The Hot, wet sand squished between his toes as the saltwater waves crashed against his ankles. The wind was strong and blew through his bangs but did nothing to fight the heat of the day. Dorothy had some sort of summer wear photo shoot, fashion show gala that apparently (in her words) 'needed to be as authentic as possible' and thus scheduled it to be held on the beach. Of course, all of the precautions were taken to ensure that the elements did not interfere in any way with the show. The models would be able to walk without any unforeseen impediment.

Not that he was complaining. No red-blooded straight man in his right mind would have an issue being forced to be around attractive, bathing suit clad females. Dorothy looked as though she had stepped off of the runway: irresistible in her very revealing two piece. She did have a sort of shrug or cover to wear but the wind continued to play a devilish game pulling the fabric away from her at times, forcing it to cling in other instances. He more than once found himself finding relief in the refreshing water to distract him from the way her bikini top twisted around and over the supple mounds of her chest...

He mentally checked himself. Now was not the time or place.

His choice of swimwear had been simple: a pair of lime green swim trunks, although Dorothy tried to get him to agree to a speedo. As it was, he already noticed the hungry stares of many of the women, and a few of the men, sizing him up. One woman had even been so bold as to ask if he were one of the models. Trowa, not being exactly what one would call vain, merely shook his head and excused himself much to her apparent dismay. The attention Dorothy received in the same manner caught his eye as well. Not that he blamed them. She literally radiated grace and charm with an elegance and beauty one often did not find. Unfortunately for those who discovered it, the icy waters of Dorothy's attention span were as perilous as they were daunting and none could ever hope to reach the shores of her affection. Not even him, though that was hardly an issue.

Oh, they were intimate, that much was true, but physical intimacy did not involve much more than what the carnal delights had to offer. Certainly they spoke to one another and-though intimate conversations were rare-they were not strictly taboo. Whenever any subject was accidentally touched that made her uncomfortable, she recoiled into the habit of changing the subject. He preferred to redirect by way of more… physical means. Of course, talking was not the basis of their agreed upon arrangement anyway, but he had to admit he was beginning to feel… comfortable around her?

There were very few people with whom he let his guard down. When the two of them were together, all pretenses fell away. There was no pretending to be whom or what they were not. He knew she found this a refreshing change of pace. Socialites, even one as cavalier as she, were expected to put on certain airs. When it was just them, they behaved as they would if they were alone. They would lie there after their lovemaking for hours: sometimes talking, but usually in comfortable silence while she drew lazy shapes on his skin. It was an interesting relationship indeed. They were both means to a rather agreeable end and he preferred it that way.

He did find it interesting how they had begun to occasionally open up to one another. It appeared as though he had someone who seemed to need his listening ear more than his body at times and he, in turn, was able to unveil some of his secrets not even Cathy knew. One night, while in bed, Dorothy asked a rather invasive question which he had answered with little pause.

"Was Relena your first love?" Dorothy looked up at him. She was lying across his stomach for some unknown reason. The satin bed sheets barely covered her naked curves.

"No." He whispered.

"Oh? Who was she?" Dorothy raised one of her infamous brows. "A nurse on a military base? Or perhaps another performer?" He leaned his head back and sighed.

"She was a refugee. Blonde. Green eyes."

"You have a type." Dorothy teased.

"Do you want to know or not?"

"Fine, fine. I'll be a good girl. For now." He tapped her ass playfully.

"Her name was Middie. I thought she was a simple refugee. So many people were displaced and homeless. Lives ruined by the war. We took her group under our protection and she seemed to like me."

"What happened to her?" He closed his eyes again. He could still see the cross necklace lying on the ground, destroyed by his bullet.

"She betrayed us. Said she did it to feed her family. I never saw her again." He clenched his fists. So many of his comrades were dead. A few by his own hands. Because of her.

"Do you ever think about her?" He nodded.

"I sometimes wonder what became of her. What might have happened if things were different."

"But they're not." She said and moved to sit with him. "She hurt you. I can see that. But there is no point thinking about the past."

"You brought it up."

"I suppose I did." She nibbled his neck. "But now I'd like to focus on the present." He agreed and proved it by covering his lips over hers.

That was months ago. They barely spoke at all between such visits, saving communications for travel arrangements and event details. One thing he had forgotten to consider was the publicity aspect. People were beginning to talk. Pictures of the two of them appeared in gossip rags and celebrity magazines speculating their relationship. The fact that he and Dorothy were not exclusive apparently added to the allure and mystery. The question of who he was had been answered long ago. As the lead acrobat in a traveling circus it was hard to find him. However, the fact that he was often but not always the man escorting Dorothy seemed to have the press and paparazzi properly perplexed. They both continued to have the occasional lover which spoke to an open relationship at the very least. They had no way of knowing the agreement he and Dorothy had and Trowa had no desire to clarify it for them. When the inevitable reporter did show up for a chance at an interview, Trowa only answered a cold "no comment" and walked away.

Still, the publicity wasn't all bad. His picture in the gossip rags drew curious readers to the circus, increasing their audience. Cathy seemed to certainly like the boom in attendance although she still disapproved of the heiress. On the few occasions his sister and Dorothy were subjected to each other's company, it was always beyond awkward. Of course, neither woman would dare start a fight or make a scene, butterflies subtle barbs and jabs of their verbal exchanges made a mobile suit battle feel more hospitable. Their last exchange made Trowa feel sorry for the wooden target that found itself at the mercy of Catherine's anger-fueled knives. He still did not know what was said but whatever it was Cathy steamed on it for weeks.

A busboy passed by with a tray of fruity beverages. Trowa snagged one and continued to glance around the beach when his eyes met hers. She offered him a Cheshire cat smile and fluttered her lashes seductively. He didn't enjoy these galas. He didn't enjoy the paparazzi. But he did enjoy the way she looked at him when she was ready for him to resume his role as her escort. And he knew she knew as he made his way to her side. The gala was ending. People were going home. And they would soon be as alone as a public beach would allow.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" She asked as she sipped her drink. It was a 'sex on the beach from what he could tell. Oddly appropriate considering the bedroom eyes she gave him. He nodded.

"There certainly is a lot to look at." She let out a short laugh.

"There is indeed. Such is the point of these shows. Models parading around in the newest fashions are like living dolls for the amusement of the rich investors and the impressionable consumers." He sipped his own drink. The waves continued to lap at their feet and an idea slowly formed.

"I can think of a more entertaining way to spend our afternoon."

"I'm sure we both can, but here is hardly the place." He smirked.

"That's where you're wrong."

"What?"

"Here is exactly the place for what I have in mind."

"Trowa? Wh-" without a second thought or another word, he picked Dorothy up and walked to deeper waters. "Trowa Barton! Put me down this instant!" She was blushing, eyes flashing from the indignation of it all, but behind it he saw the thrill. He smirked.

"Okay." And he tossed her into the water. She went under with a loud splash and resurfaced, sputtering and pushing her long hair out of her face.

"Of all the-" she walked to him, face red in an angry grimace. She looked adorable. His smirk widened. "You'll pay for that you-"

"Dorothy." He interrupted. "Come here." He reached out, pulled her to him and kissed her further silencing her protests. When the kiss broke, she ran her hands down his chest and hooked her fingers in the waistband of his shorts to pull him closer.

"Just for that, you owe me dinner."

"I'll give you more than that." He stated before covering her lips with his.


The Bistro was as quaint as it was romantic. The smells of fresh baked bread and herbs mixed well with the sounds of the mandolin. The maitre d' lead them to the table where Trowa pulled the chair out for her. The menus we placed in front of them before they were informed that their server would be with them shortly. The table was set with a long, dark blue tablecloth, two white candlesticks and red silk napkins. Everything was pristine and lay out perfectly as such a place might be expected to.

He ordered the boeuf bourguignon with a red wine and Dorothy ordered the Salade Niçoise, with a white wine which did not surprise him. On the occasions where they ate in public she usually ordered a salad of some sort as if to put on airs. It was one of the reasons he tried to encourage meals at their hotel room. She actually ate when it was just the two of them. As the plates were set in front of them, he frowned.

"Why do you do this?"

"Well, typically one eats because they are hungry." She smiled as her lips closed around the fork.

"Why do you do this to yourself?"

"You are going to have to be more specific." She took another bite.

"You order a salad or the smallest thing on their menu whenever we go out." Her lips curled down slightly at the corners and her brow pinched ever so slightly.

"Because appearances are everything." She offered him a smile, but her eyes flashed with minor annoyance.

"It appears as though you're hungry."

"It just so happens I love salads."

"Said no woman ever." She scoffed.

"What I do or do not eat is none of your concern." She sipped her wine. She had a point. He couldn't tell her what to eat. And there was no reason he should care. But he did.

"I just don't understand why a gorgeous woman with an amazing figure is worried about what she eats."

"It is because I worry about such things that I have an amazing figure. But thank you for the compliment. And for your concern." Her smile morphed into a feminine smirk that would make the Cheshire cat jealous. "Besides, I think I'll be hungry for something... else… later."

"I'd be happy to help you with that."

"I was hoping you would." If possible, the smile grew wider. As they began to eat, Trowa felt something behind to rub his trousers. A specific spot on his trousers. A very sensitive spot that immediately responded to the gentle caress. He stifled a moan as the caress became more insistent; rolling around and under. He was surprised that she would do this. In a public restaurant. She never seemed like a voyeur to him, and if she didn't stop soon then it would be difficult to hide the result of her ministrations.

"Dorothy-" he breathed, trying to control himself. "You're playing a dangerous game."

"I told you I would make you pay for the stunt at the beach." She began to swirl her toes around. "Just continue to eat. We wouldn't want anyone to know, would we?" This time he did groan. He was close; too close. He continued to eat and tried to focus on his food. She did not break her concentration at all, eating one bite after another as though nothing were happening. It was maddening. And he needed it to stop… or continue elsewhere.

"If you don't want me to pick you up and take you right here on the table then you had better stop." He nearly growled. She stroked an eyebrow and cocked her head to the side.

"Promises promises." He couldn't take it anymore. He stood, pulled out his wallet, slapped the money on the table and grabbed her hand.

"We're leaving." She stood and he all but dragged her to the car. He was certain he broke every speed limit along the way but when they reached the hotel, he threw the valet the keys and continued to drag her to their hotel room. Their lovemaking was intense and fevered and at some point he knew… He felt it. He wanted this. With her. For as long as he could…

But he didn't know why or what to make of it.

As they lay together, between the gasping for air and the fading waves of pleasure, he did not want to think about what he'd felt. A light, famine chuckle reached his ears.

"Well!" She gasped. "I guess I… should tease you... more often." She sighed and nibbled his neck.

"Just be prepared for more consequences." He chuckled back.

"I think this is the kind of price I'd be willing to pay."

"I'm glad." He said in a husky whisper before beginning round two.