Molly succumbed to an afternoon nap, cherishing the luxury of it and awoke to Anzar leaning over her. She blinked at him and took a moment to assess her ass, whether it was as on display as it was this morning. Just her legs were peeking out from under the furs. Relief flooded her and she drew in a deep breath, inhaling his masculine scent.

"Bright day, Anzar." She smiled, lifting her arms above her head to stretch. He rumbled and glanced away from her. She shrugged and sat up. He had a right to be in a bad mood once in a while. Besides, she might have offended him yesterday. Then again, her nudity should have made up for any insults from her side.

"Meera said you've had a busy day," he said as he sat on her one stool, looking around her tidied tent instead of at her. Yup, she had said or done something wrong. She pursed her lips. That was so typical of her.

"Not busy enough if I have time to take a nap." She sighed, climbing to her feet to pour a goblet of their thicker yet sweeter water.

"What did you do on your sky egg? It is much smaller than this tent." He gestured with a wide sweep of his arm.

"The sky egg is just the aviator pod off my ship. We ejected it to avoid dying." She offered him the goblet, then dropped onto the furs again, curling her legs under her. "Amy and I kept the ship in working order. We delivered things for people. It was a good life until the Vargosh wanted us to deliver children to them. We don't trade in slavery and senseless killing." She scowled at the memory of those lizards demanding they hand over the children. At that stage, they hadn't realized that she hadn't collected the 'cargo' from the handler. She and Amy had set the galactic force on the handler and organized for the children to return to their homeworld.

"Children? As in babes? You did well, temaar." He met her gaze as he said this. His sincerity in his intense dark eyes exploded heat in her chest which spread to her cheeks. She dipped her chin to her chest, hoping he didn't notice. Holy shit, she liked that he thought well of her? When the hell had that happened? Given that she had spent more time with him in the last two days than she had with any man in the last ten years ... She snuck a glance at him, wondering how she was going to control her reactions around him. She never smiled this much.

"Yes, but it might bring trouble down on your village, Anzar. If the Vargosh follow the trail of debris we left when we crashed, they will find us here and—" She stopped, nibbling on her bottom lip, as fear spiked her heartbeat and blurred her thoughts. She trembled, watching the people about their business through the open tent flap. She sobbed, her breathing shuddering her chest as she struggled to inhale then exhale. Those bastards would kill the villagers, even destroy Mother.

"Oh, no! What have we done?" She raised her gaze to meet his, despair cementing her features. "I have to leave; I have to lead them away. They mustn't come here!" She jumped to her feet and opened her chest, pulling her gun and dagger out. Anzar wrapping his arms around her shoulders stilled her. He buried his face in her neck, and she shivered at his warm breath fanning her skin.

"It is too late if they have seen your markers. Running away will not prevent them from coming here, temaar." His deep voice vibrated along her skin, penetrating deep into her bones.

Was she escaping for her life? No, she shook her head, no, she wouldn't do that, wouldn't abandon anyone to the Vargosh's mercy. They had none. "Running away? I'm not—"

"I meant no disrespect, Molly, but you cannot control the decisions and actions of others."

He was right, and escaping might do the opposite—bring the Vargosh down on these people. "Can we evacuate the village? How do we protect Mother?"

"We are warriors, temaar. They are no match for our battle skills." He said this in a factual manner, not one of arrogance, but she rolled her eyes anyway. It was arrogant to assume one could defeat an unknown enemy.

"They have weapons like arrows, but better. You'll die before you raise your axe." She twisted to show him the airgun. He lowered his arms and slid it off her palm. It looked tiny in his large hands.

"This?" He looked at it with skepticism. She took it from him and hurried out of the tent to fire the gun at the cave wall behind them. A hole the size of her thumbnail penetrated the rock, spewing dust in its wake. He strode toward the hole and stroked it.

"Yes, I see the concern." A frown darkened his features and the sigh of it set her heart beating to another rhythm. Smiling or scowling, this man devastated her senses.

"I have weapons on my ship. We could collect them, if they survived the landing, that is. Perhaps we should set up camp there and await the Vargosh's arrival. Taking the offensive is the best way to keep the village hidden."

"Both are possible." He returned to her side and slid the gun out of her hand. "This I cannot hold." He tried to slip a finger through the trigger guard as she had done.

"It's designed for me." Molly pressed her opened palm to his, showing him the size difference. "There are weapons on the ship that take your size into consideration." His fingers shifted and laced with hers, the action startling her. She wouldn't say it was unpleasant to hold his hand. Hell, the lies she could tell herself. It was exhilarating, having a man hold her hand as if he wanted to. His grasp made her feel safe like the Vargosh couldn't harm her. Silly? Yes, it was, to feel that way. The Vargosh were dirty fighters.

"I'll discuss this with the elders. But this night, we're celebrating Grax and Amy's mating. It's why I have come to collect you." He tugged her back into her tent, letting go of her for his hands to grasp her wrists. He slid them up to her elbows at the same time as he shuffled closer to stare into her eyes. His gaze traveled over her face as if he saw something mesmerizing. Freckles? Maybe they didn't have those?

Belatedly, his words sank in. "Oh! But I just have this ... is your tunic okay?"

"The females have provided," he rumbled, then released her elbows to gesture to the clothes on the table. She rushed over there, placed her airgun down and pulled the top garment off the pile, holding it against her body. It was a dress, reaching to her feet and as soft as his tunic.

"This is wonderful, Anzar! Thank you. Let me change, and I'll join you." The one time she had stripped had been for emergency purposes. Stripping now would be to entice. Did she want to entice this man when she had yet to choose a mate? And could she choose him? She studied his handsome features, with her fingers twitching to stroke his beard and discover his jawline beneath it. Yes, as mates go, Anzar was a contender.

"Is this a polite thing again?" His gaze lingered on her toes, and she rubbed one foot along the back of her calve.

"Yes, I'm not used to disrobing in front of anyone. Are you planning on escorting me to the waterfall every night?"

"Yes, as chieftain, I must protect the chosen one."

Ice cooled her ardor and she turned her back on him, hoping to hide her tears. She was nothing but an obligation to him. "Fine." She flicked away the tears, hating that she had to strip in front of him every damn day. She tugged off his tunic and took the time to fold it. Take that, you stubborn male. He rumbled, as if the sight of her nudity bothered him on some level. Any female would do, but since she was "The Chosen One" that had saved her from a mating but relegated her to the don't-touch pile.

Come to think of it, she was being cruel every time she stripped in front of him. But she blamed him for any discomfort he experienced since he refused to behave like a gentleman and look away. She took the dress from the pile and slipped it on, tugging it down and over her thighs. He rumbled the entire time.

"Quit grumbling, you didn't want to be polite." She huffed as she splashed water over her face and rubbed her face dry. She had to assume her hair was fine.

"I am not complaining," he said in a gruff voice as he laced her fingers with his and tugged her toward the tent's entrance.

"Sure," she said with enough sarcasm that even MARC would've been impressed. "And do you know that I have shorter legs than you, and with this long dress, I cannot run?" He grunted and shortened his strides. "Thank you."

He paused and cupped her cheek, tilting her face up for his gaze. "It is I who should ask forgiveness. To not have thought of this is ... inexcusable."

"Now don't go throwing yourself on a blade here. How were you supposed to think of it? How many females have you babysat?"

"Your words make no sense. And you are not a baby." His voice deepened, as he ran his gaze over her.

"You've gave me your tunic, ... is that not taking care of me?" She broke contact with his intense eyes, scanning the gathering crowds, instead. "I thank you for that, Anzar. You did not have to go out of your way for me."

"Do I get a thank-you kiss?" He stilled, and his shoulders stiffened.

"You want one?" Molly asked, her brow arched in surprise.

That excitement danced a fine tune along her veins had nothing to do with her sudden need to kiss him. He saw her as a chore. She had to remember that, still, it was wicked of her to revel in his proximity. He bent over, so she cupped his cheeks, stroking her thumbs across his soft beard. She rose onto her toes to nuzzle his chin, before brushing her lips across his. Her breath hitched at his hot dry mouth and the temptation to deepen the kiss bombarded her control.

"Thank you." She forced herself to pull away. He rumbled again, and he squeezed her hips as he tugged her closer to his length. "You like thank-you kisses?"

"Yes," he said and gathered her hand in his. He liked holding hands too.

"Does your rumbling mean happiness?" She wrapped her fingers around his wrist, thrilling in the chorded strength beneath her fingertips.

"I do not rumble, temaar."

"You do, and the next time you do it, I'll point it out." As they approached, she pondered the meaning behind his endearment. "Anzar, what does temaar mean? I don't know it in your dialect."

"It is ancient, spoken only in the high mountains of Kendaru, my birthplace." He cupped her cheek, running his calloused thumb along her jaw. "It has many meanings. Precious little one is close to explaining it."

Precious? Her heart bounced and startled a kaleidoscope of butterflies to swirl upward from her stomach to her throat.

"Mols!" Amy called from across the gathering; small bonfires burned around the village and strange thumping music filled the air. Molly accepted the hug she knew would be forthcoming.

"You're happy with Grax?" she asked as she studied Amy's face in the firelight.

"Hell yes!" she said with a satisfied smile. "Is this your mate?" She gestured to Anzar.

"No, this is the chieftain of the Sunkhu tribe, Anzar. I have no mate."

"Yet," Anzar said as he took Amy's hand in his to brush his lips over her knuckles. She giggled and shot Molly a look as if to say: I see you've been busy. "Greetings, Amy. Was Grax surprised by the kisses?"

Amy's brows arched and shot another look at Molly. "Kisses? Oh, yes ... he loved them all."

"How many are there?" Anzar asked, his interest piqued.

It was Molly's turn to shoot a warning look at Amy.

A male bounded over, looping an arm around Amy's waist. "There are many, but the dancing tongues are my favorite and when she kisses my—"

"Greetings, Grax. A pleasure to meet you." Molly was desperate to silence him. Why heat should splash her cheeks she didn't know. He had a myriad of scars on one side of his face, and the pain he must've endured... But he was handsome, and the way his eyes adored Amy eased Molly's worry.

"You do not want me to know?" Anzar asked her, and she blushed anew.

How to explain it with offending him? "There are many kisses that are between mates. I showed you kisses between friends."

"Female," he growled. "This displeases me."

"If I show you this, Anzar, how would you feel if I mate another male? How would he feel if I ... danced tongues with you?"

He stared at her upturned face, his black gaze brushing across her nose, chin before resting on her eyes.

"It is honorable that you do not show me," he said, but his voice was as coarse as gravel, letting her know he still didn't like her decision.

"But Grax and I can show you what we mean." Amy latched her mouth to her mate's and proceeded to French kiss the hell out of him. He lifted her off her feet and crushed her to his chest, groaning and rumbling under her ministrations.

"Amy ... come on!" Molly blushed at such a blatant display of affection. She snuck a glance at Anzar and found him riveted.

"You know this?" he asked her, catching her staring at him.

"Yes, it's called French kissing." Molly spun on her heel, wanting no part of the display. If she distanced herself, perhaps no one would ask her to demonstrate that sort of kissing. It wasn't that she didn't want to kiss Anzar. The way her heart ceased to assume a steady rhythm told her how much she did want to kiss him.

And therein lay her dilemma. If she kissed him, he would assume they were mated. She couldn't take the chance, even if she had realized that this mating thing was unavoidable. Wanting her mate to love her was a silly hope, but she hoped for it anyway. He had to feel some affection for her, or else she would trap him in a loveless 'marriage', one neither of them could escape. Having witness her parents' dying love, she didn't want to suffer a similar fate.

"Your mate will be blessed," Meera said to her as she led her toward the group of females she had met throughout the day.

"Thank you for my clothes," she said to them, but their attention was on Grax and Amy. "It's called French kissing," she sighed. "You slide your tongue into your mate's mouth, and you ... um ... wrestle tongues with him." And they scattered like leaves in the wind.

Abandoned, alone on a strange planet, Molly lowered her backside onto a rock and scowled into the fire.

She stared at the blue to yellow-orange flickering flames for a while before realizing they burned from nothing. No wood, and no obvious fuel source. Tiny fissures in the ground below revealed the bonfires were harnessing underground gasses. This was possible, perhaps with a gas such as propane. But surely, they would burn during the day as well, and she couldn't recall seeing them at any time today.

A few males approached her, but when she looked at them, they shifted direction as if she had caught them sneaking up on her. Her shoulders slumped, and she lowered her gaze to her wringing hands before shaking them as if that action would dislodge the negative path the evening had taken. Yup, men just didn't like her. The only single woman in the camp and yet, still not desired. She glanced around the village and almost smiled. It looked like a prelude to an orgy with the number of kissing couples. The unmated males watched on with avid interest.

She wanted no part of this weird caveman voyeurism and she blamed Amy for it. Silly woman. Didn't she understand the situation with the unmated males? Tears burned behind her eyes, and she leaped to her feet, striding to the waterfall to splash her face. So much for a celebration.