Chapter Two

The Wiles of Women

With a touch of the Force, Anakin temporarily disabled the hallway monitor outside of Senator Amidala's door. He was certain Captain Typho was on duty and vigilantly watching his every move. For some reason, the senator's Head of Security didn't like him, and Anakin didn't know why. Not that he cared. However, he figured the Captain would not appreciate what was about to happen to the senator's aid.

He knew he was cutting it close. He would barely have time to make it back to the Temple before curfew. If he were late again, it would mean a demerit added to his record, plus a helluva strenuous sparring session with his Master the next day. He was up for it though, and had already considered the costs, deeming them worth it – even if just to spend a few more precious moments with her.

His tongue was moving languorously up the supple skin of Dormé's neck as she sighed contentedly, his hands on either side of her petite frame, imprisoning her against the foyer wall. She smelled of muja blossoms and…butter, most likely from the kernelpop they had consumed while watching that dreadful holovid of hers.

It wasn't long ago that he had discovered her most sensitive spot, just below and behind her ear, which he began nibbling on tenderly, expecting a response from her, although he ended up getting one he did not count on. Suddenly, she began talking. Not exactly what he'd been hoping for.

"I'm worried about the Senator," she started, her mind obviously distracted, although she intentionally moved her hair out of his way, he noticed with some humor. "You know she's crushing on your Master, right?"

"Mmmm," replied Anakin, his focus entirely on the raised flesh that abruptly appeared along her arm, which he began caressing with one hand, feeling a bit smug knowing he was the cause of it.

"She just seems so lonely all the time. I know that she's only working all these hours so she can keep her mind off it, which just concerns me all the more! She's wearing herself out!"

"Mm," Anakin mumbled as he listened, turning his focus upon pushing aside the strap of her sleeveless gown, revealing the soft, smooth skin of a lightly freckled shoulder. He drew his lips slowly down the slope from her ear to her neck, taking the time to plant a kiss or two along the way, eliciting yet another sigh from her, although it didn't keep her from speaking.

"She's too young and too beautiful to live a life alone. She deserves so much more. We have to do something about it! Does Master Kenobi ever mention her at all?"

"Mm hm," Anakin murmured, his mouth presently filled with collarbone.

"Was that a uh huh, or a huh uh?" she asked, forcing him to lift his face, though the temptation to kiss her was too overwhelming. She patiently waited on the indulgence, responding to his desire with a hand grasping his padawan braid, pulling him impossibly closer, their tongues dancing together.

"What was the question?" he uttered breathlessly after she released him. His brain had suddenly turned to mush.

"Does. Master. Kenobi. Ever. Mention. Her." Dormé repeated with exaggerated enunciation, seemingly annoyed, though with a spark of mischief in her eyes.

Anakin leaned once more against the wall, propping his head on his bent arm, turning her profile toward him so that he could gaze into her eyes. He might as well concentrate on the conversation. She apparently wasn't going to let this drop until he had.

"Sometimes," was the only answer he was going to offer at the moment, however. The truth was, his Master rarely spoke of Senator Amidala, except for the instances Anakin had brought her up in conversation. In fact, his avoidance made Anakin suspicious and believe that his mentor was hiding his feelings for Padmé. But Anakin wasn't about to admit that to Dormé. If he did, he was sure she would have him working full time as matchmaker, and frankly he wasn't interested in the job. He had always believed that destiny was just that. It was something that couldn't be forced. If his Master and the Senator were meant to be together, then they would be, without any assistance from outsiders.

He didn't think Dormé believed the same way, however, and so he kept his mouth shut.

"Thanks for the help," the young woman smirked, nudging him in the ribs before once more fingering his padawan braid, although this time with distracted intimacy. "I just wish there was some way to…"

Her eyes widened as she went silent – immediately alarming the young man. During their time together, he had quickly learned that when Dormé was speechless, it was never a good thing. She was either angry – meaning you'd better watch out for flying objects, or she was conspiring.

Since he hadn't done anything to irritate her, it meant an idea was being formulated.

"That's it!" she declared her epiphany. "Just like in the movie! This will work! I know it!"

"Wait a second," Anakin pleaded, gently grasping her bare upper arms. "I really don't think the two of them need us butting into their personal lives and don't even think about putting my Master into a coma."

Her smile was lovely, but it was also rather condescending, as she lifted a hand and patted his cheek in a patronizing manner, like his mother used to do whenever he asked to stay up past his bedtime.

"Leave everything up to me."

"That's what I was afraid you were going to say," Anakin groaned. "Dormé, I really don't think the Senator is going to appreciate you interfering." And neither will his Master, Anakin knew for a fact. The man enjoyed his privacy.

"Ani," she pouted, her full lower lip protruding in a girlish, evocative way that began to crumble his resolve. His Master would not be very proud of his student's sudden lack of resistance. "I only want her to be happy," she continued sweetly, tiptoeing up to brush her mouth against his. "As happy as I am."

Dammit! That did it. He would do anything she asked now!

"Fine, but promise me nobody gets hurt." Or his Master would never forgive him!

"I promise there will be no permanent side effects. And no coma," she joked, kissing him thoroughly, while grabbing hold of his tunics. "Trust me," she commanded once she released him.

Actually, he did, and that's what he was afraid of.