The Prince's Scandalous Wedding Vow

“So maybe not a fish but a mermaid.”

“Maybe,” she answered, smiling, feeling strangely shy and sensitive because everything inside her seemed to be shifting and lurching. Changing.

She’d noticed it before, and she’d tried to suppress the feelings, but she couldn’t pretend it wasn’t happening, or real, any longer. She couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t aware of her. She couldn’t pretend that there wasn’t something taut and electric between them, because there was something about the way he looked at her, something in the intensity of his expression that made the air catch in her throat, making her heart gallop. The way he looked at her terrified her and yet, at the same time, thrilled her. Being near him was wonderful, confusing, exhilarating. No one had ever looked at her as if she were so important. No one had ever made her feel so beautiful. Every conversation made her feel alive, and she didn’t know why because there was nothing terribly revealing said. And yet he fascinated her. He’d fascinated her on the beach when he’d been just a mysterious stranger, and her fascination only grew with every day because how could he—this gorgeous, handsome stranger—want her?

And yet, being wanted was doing something to her, seducing her, making her question everything she believed. She’d always thought that she’d never have sex with someone, not unless he was her forever love, the man who would marry her, the man who would share a life with her. Looking into his eyes, she figured she was losing out on something beautiful. This felt special. It felt like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, something she wasn’t prepared to miss.

It helped that she knew the attraction wasn’t one-sided.

It was clear from the heat in his gaze that he desired her, and the knowledge was a heady power. An aphrodisiac that made her restless and curious. He could make her feel so much with just a look. How would she feel if he touched her? Kissed her?

She didn’t let herself think further than that. She’d never experienced more than a couple kisses, kisses that hadn’t inspired her in any way, making her think there was no need to repeat the experience. Until now. Somehow she sensed that kissing her mysterious stranger would be entirely different. Maybe even life-changing.

But did she want that?

She looked hard at her stranger, who truthfully was no longer a stranger, but someone who was quickly becoming very important to her.

She’d spent so much of her life alone, or alone with her father—which was virtually alone since he rarely spoke, his head always down, buried in his work. She understood her father’s fascination with his work and his commitment to research, but every now and then she wanted...more.

She wanted to be seen.

She wanted to be known.

She wanted to be...loved.

Growing up as she had had taught her tremendous self-reliance, but there were times she felt that her life had also left her empty and aching for more. More connection. More expression. More emotion.

Usually these thoughts and feelings happened late at night, and she’d blame fatigue and the need to sleep.

But she was feeling these things almost constantly lately. The arrival of her mystery man had changed something within her.

His arrival had made her aware of the world out there and that there was more to the world than she knew. But even with that knowledge, she also knew she was happy on Khronos. Most of the time she wanted nothing but her work and the sun and the sea. Most of the time she was utterly content.

She needed to be content again.

Abruptly, Josephine rose, moving away, trying to escape the heat suffusing her skin and ache filling her chest. Her father had left her here to manage the foundation’s station. She needed to stay focused on her responsibilities. “I’d better get back to work,” she said huskily.

“Can I help?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I’m just going to check the solar panels. You relax—”

“That’s all I’ve done the past few days. Show me what you’re doing, or what needs to be done, so I can help while I’m here.”

She smiled tightly. “Okay, follow me.”

The old Greek cottage had been constructed of stones, without the charm of whitewash, and while it looked ancient and almost abandoned from the front, there were clean, well-maintained stairs behind—stairs that rose up to a clearing filled with a mass of solar panels and equipment, and another smaller stone house.

“That’s where the foundation keeps all the seismic monitoring equipment. The equipment is connected to portable seismometers along the edge of the island, as well as some in the water. You see, we’re sitting practically on top of a volcano. Khronos is just the tip, which is why we have the seismometers to detect rock movement in the earth’s crust. Some movements may be the result of rising magma beneath the surface, which could mean an awakening volcano. We also have equipment here that monitors gases like sulfur dioxide, as an increase in sulfur dioxide could be an indication of magma near the earth’s surface.”

“And if that should happen? What do you do?”

“It hasn’t happened in the past ten years, so I think I’m safe. Odds are, I’m safe.”

“You’re pretty nonchalant about something potentially catastrophic.”

“Some people are terrified of volcanoes, particularly supervolcanoes, but there has never been such an eruption in human memory, and did you know there are actually quite a few people who choose to live near a volcano because they’re drawn to the geothermal energy, the minerals and the fertile soil? I’m a fan of geothermal energy because it’s very clean, and the resource is nearly inexhaustible.

“Speaking of energy, come see,” she said, walking farther back along a compact dirt path that cut deeply through the rough, rocky terrain dotted with a few gnarled olive trees. “Twenty years ago the foundation was powered by those wind turbines before us. Unfortunately, they were prone to breaking down and the repairs were costly, and then new, improved solar technology became a better answer, so eventually no one bothered to repair or replace the turbines.”

“They do look forlorn,” he said, taking in the line of tall wind turbines that covered the top of the island.

“Luckily for us, solar works incredibly well, allowing the foundation to live completely off the grid. We use solar energy for almost everything. Light, heating, cooking, powering the radio—when the radio actually works—and now for desalination.”

He’d been studying the solar panels, but she noted how his interest was piqued by the mention of their desalination system.

She walked him back to another frame, this one with its own set of panels, plus tubes, dials and black rectangular features, and motioned for him to crouch down beside her. “This is our baby and my personal favorite because this one gives us all our fresh water. In the beginning, we had to bring everything in, including gallons and gallons of water. We’d collect rainwater when we could, but if we had no rain, we’d begin to panic. Now, thanks to a partnership with my father’s university, we’re able to turn salt water into drinking water using only solar energy. Although there are over eighteen thousand desalination plants across the world, this one is unique in that it combines solar energy with brand-new technology allowing a family to generate enough clean water for individual use.”

“How is it different from traditional desalination?”

“You’re familiar with the desalination process?”

“Salt water is brought to a boil, creating steam. The steam is run through a condensing coil.”

“Right. The traditional method is very energy inefficient and requires expensive, complex infrastructure. Over half of the cost of a distillation plant is spent on energy.”

“So this is membrane distillation?”

She was impressed he knew that much. Perhaps he’d studied science in school, or something environment related. “Yes and no. The university took conventional membrane distillation, where hot salt water flows across one side of the porous membrane and cold freshwater flows across the other, and added in a layer of carbon-black nanoparticles. The carbon-black nanoparticles attract light, heating the entire surface of the membrane, converting as much as eighty percent of sunlight energy into heat, giving us more water with less energy. It’s ideal for us with a compact footprint, but it will also revolutionize the way the world desalinates water because the nanoparticles are low-cost and commercially available.”

“Fascinating,” he murmured, studying the section with the nanoparticles and then the tubing where water dripped into a clear canister. “By integrating photothermal heating with membrane distillation you’ve created more productive and efficient technology.”

“I haven’t. The university program did. We’re lucky the scientists and engineers agreed to let us work with it here. We’ve had it eighteen months now and it’s transformed our lives.” She nodded toward the small garden off to the side. “Tomatoes, cucumbers, lettuce, carrots, and more. All possible now due to a never-ending supply of clean, drinkable water.”

“I’d heard about an American university developing something like this, but it’s amazing to see it in use here on Khronos and to know it’s not just theoretical.”

“It’s a game changer for the world.”

“Indeed,” he murmured, and yet he wasn’t looking at the system but rather at her; his gaze locked on her lips and she felt his scrutiny all the way through her.

Heat bloomed in her cheeks. She felt overly warm, her skin exquisitely sensitive, and she looked away, trying to hide how flustered she felt. She wanted his kiss and yet she feared it, too.

She wasn’t experienced, and she knew most women her age would have had a number of significant relationships by now. She suddenly wished she’d had a more conventional life, a life where she’d had dates and boyfriends so she’d know what to do and how to respond.

She wanted to respond. Could he tell?

“You’re bored,” she said huskily, rising and brushing the coarse dirt from her hands.

“I’m not,” he answered, rising, as well. “I’m fascinated by everything here. Not just by how you’re managing to survive in the middle of nowhere but by you and this father of yours. I can’t imagine any other father leaving his only daughter defenseless in such a remote spot.”

“I’m not defenseless. I have the radio—” she broke off, lips tightening. Her heart was racing and her stomach churned and she felt close to tears and didn’t know why. Nothing had happened, and yet somehow everything was happening and she seemed to be losing control. “Normally it works. I’ve never dropped it before. I’ve never broken it before. That accident was a fluke, just like you being here is a fluke. I’ve spent four years on Khronos and we’ve seen plenty of yachts, but none have ever stopped here before. And we’ve certainly never had any castaways, either—”

“Why are you afraid?” he asked, interrupting her torrent of words.

“I’m not.” And yet her voice was high and thin, breathless.

For a long moment he was silent, studying her, and then he reached out and lightly traced her eyebrows, the right and then the left. Her breath caught in her throat as the touch sent sparks of hot sensation shooting through her veins. She stared at him, deep into his eyes, as he continued to explore her face, his fingertips light as they caressed the length of her nose, and then her cheekbone, and finally down along the line of her jaw.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice deep and rough.

She felt his voice and his touch all the way through her, an erotic rasp that teased her senses, making her skin flush and her body ache.

“No makeup, no designer clothes, no expensive blowouts. Just beautiful you,” he added. “I didn’t know women like you even existed.”

“You say that now, but if you put me next to your lovely ladies from the yacht, you’d see how I’d pale in comparison.”

“I don’t think there is any comparison. You’re extraordinary. Your mind. Your passion for your work. Your beauty. You’re perfect.”

“You’re going to give me quite an ego.”

“Good. You should know you’re special. One in a million.”

She drew back to look him in the face. He didn’t turn away, letting her look, allowing her to see the flare of heat in his eyes.

“If you really feel that way, would you kiss me?” she whispered. “Unless that’s not how you feel—”

“I’ve wanted to kiss you from the moment I opened my eyes and saw you in the room looking like an angel.”

She swallowed hard. “I’m no angel,” she murmured, even as her pulse beat double time, and her gaze drank him in, lingering on the hard, clean line of cheekbone and the shadow of a beard darkening his strong jaw. He shaved every morning, using her father’s kit, but by late afternoon he had that shadow again. And then there was that mouth, his wide, firm mouth, his lips lovely. She’d loved drawing his face and loved his mouth most of all, wondering what it would feel like against her own. Wondering what he’d taste like. Wondering if kissing him would be different from kissing alcohol-fueled Ethan in Honolulu two years ago. That kiss had been so awful and sloppy that it had killed all desire to date.

He closed the distance between them, his hands circling her upper arms, bringing her in against him. His blue eyes glowed bright, the heat in the depths holding her, trapping her. Life seemed to slow, and the world shrank to just them.

Josephine could feel the thudding of her heart, and his hands wrapping around her arms, his skin so warm. She shivered at his heat and the way his hard chest pressed against her breasts, making her conscious that she was braless, and her nipples were tight and yet tender, and so sensitive to every breath he took.

This was what she wanted. This was all she wanted. Just to feel his mouth on hers...

His dark head dropped and very slowly his lovely, sensual mouth captured hers, sending sharp hot sparks of sensation through her. She heard a whimper and prayed it wasn’t her. His hand rose to cup the back of her head, holding her still while his lips traveled over hers, teasing, tasting, discovering. She shuddered as more sparks of feeling shot through her, the heat making her melt on the inside, her brain flooded with wildly contradictory signals. She wanted more, so much more, even as another part whispered that she was out of his league.

“Second thoughts?” he murmured, lifting his head, his blue gaze meeting and holding hers.

“Um, yes. No. No.” Because truly, she’d never felt so alive and so full of yearning about anything, but this was crazy. Her feelings were crazy. Excitement filled her veins, making her feel daring and wild...two things Josephine was not, nor ever had been.

And yet, it felt so good to feel excited and alive.

It felt so good to be touched and kissed.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he said, stroking her cheek, sending rivulets of fire through her, fire that she could feel in the tips of her breasts and deep between her thighs.

“Because it’s obvious you’re thinking.”

“I know, and I’m sorry for it—”

“Don’t be. Talk to me.”

She drew a quick, shallow breath before blurting, “Do you think you could be married?”

“No.”

“So you don’t think you have a...a wife...somewhere?”

“No.”

“How can you be so sure?”

His broad shoulders shifted. “Just the way I know I’m not American. It doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t sound right. It doesn’t sound like...me.”

He released her and she took a step back, and then another, not because she wanted to be apart from him but because she couldn’t think when she was close to him and this conversation was important. “Your memory is returning.”

“It must be.”

“What sounds like you? Could you describe yourself? Who do you think you might be?”

“European. Wealthy.” He grimaced. “Mediterranean, most likely. I think I run a company, or own my own company, and I’m good at it. I feel like I have quite a few employees, so my company can’t be small. And I have a nagging suspicion that I’m a perfectionist, and, quite possibly, not easily pleased.” He looked chagrined. “And if that is all true, I’ve just described a man that sounds like a pompous ass, which makes me despise myself, even though I don’t yet know myself.”

She laughed. “Considering that you don’t know yourself, I think you’re being a little hard on yourself. After spending the past few days with you, I think you’re a better person than you described. My gut says you’re a very good person, as well as something of a loner, because even when you were with your friends, you were still a bit distant, and rather alone.”

“Probably because I’m an unlikable prat—”

“No!” She interrupted with a throaty gurgle of laughter, and the sheer joy in the sound stopped her. Was that really her giggling? Sounding so impossibly girlish and happy? Josephine went through life very seriously. She was committed to facts, not feelings, and her life revolved around work and being useful and practical.

“What are you thinking now?” he asked.

“Is it that obvious I have a tendency to overthink everything?”

“I like it. I like you. Don’t ever apologize for being you, Josephine.”

The commanding gruffness in his voice made her throat swell closed. She felt a ridiculous need to cry. It had been such a strange and wonderful few days with him here, and everything inside her felt full and tender and new.

“We should head back to the house so I can focus on dinner,” she said.

He caught her by the wrist to stop her from escaping. “You never answered my question. What were you thinking just a moment ago?”

She suppressed a shiver as he stroked the inside of her wrist with the pad of his thumb, setting her alight. “That I’m happy,” she said unsteadily, trying not to look at his mouth, trying not to remember their kiss earlier, because it had been perfect, and he made her feel beautiful and perfect, and standing close to him made her shockingly aware of how much she wanted to feel more. “And...” She gulped a breath and then lifted her chin, determined to finish her thought. “I’m happy you’re here.”

CHAPTER THREE

THE SKY WAS putting on a show tonight, the sunset a stunning orange on top of red, while waves crashed onto the beach—but the beauty was lost on him. Tension rolled through him. He didn’t yet know himself, but he sensed parts of himself. It was strange and disorienting as well as infuriating. He didn’t like not knowing himself, and he didn’t want to be called by a name that wasn’t his.

He wanted his name, and his identity.

He wanted to be himself, whoever that was, good or bad. He’d take the good and bad, fully embracing both because it was beyond frustrating to feel and think without a foundation of self, never mind self-knowledge.

Every time he heard himself say I think...a little voice inside him stopped him, questioning him. Are you sure? How do you know?

So, hurrah, his memory was returning, but it wasn’t fast enough. He was impatient with the process. He didn’t want pieces of himself; he wanted all his memory back. He wanted his life back. It wasn’t enough to sense things about himself. He needed to know. He needed the truth.

The darkness inside him threatened to engulf him tonight and it crossed his mind that this life of hers was not him, which just made him want to know what his life was. He was by no means bored on Khronos, and he was enjoying being with Josephine, but this quiet island of hers wasn’t his life.

He knew with certainty that his life wasn’t quiet.

His work wasn’t calm.

His world had stress and chaos and deadlines and people.

“Here,” Josephine said, emerging at his side on the beach, a glass of wine in her hand. “I think you could use it.”

He arched a brow.

“It’s good wine,” she said, smiling, her full lips curving, the sweet lift of her lips reminding him of their kiss earlier, and how soft her mouth had been beneath his, and how good she’d felt in his arms. Hunger stirred and he imagined doing all sorts of things to her that weren’t innocent and would probably shock her.

But she’d enjoy it, and he’d enjoy her pleasure.

“And I need it because...?” he asked, smashing his hunger, not needing one more torment tonight.

“You’re pacing this poor beach like a caged tiger. I’m hoping a couple glasses of Father Epi’s merlot might help you relax.”

He took the glass from her. “We’ve never had wine before.”

“I don’t normally drink, but this is a special occasion.”

“Is it?”

She nodded, color suffusing her lovely cheekbones. “I thought we should do something different tonight. Make tonight special. Hopefully it will provide some diversion and distract you from whatever is bothering you.”

“You don’t need to worry about me.”

“But I do.”

“Why?”

“I care about you.” Her shoulders lifted and fell. “Which is why we’re having dinner alfresco tonight. I’ve set a table for us and we will enjoy dinner outside and watch the sun set, and you’ll be my first real date. Unless that is too awkward?” She bit into her lush lower lip for a moment, struggling with her confidence. “Am I horribly awkward? I’m afraid I am.”

“There is nothing awkward about you,” he answered huskily, reaching for her and drawing her close. “I would enjoy a dinner date with you very much, bella,” he murmured, his head dropping to kiss her soft, warm mouth. For a moment she stiffened, and then in the next, she leaned into him, giving herself up to him. He traced the seam of her lips with his tongue and when her lips parted, he claimed her mouth, too, his tongue teasing hers, tasting her, wanting her. She shivered against him, and he kissed her jaw and then the side of her neck, feeling her shiver again as he kissed his way down to her collarbone, the air catching in her throat. She was so sensitive. He battled his desire, keeping his need in check.

She wanted a date. She wanted romance. He could do that.

“You don’t have to do anything,” she said quickly, breathlessly. “I’m taking care of the dinner and I’ve already set the table. Want to come see?”

He nodded because he did want to see, very much so. He offered her his arm, and she shyly tucked her hand through the crook of his elbow. They left the beach, returning to the little house, which looked altogether different with the glowing fire outside in a fire pit and a small round table covered with a vivid tablecloth with bright birds and butterflies against a black wool background. There were two place settings on the table, and tall tapered candles glimmered in the center. It was charming and rustic and he was touched that she had gone to such pains for him.

“That’s not a Greek tablecloth,” he said.

“No, it’s from Peru. My dear Azucena made it for me before we left. I was supposed to save it for my hope chest—” She broke off when she saw his confusion. “Do girls not have hope chests where you’re from?”

“I’m not sure. What is that?”

“It’s where you save things for your wedding. Linens and quilts and other things to help you begin your new home once you’re married.”

He noticed she wouldn’t look at him as she talked, and color darkened her cheeks.

“I’m not planning on getting married,” she added, moving around the table, adjusting the plates and glasses, “and it seems like such a waste to leave this lovely tablecloth in a chest forever, so I brought it out tonight. It’s pretty, though, isn’t it?”

“It is.” But he wasn’t looking at the cloth. He was looking at Josephine as the candlelight illuminated her profile. She’d changed at some point from her casual sundress into a long blue skirt that she’d paired with a white peasant-style blouse. Her long hair had been pulled into a loose knot that she’d attempted to secure with what looked like wooden sticks, but long tendrils of hair were slipping out and curling loosely at her neck and around her face.