Page 18 of Alien Mercenary’s Wife (Lathar Mercenaries: Warborne #7)

Then the door sensor conspired against him, chiming softly as it suddenly decided to register his presence, even though he’d been standing there for a good minute or so.

He shot a glance up at one of the internal cameras, wondering which asshole on the bridge had decided to rat him out.

Tal glanced up, catching sight of him through the viewport, and waved him inside.

"How's the mobility work progressing?" T'Raal asked, stepping through the doorway.

The training room smelled like sweaty socks and training mats, but underneath it all, he caught the faint scent of something else…

something that had all his senses focusing on the woman stretching out on the mat.

He tried to ignore it, but his pulse kicked up a notch anyway.

She wore form-fitting exercise clothes that outlined every curve, every line of muscle definition that spoke of years of maintaining combat readiness.

"Better than expected," Tal replied, helping Reese shift position on the mat. T’Raal had to bite back a growl as jealousy ripped through him like wildfire. It didn’t matter that Tal was happily mated to Lizzie, he wanted to rip the other male into tiny pieces for daring to touch Reese.

"The neural stimulator's improving nerve response significantly. Range of motion in the left leg has increased by thirty percent since yesterday."

Reese pushed herself into a sitting position, strands of dark hair escaping the tie that held it back from her face. Her cheeks were flushed, lips parting as she caught her breath. Heat hit him hard and fast, making him glad he’d put on looser combat pants this morning.

Focus, idiot, he scolded himself. She was recovering from serious injuries, not performing for his entertainment.

"That's good progress," he managed, his voice rough.

Their gazes collided, her eyes dark and assessing. What did she see when she looked at him? Was her perusal purely professional? Or something else?

"Tal's been pushing me through exercises I haven't been able to do in months," she said with a grin, testing her weight as she moved to stand.

The motion was fluid, controlled, completely different from the careful way she'd favored her damaged leg during the extraction.

"I'd forgotten what it felt like to have my body actually do what I want it to. "

The simple statement hit him harder than it should have. Here was a combat veteran, a woman who had been in more battles than most people had had hot dinners according to Eris, reduced to celebrating basic motor function like a victory.

"Human women are strong." He kept his voice level. "Takes courage to keep going when everything's working against you."

Something shifted in her expression—surprise, maybe. "Most people think I should accept limitations. Be grateful for what function I have left."

"Most people are idiots."

That earned him something that might have been a smile. "You including yourself in that assessment?"

"Especially me." His lips quirked into a half-smile. "But occasionally even idiots recognize strength when they see it."

Tal cleared his throat, hiding his smile as he gathered his testing equipment. "The next phase involves more complex movements. Coordination exercises, balance challenges, things that will test the nerve response patterns we've been rebuilding."

"What kind of movements?" she asked.

"Combat applications would be ideal," Tal replied, then glanced at T'Raal. "Nothing too advanced, of course. Just basic defensive positions, simple strikes. Things that require coordinated muscle response."

The suggestion hung in the air between them like bait.

"I could show you some adapted techniques," he heard himself say before he could think better of it. "Movements designed for compromised mobility situations."

"You've dealt with this kind of thing before?" Reese asked, genuine curiosity replacing the wariness she'd shown since coming aboard. “Remedial exercises? Physio?”

He nodded.

"Yeah. I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve been injured and had to rehabilitate." He moved closer, and her scent wrapped around him like a siren’s call. "It’s all about fighting smart when your body won't cooperate the way it used to."

"Show me," she ordered.

T'Raal stepped onto the mat, realizing too late how little room they had. "Basic defensive stance first. Normal position would be here." He demonstrated the standard ready position. "But with compromised leg stability, you shift the foundation."

He moved behind her, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her skin. "May I?"

He placed his hands on her shoulders at her nod, guiding her into the modified stance. The contact sent heat up his arms, and he forced himself not to linger.

"Weight distribution changes," he explained, his voice rougher than intended. "You're not trying to match what you used to do. You're building something new."

She adjusted her position, following his guidance quickly. She learned fast. He shouldn’t have expected anything else. "Like this?"

"Better. Feel how the balance point shifted? Your damaged leg isn't carrying full load, but it's still contributing stability." His hands moved to her waist, steadying her as she found the new center point. "From here, you've got options for movement in any direction."

The curve of her waist beneath his palms was torture. Soft warmth over lean muscle, a combination that made rational thought flee quickly. He felt her breathing, steady and controlled despite the physical exertion.

"Now defensive movement," he continued, stepping back before he did something stupid. Like spin her around and pull her up against him to… He cut the thought off.

"Someone comes at you from the front, you don't try to dance around them. Use their momentum."

He demonstrated the technique in slow motion, showing how limited mobility could become a tactical advantage. "They expect you to retreat or dodge. Instead, you redirect."

"Like this?" She mirrored his movements, her body adapting to the modified techniques with surprising grace.

"Exactly. Again, but faster."

They worked through the sequence several times, and he made minor adjustments to her form.

Every brush of contact sent heat through his system.

Every time she moved with fluid precision, his imagination went off on a tangent, tormenting him with increasingly graphic scenarios that had absolutely nothing to do with combat training.

Draanth. Professional boundaries, he warned himself. Remember those.

"That’s defense… What about other applications?" she asked, pausing to catch her breath and pushing her hair back from her face.

His mind went straight to the gutter, and he had to haul it back before he answered. "Striking from a stable base. You're not trying to generate power through movement—you're using leverage and precision."

He moved behind her again, this time to adjust her arm position.

The contact was necessary, professional, and absolutely devastating.

She was warm and solid against his chest, her hair smelling like ship's soap and something uniquely her.

He made sure to keep his hips back away from hers in case she got poked in the ass and realised the state he was in.

"Elbow strike uses core rotation," he managed, guiding her through the motion. "Knee strike leverages your good leg for power while the damaged one provides balance point."

She practiced the movements, her body flowing through the techniques with increasing confidence. Each repetition brought improvement, small victories that lit up her face with satisfaction. She was fighting for every small victory, and damn if that wasn't sexy as hell.

"These techniques," she said during a brief rest. "Where did you learn them?"

"Experience. You learn to adapt when standard techniques aren't enough."

The training room door chimed, breaking the charged atmosphere. Footsteps echoed in the corridor and then Sparky appeared in the doorway, his usual chaotic energy filling the space.

"Boss, quick question about the—" He stopped short, taking in the scene. "Oh. Didn't realize you were... training."

Tal seized the interruption like a lifeline, already moving toward his medical kit. "Perfect timing, Sparky. I need to examine that rash situation we discussed."

“Huh?” Sparky blinked, confusion replacing surprise. "I do?"

"Absolutely," Tal said, his tone brooking no argument as he looked toward Reese and T’Raal.

Understanding dawned on Sparky's face, followed immediately by theatrical dismay. "Oh, that rash! Dammit, doc, I told you not to tell anyone about that!"

"Medical confidentiality doesn't apply when it might affect ship operations," Tal replied solemnly. "We should examine it. Immediately."

"Fine,” Sparky grumbled, allowing himself to be shepherded toward the door. “But warm your hands this time, okay?"