Page 104 of The Worst of Them

In response to his question, her head gave another vicious throb, forcing her to squint. “It does.”

In a move that was far more agile than a hungover man ought to be capable of, he heaved himself up and climbed over her, practically vaulting off the bed.

She noted with some relief that he still wore his pants, but they hung low enough to reveal the v of his hips. As he straightened and started across the room, a folded square of paper fell out of one pocket. She was about to tell him about it when he stretched his arms over his head, the muscles in his tan back rippling with the movement⁠—

“Close your mouth,” he said without turning around.

She snapped it shut. “It wasn’t open,” she replied snidely.

Jack only laughed, opened a drawer, and began rifling around. He pulled out a small blue bottle and returned to hand it to her. “Here.”

“What is it?” She looked for a label and found none.

“A tonic.”

“What’s in it?” She looked up at him—or tried to. Her eyes caught on his chiseled torso and stayed there.

He only said, “Do you want to feel like shit all day?”

She looked at the bottle again as though words might appear to tell her what she was about to consume. “Where’d you get it?”

“I made it.” He knelt next to the bed. “For hangovers. It’s a necessity in Tortuga.”

“You don’t look like you feel like shit.”

“Oh, I feel like shit, but waking to a wife in my bed was quite sobering.” He nudged her hand that held the bottle, the gold band glinting on his finger. “Drink. It’ll help.”

Wife. She’d married Jack. And he was taking care of her while she suffered through her first hangover.

Her smile appeared again of its own volition, and she uncorked the bottle and took a sip.

“More,” he said the moment she ripped it away from her mouth.

“It’s awful!” She covered her lips with the back of her hand, trying not to gag. “It tastes like boiled cabbage.”

“It is boiled cabbage.” His grin was far too amused for how bad he claimed to feel. “It’ll help. Trust me.”

She grimaced, lowering her hand as she grumbled, “You’re lucky you’re handsome.” When the tonic hit her tongue this time, she drank it. When she’d had all she could bear, she shivered against the taste and handed it back. “It’s not just boiled cabbage.”

“No, it’s also eggs, raisins, ambergris, and⁠—”

“Shut it.” She buried her face in her hands. “I’m already nauseous.”

“It won’t sound so disgusting when the headache abates.” He caressed the side of her head as he stood, sending butterflies tumbling against her roiling stomach in a way that was oddly soothing.

Peeking from between her fingers, her gaze moved back to the paper on the floor. “You dropped that,” she said, lowering one hand to point.

Jack stopped and bent to pick it up. With the blue bottle balanced in one hand, he unfolded it. Then froze. His lips parted on a sharp exhale.

“Jack?”

He glanced at her, eyes wide and lips parted in shock as though he’d seen a ghost. With a blink, the expression vanished, and he was his casual self once again.

“Marriage certificate,” he said, folding it tightly and slipping it back into his pocket. “I’m surprised we were given one.”

How odd. Was he not as pleased as she was? Of course, she was still surprised and a little unsure, but not unhappy. Perhaps Jack had thought it was mere silliness until finding legal evidence of their matrimony.

“We can get it annulled, if you want,” she said, sounding cool and unbothered even though it would bother her very much if he agreed. “It’s not like we consummated⁠—”