Page 30 of Alien Mercenary’s Wife (Lathar Mercenaries: Warborne #7)

"Sparky's been trying to teach me human small talk," the alien woman admitted. "Says it's important for making people comfortable before getting to the real conversation. Build rapport, establish common ground, that sort of thing."

"Sparky." Reese snorted. "Not being funny, but from what I've seen of him so far, that's the blind leading the blind."

A smile tugged at the corner of Red's mouth. "He did mention asking you if you needed anything blown up as an ice-breaker."

"Yeah, that sounds about right." Reese found herself relaxing despite the situation. Red's awkward attempts at human small talk were kind of cute. "What other pearls of wisdom did he share?"

"He suggested mentioning the weather, but we're in space, so that seemed.

.." Red gestured vaguely at the bulkheads around them.

"And he suggested asking about people's hobbies, but then he got distracted by his murder chicken and started explaining why acid-spitting avians make excellent conversation topics. "

"Did he mention anything about personal space?" Reese asked, genuinely curious about what other social disasters Sparky might have recommended.

"He said humans like to maintain a comfortable distance during conversation, then demonstrated by standing about three inches away from me while explaining the concept." Red tilted her head, frowning. "I'm beginning to suspect his understanding of human behavior might be... limited."

"Limited is generous." Reese chuckled. "Though in his defense, most humans wouldn't have the nerve to teach social skills to an alien queen."

Red's expression shifted at the mention of her royal status—not discomfort exactly, but a kind of wariness. "I'm still getting used to that part myself."

"So what do you really want to know?" Reese asked, steering the conversation back to the obvious purpose behind this awkward encounter.

Red's expression grew serious, and she suddenly looked a lot like T'Raal. The same intensity, the same focus.

"What's going on between you and my father?"

"That's none of your business." Reese kept her voice level, professional, the same tone she'd used to shut down inappropriate inquiries from subordinates who'd overstepped their bounds. "Your father and I are both adults capable of making our own decisions."

Shit. This was awkward as hell. No way was she going to discuss what happened between her and T'Raal with his daughter. Just the thought made her cheeks heat up. But it was also weirdly familiar—protective daughter checking out dad's new girlfriend. Some things were universal, apparently.

Red studied her with uncomfortable intensity.

"He's been hurt before," she said finally, the words carrying weight beyond simple concern. "And I wouldn't like that to happen again.

Reese recognized the warning immediately.

"Haven't we all," she replied. "Dating… relationships, they can be complicated, even among members of the same species."

Part of her wanted to ask… to find out more about T'Raal's past relationships, but another part wasn't sure she needed those details.

Red's unusual eyes narrowed slightly. "That's not what I meant."

"Then maybe you should be more specific about what you do mean."

The silence stretched between them. Red's scales rippled beneath her skin as they locked gazes, but then she seemed to reach some internal conclusion.

"My father doesn't... he doesn't let people close. Hasn't, not for years. So when someone like you shows up and he's suddenly cooking breakfast and other things..." She gestured vaguely.

"Someone like me," Reese repeated, an edge creeping into her tone. "What exactly does that mean?"

Before Red could answer, the communications room door slid open. Fin stepped inside, his serious expression not quite matching the amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Red, we have a problem. Sparky's been… cleaning again."

Red sighed, her scales rippling in what looked like exasperation. "What did he break this time?"

"The... temperature controls," Fin said, pausing just long enough to make it obvious he was improvising. "It's getting very hot in there. Uncomfortably hot. We need someone with technical expertise to... fix it."

Reese watched the exchange with growing amusement. Fin's excuse was about as subtle as a brick through a window.

"The temperature controls," Red repeated slowly, one eyebrow arching. "Seriously? How broken is broken?"

"Very broken," Fin confirmed. "Sparky's in there now, trying to... cool things down. But he needs help."

"I see. And this requires my immediate attention?"

"Extremely immediate," Fin agreed. "The situation is quite... urgent."

Reese bit back a smile.

Red stood, her movement fluid. "I suppose I should go deal with this... technical emergency."

"That would be best," Fin said, relief in his voice. "Sparky's getting quite... worked up about the whole situation."

"I'm sure he is." Red's tone was dry as dust. She turned back to Reese, something like an apology in her unusual eyes. "We'll have to continue this conversation later."

"Of course," Reese replied, fighting to keep her expression neutral. "Technical emergencies take priority."

Red shot her a look. "Indeed. Very... pressing technical emergencies."

Fin cleared his throat. "We should really hurry. Before things get... worse."

"Right." Red moved toward the door, then paused to look back at Reese one more time. "But this conversation isn't over."

"I didn't think it was," Reese replied.

Red nodded once, then followed Fin out of the communications room, leaving Reese alone with her thoughts.

The door slid shut behind them, and she heard their conversation fading as they moved down the corridor. Whatever Red had been about to say about "someone like you" would have to wait until after the supposed temperature emergency was resolved.

Reese leaned back in her chair, shaking her head with amusement. Aliens or not, some things never changed. Protective daughters. Horny husbands making up excuses.

Some things, apparently, were universal across species lines.