Page 131 of Eclipse Sector
I’d just learned that everything I thought I’d understood about Cillian earlier wasn’t accurate at all.
Oh, and I was pregnant.
So yeah. I was a little dizzy. My eyes were leaking. My heart kept beating a weird rhythm. My stomach growled. And heat seared my belly where Cillian’s hands and mine touched.
It was a lot to take in at once.
“Food,” I said, my voice thick with a thousand competing emotions. I cleared my throat. “Food sounds good.”
Cillian smiled, his thumb wiping away one of my tears. “Then let’s eat.”
I nodded and started climbing off of him, intending to grab some plates and set my two-seater table in the small dining area off the kitchen.
But Cillian caught my hips and gently sat me on the couch. “I’ll get it,” he told me, pushing away from the sofa and heading toward the kitchen.
He found the plates on the first try, as well as the silverware, confirming his familiarity with my space.Probably from feeding me while in heat.
My thighs clenched with the thought, and I cleared my throat again, my skin suddenly hot.
If Cillian noticed, he politely didn’t comment and instead brought me a plate. The scent of gooey cheese mixed with spicy pepperoni made my mouth salivate. Add the salty kiss of the green olives, and I was practically drooling.
“Did Benz tell you this is my favorite?” I wondered as I accepted the platter of Italian goodness.
“No,” Cillian replied before going to grab himself a slice.
Or that was what I thought he was doing, but instead he brought me a drink.
I would recognize that scent anywhere.
“Strawberry lemonade,” I said with a sigh before taking a long drink. My insides practically rejoiced in response to both the flavor and finally imbibing something. “Did Benz pick this up on a whim?”
“Nope,” Cillian murmured, grabbing himself a plate this time. Only, he didn’t immediately return, causing me to frown at his back.
“Do you like strawberry lemonade, then?” I guessed. “And pizza with pepperoni and green olives?”
“Strawberry lemonade is fine.” He turned around to join me, his plate holding a slice of mutilated pizza on it. “Pepperoni is okay, too. But I actually kind of hate green olives.”
And that explained the murdered slice of pizza on his plate. “Then why did you order green olives?” I asked, confused.
“Because it’s your favorite, at least when San Marinos makes it. I’ve noticed you forgo the olives from Eddie’s down the street, but you definitely prefer San Marinos. So that’s where I asked Benz to go.” He took a bite of his food while I gaped at him.
“You know my favorite pizzas?” I asked, stunned.
“I know a lot of your favorites, Vana,” he informed me with a wink. “Now eat, please. Before it gets cold.”
I wasn’t sure what surprised me the most—his admission or his use of the wordplease.
Regardless, I did what he said and nearly groaned at the flavor explosion on my tongue.
However, it only distracted me for a few bites before my curiosity was piqued again. “What other favorites do you know?” I couldn’t help the suspicion in my voice. Mainly because I couldn’t believe he actually knew these intimate things about me. I never thought he cared enough to notice.
“Hmm, let’s see.”
He set his mostly empty plate aside—I swore he ate that slice in, like, three quick bites. A small pile of olives was all that was left.
“Mint chocolate ice cream with chocolate sprinkles, not rainbow,” he began. “Bourbon chicken is a go-to meal. You’re also fond of grilled cheese, broccoli salad, and the occasional pierogi. And vodka tonic is your alcoholic drink of choice.”
I gawked at him.
