chuckled. "I should have made a new one part of my fee. Though getting her back home through customs might be an issue."

She moved against him, her hands going around him. He made no attempt to pull away, nor take advantage of her closeness. Instead, he stroked her hair again, letting her head rest on his shoulder, holding her gently.

"It's OK, pretty girl, you;ve been through a hell of a shitty time. Just you stay like that as long as you want - no strings, OK?"

-she peered at him, a hazy, saddened look to the beautiful green orbs. She knew her father was at least partly to blame.-

"Yes, he is a jerk. Trust me though, Daddy has played no small role in that though. He's a good man and he means well but he's been that way since Mom's been gone."

-she replied sadly, her gaze shifting down for a moment. A nod of agreement that Nixon definitely needed to learn the meaning of the word no, he needed to learn alot actually. Like how not to be such a jerk because Savannah was once again loath to come completely out of the shell that had been built and nurtured around her.

She shifted against him slightly when he dug for his wallet and when the picture was produced, she pulled back a bit. Tentative fingers held the image as he did. Her eyes looking over the creature it portraited and she smiled brightly.-

"She was beautiful."

-she replied and turned her attention back toward Rak-

"I miss Lola, she keeps me company. She's an Abyssinian, only a couple of years old. I begged for her until Daddy gave in."

-her lips pursed, realizing just how awful it sounded when spoken out loud. Only a cat to keep her company? That was her life though. Not as glamorous as most people thought it was.-

"Perhaps Daddy'll agree and he could probably take care of the customs issue."

-she said it quite seriously actually, resting against him fully again. It really was odd, even to her, that she felt comfortable enough to do so. She did though, despite the animosity of earlier.

A soft "hmm" escaped her at the no strings comment. Almost as if asking what he'd meant. She understood though but a blush crept quietly along her cheeks for a moment as thoughts of proving Nixon dead wrong came to mind. She drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes though, pushing those thoughts away. She'd barely had the nerve to hug him at first. She knew there was no way she'd be bold enough to make any other sort of move. Nixon would unfortunately get the satisfaction of being right....again. She sighed quietly at that thought.-

In a small, slightly amused way, Rak cursed himself. He'd said "no strings" and everyone knew exactly what that meant, and thus he could not go back on it. And yet, when she moved against him, the reaction in his loins made him regret his rash promise. Sure, she was a client (or the daughter of same, at least) and a girl who had been through hell, and thus not to be taken advantage of. And yet... the smell of her, clean from the shower, her vulnerability and need, the tears, the blushing... these things, and her lithe form, the way the shirt had worked up showing her upper thighs, and even (had he chosen to shift his posture and look, though he didn't) as much of her as any male might wish, these send his libido into overdrive.

Though highly sexed, he had always made a point of keeping his assignments separate from his lusts. Getting involved, either emotionally or sexually could only ever lead to the most extreme of disasters. And in Savannah's case, there was a further issue to be considered. He hadn't believed her earlier hints that there was no-one in her life and never had been... for fuck's sake, she wasn't fifteen! - yet her obvious shyness was making him rethink. Some girls, he knew, particularly those that had led very sheltered, repressed lives, could reach their twenties or even beyond with their virginity intact, never having entered upon what he considered their birthright as an adult woman. Some misguided religious sensibility, that convinced them that "saving themselves" until a man in a dress mumbled some words from an ancient book of mythology as an act of virtue!

He stroked her hair again, trying for tenderness, though he guessed that surely she must sense (for even she could not be that naive) the way his lust was mounting.

"So, tell me more about you, pretty one," he said, desperate to distract himself.