She reached for something on the top shelf—a container of what looked like fruit. Her fingers just brushed it. She stretched, rising on her toes, and her balance shifted wrong.
The world tilted.
His hand closed around her elbow, steadying her before she could fall. His other hand braced against the door above her head, his massive frame suddenly right there, surrounding her, blocking out everything else.
Harper froze.
The heat of him hit her first. His body radiated warmth that cut through the thin sleep shirt, made her skin prickle with awareness. She could smell him—something spiced and male and entirely too appealing. His chest was inches from her back. If she leaned just slightly, she'd be pressed against him.
Her pulse spiked. Not from fear.
Oh god, not from fear.
"Careful." His voice rumbled through his chest into her back, quiet and close. His hand stayed on her elbow, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin of her inner arm.
She couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Her entire world had narrowed to the points of contact—his hand on her arm, his body heat against her back, the way his breath stirred the hair at her temple.
He reached past her easily, his arm extending over her head with no strain. His fingers closed around the container she'd been reaching for and brought it down, offering it to her.
"Here."
She took it. Her fingers trembled when they touched his, just for a second, skin to skin.
Then he stepped back.
The absence of his heat felt like loss.
Harper's breath came out shaky. She stared at the container in her hands—some kind of berries, purple and unfamiliar—and tried to remember how to form words.
"Thanks." It came out barely audible.
"Any time."
She heard him return to his desk. Heard the quiet rustle of fabric as he sat. Heard the tap of his fingers on the datapad screen.
Like nothing had happened.
Like he hadn't just made her entire body light up with nothing more than proximity and steady hands.
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.
