2. Maia
Maia
Sitting up abruptly in the large king-sized bed, I try not to panic as the world starts to come into focus around me.
I take in my unfamiliar surroundings. Sleek and modern, the room is a mixture of black and chrome with powerful gold accents and sharp edges reminiscent of lightning.
Across from the bed are enormous floor-to-ceiling windows lining the whole wall with an unobstructed view of the clouds and sky.
I hold my breath, feeling as though I am above the world, looking down at the mortals on a lower plane.
The city is nothing but specks on the horizon.
Gripping the black silk sheet with trembling hands, I bring it up to cover my bare chest. Taking a deep, calming breath in, I notice a faint scent that triggers a wisp of a memory just out of reach.
Did I leave the bar with someone last night?
Confused and disoriented, I look around for my clothing as a shiver courses down my spine.
The last thing I remember was being summoned to join my father at a private club in the city.
It was a very unusual request but the club was elite and it was nearly impossible to receive an invitation.
Left sitting alone at the bar waiting on my father, I recall the bartender handing me a second Bellini but then nothing. What was in that drink?
I cradle my pounding head in my hands as panic starts to rise in my chest. I need to do something. Think Maya, think. I quickly gather up the sheet and wrap it around my body as I start to stand. I need to find my clothes and phone and get the hell out of wherever here is.
Before I can start to move, the door on the far wall swings open and the most stunning and enormous man I have ever seen appears in the doorway with nothing but a black towel hanging low around his waist. Beads of water glisten in his dark hair and on the sculpted planes of his bronze-colored chest. Eyes as dark as night bore into me and I shrink back onto the bed.
“Good morning, Mikroúla. Sleep well?” the giant of a man says with a wry grin on his face, as his powerful frame carries him into the room. He moves toward another door that opens to what I think is a large walk-in closet.
As he strides inside, I quickly hurry from the bed and run toward the only remaining door in the room.
Wrapping the sheet tightly around me, I begin to tug on the handle, looking to escape.
It won’t budge. Fear building in my chest I continue to pull.
I hear a dark-sounding laughter from behind and spin around, pressing my back against the door.
“Wh-who are you? Where am I?” I stutter, raising my chin in defiance.
The man was now dressed in a black suit and shirt, sans the tie. The material gliding over his bulging muscles and trim waist like it was fitted just for him. Which it probably was.
“Is that any way to greet your husband?”
Husband! I don’t know what this guy’s been smoking but I need to get out of here. I don’t care how gorgeous he is, obviously there is a screw loose somewhere. I turn around and pull on the door handle again, hoping this time will be different.
“The door will not open without my biometrics so I wouldn’t bother,” he drawls in a slight accent I can’t place, a smirk adorning his lips. I turn around again to glare at him. Squaring my shoulders, I project as much authority into my voice as I can muster under the circumstances.
“You are not my husband. I don’t know what world you live in but in this one you can’t just state you are married to someone and make it reality.
There is a little thing you are missing called ‘consent.’” I state with all the bravado I have left in me.
“Now, if you could show me where my clothes are I would like to leave.” My whole body is trembling under the sheet I’m wrapped in and I am about ten seconds away from passing out.
He gives me a slight smirk and heads towards a desk I didn’t notice on the other side of the room. Opening one of the drawers, he retrieves a file folder and strides back towards me. I glare at it like it’s a live grenade in his hand. “What is that?”
“This, Mikroúla, is your consent.” He hands the file folder to me and I take it as shock radiates down my body.
What does he mean my consent? I would never consent to something as insane as marrying someone I’ve never even met.
I open the folder and glance at the documents inside.
There is a marriage certificate and a contract of some sort, and at the bottom of both is my signature.
But how could this be… my heart is pounding so hard I can barely breathe.
I lean back against the wall for support, the empty folder slipping out of my numb fingers as I grip the papers like they would disappear if I wasn’t holding them.
“What are these?” I say, in a whispered voice.
“Obviously, it is your consent to marry me and my word that I will not destroy your father and his business as compensation. I assure you it is all on the up and up,” he states without an ounce of feeling in his face as he closes the distance between us and rests one hand on the wall at the side of my head.
“This can’t be—”
His head starts to descend towards me, and I bite my bottom lip as my breath hitches in my throat.
Is he going to kiss me? For some reason, the thought doesn’t elicit the panic in me it should.
A stranger, a man, invading my personal space should immediately put me on guard.
I should be running through all of the things I was taught to defend myself—instead I feel a little flutter as I stare at his mouth, focusing on the fine line of his lips.
The scruff of his dark beard brushes my cheek as his breath skates across the side of my neck and my back arches seeking his heat.
A shiver courses down my spine as he whispers, “Oh, but it can.”
My body quakes with a combination of shock and fear, and it’s all I can do to lift my chin and look him in the eyes. “I don’t even know your name…”
“Well, Mikroúla, that can be rectified.”