He couldn't say what had attracted him to her. She wasn't the prettiest girl on display, but she had his full attention. The clink of the glasses from behind the bar and the background noise blurred into a mild melody. He stared through the milling bar patrons, searching for just the right word for her.

Klune.

He was surprised; it was a word from his past, his planet, and rarely did he apply it to people. Anything with such grace that the personality could be seen. A ring so delicately entwined with gold lace that it was feminine. A song so mournful it breathed a dirge. A statue that seemed to breathe, poised to move, laughter on its lips. Her klune was there, in the tilt of her head, the fluff of her hair. Was that why he wanted her?

Her back was straight. Even as a paid-for girl she had dignity. There was a tilt to her head, a somber look about her eyes. Definitely klune.

The music changed tempo, and she danced sexily.

He didn't like it. It was supposed to inspire people to come back and bid on her tonight. She eyed her audience like it was a challenge; she moved her hips like a gunslinger drawing pistols. Her fingers snapped in the air.

He craved her spirit next to him, craved those red lips telling him sweet love lies in his ear. But he shouldn't, couldn't, rent her for the night. Sex would most likely be extra, and he didn't have the money. Well, he did, but he wasn't supposed to. His cover wouldn't support a large flash of cash. Thieves had to be careful. Besides he had a job to do that left no time for fun.

None of his excuses mattered in the end. Her dress slipped open halfway, part of the act, a glimpse of pale skin peeking through. The music stopped.