Lord Oset hands Anaket the towel, so close she can almost feel the tips of his fingers touching her breasts, yet not touching. Just the gentle breeze passing through the wet fabric of her tunic, teasing her nerves, heightening her senses.

She watches him as he grabs a bottle and chugs. His jaw is strong. His throat pulses as he swallows. His skins looks smooth, and tanned, and warm. And so close she could almost reach out and touch him, if she dared.

Then Oset turns and walks away.

Well, he's got his work to do, and I have mine, Anaket thinks, shaking herself back from her risky musing. But, oh, I could sure use a drink now, too!

She looks down.

And a bath! Voluptua might be able to get away with dancing in rags, as if they were her costume. She'd look good in anything. But I hope the patrons are too busy having fun to worry about what a serving girl looks like. I wouldn't want them to think the Bar O was anything but a high-class joint!

Her gaze wanders off in search of Oset, graciously mingling with the many patrons that now fill the club.

Or, she adds to herself with a small sigh, that Oset is anything but a high-class kind of guy!