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depths when she reached for his trousers.
    “I’m
not that kind of female.” Trin risked a touch on his arm—gentle and non-sexual.
He still couldn’t move but she could feel him thrumming like a plucked
string—as tight as a wire with tension. It wasn’t just hatred and anger he
felt—it was fear. A fear so deep it harrowed his very soul.
    Though
she was trying to remain detached and calm, his terror touched her heart. No wonder he was afraid—she would be too if
she’d woken up in a strange place chained to the bed with someone reaching for
the front of her trousers.
    “It’s
okay,” she reassured him again. “I have no interest in males at all but someone has to get you connected to the
med-bot so you can relieve yourself. See?” She held up the long, snaky silver
tube with its soft plasti-coupling on the end. “I just need to get this
connected with your, uh, equipment and then you can go.”
    His
eyes blazed at her for a long moment and Trin thought she could feel him
evaluating her motives. He was asking himself once again if he trusted her—just
as he had when she offered him the drink. Then she’d been able to take a drink
herself and prove it was all right. Unfortunately with this exercise, she
wasn’t able to prove anything. So she simply waited quietly, meeting his silver-blue
gaze and letting him size her up.
    Finally,
he nodded.
    “All
right, good,” Trin said briskly, reaching for his trousers again. “Let’s see if
we can get this done as quickly as possible.”
    * * * * *
    Thrace gritted
his teeth as he watched her slim, brown hands unfasten the magno tabs at the
front of the too-tight black leather trousers the slavers had forced him to
wear. Gods, this was humiliating! Not just the fact that he needed her help to
relieve himself, but also the way he’d reacted to her touch in the first place.
    His
people, the Havoc, did not bond with females or have any kind of long-lasting
relationships with them. In fact, the Havoc code was, We do not bond. But that didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy female
attention from time to time. Usually he sought out some willing prosti whenever The Empress was docked for repairs or
refueling and scratched his itch that way.
    He
was always careful to use protection and he always paid in advance—he was a
good customer and he enjoyed unattached sex—enjoyed it a hell of a lot. And yet
the minute this gorgeous girl with the unusual creamy brown skin like nothing
he’d ever seen before reached for him, he went fucking crazy.
    It
was his past again, trying to creep in—Thrace knew it but he didn’t want
to admit it. Instead, he tried to calm his nerves but it wasn’t easy. The
feeling of lying here helpless while someone else handled his shaft was fucking
terrifying. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go—he liked to be in control,
liked to be on top of the situation both literally and figuratively.
    Relax, he told himself roughly as
she got his trousers unfastened at last and pealed the too-tight leather apart. She said herself this is nothing sexual.
She has no interest in males. So just relax and try to endure it.
    He
closed his eyes as she reached for him but cutting off the light let the rush
of dark memories overcome him again.
    Let’s have a look at this shaft, the
Master said, reaching for him. Nice, very
nice…
    Thrace snapped
his eyes open again. Gods, what was wrong with him? He hadn’t thought of those
bad, old memories in years. Had been sure he was over it, over and done with
the things that fucker had done to him. But this situation was bringing
everything back like a flood of dirty water seeping under the door of his conscious
mind. It was as if everything he’d tried so hard to forget was just waiting
there, waiting for the right trigger to move back into his brain and set up
shop.
    Desperately,
he focused on the girl in front of him, on her lovely hands as she reached for
him. They were long and slim with the unusual creamy brown