The Prince's Scandalous Wedding Vow

“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.