The Prince's Scandalous Wedding Vow. Jane Porter
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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