The Prince's Scandalous Wedding Vow. Jane Porter
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woke thinking about Josephine and fell asleep thinking about her and it was all he could do to hide the physical evidence of his desire. He wasn’t a boy. It shouldn’t be difficult to control his hunger, but the fierceness of his desire made him wonder if he’d ever felt like this about anyone before or if this was typical of him. Desire. Hunger. Impatience.
Perhaps the intensity of the need was due to all the other unknowns.
He tried to distract himself with reading the books on the shelves in the house. When he was tired of reading, he swam or lay on the warm sand, soaking in the heat of the sun. But inevitably, as time passed, his thoughts turned to Josephine. He wanted to see her. He just wanted to be near her, so he’d pull a shirt on, one of the shirts from her father’s closet that she’d lent him, and assist her with her work. He’d help with her notes, or he’d water the garden—anything if it meant he could be at her side, as he’d come to crave her shape, her scent, her smile.
She was beautiful and brilliant as well as innocent and earnest. He was certain she was a rare gem, a jewel among even the world’s most beautiful women, and he said that to her one day, after they’d emerged from the sea following a swim.
She smiled at him, amused but also shy. “Thank you for the compliment, but seeing as you don’t remember anything of your world, I’m not sure it’s valid.”
“I don’t have to compare you to know that you’re smart and kind. You’re also cheerful and optimistic, and you make me happy. I have a feeling I’m not always easy to please.”
“You certainly weren’t cheerful on the beach with your friends. In fact, you were often quite aloof, sitting off on your own, staring out at the ocean. I would watch you and sketch you—”
“Sketch me?”
She nodded, blushing. “It’s what I like to do when I have free time.”
“I haven’t seen you draw since I’ve been here.”
“I do when you’re not around, or late at night when you’re sleeping.”
“What do you draw?”
“This and that.” Her blush deepened. “Mostly you.”
He loved how her pink cheeks made her eyes look even more green. She was so fresh and pretty. She reminded him of a mermaid...a siren from the sea. “Why draw me?”
“You fascinate me.”
“Why?”
“You have to know.” Her lips pressed, her expression suddenly reminding him of a prim schoolteacher. “Don’t make me spell it out.”
He was enchanted by the line her full lips made and the firmness of her chin. His fingers itched to reach out and trace her pink cheek and the shape of her mouth. And just like that, his body hardened, the desire hot and insistent. “Apparently, my head injury has made me a little slow. Be kind and explain to me why someone like me would fascinate you?”
Her chin lifted higher. “I’ll only tell you this one time.”
“I’m listening.”
“You’re unbearably attractive—”
“Unbearably?”
“You’re very intelligent.”
“Can we get back to the unbearably attractive part? Is it possible to be unbearably attractive?”
“Yes. You’ve proven it. Let me continue.” She tapped her fingers as if counting her points. “You have a sense of humor—when you want to.”
“I suppose that is a drawback, being unpredictable.”
Her lips twitched. “You have rich friends. That yacht was enormous. But that’s really more of a negative then a plus.”
“Why a negative?”
“From an environmental standpoint, it’s terrible.”
“I agree.”
Her brows arched. “You do?”
“I do. I’m always worried about the environment.”
“You are?”
He nodded.
She frowned, a faint link forming between her eyebrows. “That’s interesting,” she murmured.
“Is it?”
Josephine nodded. “You’re starting to have a clearer sense of self. I think some of your memories are returning. This is a good thing.”
He felt a sudden wash of unease, and he didn’t understand it. The return of his memory should be a great thing, and yet all he felt was a pervasive dread. “Let’s talk about you instead.”
“Why? I’m a boring academic—”
“Not boring, and academics are exciting.”
She laughed. “Are they?”
“I went to school with brilliant women. There is nothing sexier than a smart woman—” he broke off as he realized what he’d said. He’d gone to school with brilliant women. And he knew he hadn’t meant high school or grammar school. He’d meant university, and the words had been so comfortable, so natural. He also knew that calling university school was very American. Had he gone to school—college—in America?
He could see from Josephine’s expression that she’d heard the reference, too, and understood it, as well.
“Your memory is returning,” she said softly, breathlessly.
“You’re healing me,” he said. “All this sun and swimming.”
She smiled back at him. “It’s not as if there’s a lot to do here. No TV or video games.”
“But even if you had those, I don’t think it’s something you’d do. You love being outside. You’re at home in the sea.”
Her cheeks were pink, and her eyes were bright as she tucked a long strand of sun-streaked hair behind her ear. “I’ve always grown up next to the sea. First in Hawaii and then here. I can’t imagine not swimming. If I go too many days without getting wet, I feel off. The sea always restores me.”
“You are a fish.”
She laughed. “My father says the same thing. He says that I have scales and they dry out if I’m out of the water too long. Thus my close proximity to the beach.”
“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