Page 65 of Alien Mercenary's Wife
"You could try." There was no challenge in her voice, just a statement of fact. "But you won't."
She was right. He wouldn't… he couldn't.
"Conditions," he said finally.
Her eyebrows rose. "Conditions?"
"If you're going back into that feeding frenzy, you're going prepared." He moved to his desk, pulling up files on the display. "Tal checks your neural stimulator, makes sure it's functioning at optimal levels. Eric and Lina examine your condition, confirm that the treatment is working."
"Reasonable." She moved to stand beside him, studying the medical protocols he was outlining. "What else?"
"Weapons training. If someone comes for you, I want you ready." He glanced at her. "The range aboard the Sprite. Tomorrow."
"Also reasonable." Her smile carried anticipation that sent heat through him. "Though I should warn you, I'm not exactly a novice with firearms."
"I remember." He grinned. "But our weapons have different characteristics from your equipment. I want you to be familiar with everything we carry."
"And after the training?" Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"After the training, we see how well you've learned to handle... new equipment."
The double meaning wasn't subtle. Didn't need to be. Heat flashed through her, her breathing quickening.
"I think I can manage that," she said, rising onto her toes to bring her mouth closer to his.
"We'll see," he murmured against her lips before claiming them in a kiss that promised everything.
TheSprite'sfiringrange occupied a section of the lower deck that had been altered specifically for the purpose. Reinforced bulkheads, energy-absorbing backstops, and targeting systems that could simulate everything from close-quarters combat to long-range precision work. T'Raal had insisted on the space when they'd acquired the ship… a crew that couldn't shoot straight wouldn't stay alive long.
Reese stood at the firing line, studying the array of weapons he'd laid out. Her stance was perfect—feet planted, shoulders square, like someone who'd spent years making accurate shotsunder pressure. Her hands were steady as she examined a Tavkronian pulse rifle.
"This one's interesting," she said, hefting the weapon to test its balance. "Heavier than I expected."
"The Tavkronian build for durability over portability." T'Raal moved behind her, close enough to guide her grip. "The weight helps with recoil compensation. Energy weapons don't kick like projectile systems, but they've got their own characteristics."
His hands covered hers on the rifle, adjusting her finger placement on the trigger mechanism. The contact sent heat racing up his arms, though he tried to maintain professional focus. This was just training, regardless of what his body thought about the woman pressed back against his chest.
"Different firing patterns," he continued, his voice rougher than intended. "Sustained beam versus pulse bursts. Power settings from stun to complete disintegration."
"Complete disintegration?" She glanced back at him, eyebrow arched. "That's excessive for most situations, isn't it?"
"Most situations, yeah. But sometimes you have to make sure your target doesn't get back up." He guided the rifle toward the range targets. "Try a few shots. Get used to the feel."
She sighted down the barrel with practiced ease, controlled her breathing, and squeezed the trigger. The pulse rifle discharged with a soft whine, energy blast striking the target dead center. Three more shots followed in rapid succession, each one grouped tightly around the first.
"Not bad," he said, though 'not bad' was a significant understatement. Her accuracy was impressive even by military standards.
"I had good training." She lowered the rifle, turning in his arms to face him. The movement brought them chest to chest, close enough to feel her body heat through their clothes. "What's next?"
The simple question made his pulse spike. The challenge in her voice got to him like nothing else, and he struggled to stay professional against the need to push her back against the range wall and kiss the breath out of her.
"Latharian combat rifle," he managed, reaching for the next weapon. "Standard Imperial issue. Higher rate of fire, but requires more precise handling."
She accepted the rifle, her fingers brushing his as she took control of the weapon. The brief contact was electric, jolting through him. Her scent surrounded him—clean soap mixed with something uniquely her that made it damn hard to concentrate.
"Show me," she said, looking up to him through her lashes.
He bit back his amusement. The day Captain Reese Payne couldn't figure out a combat weapon was the day they laid her to rest, so he easily saw through the ruse. But he played along, eagerly, moving behind her supposedly to adjust her stance. His hands settled on her waist, steadying her as she brought the rifle to her shoulder. His chest pressed against her back, his hips aligned with her ass, and he realised his mistake as she ground back against him.
