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Knight in Rusty Armour {asylum and Alan23}

-a soft sniffle escaped her. The tears for the most part had waned but her skin remained flushed, the cry had made her cheeks warm, leaving the blossom of color painting the flesh lightly. Though that feeling remained, the small pain that seemed to throb with each beat of her heart. The admission that her father kept Nixon around despite what the man had done caused an ache in her. The admission that her father kept her under lock and key on top of it, wasn't any better.

She remained pressed against him, gently. Her head tilting, nose pressing slightly against his shoulder as she breathed him in. Finding comfort in the feel of his arms around her. She knew her father would be having a fit if he even remotely knew and even worse the thoughts inside that little head of hers, the ones that wouldn't go away. Each sweep of his hand along her hair seemed to keep them there, securely in place. She indeed noticed the shift from tenderness, though it was still there, it was heavier. Different.

She drew in a breath, a soft snort escaping as she gently pulled back, her face turning up to look at him. Curiousity danced in the hazel orbs that stared up at him. The slight distance gave him advantage, a view down into the shadowed depths of the shirt that clung to her.-

"What more is there to tell? Really, there's not much. I don't get out much. I mean...being kidnapped and found is the most action I've seen outside the walls of my father's home. I like to read and dance."

-she chuckled and shrugged her petite shoulders, glancing down again at his arms before continuing-

"But that's about it. Boring compared to your life I'm sure."

-her arms slid back from around his waist as she straightened a little further. Her right hand coming to rest against the mattress beside his thigh, the left found it's way against his right forearm, fingers teasing against the painted flesh.-

"Do they mean anything?"

-she asked curiously of the tattoos etched into his skin. Her eyes studying them quietly.-
 
"They did. At one time." He said, dismissively. The winged skull, the dagger with its hilt made from clasped hands, the angel - all marks of cadence or rank from an organisation to which he had once belonged. Now retained simply to remind him never to put his trust in dogma again. That had been in another lifetime, when he'd given his skills freely for the good of the dark, hidden order. Doing paid rescue work felt squeaky clean by comparison, in retrospect. If there was one thing he didn't want to do right now it was to scare her. And the meanings of even the lesser tatts might have done just that. "Nowadays I keep them just because they're pretty." He grinned. "Like your father does you."

He stroked her hair again. Her reaction was as if he were petting a favourite cat. For a woman of her age to admit that she had had the upbringing suitable only for a nun, or a retarded child, would not have been an easy thing to tell, he knew. One thing he would not do was mock. She had trusted him... and if her story were true (and he strongly suspected it was) trust had not exactly been a thing she'd been able to do over much.

"Wish I could dance," he said, deliberately sounding more plaintive than he actually felt. He'd always preferred watching girls dance to doing so himself. He was desperately searching for something, anything, that made her seem to have achieved more than he had, to make her feel better. He wouldn't mention playing rhythm guitar for "Hierarchy Rising" and "Sixth Payback." Or the parties in Hollywood, where, had he been the sort to go into raptures upon meeting the rich and famous he'd have been in a permanent state of ecstasy. "Nah, I think my life's probably been as boring as yours," he lied. "Just a bit more dangerous."

He pulled her against him. Any woman - any other woman, anyway - would have been able to read the situation. Good Chance, he was sure there was actually a smell of lust coming from him. But he wouldn't take advantage. He wouldn't...

If only she hadn't been quite so inexperienced, quite so naive. It would feel almost like theft...

"One day, you'll have to teach me," he smiled. "T dance, I mean, Not read." Shit, he was becoming inarticulate. "We'll grab a dinner at L'Agostin... you like seafood, right? - then get out on the dance floor. And you can watch everyone point at me and laugh, and wonder who let that crippled camel out on the dance floor, and what an ugly guy like that's doing with such a beautiful angel. You can tell them you're doing it for a bet."

He dragged his eyes from her legs, fighting the temptation to rip that stupid shirt off over her head, press her naked skin against him. With any other woman... surely, any other woman...

But this was a girl, in a woman's body, near as fuck. There were rules...

Too many rules...
 
"Hmmm"

-she murmured softly as her fingers continued to trace the darkened outlines of the pictures. She found them quite fascinating really. She wondered if any of them had hurt. No one she knew had tattoos, not that she hadn't seen any in her lifetime, she just had no one close by to ask anything about them. She liked art, her mother had been able to draw and paint quite well. Sadly it wasn't something that she'd picked up on from her.-

"Someday....maybe, you'll have to tell me."

-she doubted that some day would come. When he dumped her back off with her father, that would be the end of it, father would pay him and send him on his way. She would be resigned to be locked down even further. Chances were that daddy was busy having a new security system put in, even more state of the art than the one he already had. His force of guards was likely expanding as the pair of them sat on the bed in the motel room. If she had to tell the truth, she wasn't entirely sure she was ready to go back home, not like she had been at first. Not facing what she knew was going to be.

When Rak mentioned her father keeping her because she was pretty, her attention drew back to him. A sadness had crept into those pretty eyes of hers and a weak smile curled the corners of her lips as a blush deepened softly at the apples of her cheeks.-

"I wish he wouldn't. I'm not a piece of art. I don't belong in...in..."

-her words halted as a sigh of air flared her nostrils gently-

"In a museum locked down tighter than The Louvre."

-her eyes dropped again, away from his. Resting against his lips as they moved, as he spoke. She concentrated on the way they formed the words, or rather she tried to concentrate on that. She swallowed softly and let her gaze dart back up, a curious blush creeping along her ears and down the slender column of her throat.-

"I, somehow doubt that yours is as boring as mine. If nothing else, you can come and go as you please."

-she'd also been incoherent, not completely out of it when he'd found her. When he'd pulled her from the basement. She'd been aware, even if barely, of some of what was going on. Indeed, a bit more dangerous but she still knew, his life was by far more exciting than he was letting on. She offered him a soft, almost knowing smile before he pulled her close again. Her arms slid back around his waist and she let her nose rest against his shoulder again. She smelt whatever cologne he wore, mingling with a darker scent that seemed to be drifting off of him. She drew in a deep breath and turned her head to the side. Letting her cheek rest against him instead.

A chuckle escaped and her head tilted just slightly so her eyes were looking up at him from his shoulder. The chuckle formed into a soft laugh and she gave a shake of her head-

"I wouldn't laugh and I quite imagine you don't look like a crippled camel. I couldn't say it was a bet either....everyone would know I was lying, I don't give ugly guys charity."

-she replied teasingly, though it was in part truth. She'd never been seen with an ugly guy, although that didn't say much, since she hadn't been seen with a guy period but her father wouldn't allow it, that was for certain.

She drew in a slow, deep breath. The warmth of it leaving her lips, swept over the side of his neck.-

"Maybe I'll give you a crash course before you take me back home, hmmm?"

-she murmured, pressing softly against him, whether it was a conscious decision to do so or not, was uncertain but she hadn't said what kind of books she read. Perhaps while she was naive, she wasn't entirely bubble headed as to how things could work. That was all just fiction, things didn't happen the way they happened in books. He would not whisk her away to anywhere, other than back to her fathers.-
 
You could not be in Rak's line of work and not be extremely sensitive to nuances - not if survival as on your wish list anyway. Sure, quick reflexes, courage, resourcefulness, toughness, skill with a gun and a knife - all these things were necessary desiderata. But the one thing - the one true thing - without which one could not function - was the ability to read the smallest flicker of the eyes, the merest accidental twitch of the lips. Ideally, you knew what the other person was thinking before they consciously knew themselves. Any later was too late.

Therefore, he knew exactly what she was thinking, even if her own mind - far from experienced at the game she was fumblingly playing - had the slightest idea. Most girls learn the seduction game sometime in the middle of their second decade. That gentle mix of "I'm hot" "I'm available" and "I'm desperately in need of comfort" that has worked, with variations, since the dawn of time. By the time a woman reached Savannah's age, there had usually been a certain refinement of technique, the introduction of a degree of subtlety, a leavening of pride to at least make some attempt at hiding the need.

But Savannah Moreaux was not, Rak had to face the fact, purely and simply a woman of her calendar age. She certainly possessed the physical maturity, the intelligence, and the education. But in experience, in comprehension of real life... not for the first time since he had rescued her, he found himself asking if he was actually doing her any kind of service. By returning her to her father would he not be, he wondered, sending her into a situation as detrimental to her as anything the kidnappers might have come up with.

An adolescent... a teen... in a fully grown woman's body. His sense of ethics - by no means conventional according to the standards of the time, nonetheless existed in a certain rudimentary form. To take advantage of anyone's immaturity, their need, simply because they were there... there was a word for that, in his lexicon, and not a nice one. Therefore, though every time her breath ran along the skin of his neck, every time she dropped her head and blushed, every time her attempt at erotic provocation (fumbling and over-obvious as it was) came to the fore, he found his resistance weakening, he nonetheless found a voice inside him crying out not to allow himself to feel the way he did. She was a helpless child, a girl, and... and a delivery. If nothing else, he told himself, professionalism demanded he hold to his contract.

"Give ugly guys charity?" he smiled. "Nah, I guess you wouldn't have to." With anyone else, he'd have followed this up by the extraction of a promise, something along the lines of "But listen, once you get back home and safe, you've got to get out. Find yourself a guy. Hang out in bars, get yourselves to parties... parties of the type where people vanish into bedrooms, and sit around in corners breaking the drug acts. Start coming home at five in the morning, wondering where you left your panties and with your clothes reeking of alcohol and dope. Learn to live." But in her case, such advice would be a waste of breath. Like telling a prisoner in solitary to take up white water rafting as a hobby, or a rabbit in a trap to run away. Her father would hold her captive, like the captive fairy-tale princess she resembled, until her youth was long gone, and she'd be a pathetic late-middle aged woman, as pure as the day she was born, like some medieval nun.

And yet... she could dance.

"There's a problem, there," he said, deliberately retaining his slightly shamefaced air, and hoping the tone would fool her. Rak did not do shame and embarrassment, though he was not entirely above self-recrimination. "I'm truly so bad a dancer, that... really, you wouldn't be able to hear the music for people laughing. I'd need a crash course in the basics, before I'd even venture out in public. If you're going to do me the honour or rain-checking this date, then... "

And then, as if the idea had just came to him.

"Hey, know what? There's a stereo there, see. We're going to be bored shitless holing up here... and I've got this idea, kind of. How would it be if you showed me the basic steps here and now... then you can see what a mess I am in the art, and once you stop laughing - and have soaked your feet after all the times I've trodden on them - you'll have an excuse to break the date." He looked at her, and smiled. "I always wanted to have a dance instructor with pretty eyes."
 
-she was quiet, resting against him. Breathing in slowly, her focus found its way to the feeling of his heart beating against her frame. A quick repetition tapping against her as his chest rose and fell almost in time with her own, a little quicker perhaps.

Her eyes closed as her head rested against his shoulder. Listening as he spoke, listening as well to the vibration as he did.

Despite her status in life, she did not take for granted the moment and while it had only been hours since she'd been trapped in that basement, alone. It felt as if it had been longer.

She drew in a breath and sat back when he mentioned the "problem" and for the first time in a while, a hand gently tugged at the hem of the shirt she wore, trying to get it to settle into a less revealing hike.

Her head tilted curiously as he spoke, a small smile was quietly curling at the corners of her lips. Trying to imagine in her head, him dancing. A soft shake of her head given as she chuckled though. A hand dropping to rest against his leg as she spoke.-

"Laughing isn't allowed in a ballroom setting. So I promise, no one will laugh."

-she told him quietly. Ballroom dancing, a slow and considerably more intimate setting than just about any other form of dance. It was the only dancing she knew. She'd never seen the inside of a club, though she had seen plenty of them on TV. That sort of dancing was utterly foreign to her and surely she'd be laughed at should she ever try.-

"Oh, no I wou...."

-her eyes widened slightly as she started to reply to his reservations about her putting him off, a genuine look as she shook her head softly. She had no where else to go as long as they were here, nothing else to do. She had every intention of following through if he wanted to learn. Her words were halted though as he spoke again.

Her eyes darting around him in the direction he pointed, to the small bedside clock radio. A smile formed over her lips and she laughed softly.-

"Well, that'll do, I suppose."

-her gaze moved back to Rak, her hand lightly tapped his leg once.-

"Stop. I won't laugh, I promise and I won't break anything, my father might but I wouldn't. Besides, if you step all over my feet, that will just give me an excuse to soak in the bathtub again and I don't see any disadvantage to that alone."

-she blushed deeply, her eyes darting away from his at his comment. She began scooting toward the edge of the bed in order to stand.-
 
"Well, if you're sure," he chuckled, springing lithely to his feet and, in one motion, sliding his hands under her and lifting her to her feet. His strength was such that he could lift her easily, without even a pant or a grunt. Perhaps his one clumsiness here was that, genuinely without intention (or, at least, conscious intention) her shirt slid upwards, so that one hand rested along her bare back. As he set her gently upright on the carpet, he tugged down the shirt at the rear, wondering just what the etiquette books might say if, in the event of being about to dance with a pretty girl whose father was paying you large sums of money to rescue her, her shirt should inadvertently ride up when she was wearing no nether garments, thus severely compromising her modesty. Truly one for Emily Post!

He had in fact, told a gentle but benevolent lie. While nowhere near competition standard, he had been on undercover assignments in his time, and had been forced to pick up the rudiments of the Terpsichorean art, this being aided by the sense of rhythm he had developed when playing with bands. He'd deprecated his ability to make her feel better, wishing her to believe there was something she did better than him, a desperate attempt to stop her feeling so bad about her helplessness. It couldn't have been easy for a girl in her situation, he realised, to keep up any vestige of confidence after what had happened.

He twirled the furled knob of the clock radio - his description of it as a "stereo" had been typical of his normal sarcasm - eventually managing to find a classical station, the Strauss Waltz that it was playing tinny and distorted, but recognisable for what it was with some mental effort.

He bowed, theatrically, as if the two of them were in some exclusive 18th century salon, sweeping off an imaginary hat and replacing it, then held out his hands, deliberately making the gesture more clumsy than he needed, in order to keep up the pretence.

"Madam, if you please," he smiled, "May this unworthy supplicant be honoured with the privilege of this next dance?" And then, to an imaginary audience, as if he were appearing in a comedy production "and if she says 'no' I'm going to look a right twit, aren't I?"
 
"I am....oohhh!"

-the reply quickly turned into a squeal of surprise as he swept her off the mattress as she was scooting forward. Thrown slightly off kilter, her feet flailed lightly, breath catching and her arms snapped in a circle around his neck. Her eyes widened but a laugh, soft and nervous, but a laugh none-the-less eminated from her throat finally. When he set her back on her feet, a hand fluttered to her chest, feeling the quickened patter beneath her fingers. The skin beneath the shirt slightly warmer as it flushed.

She barely noticed the shift of the shirt, revealing a bare back, until he tugged it back down. Her posture indicated a tightening of her shoulders, her eyes flickering toward him but she didn't pull away as he did so. She merely swallowed a lump that was forming in her throat, her tongue peeking out between her lips in a nervous sweep to wet them.

Her hands fidgeted, tugging the shirts hem as he turned to the radio. Her eyes darting toward the suitcases, trying to guess if she could make it to one of them for a pair of shorts or pants or something. However, the tinny sounds of the Waltz drew her attention and her nose wrinkled softly, not at the Waltz itself but the poor quality of it. Even the thought of the quality dissipated as he turned and bowed.

She focused on him, an amused but impressed gleam shining in the green depths of her eyes. She let her hands fold primly before her, her head tilting softly as if in consideration of his request, a faint and graceful regality to her stance before she finally bent softly at the waist, a prim and proper bow of her own given, though her etiquette coach would have thwaped her right upside her head for the amused grin that rested on her lips as she did so.

When she straightened, she held her hand out toward him, trying to hold a straight face but there was still that mischievous curl at the corners of her mouth.-

"I suppose you aren't a twit, hmm?"

-she couldn't help the small laugh that mingled with the Waltz, nor the pinkening of her cheeks again. Not even used to such light hearted banter, when she participated in such, she felt out of sorts. She felt like she was trying too hard perhaps to fit in.-
 
It was not difficult to pick her nervousness, her shyness. It was obvious she was trying to enter into the spirit of the occasion, swapping banter and matching his pretend bow, and equally obvious she was in territory far outside of her comfort zone. Not for the first time he had to remind herself that she was a fully grown, mature and intelligent woman, rather than the sixteen year old she at times resembled. Rather than embarrass her further by remarking on the virulence of her blush, he simply swept her up into the dance, the dimly remembered steps coming back to him as he entered the dance at a point half way through, as indicated by the music. And tried desperately not to notice that every time he twirled her around, the tail of the shirt flew up, and that even at rest it was creeping steadily higher, showing more and more of her body, the material gathering in a series of sweaty rucks and creases around her middle. Before long, he ceased to bother about pretending to be clumsy, which was actually harder than dancing properly (or at least as well as he could, for he was no expert) and entered fully into the spirit if the dance.

Had the radio station succeeded the waltz with another classical piece, the dance might have continued in this fashion for an indeterminate period. It was, however, one of the kind of stations that mix and match all kinds of music, and no sooner had the last strains of the waltz died away than it was replaced by a piece of traditional slow jazz, sultry and smoky and heavy on the tenor sax, the kind that can only be danced to by holding one's partner close and lovingly. A dance made for lovers.

His first impulse was to break things off, maybe search for some less controversial music, but somehow the fresh smell of her, her nearness, the brightness of her eyes, held his hand. Almost instinctively he found himself falling into the natural pattern dictated by the music, pulling her closer, shuffling around the hard floor on the flea bitten mat, carefully using the limited space between the bed and the wall to guide her around. Without his planning it, their bodies seemed to get closer and closer, so that he could feel the bunched material of her shirt through his own tee, and bare parts of her flesh pressed against him. His sex had sprung up into a raging erection, that he was sure she could not fail to notice.

Somehow, imperceptibly, their heads drew together too, so that it seemed almost inevitable he should pull her face down to rest upon his shoulder. He could smell her hair, freshly shampooed, the closeness of her taut body, even the heat of her blush.

It had been a long time since he'd held a woman. Too long.
 
-she'd be lying if she said that being out of the house and away from her father was not...liberating to some extend. Despite the fact of how it had happened, despite Nixon and his remarks, despite her initial feelings on the entire situation, she was trying at least to make the best of it and enjoy the time away from the gilded cage she'd been forever locked in.

She fell quite easily into the dance, regardless of his stuttered steps in the beginning. She did take note however, just how easily he fell into it as well.

She'd been watching their feet for a brief time before turning her attention up to him, a brow perked softly indicating that she noticed quite well that he needed no lessons. There was a hint of curiosity in the look she gave him actually.

Instead of questioning him, she let him and the waltz sweep her comfortably through the movements, enjoying the dance. When the music began to fade and shift, she began to pull away. Certain he was going to do the same.

She drew in a sharp breath as he pulled her closer instead, quiet eyes blinking up at him but she didn't argue or deny him what he wanted. She slid into sultry dance almost as easily as she had the waltz. She wasn't as familiar with this as she was the other but she let him lead the way.

When she was drawn closer, she indeed couldn't miss the erection that pressed against her small frame. Brushing against her as they moved around the room. He'd clearly see the skin pinkening again, flushing right down beneath the shirt. A warmth rushed through her, right to her very fingertips that rested against him, down to the feet that shifted and moved in time with his lead and the music.

She swallowed softly but heavily, drawing in a shaky breath as she tried to keep her attention up and on him. Eyes tracing the contours of his face and his expression until she could no longer.

He'd feel the beat of her heart skipping softly from time to time as their bodies shifted together, pressing closer. The heat coming from her intensified as the blush did and yet she still couldn't seem to draw herself away from him. To play it safe and sound. Like her father had raised her, like he'd engrained in her.-
 
The next song on the station's playlist was a piano concerto, totally unsuited for dancing. The logical move at this point would be to break off contact, which is what Rak did - though deliberately lingering, holding her a few seconds longer than was necessary, deliberately conveying how reluctant he was to break with her. After he did so, he took her hand, pulled it to his mouth and kisses it, then bent his head in a small bow. It was theatrical, deliberately old-fashioned, yet the expression on his face left no doubt it was meant in genuine respect, and that the only mockery was aimed at himself.

"Thank you," he said. "You're so easy to dance with, I was able to get by without looking an idiot."

He noticed that her skin was still flushed, that the shirt was creased and sweaty, indicative of her feelings. he longed to rip it from her, pull it over her head, rip off the underwear it covered, and pull her naked body towards him. With most girls, he would.

But with her, even if she hadn't been the daughter of a client, he knew he couldn't.

"I hope," he said, turning away to hide his emotions (the erection, he knew, was beyond any camouflage) "that when you get free, you'll dance a lot more. Find some guy who appreciates a truly beautiful woman."

He did not add "One who won't make fun about you being a virgin, and who still does what daddy says," though he thought it. he regarded it as a shame that a girl like her should be so treated. Someone would, one day, he felt, marry this girl, and hopefully it would be a guy who would stand up to her father, force him to let her go.

"Champagne?" he asked, pouring what was actually a mineral water from the small amount of things available in the mini bar. It was only into a tooth glass, but he managed to present it as if it were the finest French brew being served in a crystal long-stemmed glass.
 
-she was no more ready to let go than he was. When he finally did pull away, her fingers lingered, resting against the curves of his biceps until there was no option other than to fall away. She drew in a slow breath, though the soft pink continued to creep along her tender flesh, growing a warmer color as his lips pressed against her knuckles.

There was a soft sound that escaped her throat, a warming and genuine chuckle. Her hand turned before she really thought about it, finger brushing lightly against his jaw before her hand fell to her side when he released it.-

"Something tells me you would have done just fine without me. Considering I didn't have to say anything."

-nervously, her hands pressed against the shirt she wore, as if to smooth the wrinkles from the material. Her brow furrowed softly and she glanced down at herself, noticing it seemed for the first time the disheveled state she was in again. Fingers gently plucking at the dampened spots that tried desperately to cling to her still warmed skin.

When she glanced back up, she noticed he'd turned away from her and for a moment she frowned, looking back down at herself and brushing her hands again over the shirt. She turned as well, toward the bathroom. She was going to shower again but his words stalled her movement. He'd hear the heavy, saddened sigh escape her as she breathed.-

"I'd like to hope too but...the second you get me back home, that hope is pointless. My father is...a tenacious man."

-the tone was heavy and certain. She was condemned to live, locked away until she was nothing more than an old shut in woman. The old crazy cat lady at the end of the block as it were. Her bottom lip tugged between her lips as she stood still, the thoughts painfully assaulting her in her silence.

The single spoken word, so close jarred her from her thoughts. Jarred her enough that she stepped back, bumping softly against him as he held the glass out and around toward her.-

"Oh!"

-the word squeaked from her as she bumped his extended arm, jostling the liquid within the small cup. The grace seemed to have left her in that instant as she became flustered...at his closeness and slamming her arm into the offering, spilling it.-
 
He had not intended to restrain her, knew she craved to shower, wash off the sweat of the dance. The initial collision was accidental, at least as far as his conscious mind went.

Yet, the second the impact happened, some strange, uncontrollable impulse seemed to take over. Just for a few seconds, his body, his nervous system, was no longer his own. And after that few seconds, his mind, pushed into submission, could do no more than go with the flow.

He held her, not using all of his strength, but perfectly adequate to hold her in place, for he possessed a lithe strength far in excess of appearances, and she was frail indeed. Without exerting himself, he turned her, so that they were facing, and pulled her towards him, smiling.

"It's a shame you don't have anyone to look after you," he laughed. He realised, once he'd said it, how patronising it might have sounded. She was an adult woman, not some sixteen year old school kid. It was the sort of thing he would never have said, normally, to a woman of her age, a sexist and demeaning remark. Yet, somehow, his inner mind had said exactly what he was feeling, a statement of fact rather than a jibe. She was, when it came down to it, a child in a woman's body. And if anyone needed someone to look after her interests, she did.

He stroked her hair, gently, tenderly.

"I know how hard it must be for you, pretty one," he said, softly. "Not every girl has the... the confidence to break away. Some dads can hold on a bit too hard, a bit too long." He looked at her face, sweating and pink from her blush. "Surely you know someone who's strong enough to stand up to your father and his filthy henchman." He brushed her hair away from where it was sticking to her face. Despite her just having smoothed her shirt, it was again sticking to her, creased beyond recognition, and he tugged down the hem, like a parent correcting their young child's dress.

If she didn't break away from him soon, he knew, he'd start kissing her. And then where might it stop?

"Go take your shower, lovely one," he smiled.
 
-she stiffened slightly when he turned her and pulled her close, though she did nothing to pull away either. Her eyes focused quietly on his for a moment before shifting away as he spoke. Technically she did have someone to look after her but really, who the hell wants their father to be the sole person doing so? Looking after everyone that comes into contact with you, friends and prospective suitors alike. The clothes you wore. The list went on really. She'd never really thought about it, never had the opportunity to do so. Of course she'd never been kidnapped before. Never been saved and until now, she'd never freely danced with anyone other than whom she was told to and it had certainly never been anyone like Rak, in looks nor attitude. She'd never had...the freedom away from the confines she'd been bred into.

She sighed deeply, her chest rising and falling slowly before her attention drew upward again, shyly, as his fingers brushed over her caramel locks, her head tipping softly into its comfort.-

"You have no idea."

-she said softly. There was no bite to the statement, she hadn't even taken his words as a jab at her predicament. Her head shaking softly in his hand-

"No. I really don't. This is the first I've been away from my father since I was a kid and he's...very selective about those he lets around me. He makes sure I'm....guarded, literally and figuratively."

-again her attention dropped away, embarrassed and saddened by her own words, her own thoughts. Clearly it was painful for her to realize and admit to. She still hated feeling as if she were speaking ill of her own father but it was truth as well.

She watched him tugging at the hem of the shirt, with the same results as she'd gotten each time. Her chest rising as the warmth of his hand brushed against her otherwise bare thigh. Nerves and muscles danced softly under the skin and she blushed again as the excitement of it flushed through her.-

"Hmmm? Oh...yeah."

-she started, speaking quietly but she did linger, her eyes wandering toward where the suitcases were.-

"I...need another, uh...shirt. Clothes."
 
"Yes, beautiful one, you do," Rak smiled. He propelled her gently towards the shower, again steering her so that she could not resist. It was amazing how compliant she was. Evidently, being constantly told what to do by her father had become an ingrained habit. Had she never rebelled, never even tried to stand up for her rights as an adult?

As soon as the bedroom door had shut behind her, he sat down on the bed and lit a small cigar. He was facing a serious dilemma.

Half an hour ago, Savannah had been merely a job. A commodity to be rescued, in return for financial remuneration. A thing. Now, having danced with her, held her close, seen her helplessness, her need, a serious problem nagged at his psyche. He could, of course, simply stay with her until he returned her, and collect his fee.

But a lifetime of kicking against authority, defying attempts at being controlled, screamed against that. To give her over to the care of her father and his entourage - that would, he thought, be like returning an escaped slave to their master. A thing eh could never live with himself for doing. It would make him a slave of the system, a mere hanger-on, who truckled to the rich and powerful in return for money. There was money, yet there was also pride.

And, at that moment, he made a decision.

"Listen, beautiful," he said, through the door, not even sure if she could hear him over the noise of the shower. "I don't know if this means anything to you, but... I've decided. I'm not taking my fee, for this job. Dancing with such a pretty girl was reward enough."

He meant, of course, that he thought too much of her to make money from her. Whether she could work that out for herself or not, who knew?

He rummaged among the clothing he had obtained for her. There was one thing in particular. A tight, sheathe dress, in a muted pink. He laid it out on the bed, together with the highest heels he had brought along, and a pair of sheer black hose. He'd thrown the latter in at the last minute, expecting they might have to pass muster in a "disguise" of being respectable, not look like fugitives. yet he sensed now that being well-dressed would do much for her morale. And shit, did her morale ever need a boost.

He waited, still not sure if eh was doing the right thing.
 
-she offered a tentative smile, a softer blush creeping over the apples of her cheeks at his own smile, his words. The feel of his hands against her as he steered her around toward the bathroom, whether the fresh color that crept up was noticeable, she did not know. Her feet padded softly against the linoleum of the bathroom. It fell silent as she stopped in the center of the small room, replaced by the soft click of the door as he closed it behind her.

She stood still a moment, breathing slowly before a sigh slipped past her lips. Then began unbuttoning the shirt, letting it fall to the floor behind her. The panties followed and she turned the shower on to let it warm again.

Her head tilted, she thought she heard him talking. Her brow furrowed and she wrapped a towel around her. It covered just about as much as the shirt had, though it was by far courser. One hand against the corner, to keep it against her chest, she opened the door with the other, peering out at him-

"Hmm?"

-she hummed softly in curiousity, her eyes flicking toward the black tv screen. She could have been hearing it, or the radio again. Her eyes shifted toward it before returning to him. The heated fog of the shower began escaping the room around her and the door as she waited to see if she'd just been hearing things.-
 
Rak leaned against the wall when she emerged. He knew that a gentleman does not look at a lady when she has emerged from the shower - even if, a few minutes before, he has been romantically dancing with her - which meant he gave thanks to evolution for providing the human race with peripheral vision, enabling him to take in her barely-clad form without her knowing. The fact that a towel knotted around a female torso tends to slip downwards, revealing gradually more without her realising meant that he was none too unhappy about the law of gravity, either.

"My fee," he repeated, casually. "Thing is, Savvi, you're... there's things that aren't right. Stealing an artefact, rescuing someone in dire straits, yeah. But taking a human from one captivity to one almost as bad... kind of goes against me..." he stopped. He had been going to say "principals" but he suddenly remembered he had always taken pride in not having any. "My aesthetic sense," he substituted, quickly. "Oh, don't worry. I'll do all I can to get you back home. I'll do the job. I just won't take any money for it."

He pointed towards the bed.

"Now, what's the plan for tonight?" he asked, a humorous glint in his grey eyes. "A few drinks at a luxury hotel, dinner at the oyster bar, then a show? Maybe on to a club afterwards?" He seemed to consider. "Nah, how about a quiet night in, eh? I laid out something nice and comfortable for you to wear."
 
-her hand fidgeted at the little knot of material the towel created at her chest, then moved down along the line, making sure the towel was covering, even though he wasn't looking at her. She felt exposed when he turned his attention away from her, oddly. Taking a small step back as she listened to him, a little further into the bathroom, letting the fog draw around her, as if it would further cover her.

Her head tilted slightly, brows furrowing. She drew in a breath and stepped forward again as she replied-

"My father...would feel insulted. He's paying you to do a job."

-unfortunately, she was the job. Still kicking against the idea of kicking against her father it appeared. Her father terrified her to be honest. She loved him, with all her heart. He was her father but there was worry about what could or might happen if Rak. However, a small smile curled at the corner of her lips regardless. She appreciated what he was doing, saying. What it meant. He thought more of her than her father did and she recognized that or that's what she thought. Her naivety made her silently question if her thoughts were correct but she wouldn't express her uncertainty verbally.

Instead, she let her eyes slide in the direction he pointed, seeing the dress and all it's accessories. He'd see her chest rising and falling just a little quicker at the prospect of actually going out, leaving the room. Scared but perhaps excited also? Her attention shifted back to him when he paused in his consideration.-

"A little too dressy to stay in but I know we have to, it's safer that way."

-she nodded softly, once again taking a step back into the bathroom-

"I'm ok with something simple to wear just here in the room."

-she said quietly, her hand coming to rest on the bathroom door as she took another step back-

"I'll be out in a few minutes. If no one in the Chinese food industry is out to get me, maybe we can order some in?"

-she directed at him, her eyes watching him quietly for a second before she closed the door, dropped the towel onto the counter and stepped into the shower.-
 
"Insulted? Yeah, guess he will be." His manner made it obvious that the fact was unlikely to cause him any sleepless nights. He dismissed the subject, at least openly, yet her very manner in making the statement confirmed much of what he had suspected. That Savannah both loved and feared her father, was desperate both to escape his cloying, almost incestuous embrace, yet also too frightened to fully cut loose, afraid of going it alone without his approval and support. For most women of her age, this dependence would already have been replaced by a boyfriend, but her father (who, it was obvious, relished her helplessness) had planned things otherwise. And he was the sort of man who usually got his way. A type with which Rak had every reason to be familiar, being such a one himself.

He noticed how she was backing away. When they'd been dancing, she'd been nervous, but not ridiculously so. It was as if the very rules of the dance had served to legitimise their being so close. Something in him longed to take her in his arms now, protect her, tell her everything would be all right. But of course the very act of doing this was fraught with peril. For one thing, it would scare her even more. For another, to suggest she - a fully grown adult woman - needed such protection would totally humiliate her. He tried himself it was merely compassion that made him feel this way, and not the fact that she was so scantily clad, that beneath the slipping towel a pair of very attractive breasts had been swellingly visible, and that the legs that stuck out underneath it had been affecting in the extreme!

"Chinese. Can do." He laughed. "I'm going to shut the door behind me, and lock it. Remember do not open it for ANYONE, unless it's the special knock I taught you. Then I'll say "Forgot my key." Can you remember that? If I say anything else, even your name, DON'T open it. Sit tight, and wait. Got that?"

A few minutes later he was back, with a mixed banquet, the speciality of the house, gave the special knock and the appropriate code.
 
-he'd see her nod in acknowledgement before the door closed. She wouldn't be long in the shower at all this time. Enough to clean herself of the faint sheen of sweat that had drawn the shirt to stick against her. She did a quick rinse of her hair and stepped out.

Towel wrapped around her, she stepped out to find he hadn't returned and she took the opportunity to change into the clothes he'd left sitting on the edge of the bed. Out in the open, rather than in the steamy confined box of the bathroom. The air was cool on her skin as she peeled the towel off and let it fall to the bed next to the clothes. A short shiver ran down her bare spine and she quickly set to wiggling into the dress, despite it's much grander design than the simple shirt she'd worn moments ago.

A sigh slipped past her lips as she smoothed the skirt over her thighs, the sound content as it hung briefly on the silence of the room. She considered the black hose but for the moment decided against them, she didn't want to risk putting a run in them, which would be beyond feasible in this room. Settling onto the mattress, she slipped her small feet into the shoes left for her and strapped them on.

She was using the towel to pat the dampened ends of her hair dry when the knock came. Her movements halted and she remained silent, listening and waiting. She didn't realize she'd been holding her breath until she heard the code uttered.

From the other side of the door he'd hear the soft pat of her feet as she made her way to the door, the sounds still slow and tentative as she unlocked the door and pulled it open. Stepping back with it, so he could make his way into the room. The smile, small as it was, only accentuated the healthy, clean glow of her flesh. The shoes he'd left accentuated the length of her legs. The only thing that looked out of place, was that her hair hadn't been done, merely left to softly wave with the remaining dampness that clung to the strands.-
 
Rak was one of the few men in existence who was moved more by the sight of a woman in an elegant dress than one fully naked. After all, he had seen more than his share of unclothed women than most men in his time, and the female form held few mysteries for him. Therefore, the sight of Savannah, clothed yet, in a psychological sense, naked, at once helpless and unavailable, sexual yet virginal - this paradox caused a fillip in his loins far more so than a completely available, unrestrained girl might have done.

"I got a bit of everything, beautiful one," he smiled, then, before she knew what he was doing, gave her a single fast kiss, the kind a returning husband or boyfriend might give after an hour or so's absence. "I didn't know if you had any allergies, gluten or lactose, or whatever, which restricted me a bit, but I've managed to mix things up pretty well, I reckon." He began to spread the dishes out onto the able, rice, noodles, various meat, poultry and fish dishes, long and short soup, green tea. "Stopped off at the corner store, too," he added, flourishing family sized bars of dark and milk chocolate, a bag of peaches, whipped cream, and plastic containers of mixed salad.

He opened the strangely designed paper containers in which Chinese food is sold, revealing the secret that despite a lifetime of buying such dishes to go, few ever discover - that the containers open out into plates. He then laid two sets of chopsticks on the table, and demonstrated the technique of rubbing them together to remove the splinters - another wise precaution that not everyone is aware of.

"Now, here's the sauces," he said. "Seafood, sweet and sour, plum, lemon. These dishes are usually OK without, but I don't know how highly flavoured you like your stuff."

He went over to the wall, began to brew coffee. "How did I do, beautiful?" he asked.

Though she may not have picked it, he was sizing her up and down, appreciating her body in the dress. It was, perhaps, a little tighter than if she'd tried it on, and clung in a way that was slightly unflattering, yet mega-sexy. The heels made her look taller, and her already slim calves delicate in the extreme. She had, which was something he'd not noticed before, a reasonable enough rack. All in all, a pretty good package, he concluded, and it was a shame he couldn't take advantage of their situation.

Still, he concluded, time spent in the company of a pretty lady could not possibly be wasted. And whatever other starvation he was about to suffer in the coming night, at least he wouldn't go hungry!
 
-she returned the smile, a little brighter than the one she'd given a moment ago. The door began to swing slowly closed as he made his way in but the motion halted mid-arc when she felt the unexpected press of his lips against hers. An instant blush rushed along her skin. She stood, motionless and shocked. Hand still curled around the edge of the door. Her lips pursed inwards before her tongue darted between her lips. It took her a second longer before she finally moved and closed the door, letting it latch softly before locking it completely behind him.

She tugged against her skirt as she turned and moved slowly in his general direction, watching and listening as he began opening the containers and setting everything up. The blush remained clearly on her flesh, adding to the color of the dress she wore.-

"As far as I know, I'm not."

-allergic to anything she meant, though she was still flustered and didn't think to elaborate on the statement. Despite her lavish lifestyle, she really didn't have the knowledge of whether she was in fact allergic to anything or not. She had not come into contact with anything that she was, yet.

She let her eyes move over her choices, her lips pursing in thought. Usually her stuff was prepared on a fine piece of china, already portioned and flavored. Set in front of her under usual circumstances and she ate what she was given. It wasn't as if she'd never had chinese before, it had just been delivered considerably different than their current situation allowed, so she was left to fend for herself in a sense, at the moment.-

"It all looks good."

-she replied quietly, still not meeting his eyes again. Though he would likely catch a furtive sideways shift of her eyes toward him every now and again. Her intent attention mostly on the food and decision. Her arm bent at the elbow, fingers toying absently, or maybe not so much so, with the plush curve of her bottom lip. She rocked softly on her feet, the muscles in her calves shifting beneath the skin with the motion, clearly there was more on her mind than the food in front of her.-

"Umm..."

-she started, a little uncertainty in her tone-

"I'm not really sure what is what."

-the revelation was shy, another indication that she did little for herself.-
 
It struck him again just what a sheltered life she had had, that she had never even undertaken the simple pleasure of eating takeaway Chinese. That the girl , in fact, probably had no friends, with whom to do even the simplest things like go out at night cruising around looking for fun, eating takeaway food, sitting watching the sun sink while drinking beer from the bottle, sharing a stick of good dope. Part of him longed to show her life, show her how simple pleasures were usually the best. A view he held to, though he had dined with presidents, supermodels and princesses, and many of the rich and famous.

Desperately not wanting to sound patronising, he injected a completely false tone of apology into his voice, making up some excuse as to the (totally invented) fact that back in his own country Chinese food always came labelled, so anyone could rad what was inside each container. The rice and noodles, he assumed, would be no challenge for her, and he gradually took her through the other dishes, peppering his descriptions with things like "as you know" or "I see you've noticed" to hide the fact that he had noticed her ignorance. He also subtly managed to snag a fork from the equipment in the hotel bar, and casually drop it near her, in case she could not use chopsticks.

This delicate situation having been negotiated, he suddenly realised she faced another. He had originally spread the dishes onto the room's small table, but since there were no chairs in the room, they could not sit up to it. This left only the bed and the floor, the latter of which he chose, transferring the dishes there as he explained them to her, setting them on the cheap plastic trays also taken from the bar. The problem here was that though he could now sit perfectly comfortably in his jeans, the tight skirt she was wearing meant that sitting on the floor could not be achieved without her showing far more leg than, he guessed, was normal for a shy girl like her, for the dress, being so tight, did have a certainy tendency to ride up.

He tried not to look at her as she sat down, concentrating on ladling portions of the various things onto her "plate" and discussing the taste of the various sauces.

Then, he feigned a difficulty using chopsticks that did not really exist, giving him an excuse to look away, for if he had looked directly forward, he noticed, he was now looking right up her skirt, and to turn away too abruptly would only reveal her accidental immodesty.

"Let me know what you like and don't like," he said, "so that next time we do this I can be sure to get the right things."

He wondered if she had noticed the casual implication of that remark - for he himself hadn't until he'd said it!
 
-she chanced a glance in his direction as he drew closer, actually keeping her attention on him for a moment this time before letting her gaze shift back to the choices laid out before her. Listening intently as he explained, letting her head turn slightly as he moved them from the table to the floor. Not once did she pull away from him, though she fidgeted slightly at the closeness and the blush still held softly to the apples of her cheeks.

She only moved when it was clear that he was for the most part, finished explaining what each dish was. Indeed, she had no trouble with the rice nor the noodles. It was the other things, mixed together. It all smelled fairly good actually. She was a touch leery about eating what her father would certainly consider, "nasty, processed masses of who knows what. " though but her stomach was grumbling softly.

She turned and waited until he'd gotten settled on the floor himself. He'd feel a tentative touch against his shoulder as she leaned slightly, bending at the knees. She was, timid as it was, trusting him enough use his steady frame as she lowered herself to the ground next to him. Trying to maneuver carefully in the dress, the skirt biting a touch tightly into the flesh of her thighs as it crept up. She settled, her legs curled to the side. Releasing his shoulder, she tugged lightly to no avail at the skirt.

Her attention drew to watch him with the chop sticks and she couldn't help chuckle softly and indeed opted for the fork he'd set down for her instead of the chopsticks-

"I'm not even going to try them. I'd end up making a complete mess of myself and probably you too."

-she admitted with a chuckle as her gaze shifted down again, focusing on the food instead now. Her eyes dancing over each thing, her bottom lip captured between her teeth as she tried to decide just what she wanted to try first. The decision was distracted and she looked up and directly at him, her eyes blinking slowly, curiously-

"Next time?"

-she said softly, a question plainly. She had indeed caught the remark despite it's casualness.-
 
"Yeah, well, chopstiks are a funny thing," he replied, forking food onto his plate. "Some people just pick them up and use them right off, with no teaching. others never get the hang of them. Thing is, I always liked the idea of them. The Chinese believe that it's very insulting to have a knife at table, so they're a sign of politeness. Aphilosophy I encourage."

He picked up a pair of the sticks and showed her how he held them, using them in a kind of "scissor" motion to hold the food. Then he took hold of her hand and arranged it around a second pair, working her fingers to give her an idea of how to manipulate them. It seemed more intimate than he'd thought it would, probably because her extreme shyness and highly sheltered upbringing meant, he realised, that having a man touch her in any way had always been a rare thing for her.

"See, it's easy enough," he laughed. "But don't feel obliged." He brushed a lock of hair from her forehead, that had fallen forward as she'd leaned over the plate.

"Yeah, they'll be a next time," he said, firmly. "I doubt your dad's going to like hearing that, and I understand he's used to getting what he wants in most things." he smiled, calmly. "Might be an interesting object lesson to come up against a bastard like me, who doesn't do the backing down thing. I'm looking forward to it!"

(test post to see if the net is now fixed. Cautiously hopeful!)
 
-she eyed the chopsticks tentatively as he spoke and explained. As worldly as her father had tried to groom her to at least appear, she honestly didn't know quite a lot. So the little bit of information was met with genuine interest, both of the fact of the Chinese and their belief...as well as his agreeance with it. A small smile began to curl the corners of her lips.

When he came close, her breath held in her chest for just a second before she released it slowly and she found her attention turned onto him more than what he was trying to show her. The closeness indeed brought the faint blush creeping along her flesh and she drew in a second, slightly shaking breath as his fingers brushed against her forehead. Her eyes wide, curious and blinking softly. He'd find her leaning slightly into the touch, rather than pulling away. The more comfortable she grew in his presence, the less likely she was to pull away. He wasn't out to hurt her, that was clear.

The chopsticks between her fingers momentarily forgotten, dangled loosely, threatening to tumble to the plate below them. Her eyes searching his face as he spoke, answering her question of a next time.-

"He is."

-her voice was barely above a whisper as she spoke in such close proximity. Her attention finally shifted, dropping as did her head slightly though she still didn't pull away, looking at a place on the floor just between them.-

"He'll do everything to prevent it. And I don't think you are."

-A bastard, she meant. Though she was a little flustered, her words quiet as they were, came haltingly, so she didn't consider that her words could have been taken to mean that he wasn't looking forward to it as well.-
 
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