Chapter 4 Talia
TALIA
Morning After
My first conscious thought is that I’m warm.
Not normal warm. Not blanket warm. Human warm.
Very large, very solid, very naked human warm.
My second conscious thought is that my face is pressed against what feels like a concrete wall that somehow breathes.
My third conscious thought is: Oh my God, I’m naked.
My eyes snap open.
Sunlight pours through floor-to-ceiling windows, blinding and unapologetic. It turns everything gold and sharp and far too real.
My brain throbs immediately, a dull, rhythmic pounding behind my temples like someone is testing a jackhammer inside my skull.
I don’t move at first.
I don’t breathe.
Because I’m afraid if I do, whatever nightmare this is will notice me and get worse.
Slowly, cautiously, I look down.
Tan skin. Muscles. A male arm the size of my thigh wrapped loosely around my waist.
My stomach drops straight through the couch.
Nope.
Nope nope nope.
I turn my head.
Very carefully. Very slowly.
And I find myself face-to-face with a sleeping Greek god.
Dark hair. Stubble. Strong jaw. Lips slightly parted in sleep. Broad shoulders disappearing beneath a blanket that is definitely not covering nearly enough.
I stare at him.
He doesn’t move.
He just keeps breathing. Calm. Unbothered. Like this happens to him all the time.
Which—honestly—it probably does.
My brain scrambles, trying to catch up with my life.
The man beside me groans.
Deep. Gravelly. Dangerous.
He shifts slightly, pulling me closer instinctively, his arm tightening around my waist like I belong there.
Which I absolutely do not.
Panic explodes inside my chest.
I shove him. Hard.
He doesn’t wake up.
I shove him again. Harder.
Nothing.
I sit up abruptly, the blanket falling to my waist, exposing both of us completely.
“Wake up,” I snap.
He grunts, still asleep.
Unbelievable.
I grab his shoulder and shake him with both hands. “Wake. Up.”
He jerks suddenly, his eyes flying open, his entire body tensing like he’s about to fight someone.
His gaze lands on my face.
Confusion.
Then irritation.
Then—very slowly—awareness.
His eyes drop. His pupils dilate.
His gaze moves down my body.
My bare chest. My bare stomach.
Lower.
Then his eyes snap back to mine.
We stare at each other. Neither of us speaks.
Then he glances down at himself.
His eyes widen.
He sits up so fast the sheet tangles around his legs.
“What the fuck,” he rasps.
“Yes,” I agree immediately. “Exactly.”
We both freeze.
He looks at me. I look at him.
His gaze flicks down again briefly.
I don’t bother covering myself.
If he has seen everything already, modesty feels like a pointless formality.
He scrubs a hand down his face slowly.
“What…” he starts, then stops.
He tries again. “What happened?”
I blink at him. “You don’t remember?”
He pauses. “Do you?”
“I think it’s coming back to me.”
He hesitates, then asks carefully, “Did we have…?” His voice trails off.
“Did we have what?”
He clears his throat. “Did we have sex?”
I stare at him. “What do you think?”
His jaw tightens. “I think it’s a possibility.”
“Well,” I say evenly, “yes, we did.”
He swallows.
His voice drops, quieter now.
“Oh God,” he murmurs. “I remember now.”
His eyes lift to mine. “Do you remember?”
I blink. “Of course I remember. I wasn’t drunk anymore by then.”
He watches me carefully.
Like he’s evaluating something important.
“Were you sure you wanted to?”
I stare at him for a long moment.
Then I snort. “Yes. I told you, I was practically sober by then.”
He doesn’t look convinced.
His eyes search my face. “You were drunk before.” He scrunches his eyes, like he’s trying to piece together everything that happened before the sex.
“I was. So were you.”
His mouth tightens. “That doesn’t answer the question.”
I lean back on my hands casually, completely unapologetic about my nudity.
“If I recall correctly,” I say, “there were moments when I begged you to fuck me. So yes. I did want it.”
His ears turn slightly pink.
Interesting.
He looks away briefly.
Then back.
“I need to know you weren’t—”
“You’re a sex god,” I interrupt calmly.
He freezes.
“What?”
I shrug.
“I wanted it,” I say lightly. “You’re a sex god. Five out of five stars. Would absolutely recommend. You have nothing to be sorry about.”
He stares at me like I just spoke an alien language.
I grin.
His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
Nothing comes out.
I gesture toward him lazily.
“You literally picked me up and carried me across the room,” I say, smiling faintly. “That was hot as hell.”
His throat bobs as he swallows, his eyes unfocusing slightly as more memories seem to surface.
“You called me Hercules,” he says quietly.
His ears turn even redder.
“I did. And you asked me if I understood instructions.”
His entire face flushes now.
“I did,” I add thoughtfully. “Very well.”
He drags both hands over his face. “Oh my God.”
I beam at him. “It was the best orgasm of my life.”
He groans and I laugh.
Then immediately regret it because my head throbs violently.
I clutch my forehead. “Ow.”
He notices instantly. “You’re hungover.”
“Yes,” I confirm. “Very.”
I glance around the massive suite properly for the first time.
Floor-to-ceiling windows. Marble. Leather.
Luxury everywhere.
My eyes widen. “This is your room?”
He nods once.
I stare at him. “Are you secretly Batman?”
He frowns. “No.”
“Are you a drug lord?”
“No.”
“A prince?”
“No.”
He doesn’t offer anything else, and I narrow my eyes at him.
Hmpf.
Fine.
I’ll find out eventually.
Silence settles between us for a moment.
He studies me, and I see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.
“What’s your name?” he finally asks. “Your real one, I mean. I don’t know if you told me, but I forgot.”
“It’s Talia,” I say. “Yours?”
He straightens slightly. “Jake.”
Jake.
It fits him. Strong. Solid.
I smile.
“And now,” I say lightly, “we’re properly introduced.”
I push myself off the couch and stand.
The blanket falls away completely.
His eyes snap to my body automatically.
Then he jerks his gaze away like he touched a live wire.
Interesting.
He was significantly less shy last night.
I stretch casually.
He clears his throat. “You should—uh—”
He gestures vaguely.
“Cover up?”
I grin. “You’ve already seen everything.”
His jaw tightens. “That was different.”
“How?”
He opens his mouth.
Stops. Closes it.
Doesn’t answer.
I spot my yellow dress on the floor across the room and walk toward it.
I can feel his gaze on my back. On my hips. On everything.
I don’t rush.
I pick up the dress. Turn.
He looks away instantly.
I smile to myself.
I pull the dress over my head slowly.
When I’m done, he looks at me again.
Fully dressed now.
Silence falls. Awkward and heavy.
We’re like two strangers who accidentally survived a natural disaster together.
I clear my throat. “So.”
“So,” he echoes.
“We should probably get some coffee, don’t you think?” I say. “Everything is more bearable with caffeine.”
“Right. Of course.”
He gets up quickly, wrapping the blanket around himself like some kind of makeshift toga before disappearing into the bedroom.
I stifle a laugh at his sudden modesty.
This man had zero modesty last night.
A second later, I hear his voice, low and controlled, speaking to room service.
He sounds different now. More composed.
More like himself.
A few minutes later, he reappears, fully dressed. Dark jeans. Fresh shirt. Hair still slightly messy, but now it looks intentional instead of sinful.
“They’ll bring coffee,” he says.
I nod.
Right on cue, there’s a knock on the door.
He freezes for half a second before crossing the room to answer it.
The door opens, and a uniformed staff member wheels in a cart loaded with coffee, pastries, and enough food to feed a small army.
Jake thanks him quietly and gestures for me to sit down. “Eat.”
I comply and grab a croissant immediately. My stomach is growling.
I take a bite and groan. “This is amazing. You should really try this croissant. Do you want a bite?”
He watches me. “No.” Then, as if reconsidering, he adds, “No, thank you.”
He pours coffee and hands me a cup.
Our fingers brush briefly.
Electricity shoots through me instantly, but for his sake I pretend it was nothing. He’s freaked out enough already.
I take a sip.
He watches me over the rim of his own cup, his brows pulling together like he’s trying to catch a thought that keeps slipping away.
“You know,” he says slowly, “I have the feeling we did something else last night.”
I swallow. “You mean besides having sex?”
He just grunts.
Is he a prude?
Still, he might be right.
Something tingles at the back of my mind.
My fingers freeze around the coffee cup.
No.
That’s ridiculous.
I shake it off and reach for another bite of croissant, determined to focus on the very real, very perfect breakfast in front of me.
The table is covered in silver trays and white porcelain. Strawberries. Eggs. Tiny jars of jam. Everything pristine and deliberate.
Everything except—a piece of paper.
It’s half hidden beneath the edge of the tray.
My gaze catches on it.
Something about it pulls at me.
A strange, magnetic unease.
I don’t even realize I’m standing until I’m already moving.
“Where are you going?” he asks, cautious.
“I just—”
I trail off, stepping closer.
The paper looks official.
Heavy stock. Cream-colored. There’s a seal at the top.
My fingers hover over it.
That strange, nibbling feeling grows stronger.
Behind me, Hercules goes very still.
“Don’t,” he says suddenly.
Too late.
I pick it up.
My eyes skim the top line.
STATE OF NEVADA.
Certificate of Marriage.
The coffee cup slips from my hand.
It hits the floor with a sharp crack, hot liquid splashing across the marble.