The Prince's Scandalous Wedding Vow. Jane Porter

model. The kind that doesn’t lift anything, not even her own swim bag. The kind that pouts when you don’t feel like talking.”

      “Interesting,” he drawled, blue eyes glinting.

      “How so?”

      “You didn’t like my friends. You never said that earlier. This is new information.”

      “I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s not factual and not important—”

      “But revealing about you.”

      “Exactly. There is no reason to share my feelings on anything. I should be focused on assisting you. Who I am and what I feel isn’t relevant in any way.”

      “You’re allowed to have opinions.”

      “I’ll voice them if they’ll be helpful. Me judging your female friends isn’t helpful. It’s just me being petty and unkind and unnecessary.”

      “Why do I feel like you are a rare breed?”

      “Because I am strange. I don’t fit in. I never have.”

      “Sounds a bit defeatist, don’t you think?”

      “I would agree with you if I were here licking my wounds. But I’m here by choice, because I’m happy here. I sleep well here. I can breathe here. I don’t feel odd or different, and on Khronos I don’t second-guess myself, and that’s a good thing.”

      “You’re saying society makes you uncomfortable.”

      “Absolutely.” She carried his plate and fork to the small sink in her very small kitchen and felt his gaze bore into her back as she filled the small plastic dish tub with water to let them soak. “But I’ve been raised outside society so it’s to be expected.”

      “Have you ever lived in a city?”

      “Honolulu.”

      “Is that a proper city?”

      She turned and shot him a disapproving look. “Yes. Honolulu has some beautiful architecture and it has a fascinating history. Hawaii isn’t just beaches and surfing.” She didn’t tell him, though, that she didn’t enjoy going back to Oahu anymore because it was too urban for her now. There were far too many cars and people and it had been overwhelming, which was why she’d elected to remain behind on Khronos while her father went to teach.

      She turned away from the sink, wiped her hands dry on a dish towel and carried the water carafe to the table. “There were maybe twelve of you that came onto the beach,” she said, taking her seat again. “Seven men, including you, and five women. The yacht was huge. One of the biggest, most luxurious yachts I’ve ever seen. Your group would come onto the beach during the day and everyone would swim and sunbathe, eat and drink.” She shot him a long look. “There was lots of drinking. Everyone seemed to be having a good time.”

      “And the night I went overboard?”

      “There was music playing—as always—and a party. As always. Your friends were on the top two decks—the top deck you all used as a disco, so the music and dancing were there, but there were others on the second deck, and I wasn’t sure if they were in a hot tub or a pool, but people there were just hanging out, talking and laughing. But what got my attention on that last night was the arguing at the back of the yacht. I heard voices, or thought I heard voices, and things sounded like they were getting a little heated. It was what caught my attention and what drew me to the edge of the water.”

      “I was arguing?” he asked quietly.

      She hesitated, frowning. “Yes. No. I don’t actually know that it was you. I just heard arguing, and then there was a shout and a splash. I couldn’t see that well and for a second wondered if someone had maybe jumped overboard, but when the person went under and didn’t resurface, I panicked and raced out.”

      “Saving me.”

      She tapped her fingers on the table, suddenly uncomfortable. “I didn’t know it was you. I just knew someone was in trouble.”

      “That couldn’t have been an easy swim.”

      “No, but I was terrified you were going to drown. I couldn’t let it happen.”

      “You risked your life for a stranger.”

      “What is the point of being a strong swimmer if I can’t save someone now and then?”

      She’d deliberately kept her tone light, wanting to ease the tension.

      He didn’t smile. “I would have died without you.”

      “But you didn’t. Now we just need to get your memory back, and all will be well.” She gave him a bright smile and then rose, moving around the room, adjusting the shutters to give them more of the evening’s breeze, and then taking her broom and sweeping out some sand that had found its way inside.

      She could feel his gaze on her the entire time and it made her skin prickle and heat. She felt herself flush and her pulse quicken. He watched her the way surfers watched the waves—with focus and quiet intensity. It was unnerving and she suddenly wanted to adjust her skirt and gather her hair. She wanted to be pretty and worth the attention—

      Josephine gave her head a shake.

      She couldn’t try to be someone she wasn’t. She’d done that in the past, in Honolulu, for example, and it had been disastrous. “Judging from your accent,” she said crisply, giving the threshold one last hard sweep of the broom, “you could be from Belgium, Luxembourg, France, Italy, Switzerland, Monaco, Sicily, Malta, Aargau—maybe even America. You’ve certainly managed to nail the American drawl.”

      He grimaced. “I don’t feel American.”

      She returned the broom to the corner. “Then we can cross the States off the list.” She did a quick count in her head. “Leaving nine possible cultures or nationalities.”

      “We’re whittling down the list.”

      She laughed, and then her laughter faded as she studied the huge bruise still darkening his brow. “I just wish I knew how that happened,” she said, nodding at his temple. “Were you injured in the fall? Did it happen before you went over the side?”

      “I’ve wondered the same.”

      She studied his expression, debating if she should reveal her worries, but then he said what she’d been thinking, his voice deep, his delivery slow and thoughtful, “Because if it wasn’t accidental—that would change everything, wouldn’t it?”

       CHAPTER TWO

      HE DIDN’T KNOW his name. He didn’t know where he was from. He didn’t know what he did, or where he lived, or why he’d even be on a yacht “with friends.” He didn’t know if someone had meant him harm or if he’d simply had an accident and fallen overboard.

      But there was one thing he did know, and it was this: he wanted her.

      He 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,