Oh, what to say? How to answer that simple question, with such a very complicated answer? The easiest, and perhaps best thing, was to lie. A nice, bold, bald faced lie, No, indeed, nothing happened. You treated my foot and then you left. Nothing could have been more straightforward, more professional. Or perhaps evasion would seem more plausible, evasion that would have him thinking that she thought that he meant to tease her again. Why Doctor Michaels, whatever do you mean? What could have happened? You were only called in to treat a burn? You can’t mean to tell me if there had been more to it than that, that now you would be standing here having to ask me what that something was? I feel insulted (add in teasing looks and a coy giggle) Or should she go straight in with the truth? You touched my skin with yours and Nikali’s mark let me read your every whim, desire, want, and you very much wanted me, to the point that you were considering spiting me away form my master, once you realized that I was a slave, and so I had to hypnotize you in order to make sure you didn’t do anything crazy. And that, by the way, is why your memory of our last encounter is so vague and incomplete. Ta-da!
She caught him looking at her, saw the interest in his pretty eyes, saw the confusion as well. Basha’ir had realized that her veil had fallen away from her face, thus exposing herself, and exposing him as well, to her mark. So they were back to square one. Was it the mark? Or was it her? Didn’t he at least deserve the truth, by way of a warning? Or would he take it as more of a reason to pursue her, if she could provide him with the types of physical fulfillment that he desired most of all? Wasn’t that every man’s dream?
Or was it?
She thought back to that day, when he had touched her. And she thought, with this man, maybe he was different. Maybe.
Maybe not.
This simplest answer, the best answer, was one which would allow him to leave An Elegant Weave free, unfettered by any sense of some connection between the two of them.
Folding the ragged trousers over her arms, holding them unconsciously against her chest, she said softly, “And I think you are trying to win a better price out of me with your sweet compliments, good sir. I’m sure you recall quite well our meeting.” She tried to plaster a cheeky look of her own onto her features, though she felt more like letting them collapse into one of sadness.
“Then you were the epitome of a polite gentleman. And your trousers were quite intact. Which…” She held the ones draped over her forearm out. “Is quite a different state than these. I’m afraid, Orion, that you were correct. They are beyond redemption. Perhaps too much of that ‘work and play’ you spoke of.”
She paused. He had disappeared behind the screen again, which was probably a very good thing.
“Let me find you some replacements. It will only take a moment.”
She moved away, setting the ripped pair on a table, crossing to a bar over which were neatly hung many pairs of trousers and breeches. Rifling through them quickly, she searched for a pair that looked about the right size for him, all the time repeating like a mantra in her head, It’s for the best. It’s for the best. It’s for the best. But whether she meant for herself, or for him, she could not have honestly said.