The Prince's Scandalous Wedding Vow

by Jane Porter

  “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. Sh
e 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.