The Prince's Scandalous Wedding Vow

She wouldn’t stand in the way of his wedding to Danielle, either. She’d tell him to do the honorable thing. She wouldn’t ask for anything for herself.

Her hand rose to lightly skim his cheekbone and then his mouth and finally his jaw. “What’s wrong? Tell me.”

He wanted to. God, how he wanted to, because there were still things he didn’t remember and things that weren’t clear. Like the trip on the yacht with his friends. He wasn’t even sure which friends had been there. Shouldn’t he remember that? And he didn’t remember the beach, and he didn’t remember a fight, and he didn’t remember going overboard.

If his memory had returned, why were those details still blank?

“I just want to remember the yacht,” he said after a moment, hating the turmoil within him. He’d always known himself. He’d always been confident. No, he didn’t like this new version of himself. “I want to remember my friends and the circumstances that brought me to you.”

She rubbed the line of his jaw and then lightly dragged her fingernails across the stubble of his beard. “I do, too. And then when I know what happened, I will find your friends and give them a piece of my mind because how dare they treat you so shabbily! How dare—”

He stopped her words with a kiss, and as he kissed her he felt a shaft of pain through his chest. She was, without a doubt, the very best thing he’d ever known, and soon he’d break her heart. And just maybe break his, too.

* * *

Josephine woke with a start, a familiar sound puncturing her dreams. It was a boat.

Her father’s motorboat. She flung back the covers and practically jumped out of bed, trying to absorb the fact that her father was home two days earlier than expected.

A strong muscular arm reached for her. “Where are you going?” he murmured sleepily.

“My father’s home,” she answered, heart hammering, trying to imagine her father’s reaction if he walked into the cottage and found her in bed with a strange man. Her father was tolerant but it would have been too much for him. She dragged her hair into a ponytail. “You stay here. I’ll go speak with him.”

“I’ll go with you.”

He stood unashamed before her, tall, muscular, tanned, naked. Heat rushed through her, and her hands shook as she pulled on a sundress, covering her nudity, suddenly aware that she wasn’t at all prepared for this moment. She’d convinced herself that her father would like him, but would he?

“Let me talk to him first, and then I’ll bring him inside and introduce you two. I think it’d be better if I tell him what’s happened—”

“Why are you upset? Will he be angry to find me here?”

“Not if you’re dressed. But he’s a father. I’m his little girl.”

“Understood.”

She pulled up the covers and then, glancing at the bed, realized how it would look. She took one of the pillows and a quilt and carried them to the living room, where she made a second bed on the ground.

He’d followed her into the living room, brow lifting quizzically. “My bed, I take it?”

“Yes.” She shot him a desperate look. “Do you mind?”

“Am I really to sleep there?”

“If you’d prefer, I can sleep there—”

“Don’t be foolish. I love sleeping on the floor.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“True. But for you, I’d do anything.” And then he pulled her into his arms and kissed her hard, the kiss hot and possessive. When he lifted his head, his blue gaze scorched her with its heat. “And I do mean that.”

He released her and Josephine slipped out of the cottage and ran down to the beach where her father was anchoring the boat. He was just reaching for the second line when he saw her. “Perfect timing,” her father called.

She took the line from him and attached it to the mooring buried deep in the sand. He jumped out to give her a hand.

“You’re back early,” she said as he finished attaching the heavy chain through the iron loop.

“I was worried about you. I couldn’t reach you on the radio.”

“It broke a few days after you left.”

“And you couldn’t fix it?”

“I dropped it, smashing too many parts.”

“I bought a new one, just in case.”

“Smart thinking.” She pushed her hair back from her face, feeling ridiculously nervous. She wasn’t used to feeling this way, not around her father. “How was your trip? Everything go all right?”

“Everything went well. Had some good news while at the university. Picked up some more grant money, which is always nice.”

“Money pays bills.”

“Also necessary when restocking supplies.” He waded back into the water and climbed into the boat and began dragging boxes and crates forward. “How have things been here? Anything exciting?”

She darted a glance toward the stone house. “Actually, yes. Far more exciting than usual.” She took a quick breath. “We have a visitor.”

Her dad stopped in his tracks, slowly straightening. “A what?”

“A visitor.” She smiled brightly. “It’s quite the story, too. You see, he went overboard and I saved him.” She gulped more air, needing courage. “He was injured in the

accident. He’s lost his memory. Can’t remember anything, not his name or where he’s from.”

“He’s been alone with you this entire time?”

“Not the entire time. Just a week or so.”

“A week or so.” He paused, his weathered forehead creasing even more deeply. “Here? On the island?”

“Yes.”

“Where is he now?”

“Inside the house. I asked him to stay there while I told you about him. I knew it’d be a shock. It was a shock to me—” she broke off as her dad jumped over the side of the boat and started for the house. “What are you doing?”

“Going to tell this fellow to pack up—”

“Pack what?” she cried, running to catch up with him. “He went overboard. He has nothing!”

“Great. It’ll make it that much easier to ferry him to Antreas and hand him over to officials there.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know nothing about this man. He could be dangerous.”

“If he was dangerous, wouldn’t I know it by now?”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Dad, stop. Listen.” She grabbed his coat sleeve, tugged on it hard, stopping him. “He has amnesia.”

“Which would make him all the more unpredictable. You’re lucky he hasn’t hurt you—”

“Why would I hurt her when she saved my life?” Alexander said, his deep voice catching them both by surprise. He approached her father and extended a hand. “I’m grateful for your daughter’s bravery, Professor Robb.”

Her father warily shook his hand. “I understand you’ve had an accident.”

“I did.”

Her father stepped back, still studying him, his expression shuttered. His closed expression worried her. Her father was a professor—his career had been filled with young people, students—and he was usually affable, friendly. He wasn’t now. What was wrong?