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Her expression was so priceless that Gage couldn’t resist laughing out loud.
She reached over and smacked his arm.
He caught her wrist in his hand.
“Why do you want to get drunk anyway?” he asked her.
She shrugged.
He kept hold of her wrist and gave her his most serious bodyguard stare.
“Doesn’t it all just seem like… a lot?” she whispered. “The thing you told me this morning, us being here, trying to have a baby?”
“And you think drinking will help?” he asked.
“Well, it can’t hurt,” she muttered, and then giggled at her own joke.
Stars, but she was adorable.
Even if he didn’t like the idea of his tender Terran mate being even more vulnerable than she was the rest of the time, he had to admit she was cute when she was a little tipsy.
“Besides,” she confided. “What if I’m too scared to say yes to you when I’m sober?”
A wave of possessive need washed over him at her words, and he tightened his hand around her wrist.
“When you accept my claim, Naomi Peterson, you will do it stone cold sober,” he told her sternly. “And you won’t just say yes, you will beg.”
Her eyes widened and her lips parted slightly.
“Lunch is served,” a female voice said from behind the bar.
Gage turned to see that a Maltaffian woman with a chef’s hat perched between her horns carrying over a tray with a bowl of fresh ceviche, chips, and dishes.
“How lovely,” Naomi said politely, her perfect manners still intact, in spite of the buzz of her fruity beverage. “What is it?”
“Ceviche is a dish made of fresh fish and spices,” the chef said. “The fish is marinated in citrus juice to cure it, making traditional cooking unnecessary to achieve a firm and pleasant texture. Most people enjoy eating it with fresh baked chips.”
Naomi nodded politely, her expression frozen.
“Bon Appetit,” the chef said, backing away.
“Gage, it’s not cooked,” Naomi whispered to him.
“I think it may as well be cooked,” he told her. “Isn’t this a Terran thing?”
“Not all Terrans enjoy eating raw fish,” she hissed. “I don’t even eat sushi.”
“I’ll try it,” he offered. “If it’s not good, I’ll tell you.”
She smiled at him like he was her warrior in Invicta armor, and he felt his chest swell with pride, even though he knew what he was doing was a silly little thing.
He scooped up some of the fish and fruit concoction with a chip and brought it to his lips.
The scent was incredible, and it tasted like summertime, the fish so perfectly cured it practically melted on his tongue.
“You like it,” Naomi breathed, stunned.
“I really do,” he told her. “I think there’s mango in there. Do you want to try a small bite?”
