Her pulse kicked hard, rabbit-fast against her throat. Every nerve ending lit up where his arm banded around her waist, where his chest pressed against her shoulder, where his breath stirred the fine hairs at her temple. The spice-and-warmth scent of him flooded her senses, and she was acutely, impossibly aware of exactly how small she was against his frame.
"I'm fine." The words came out strangled. "Just—caught my foot."
His arm stayed around her waist for three more seconds. She felt each one tick past, measured in heartbeats and the warmth of his palm splayed across her hip. Then he released her, his hand sliding away slow enough that she felt every inch of contact, his fingers trailing across the small of her back before falling away completely.
Professional distance.
Right.
Except his amber eyes were laughing when she looked up at him, and that low chuckle still rumbled in his chest, and she knew—absolutely knew—that he'd done that on purpose.
The bastard.
Harper's pulse hammered in her throat, her face burning, her entire body hyperaware of how close he was. How easily he'd caught her. How his strength made her feel small and breakable and protected all at once.
Dangerous.
This was so dangerous.
But when Kirr's hand found the small of her back again and guided her toward his ship, she didn't pull away.
Didn't rebuild the walls.
Just let herself be led, her thoughts a chaotic mess of ship sizes and low chuckles and the way his voice did impossible things to her pulse when he leaned close.
Tomorrow, she'd remember that attraction was a luxury she couldn't afford.
Tonight, she'd just survive the knowledge that Kirr M'Aab knew exactly what he was doing to her.
And he was enjoying every second of it.
6
The airlock cycled with a heavy, pressurized hiss that sounded like home.
Kirr stepped through, and the smell hit him at once—ozone and weapon oil and the slight tightness in his chest loosened. He glanced back as Harper stepped over the threshold, her eyes wide as she took in the docking bay of his flagship, the Ra'Tervas.
She looked tiny here. Small and soft against the harsh lines and the utilitarian grey of the bulkheads. But she didn't shrink away. Her gaze darted everywhere, assessing everything.
"Welcome aboard," he said, his voice echoing in the vast space.
"Holy shit," she breathed, peering down the main corridor. “It’s huge.”
His lips quirked. "It's a K'raniis-class heavy cruiser. It has to be big to carry the guns."
He led her toward the lift, shortening his stride so she didn't have to run to keep up. She was under his protection. That meant adjusting his pace to hers, even if his instincts screamed at him to scoop her up and carry her just to feel her against him again.
The lift ride was short. He activated the lock on his stateroom, and the heavy door slid aside.
The main living area was dominated by a briefing table displaying an inactive holo-map and a desk cluttered with dataflexes. Beyond that, a seating area with actual leather furniture, imported at great expense, and a viewscreen that took up half the wall.
She walked in, turning in a slow circle as she took everything in. She ran her hand over the back of the leather couch, her fingers trailing along the material.
"Do you live here?" she asked, looking back at him. "I mean, instead of on the station?"
He moved to his desk, organizing a stack of reports that his second-in-command had left for him. “Most of the time, yes. This ship is my home."
She frowned, a small crinkle appearing between her brows. "So, why are you at the station?"
