Chapter 4 #2
She forced herself to focus on food. Made herself move through the motions of preparing something to eat, even though her hands wouldn't stop shaking. Bread. The cheese-like substance that tasted better than Earth cheese had any right to. Vegetables she arranged with more care than necessary.
Behind her, she heard him shift. Heard the quiet sounds of him working. She was hyperaware of everything now—the way his chair creaked when he leaned back, the rhythm of his breathing, the occasional tap of his fingers on the screen.
The bulk of him.
The gentleness.
Those hands.
Stop it.
She bit down on her lower lip hard enough to hurt. She couldn't be attracted to him. Couldn't let herself feel anything for the man who was essentially her jailer, no matter how nice the cage or how appealing the warden.
This was survival. That's all. The same way signing up for the LMP had been survival, the same way every choice she'd made for twenty years had been about surviving one more day.
Attraction was a luxury she couldn't afford.
Harper carried her plate to the counter and sat on one of the high stools, her back to him. She could still feel him there. Still sense his presence like a physical weight in the room.
The food tasted like nothing. She chewed mechanically, swallowed, repeated. Her body needed fuel. That was all this was.
"Delilah."
The name came out before she could stop it. She set down the bread and stared at her plate. "My cousin. When can I see her?"
Silence. Then his chair creaked and she heard him stand. Footsteps approached, steady and unhurried.
He stopped at the counter across from her, his hands bracing against the surface. She looked up and found him watching her with an expression she couldn't read.
"Kellat updated me an hour ago." His voice was gentle. Too gentle. "She's stable. Still in the medically induced coma, but her vitals are holding. The internal injuries were extensive, but he's confident she'll recover."
The relief crashed through her, stealing her breath. Her eyes burned and she blinked hard, refusing to cry. "When can I see her?"
"Tomorrow. Medical bay has visiting hours." He studied her face. "I'll take you myself."
She nodded, not trusting her voice. Delilah was alive. Stable. She had time to fix this, to make things right, to—
To what? Fix Delilah's reckless decisions? Stop her from being who she was? Harper had been trying to do that for twenty years and it never worked. Never would work.
But Delilah was alive.
That was enough. Had to be enough.
"Thank you." The words scraped out. "For... everything. The quarters. Taking responsibility for me. I know I'm not making this easy."
His lips quirked. Not quite a smile, but close. "You're dealing with a lot. I don't expect easy."
"Still." She picked at the bread on her plate. "I shouldn't be taking my shit out on you."
"You're not."
She looked up, met his golden eyes. "I am. I know I am. I just..." Her throat closed up. "I can't seem to stop."
He was quiet for a long moment. Then he moved around the counter, closing the distance between them. Not crowding. Just... present.
"You survived a crash that killed multiple people," he said quietly.
"Your cousin is in critical condition. You're on a space station with aliens you don't know, under supervision, probably terrified the LMP is going to reject you and send you back to a situation you were desperate to escape.
" His expression softened. "I think you're entitled to some hostility. "
The understanding in his voice made her chest ache. She looked away, blinking hard. "I'm not terrified."
"Liar."
The word was gentle. Amused, even. She wanted to argue, but couldn't force the words out.
Because he was right. She was terrified. Of losing Delilah, of deportation, of going back to Earth with nothing. Of this—whatever this was building between them—that she couldn't afford to feel.
"Eat." He nodded at her plate. "You need your strength."
Then he returned to his desk, giving her space.
Harper stared at the food. Her appetite was gone but she forced herself to eat anyway, mechanical bites that filled her stomach without satisfying anything.
When she finished, she carried the plate to the cleaning unit—another piece of tech she didn't quite understand but figured out through trial and error.
Kirr's attention stayed on his datapad. Not hovering. Not watching. Just there.
The steady presence she'd felt in the wreckage. The calm that had grounded her through panic.
He was doing it again. Being her anchor without making it obvious. Giving her space while making it clear he wasn't going anywhere.
It should have annoyed her. Should have felt like control.
Instead, it felt like safety and that was terrifying in ways she couldn't name.
Harper retreated to the guest room without another word. The door slid shut behind her with that same soft hiss, and she leaned against it, her eyes closing.
One day down. God knew how many more to go.
She moved to the viewport and pressed her forehead against the cool surface, staring out at Earth rotating below.
Somewhere down there, her life had continued without her.
The data center would notice she hadn't shown up.
Her landlord would wonder where rent was when the signing bonus got clawed back. The world kept turning.
And she was up here, in quarters nicer than anything she'd ever lived in, under the supervision of a man who made her feel things she had no business feeling.
A cage with a view.
A warden who smelled like safety.
And a cousin fighting for her life because Harper hadn't been strong enough to say no.
She counted her heartbeats against the viewport. Fifty-three. Fifty-four. Fifty-five.
Tomorrow she'd see Delilah. Tomorrow she'd start figuring out how to fix this mess.
Tonight, she'd just survive.
Like always.
Harper pushed away from the viewport and climbed into the too-soft bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. The guest room was dark except for the light from Earth painting everything in shades of blue.
In the main quarters, she heard Kirr moving around. The quiet sounds of someone existing in their own space. No pressure. No demands.
Just there.
She closed her eyes and tried not to think about how his hand had felt on her elbow, steadying her. Tried not to remember the heat of his body against her back.
Tried not to want things she couldn't have.
Harper stared at the ceiling and counted the light panels. Seventeen. She started over, counted slower.
Her bladder protested.
She'd been holding it for forty minutes because she was apparently twelve years old and couldn't walk twenty feet without falling apart. Ridiculous. She was a grown woman. She could pee without having a crisis about it.
Except the bathroom was out there. In the main quarters. Which meant leaving the guest room. Which meant potentially running into Kirr.
Her bladder clenched and she bit back a groan.
Fine. Quick trip. In and out. He was probably working or sleeping or doing whatever seven-foot warriors did when they weren't supervising flight risks. She wouldn't even see him.
Harper pushed off the bed and pressed her ear against the door. The metal was cool against her cheek. Nothing. No footsteps. No voices. Just the station's hum thrumming through the walls like a distant heartbeat.
She palmed the control and the door slid open. The main quarters were dim—evening mode, all warm amber light. The desk sat vacant, datapad dark. Empty.
Good.
She padded across the floor, bare feet silent on the cool surface. The polished metal pulled heat from her skin with each step. The bathroom was just past the kitchen. Twenty feet. She could make it twenty feet.
Fifteen.
Ten.
The sound of water stopped running.
Oh no.
The bathroom door—his bathroom, she realized, because there were two and she'd aimed for the wrong damn one—stood slightly ajar. Steam billowed through the gap, warm and damp against her face, carrying the scent of soap and something clean and male with an underlying spice she couldn't name.
The door opened.
Kirr stepped out, water beading on his chest and shoulders, a towel slung low on his hips. Heat rolled off him in waves, cutting through the station's recycled air. That was it. Just the towel and all that wet skin and orange hair slicked back from his face, darker when wet.
Harper's thoughts scattered like startled birds.
She'd known he was big. Had felt it when he'd pulled her from the wreckage. But seeing him like this—nearly naked, backlit by bathroom light, water everywhere—drove home exactly how massive he was.
Seven feet of solid muscle. Shoulders that could block out the sun. Strength that could snap her in half without effort.
Her mouth went dry. Her throat clicked when she tried to swallow.
He stopped when he saw her, those golden eyes finding hers. No surprise in his expression. No embarrassment. Just that steady calm, like running into his supervised charge while dripping wet was perfectly normal.
Water slid down his chest. She tracked it, watched the droplet follow the valley between muscles before disappearing into the towel's edge. Another drop fell from his hair, hit his shoulder, traced a new path down his arm.
Her pulse kicked hard against her throat.
Stop staring.
She couldn't. Her eyes wouldn't move, wouldn't process anything except the sheer size of him, the easy power in how he stood, the fact that one of his hands could probably span her waist completely.
He could overpower her without effort. Could do whatever he wanted and she'd be helpless to stop him.
The thought should've terrified her.
It didn't.
Because there was no threat in his posture. No predator lurking in those golden eyes. Just patience, like he had all the time in the world for her to remember how words worked.
"Harper." His voice was quiet. Gentle. Low enough that she felt it in her chest more than heard it.
Her brain struggled back online.