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.
Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright as she glanced at him, and her expression was nervous and shy, sweet and hopeful, and it was the hopefulness in her green gaze that made his chest tighten and ache.
He had a feeling his life was full of beautiful women, but none were like her. How could they be? Who could possibly be as smart and beautiful and yet also so capable? He marveled at her ability to make do with so little. She complained about nothing.
“Why won’t you marry?” he asked, wanting to touch one of those long, loose tendrils that had slipped free from her chignon to rest on her smooth, tanned shoulder.
“It’s just unlikely,” she answered, giving him a smile. “It’s not as if men wash up on my beach often.”
“I did.”
“Yes, but it took me eight years to rescue my first prince.”
His brow creased. “Prince?”
She smiled, and a small dimple appeared near the corner of her mouth. “Like the story ‘The Little Mermaid,’ except I don’t intend to give up my soul in order to marry or in order to make him—or anyone—happy.”
“I confess, I don’t know the story.”
“How can you not know it?”
“I was an—” he stopped and looked away, perplexed. He’d come so close to saying I was an only child.
But was he?
And was that why he didn’t know the story?
“It’s not an American story,” she added, “although Disney did a version of it. It’s Hans Christian Andersen, and his stories are invariably really sad and depressing. I think they were meant to scare children into good behavior, but they gave me nightmares so my dad told my mom not to read them to me anymore, but of course I remember the ones that upset me most.”
She glanced at him. “But no depressing conversation. Dinner is ready. Shall we eat?”
Josephine plated their dinner—roasted lamb fragrant with garlic, oregano, thyme, rosemary, and lemon juice. She loved cooking Greek food and tonight’s lamb paired perfectly with the merlot and the sky, the stunning sunset fading to just a wisp of red and purple on the horizon.
He held her chair for her as she sat down, a chivalrous gesture that made her feel safe and protected. “Thank you,” she murmured, watching as he took the seat opposite her, the candlelight reflecting off the bronze of his cheekbones and his inky-black hair. She felt a sizzle race through her as his blue gaze met hers and held. It was hard to think clearly when he made her feel so much, her pulse racing, her body humming with nerves and excitement.
She wanted him to kiss her again.
She wanted him to hold her and make her feel all the things she’d felt earlier, because this magic wouldn’t last. He’d be gone before she knew it and this time here, together, would be just a memory. A memory she’d cherish forever.
“I can’t imagine a more inviting table setting, or a more beautiful dinner companion,” he said, lifting his wineglass. “To you, Josephine. Thank you for everything.”
“It’s my pleasure,” she said, lightly clinking the rim of her goblet to his.
He sipped the wine and nodded. “This is really good wine.”
“It’s Greek, made by Father Epi in the monastic community Mount Athos. It’s my father’s favorite and what he always brings back with him.”
“I’ll have to remember it.”
She felt her lips curve. “I’d rather you remember your name and those important things like where you live and what you do.” Her smile faded. “Your family must be frantic. If you were mine, I’d be beside myself.”
“It’d be nice to know who they are.”
“I’m sure they are heartsick, as are your friends.”
“Hmm.”
She shot him a speculative look. “You don’t think so?”
His jaw hardened, his gaze narrowing. “They didn’t come back.”
She’d thought the same thing many times. Carefully, she added, “Maybe they didn’t know where you disappeared. It is a huge sea.”
“Whoever I fought with knew I went overboard. Why didn’t he sound the alarm?”
“If that person did know...you’re still in trouble. That person is dangerous. He or she meant to do you harm. Otherwise the yacht would have circled back. Your friends, the rest of them, would never have left you.”
“That’s the first time, you said he or she.” His gaze met hers and held. “Until now, you’ve always said he. Do you think it was a woman?”
“I don’t know. I shouldn’t have said anything. And I shouldn’t speculate. I was never close enough to your group to hear conversations. I only watched from afar, and to be honest, I only really watched you.” She felt her face go hot once again. Her shoulders twisted. She didn’t know where to look. “You were the most interesting.”
His gaze locked with hers and held, and what she saw in his eyes made the air bottle in her lungs and her skin heat. He wanted her, desired her, and it struck her for the first time that it wasn’t because he was grateful she’d saved him—which was what she’d always told herself until now—but because he liked her, Josephine Robb, social misfit. It shouldn’t matter that she could speak a half-dozen different languages but didn’t know anything about popular American culture, but it did whenever she returned to the States. While women her age discussed fashion and the current social-media sensation, she felt foolish and exposed, a fish out of water.
It was all she could do to eat her dinner, and it was one of her favorite meals. Chewing, swallowing, talking, smiling became a challenge because she could feel him from across the table; she could feel his energy and it was dizzying. Her breasts peaked, her body felt hot, like liquid, and she pressed her knees together, trying to deny the sensitivity between her thighs.
“You’ve become very quiet,” he said, as they finished their meal.
The candlelight flickered, casting a dancing shadow across his face. Her gaze followed the shadow and light as it moved over the slash of cheekbones, the strong forehead, the line of his nose, and the utterly masculine jaw. He was handsome and virile but also hard, with a toughness, a fierceness, at his center that made her think she wouldn’t ever want to be his adversary. Far better to have him in her corner, on her side.
“I should clear the table,” she said huskily.
“No, you shouldn’t,” he answered, his gaze focused intently on her.
She felt her mouth tingle beneath his scrutiny, and her face warmed, the skin feeling taut and sensitive. The heat in his blue eyes took her breath away, making her heart pound. Awareness rippled through her, desire coiling low in her belly with a need and a desperation she’d never felt until now. He’d awakened something within her that made her restless, even frantic.
She didn’t just want him; she needed him.
There might never be another who made her feel this way. Beautiful and valuable. Excited and alive.
“Come here,” he said, leaning back in his chair.
He didn’t extend a hand, nor were the words sharp or frightening, but the command was undeniable. He expected her to go to him. He knew she’d obey.
And she knew it, too.
She rose on shaky legs and walked around the small table to his side.
His dark head tipped, and his gaze slowly traveled over her, from her hot flushed cheeks to her full mouth and down over her shoulders. His attention riveted on the tips of her breasts pressing against the thin gauze of her blouse, and then finally moved down over her waist and hips.
The hunger in his eyes made her tremble. She wasn’t frightened, and yet the heat in her body now seemed to center low, pooling in secret places that made her damp. She felt as if he was slowly turning her to wine and honey.
“I want you,” he said, and his deep voice had a rasp in it that made her nipples tighten. “But I’m trying to be respectful,” he added. “I’m aware of how much I owe you—”
“No.”
“I do. I owe you my life.”
“Then don’t want me. Not if it’s because you’re grateful. I don’t want to be wanted out of some misguided gratitude—” She broke off as he reached out and pulled her down onto his lap, his hands locking around her waist.
“I don’t want you out of gratitude. I want you because I can’t sleep at night anymore because my body aches for you. I want to touch you and taste you and be in you. The only reason I’ve held back is because you’re innocent. I’m hoping to God you’re not, because then I wouldn’t feel like such a bastard for wanting to take you and make you mine.”
Her thighs clenched as heat ricocheted through her, the desire as sharp as a razor’s edge.
“Tell me you’re not a virgin. Tell me this wouldn’t be your first time.” His gaze, so hot, blistered her, while his deep voice scratched her senses, gravel-rough.
“It would be my first time,” she answered unsteadily, “but everyone has to have a first time. Why can’t it be with you?”
“Because I don’t think I’m good for you. I don’t think I’m what you need.”
“How do you know that?”
“I don’t.”
“Exactly. We don’t know very much of anything except that I’m as attracted to you as you are to me, and I like how you make me feel. I like this, whatever this is, between us and I want more of it, not less.”
His jaw flexed, hardened, just as she could feel him harden beneath her bottom in undeniable proof of his desire. His erection made her feel even more sensitive and she exhaled in a rush, overwhelmed by the sensation coursing through her. “I want you,” she said thickly, sliding her hands up his chest, exploring the hard, warm plane of muscle. “I want you to be my first.”
Her words were like gasoline on an open flame.
He wanted to strip her bare right there and feast on her. He wanted his mouth on every inch of her. He wanted her, oh, so very wet and writhing beneath him.
He could make her squirm and shudder and cry out his name.
If he were a gentleman, he’d release her, push her off his lap and tell her to go to bed.
He’d go for a swim to cool off and he’d swim until he burned off this terrible need.
If he were a gentleman, he’d wait for her to fall asleep before he returned to her father’s room where he slept every night.
But he wasn’t a gentleman. He didn’t know very much about himself, but he knew that much.
Head dropping, his lips brushed hers, not because he was being careful with her but because he was feeling cruel.
He wanted her to ache for him.
He wanted her to crave him the way he craved her, and so he teased her lips and teased her with touches that were light and unsatisfying, his caress brushing her shoulders, the sides of her breasts, the outside of her hip, every touch designed to make her arch and flex, her slim back a bow drawn taut.
She was breathing harder now, short gasps, and her mouth lifted, trying to find his. She wanted his kiss. She wanted him.
He grazed the pebbled nipple of one breast with the back of his knuckles, a fleeting touch that made her whimper and her body gyrate on his lap. Her eyes were cloudy, the pupils so dilated her eyes looked almost black now.
He brushed the other just to make her dance again, and she did.
He nearly growled with pleasure. She was his.
Finally he took her mouth, his lips claiming her, his hunger barely leashed. As he took her mouth, he drank in her groan of pleasure. Her mouth was both hot and cool. She tasted fresh and impossibly sweet, and as his tongue traced the seam of her lips, her mouth opened to him. His tongue plunged in, sweeping, stabbing, punishing.
He didn’t know why he wanted to punish her. She was nothing short of heaven, an angel here on earth.
Maybe that was why he was angry—and not with her, but with himself.
He didn’t deserve her.
He shouldn’t take her.
He shouldn’t be the one to steal her innocence.
For God’s sake, she’d kept a hope chest, filled with desires and dreams and hopes, and tonight she’d brought out a special tablecloth, and now he was going to take her virginity?
He shouldn’t do this, he shouldn’t. He didn’t even know if there were other claims on him. He didn’t think he was married—he wore no ring; there was no tan line—but could he have a significant other waiting for him somewhere? Worrying about him?
Missing him?
He broke off the kiss and lifted her, putting her on her feet before walking away, putting distance between them so he couldn’t reach her easily.
For a moment the only sound was the crackle of the fire and the hum of the ocean as waves broke on the shore.
The rising moon cast a pale glow and he knew if he turned, he’d see her where he’d put her. She hadn’t moved. She stood frozen, staring at him, waiting.
Wondering.
“I can’t do this,” he ground out. “I can’t just take your innocence because I want to. It’s wrong, at every level.”
“Not even if I give you permission?” she said.
He heard the wobble of hurt in her voice and he glanced over his shoulder to see that yes, she was exactly where he’d left her. She looked rooted to the spot, except she no longer glowed. Her lips were pressed together and she looked pinched. Wounded.
And he’d done that to her, as well.
Pain twisted within him and he hated himself for putting her through this. He ought to know better. He was a man, not a boy.
“You should be protected,” he said roughly. “It’s what your father would want for you, and what you need. I can’t just wash up on your beach and claim you—”
“Why not? Why not if it’s what I want?” The bruised tone was gone, replaced by something stronger, fiercer. “I’m twenty-three, almost twenty-four. This isn’t the Middle Ages. I am not a ward, and I do not belong to a man. I can decide for myself what is best for me.”
He laughed, the sound mocking and unkind. “And you think I’m best for you?”
Her chin notched up. “I think you can teach me what I want to know.”
He lifted a brow. “Teach you?”
“As you can tell, I haven’t had a lot of experience. I’ve actually had almost no experience. There have been kisses,” she added flatly, “and some uncomfortable groping, but that is all. As you can see there are not a lot of men here, and I’m happy here, so I’m relatively...untutored...when it comes to sex. Which is why I want you to be my first so I won’t feel so...foolish...the next time.”
The next time.
Her words flamed his temper. Primal emotion flooded him, making his blood boil and his shaft throb and ache.
He hated the idea of her with anyone else. He hated to think of any man touching her.
“You say you owe me your life,” she added, her winged brows arching higher, as imperious as a queen. “Well, I don’t want your life. I just want you to bed me. I want you to show me how it is between a man and a woman so that I can be confident in the future. It would help me feel less awkward when I have sex in the future.”
“You keep calling it sex. Why not lovemaking?”
“Because I’m a scientist and haven’t been raised with euphemisms.”
“But when you’re with someone you truly desire, it’s not just sex—it’s bigger and more powerful. Transformative, if you will.”
“Would it be that way with us?”
“If it’s right.”
“And if it’s not?”
“It would feel like two bodies touching, rubbing, with hopefully a release in there somewhere.”
“Sex can be bad, then?”
“With the wrong person, yes. With the wrong person it can be disconcerting.”
“Even for a man?”
“It’s a profoundly intimate act. I always enjoy it best in the context of a relationship.”
“Ah.” Her head nodded once, a thoughtful movement. “That’s why you don’t want to do it with me. We have no relationship. It wouldn’t satisfy you.”
“On the contrary, we have a very unique relationship, and making love to you is all I’ve thought about these past few days. But if I were to take you to my bed, I’m not sure I could, or would, let you go.”
“Then don’t,” she answered simply.
For a moment they stood where they were, just looking at each other, the crackle of the fire mimicking the crackle of heat in his veins, making his shaft longer and harder, making him ache for her.
She patted the chair he’d left. “Come back here,” she said coolly.
It wasn’t a plea but a command, just as he’d commanded her earlier.
“Come sit down again and let me sit with you, like we were,” she added. “Let us see how this goes without your conscience telling you things. I have a conscience of my own. I don’t need yours deciding what I want or need. I can and will do that for myself.”
He’d found her innocence seductive, but this version of Josephine was far sexier and even more compelling.
He sauntered toward her, aware of how her gaze boldly moved over him, giving him the same thorough examination he’d given her earlier, before her attention focused on his hips and the rigid length of him thrusting against the fabric of his trousers.
The tip of her tongue touched her lips and he wanted to roar with need and lust. She might be innocent and yet she had a sensual nature which called to him, stirring him. He took his seat and leaned back in the wooden chair, his brow lifting, challenging her. “Your Highness?” he taunted lowly.
She sat down on his lap, legs together, facing him. “Now what?” she whispered.
He didn’t answer her with words. Instead he drew her arms behind her back and wrapped one hand around both of her wrists, holding her captive and still. He liked her like this—helpless and his. He liked how her breasts jutted and her lips parted, her breath coming fast.
He kissed the corner of her mouth, and then her mouth, feeling how her lips quivered against his.
He licked at her lower lip, his tongue finding all the nerve endings inside. She wriggled on his lap, hips rocking, and he longed to reach down and rub her between her thighs. Part of him wanted to shock her, while another part wanted to soothe her. She was passionate and responsive and utterly gorgeous...and right now she was his, all his.
“Can you feel me?” he growled, kissing the side of her neck, his teeth scraping across her skin. “Can you feel me between your thighs?”
She nodded her head, a jerky nod, even as his tongue flicked her tender earlobe and then swirled inside the shell of her ear, making her groan.
“I can feel you,” he murmured, tugging on her hands, drawing them lower so that he held her hands against her butt, making her back arch even more. Her white cotton blouse clung to her small, high breasts, the thin fabric outlining her nipples. His head dropped and he sucked on one nipple, drawing on it hard.
She gasped, and whimpered, grinding down against him. He could feel her through his trousers, her body hot, wet.
With his free hand he worked the blouse off one shoulder, revealing the simple white cotton bralette, the thin fabric cup damp from his mouth. He stroked the pebbled nipple, making her squirm again.
“I can feel your heat and your need,” he said, his lips just below her ear. “You are so wet, and it’s so sexy.”
She shuddered at his words.
“What I want to do with you is very hot and rather indecent. I’m afraid it would shock you.”
She was finding it increasingly hard to breathe. “How so?”
“I would like to touch you, everywhere, and discover with my hands and my mouth what you enjoy. I’d like to kiss you between your thighs and use my tongue to make you come—”
“Would you enjoy that?” she asked, interrupting him.
He laughed softly at her wrinkled nose, her expression indicating disbelief.
“I would like it very much.”
“You’re telling me the truth?”
“I will always tell you the truth. No lies between us. It would ruin everything.”
She stared deep into his eyes. “I do trust you,” she said quietly, firmly, as if giving him reassurance. “Which is why I want you to be my first. You’re supposed to be my first. I’ve been waiting for you.”
“As much as I like the sound of that, I’m afraid it doesn’t make sense.”
“But it does. It’s science,” she said, “the laws of something or other. Nature or physics. If I could think clearly, I could tell you why it’s meant to be, but I can’t think clearly, not with you kissing my neck and everywhere else. You’re clouding my rational brain.”
“I should stop.”
“No. You should most definitely not stop.” She drew her head back down to his, kissing him sweetly, persuasively. “Promise me?”
“Promise,” he answered, rising with her in his arms. As he walked, he kissed the side of her neck, making her breath catch in her throat. He was already hard and hungry, but that faint hitch in her breath made his body burn and throb.
She was gorgeous and sensitive and she made him feel so many good things. He wondered if he’d ever felt like this before. He couldn’t imagine desiring anyone as much as he desired her.
He headed to the stone house, hesitating in the center room, not sure which way to go. Josephine pointed to her room. Her bed was small, considerably smaller than her father’s, but it would still be plenty big enough for the two of them.
In her room, he sat down on the edge of the low bed and drew her between his thighs. His hands ran up and down her sides, stroking the length of her, savoring the feel of her. She was slim and toned and yet she had lovely curves, perfect breasts and generous hips, and a firm backside that was meant to be touched.
“What do I do?” she whispered as he reached for the hem of her blouse.
“Nothing. Let me,” he answered, lifting her blouse up and then untying her sarong so that the fabric fell to the ground. Next to go was the plain white bralette and matching white panties, and once they were off, she was his, and beautifully bare. He smothered his groan of appreciation. “You are so beautiful,” he said, drawing her even closer to kiss one pink-tipped breast. Her nipple puckered, tightening as his lips brushed the sensitive tip.
His body throbbed all over again, his erection straining against the zipper of his trousers. His tongue swept the peak lightly before his mouth closed over the damp tip. She shuddered as he drew on the nipple, her slim back arching. His hands settled on her hips, holding them firmly, thumbs stroking her hip bones.
She practically danced in place, making soft little whimpering sounds. She was so sweet, so innocent, and he battled to keep his desire in check, not wanting to rush.
The first time was special. The first time should make her feel good and beautiful.
He kissed his way to her other breast, giving the dark pink nipple the same attention and then some, pulling harder on the tip, working it and feeling how her body responded, hips rocking harder, her legs now trembling.
He stroked down her hips and then to her outer thighs and back again. He stroked lightly, awakening every nerve he could as her breath became increasingly shallow. She was practically panting as he caressed up the inside of her knee, up her smooth taut thigh to tease the curls between her legs. But instead of touching her then, he caressed back down her thigh and then up so that his knuckles grazed her. She bucked a little against his hand as he trailed a finger where she was most sensitive.
She was trembling against him now, her hands on his shoulders, holding her up. He slipped a hand between her thighs, finding her slick folds. She was so tender, so warm, so wet. He desperately wanted to put her on the bed and part her thighs and lick her, and taste her, but he didn’t want to overwhelm her. This was clearly all so new to her, and so he contented himself with stirring her and heightening her senses and her pleasure. He wanted her fully aroused to make sure her first time was as comfortable as possible.
She shuddered again when his fingertips traced her delicate lips and then her nub. Her breath even shuddered as he stroked her, oh, so lightly there.
“I can’t stand anymore,” she said lowly, hoarsely.
“Sit. Switch places with me,” he said.
Her expression was uncertain and yet she did as he asked, and he used the moment to strip off his clothes before kneeling in front of her, his hands circling her ankles. He stroked the fine bones in her ankles and then up over her shins and calves to her knees, and then down again, working the backs of her calves. He could feel her relax, her breath grow deeper and slower. Gradually, he shifted his attention higher on her legs, stroking up her thighs and down again, and with each stroke he pressed her legs back, opening them gradually to him. She stared at him, fascinated, her husky breath the only sound in the dark room.
The moon wasn’t yet high enough to see her well, but he could see enough to be painfully aroused—pale skin, her thick honey-brown hair tumbling over one shoulder and breast, and the triangle of curls at her thighs. She gleamed in the dim light, her long limbs exquisite, her small, full breasts perfect. He felt beyond hungry; he was ravenous and he wanted to feast on her. Instead he was careful, and he leaned between her thighs to press a tender kiss in the hollow where her thigh connected to her pelvis. She groaned softly as he blew lightly on her inner thighs, focusing the air on her curls. She jerked against his hold, her breath hitching again.
“This is a kind of torture,” she murmured.
“The best foreplay always is,” he answered, parting her there to slip his fingers across her. She was hot and so tender, her soft flesh like liquid velvet. He kissed her on her nub, then used the tip of his tongue across her.
She shivered and cried out.
His body went rock hard, so hard he felt as if he’d pop out of his skin. He wanted her, wanted to be buried in her sweet wet heat, buried so deeply that they were one, forever one, making her his, and only his. He kissed his way back to the junction of her thighs, kissing her lightly, soothing her before rising up and shifting her back on the bed and slowly extending his body over hers, covering her.
Her arms wound around his neck, her fingers at his nape.
“Kiss me,” she whispered.
And he did.
Josephine closed her eyes at the hunger in his kiss. His lips were firm and the pressure of his mouth parted her lips. She shuddered at the feel of his hand under her breast and then on her breast, fingers stroking the tight, peaked nipple, sending rivulets of feeling throughout her body. Her hips pressed up against his, his thick shaft extended across her belly. She’d always wondered what this would be like, and he was right; she’d imagined it as a clinical sort of thing, but there was nothing clinical in the heat and texture and sensation.
He made her feel so wonderfully alive. She couldn’t imagine this moment with anyone else, just him.
He lifted his head to gaze down at her. There was something in his expression that made her chest tighten and her heart thump with pain.
“You promised,” she whispered. “You promised you wouldn’t stop. And I won’t regret this, I swear to you.” She caressed his neck and then her hands went to his shoulders. “Don’t be afraid.”
He laughed low, as though amused. “I’m not afraid, and I’m glad you’re not afraid, either. The first time isn’t always comfortable, but it’ll get better.”
“I’ve heard that, too.”
He kissed her, smiling against her mouth, and then his smile faded as the kiss turned hot and electric. She opened her legs for him, allowing his hips to settle between her thighs. He entered her slowly, taking his time, and Josephine had to draw a deep breath and tell herself to relax when it began to pinch and then burn, and then there was all that fullness and that pressure inside her, so different from anything she’d ever felt before. He was right. It wasn’t comfortable and she wondered how anybody enjoyed this.
He must have sensed her panic, because he held still and kissed her, biting and then sucking on her lower lip, distracting her from everything but his teeth and tongue. Gradually the sting eased and the pressure was less overwhelming. He rocked his hips a little, shifting inside her, and as he eased out and then in, she found herself holding her breath again, but this time because it was a strange fluttery sensation that felt new but good.
“Do that again,” she urged.
He laughed softly. “Many, many times,” he answered, withdrawing again to thrust in more deeply. The fluttery good feeling happened again and continued with every thrust, and the pleasure built, the sensation erotic, making her arch and dig her heels into the mattress of the bed.
He met the lifting of her hips with a deeper, harder thrust, and the pleasure continued to rise, pressure and pleasure swirling, tightening so that she felt almost dizzy from it. She didn’t know what she was waiting for, or reaching for. She just knew he couldn’t stop, and she wanted whatever it was that he was doing and making her feel. Emotion and sensation joined together, hot and intense, as she tried to grip him with her body, wanting to keep him inside her where he felt so good, but he wouldn’t be stopped and her skin grew hot and damp, and she felt the heat sweep through her, her skin prickly and tingling all over.
She panted with the need and tension, her body wound up, too wound up, and she didn’t know what to do or where to go with the tension, and then he reached down, between them, and touched her where she was so very sensitive, circling her nub even as he drove into her, and his touch there, as he thrust deep inside her, made her shatter. She stifled her cry by pressing her mouth to his chest, but the waves of pleasure didn’t stop. The climax continued, hard and intense, breaking her into a million shimmering pieces. She felt like stardust strewn across the sky and it was earth-shattering, heart-stopping.
Even as she was still floating like stardust, her mind so scattered, she felt him groan and stiffen, his hoarse guttural cry not so different from her own.
Josephine’s arms tightened around him and she held him fiercely, desperately thinking her life would never be the same.
It could never be the same.
He would forever be a part of her now because she had just given him a piece of her heart.
* * *
He woke up in the night and glanced around, wondering what had woken him, and then he realized it was the moonlight streaming through the window, falling across the bed in white streaks of light.
The moonlight illuminated Josephine’s elegant profile. Her features were delicate and refined, reminding him of a fairy-tale princess. Every day he discovered something new about her, and tonight he’d discovered her passion. Part of him felt guilty for taking her virginity, and yet another part of him agreed with her—they were meant to be. Destined to be together. She was beautiful and brilliant, innocent and earnest, and temptingly sweet.
His head dipped and he pressed a light kiss to her temple and then another to her cheek.
She stirred and moved closer to him, her slim warm body pressed to his. “What’s wrong?” she murmured sleepily.
He stroked her long silky hair back from her cheek. “Nothing.”
“You’re awake.”
“The moon woke me.”
“I’ll close the curtain.”
“No, don’t. Then I couldn’t see you, and I want to see you.”
Her lips curved, her cheeks rising with her soft smile.
He dropped another light kiss on her lips. “You’re a jewel, Josephine. A rare jewel.”
Still smiling, she nestled even closer so that her cheek rested on his chest. “Thank you for the compliment, but seeing as you don’t remember anything of your world, I’m not sure it’s valid.”
“Let me be the judge of that.”
“Yes, my lord,” she said with a faint laugh, her breath a light caress against his bare chest, and then she fell back asleep, and he lay awake for another hour, just holding her and watching the big full moon high in the sky.
This wasn’t his life, or his world, but in some ways he was quite certain it was the best life he’d lived, as well as the best world.
* * *
Josephine woke the next morning and stretched and smiled as she felt his arm tighten around her. He was here. It wasn’t a dream. She was so glad because it had been the best night of her life.
She slipped from bed and pulled on her bikini and then headed outside for an early-morning swim. As she swam she heard the buzz of a helicopter. It was far from the beach, but the hum grew louder. She stood up in the water, hands over her head, waving frantically as the helicopter moved toward her and then headed in a different direction, flying away.
She ran back toward the house. He was just leaving her bed, pulling on the pair of her father’s shorts she’d given him along with the other clothes. The shorts were huge and so he anchored them with a belt as he raced back outside with her.
“It came so close,” she said, running toward the beach. “And I waved, and I thought it must have seen me but then it went away.”
“Maybe it did see you. Maybe it’s gone for help.”
“Maybe.”
They spent the rest of the day on tenterhooks waiting for the helicopter to return or a glimpse of a boat, but the morning turned into afternoon, and then dusk fell. “I’m sorry,” she said to him where they sat side by side on the sand.
“I’m not,” he answered, turning his head to look at her. “I’m glad. This gives me more time with you. It gives me more time to discover you and all the different ways I want to know you.”
“But we made love.”
“There are so many ways to make love.”
She chewed her lip, hiding her smile. He made her feel so excited and nervous and shy and hopeful and all those emotions kept rising in her, bubbling up, making it impossible not to smile.
“You like that,” he said, his voice dropping, growing husky.
She blushed, even as her smile stretched wider. She shouldn’t smile. She shouldn’t encourage him, and yet she loved how he made her feel and how amazing it had been to be his last night. His weight, his scent, his heat...the friction and the pleasure.
“I did,” she said unsteadily. “I loved it. I loved being with you. It was...perfect.”
“And that was just the beginning,” he answered, drawing her toward him, pulling her on top of him as he lay back. She felt him beneath her, hard and warm, his chest crushing her breasts, and his erection pressed to the apex of her thighs, the heavy rigid length making her impossibly aware of his desire. His hands shifted from her waist to her hips and then lower, to cup her butt, his hands so warm on her that she felt as if she was melting.
He cupped the back of her head, kissing her deeply, making her whimper with need. She wiggled against him, her hips dancing over him, encouraging him, practically begging him to take her.
She wanted him to fill her and stretch her. She wanted the maddening pressure and then the explosive release. She wanted everything he’d shown her last night, and even more wild and fierce tonight.
Passion—she wanted the passion he’d awoken within her.
And then he was lifting her and he was sliding lower, holding her thighs apart until he settled beneath her, his face under her most private place.
She pressed against his shoulders, trying to escape, but he held her knees firmly, keeping them wide-open so that he could her kiss there, between her thighs. She shuddered and swallowed a cry.
“Take your bikini bottoms off,” he told her. “Now.”
It was a definite command but also unbelievably sexy, and she peeled them off, trying not to panic. This was what she wanted—him. Them. Earlier today she’d wanted him to want her like this; she’d wanted him to show her all the things she didn’t know, and he could, she thought. He could teach her and share with her, helping her discover the world that lay beyond Khronos’s beach.
“Come here,” he growled. “Kneel over me.”
She’d wanted to be daring; she’d wanted to take risks but this was terrifying. “I’m not sure—”
“I am. I want you. I want to taste you again. Last night was not enough.”
Heat rushed through her, heat and need and fear that perhaps this was all a dream and once she opened her eyes, he’d be gone.
And then his mouth touched her there, and his tongue found her between the slick folds, and she cried out as he stroked her and sucked on her, drawing the sensitive nub between his lips and then his teeth, tugging and licking until she felt as if she’d explode out of her skin.
He slipped a finger inside her, finding more sensitive spots as he sucked on her, and she couldn’t fight the intense waves of pressure and pleasure building. She screamed as she climaxed, and the orgasm shuddered through her, making her body writhe and bend.
He lifted her up and turned her around so that she lay in the sand, and he stretched out over her. She stared up at him, so dazed she could barely focus.
“You liked that,” he murmured, pushing her hair back from her face.
“You could say that,” she whispered, reaching up to tug on his shirt. “But I’m feeling greedy. I want you. I want what we did last night. That was heaven. Please take this off. Your shorts, too.”
“We have to be careful,” he said. “I wasn’t careful enough last night. I didn’t pull out fast enough.”
She struggled to follow what he was saying and then she understood. Careful as in careful not to get her pregnant. Careful as in birth control. “Oh. Right. Smart.” Why hadn’t she thought of any of that?
But then, there was no time for thinking about anything, not when he was settling over her, handsome and naked and beautiful. She’d never met anyone half so beautiful. And then he was kissing her again and lowering himself to cover her before he entered her, his thick shaft stretching her and filling her so that her breath caught and she had to relax to accommodate him.
But then when he began to move, slowly, the uncomfortable sensation eased, and the pressure became a good pressure as he found the spot inside her that liked being touched. “Again,” she said, lifting her hips. “Do that again and again.”
He laughed softly against her neck. “My pleasure.”
And then she didn’t want to talk anymore, not when she was feeling so much heat and sensation and emotion.
With him, like this, she felt beautiful. Together with him, like this, everything was perfect.
* * *
The days passed, one after another. The sun shone brightly every day, long hot days that only cooled in the late afternoon as the wind blew. They spent most of their time together. He felt guilty that she wasn’t working very much, but he knew that it was just a matter of time, too, before her father would return and everything would change. Maybe that was why he couldn’t get enough of Josephine, craving her body and warmth. Or maybe he couldn’t get enough because she felt like sunshine and life—so open and warm and affectionate. Her smile did something to him, creating strange pain and pressure in his chest. He feared what he didn’t know, and yet it only served to make the present even more important. It made her more important. He wasn’t going to lose her, either. She was his. She belonged with him. He knew that much.
“My father should be back very soon now,” she said, curling up against him late one afternoon, her hand on his chest, her fingers lightly caressing his skin. He loved the way she touched him. It felt right. She felt right in his arms, in his bed. “Just three days, and when he returns, he will know who to contact,” she added, “and what to do.”
The news should please him. Obviously, he knew they could not remain like this forever. But he dreaded reality, unable to fathom the future or the truth of it all when he was so removed from it here with her.
She misinterpreted his silence, because she looked up at him, giving him one of her radiant, reassuring smiles, which never failed to put an ache in his chest. “My father will like you. Very much.”
He couldn’t answer her smile, not when there was so much heaviness within him. “There is a whole world out there that we don’t know.”
“But we will discover it together, yes?”
He kissed her brow and then the tip of her small, straight nose and then, finally, the lushness of her lips. Almost immediately desire flared, the warmth of the kiss sparking hot cravings. He pulled her closer, wanting to lose himself in her rather than at the edge of the unknown. The unknown wasn’t his friend. But she was. Here on Khronos, she was his world. She was his everything.
“I love you,” she whispered, as he entered her, thrusting deep.
He didn’t say it back, but then, he didn’t think she expected him to.
* * *
Later that night, he woke up and glanced toward the windows, looking to see if it was light. But there wasn’t a wall of windows where he expected glass to be. The window was on a different side of the room, and it was a simple square window with a simple grid in the middle.
He frowned. This wasn’t his room. This wasn’t his home.
He swung his legs out of bed. The ground was very close. It jarred his knees. His bare feet arched against the roughly cobbled floor. Why was he here? He didn’t belong here. He lived somewhere grand. He lived somewhere...
His throat worked. He swallowed as the past returned, colliding with the present, because he knew.
He knew his name. Alexander.
He knew who he was. He knew what he was.
Alexander glanced around the room, understanding where he was. Not in Aargau but in Greece, on this island with Josephine who’d rescued him.
He looked over and there she was, still sleeping in the bed. Her bed. Her cottage. Her island, not his.
Her long honey hair spilled across her bare shoulder. Her thick lashes rested on her cheek. She was stunning even in her sleep. His very own mermaid.
She’d saved him. He would have died—drowned—if not for her, and then when he was still weak, she’d taken care of him. And then last night she’d told him she loved him, and he hadn’t answered her with words, but he’d shown her how much her faith in him mattered to him by making love to her for hours, worshipping her body since something inside him kept him from giving her his heart.
He’d thought that maybe he couldn’t give himself to her fully because he didn’t know who he was. It was what she’d said, and he’d hoped maybe it was true, but now he knew why he couldn’t love her. Because she wasn’t his, and he wasn’t free.
He was Prince Alexander Julius Alberici of Aargau, and he was betrothed to another.