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“Where is he now?”
“Hawaii.” She saw his expression and added, “He is a professor at the University of Hawaii. He juggles the teaching and the fieldwork. Right now he’s back in Honolulu, lecturing, but he’ll return end of the month, which is now just nine days away.”
“And he has left you alone here?”
She hesitated. “Does it seem strange to you?”
“Yes.”
Her shoulders shifted. “It’s actually normal for me, and I don’t mind. I like the solitude. I’m not much of a people person. And the quiet allows me a chance to do my own work, because when Papa is here, it’s always about him.”
“What about your mother?”
“She died just before I turned five.”
“I’m sorry.”
She shrugged again, uncomfortable with the sympathy. “I don’t remember her.”
“Would she approve of your lifestyle here?”
“She was a volcanologist like my father. They worked together for ten years, doing exactly what he’s doing now, but in Hawaii, so yes, I think she’d approve. Perhaps her only disappointment would be that I haven’t gone off to college or earned all the degrees that she did. I’ve been homeschooled my entire life, even with the university courses. My father says I’m more advanced than even his graduate students, but it’s not the same. I’ve never had to be in the real world or compete with others for work. I just work.”
“What is your field of study?”
“I’m a volcanologist, too, although personally I prefer the point where archaeology intersects with volcanology.”
“Vesuvius?”
She nodded. “Exactly. I’ve been lucky to work with my father on the volcanology of the southwestern sector of Vesuvius, where archaeological and historical data have allowed scientists to map the lava emitted in the last several thousand years. I’m fascinated by not just the lost civilizations, but the power of these volcanoes to reshape the landscape and rewrite the history of man.”
“It doesn’t sound as if you’ve missed anything by being homeschooled.”
She smiled faintly. “I haven’t been properly socialized—my father said as much. I’m not comfortable in cities and crowds. But fortunately, we don’t have that problem here.”
“Your mother was American, too?”
“French-Canadian, from Quebec. That’s how I ended up Josephine.” Her smile faded as she saw how his expression changed, his jaw tightening and lips compressing. “You will remember your name,” she said quietly. “It’s just going to be a matter of time.”
“You spoke to me in French, didn’t you?”
“I tried a number of languages. You responded in Italian, so I’ve stuck with Italian. Est-ce que tu parles français?”
“Oui.”
“And English?” she asked, switching languages again. “Do you understand me?”
He nodded. “I do.”
“How fluent are you?” she asked, continuing in English, testing him. “Is it difficult to follow me?”
“No. It doesn’t seem any different from Italian.”
He had almost no accent, his English was easy, his diction relaxed, making him sound American, not British. She suspected he’d been educated at one point in the United States. “Would you mind speaking English then?”
“No.”
“But should it give you a headache, or if it creates any stress—”
“No need to fuss over me. I’m fine.”
She opened her mouth to protest but thought better of it. He was a man used to having the final word. So who was he? And why did he, even now, ooze power?
“Tell me again about the people I was with on the yacht,” he said. “Tell me everything you know.”
“I will after you eat something.”
“I’m not hungry anymore.”
“That’s strange, because my memory seems to be fading, as well.”
He gave her a hard look. “I’m not amused.”
“Neither am I. You’ve been through a great deal, and we need to get you strong. And as I am your primary caregiver here—”
“I don’t like being coddled.”
“And I’m not known to coddle, so eat, and I’ll tell you everything. Don’t eat, and you can fret by yourself because I have things to do besides argue with you.”
His eyes narrowed and his jaw hardened, making a small muscle in his jaw pop. For a long moment he just looked at her, clearly not happy with the situation, but then he reached for the plate of chicken and took a bite, and then another, and did a pretty impressive job of devouring the rest. He lifted his head at one point and met her gaze. “This is good, by the way. Very good.”
“Thank you.”
“You made this?”
“Yes.”
“Here?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I have a freezer, and I use the kiln outside for roasting the potatoes and baking. The rest I prepare on the stove.”
“A kiln?”
“It makes excellent flatbreads, and pizzas, too. I learned how to cook in a kiln when we lived in Peru. That was before here. I loved Peru. My father loved the stratovolcano.” She smiled faintly, remembering his excitement and obsession as Sabancaya roared to life, spewing ash and rumbling the mountain. If it weren’t for the village women, Josephine would have been forgotten. Instead they took her and her father in and helped teach Josephine to cook, and as a thank-you, Josephine would look after the children, giving the hardworking mothers a break.
“Where else have you lived?”
“Washington State, Hawaii, Peru, and Italy, but that was brief, before here. We’ve been here the longest.”
“Was every place this isolated?”
“No, this is definitely the most remote, but I’m truly happy here.”
“Is that why you just watched us on the beach and didn’t come introduce yourself?”
She laughed as she reached for his plate. “I think we come from different worlds. I am quite sure I’d be an oddity in your world.”
His brow creased. “You think so?”
“Absolutely. I wouldn’t know how to drape myself over and around handsome men.” Her lips twitched. “I can’t for the life of me just lie on a beach. I need to be active, and instead of sunbathing I’d be catching fish, and examining the water table, and trying to figure out the volcanic history of the exposed rocks—” she broke off. “Not your kind of girl at all.”
“What is my kind?”
“The kind that looks like a swimsuit 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, or he’d water the garden—anything if it meant he could be at her side, as he’d come to crave her shape, her scent, her smile.
She was beautiful and brilliant as well as innocent and earnest. He was certain she was a rare gem, a jewel among even the world’s most beautiful women, and he said that to her one day, after they’d emerged from the sea following a swim.
She smiled at him, amused but also shy. “Thank you for the compliment, but seeing as you don’t remember anything of your world, I’m not sure it’s valid.”
“I don’t have to compare you to know that you’re smart and kind. You’re also cheerful and optimistic, and you make me happy. I have a feeling I’m not always easy to please.”
“You certainly weren’t cheerful on the beach with your friends. In fact, you were often quite aloof, sitting off on your own, staring out at the ocean. I would watch you and sketch you—”
“Sketch me?”
She nodded, blushing. “It’s what I like to do when I have free time.”
“I haven’t seen you draw since I’ve been here.”
“I do when you’re not around, or late at night when you’re sleeping.”
“What do you draw?”
“This and that.” Her blush deepened. “Mostly you.”
He loved how her pink cheeks made her eyes look even more green. She was so fresh and pretty. She reminded him of a mermaid...a siren from the sea. “Why draw me?”
“You fascinate me.”
“Why?”
“You have to know.” Her lips pressed, her expression suddenly reminding him of a prim schoolteacher. “Don’t make me spell it out.”
He was enchanted by the line her full lips made and the firmness of her chin. His fingers itched to reach out and trace her pink cheek and the shape of her mouth. And just like that, his body hardened, the desire hot and insistent. “Apparently, my head injury has made me a little slow. Be kind and explain to me why someone like me would fascinate you?”
Her chin lifted higher. “I’ll only tell you this one time.”
“I’m listening.”
“You’re unbearably attractive—”
“Unbearably?”
“You’re very intelligent.”
“Can we get back to the unbearably attractive part? Is it possible to be unbearably attractive?”
“Yes. You’ve proven it. Let me continue.” She tapped her fingers as if counting her points. “You have a sense of humor—when you want to.”
“I suppose that is a drawback, being unpredictable.”
Her lips twitched. “You have rich friends. That yacht was enormous. But that’s really more of a negative then a plus.”
“Why a negative?”
“From an environmental standpoint, it’s terrible.”
“I agree.”
Her brows arched. “You do?”
“I do. I’m always worried about the environment.”
“You are?”
He nodded.
She frowned, a faint link forming between her eyebrows. “That’s interesting,” she murmured.
“Is it?”
Josephine nodded. “You’re starting to have a clearer sense of self. I think some of your memories are returning. This is a good thing.”
He felt a sudden wash of unease, and he didn’t understand it. The return of his memory should be a great thing, and yet all he felt was a pervasive dread. “Let’s talk about you instead.”
“Why? I’m a boring academic—”
“Not boring, and academics are exciting.”
She laughed. “Are they?”
“I went to school with brilliant women. There is nothing sexier than a smart woman—” he broke off as he realized what he’d said. He’d gone to school with brilliant women. And he knew he hadn’t meant high school or grammar school. He’d meant university, and the words had been so comfortable, so natural. He also knew that calling university school was very American. Had he gone to school—college—in America?
He could see from Josephine’s expression that she’d heard the reference, too, and understood it, as well.
“Your memory is returning,” she said softly, breathlessly.
“You’re healing me,” he said. “All this sun and swimming.”
She smiled back at him. “It’s not as if there’s a lot to do here. No TV or video games.”
“But even if you had those, I don’t think it’s something you’d do. You love being outside. You’re at home in the sea.”
Her cheeks were pink, and her eyes were bright as she tucked a long strand of sun-streaked hair behind her ear. “I’ve always grown up next to the sea. First in Hawaii and then here. I can’t imagine not swimming. If I go too many days without getting wet, I feel off. The sea always restores me.”
“You are a fish.”
She laughed. “My father says the same thing. He says that I have scales and they dry out if I’m out of the water too long. Thus my close proximity to the beach.”
“So maybe not a fish but a mermaid.”
“Maybe,” she answered, smiling, feeling strangely shy and sensitive because everything inside her seemed to be shifting and lurching. Changing.
She’d noticed it before, and she’d tried to suppress the feelings, but she couldn’t pretend it wasn’t happening, or real, any longer. She couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t aware of her. She couldn’t pretend that there wasn’t something taut and electric between them, because there was something about the way he looked at her, something in the intensity of his expression that made the air catch in her throat, making her heart gallop. The way he looked at her terrified her and yet, at the same time, thrilled her. Being near him was wonderful, confusing, exhilarating. No one had ever looked at her as if she were so important. No one had ever made her feel so beautiful. Every conversation made her feel alive, and she didn’t know why because there was nothing terribly revealing said. And yet he fascinated her. He’d fascinated her on the beach when he’d been just a mysterious stranger, and her fascination only grew with every day because how could he—this gorgeous, handsome stranger—want her?
And yet, being wanted was doing something to her, seducing her, making her question everything she believed. She’d always thought that she’d never have sex with someone, not unless he was her forever love, the man who would marry her, the man who would share a life with her. Looking into his eyes, she figured she was losing out on something beautiful. This felt special. It felt like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, something she wasn’t prepared to miss.
It helped that she knew the attraction wasn’t one-sided.
It was clear from the heat in his gaze that he desired her, and the knowledge was a heady power. An aphrodisiac that made her restless and curious. He could make her feel so much with just a look. How would she feel if he touched her? Kissed her?
She didn’t let herself think further than that. She’d never experienced more than a couple kisses, kisses that hadn’t inspired her in any way, making her think there was no need to repeat the experience. Until now. Somehow she sensed that kissing her mysterious stranger would be entirely different. Maybe even life-changing.
But did she want that?
She looked hard at her stranger, who truthfully was no longer a stranger, but someone who was quickly becoming very important to her.
She’d spent so much of her life alone, or alone with her father—which was virtually alone since he rarely spoke, his head always down, buried in his work. She understood her father’s fascination with his work and his commitment to research, but every now and then she wanted...more.
She wanted to be seen.
She wanted to be known.
She wanted to be...loved.
Growing up as she had had taught her tremendous self-reliance, but there were times she felt that her life had also left her empty and aching for more. More connection. More expression. More emotion.
Usually these thoughts and feelings happened late at night, and she’d blame fatigue and the need to sleep.
But she was feeling these things almost constantly lately. The arrival of her mystery man had changed something within her.
His arrival had made her aware of the world out there and that there was more to the world than she knew. But even with that knowledge, she also knew she was happy on Khronos. Most of the time she wanted nothing but her work and the sun and the sea. Most of the time she was utterly content.
She needed to be content again.
Abruptly, Josephine rose, moving away, trying to escape the heat suffusing her skin and ache filling her chest. Her father had left her here to manage the foundation’s station. She needed to stay focused on her responsibilities. “I’d better get back to work,” she said huskily.
“Can I help?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I’m just going to check the solar panels. You relax—”
“That’s all I’ve done the past few days. Show me what you’re doing, or what needs to be done, so I can help while I’m here.”
She smiled tightly. “Okay, follow me.”
The old Greek cottage had been constructed of stones, without the charm of whitewash, and while it looked ancient and almost abandoned from the front, there were clean, well-maintained stairs behind—stairs that rose up to a clearing filled with a mass of solar panels and equipment, and another smaller stone house.
“That’s where the foundation keeps all the seismic monitoring equipment. The equipment is connected to portable seismometers along the edge of the island, as well as some in the water. You see, we’re sitting practically on top of a volcano. Khronos is just the tip, which is why we have the seismometers to detect rock movement in the earth’s crust. Some movements may be the result of rising magma beneath the surface, which could mean an awakening volcano. We also have equipment here that monitors gases like sulfur dioxide, as an increase in sulfur dioxide could be an indication of magma near the earth’s surface.”
“And if that should happen? What do you do?”
“It hasn’t happened in the past ten years, so I think I’m safe. Odds are, I’m safe.”
“You’re pretty nonchalant about something potentially catastrophic.”
“Some people are terrified of volcanoes, particularly supervolcanoes, but there has never been such an eruption in human memory, and did you know there are actually quite a few people who choose to live near a volcano because they’re drawn to the geothermal energy, the minerals and the fertile soil? I’m a fan of geothermal energy because it’s very clean, and the resource is nearly inexhaustible.
“Speaking of energy, come see,” she said, walking farther back along a compact dirt path that cut deeply through the rough, rocky terrain dotted with a few gnarled olive trees. “Twenty years ago the foundation was powered by those wind turbines before us. Unfortunately, they were prone to breaking down and the repairs were costly, and then new, improved solar technology became a better answer, so eventually no one bothered to repair or replace the turbines.”
“They do look forlorn,” he said, taking in the line of tall wind turbines that covered the top of the island.
“Luckily for us, solar works incredibly well, allowing the foundation to live completely off the grid. We use solar energy for almost everything. Light, heating, cooking, powering the radio—when the radio actually works—and now for desalination.”
He’d been studying the solar panels, but she noted how his interest was piqued by the mention of their desalination system.
She walked him back to another frame, this one with its own set of panels, plus tubes, dials and black rectangular features, and motioned for him to crouch down beside her. “This is our baby and my personal favorite because this one gives us all our fresh water. In the beginning, we had to bring everything in, including gallons and gallons of water. We’d collect rainwater when we could, but if we had no rain, we’d begin to panic. Now, thanks to a partnership with my father’s university, we’re able to turn salt water into drinking water using only solar energy. Although there are over eighteen thousand desalination plants across the world, this one is unique in that it combines solar energy with brand-new technology allowing a family to generate enough clean water for individual use.”
“How is it different from traditional desalination?”
“You’re familiar with the desalination process?”
“Salt water is brought to a boil, creating steam. The steam is run through a condensing coil.”
“Right. The traditional method is very energy inefficient and requires expensive, complex infrastructure. Over half of the cost of a distillation plant is spent on energy.”
“So this is membrane distillation?”
She was impressed he knew that much. Perhaps he’d studied science in school, or something environment related. “Yes and no. The university took conventional membrane distillation, where hot salt water flows across one side of the porous membrane and cold freshwater flows across the other, and added in a layer of carbon-black nanoparticles. The carbon-black nanoparticles attract light, heating the entire surface of the membrane, converting as much as eighty percent of sunlight energy into heat, giving us more water with less energy. It’s ideal for us with a compact footprint, but it will also revolutionize the way the world desalinates water because the nanoparticles are low-cost and commercially available.”
“Fascinating,” he murmured, studying the section with the nanoparticles and then the tubing where water dripped into a clear canister. “By integrating photothermal heating with membrane distillation you’ve created more productive and efficient technology.”
“I haven’t. The university program did. We’re lucky the scientists and engineers agreed to let us work with it here. We’ve had it eighteen months now and it’s transformed our lives.” She nodded toward the small garden off to the side. “Tomatoes, cucumbers, lettuce, carrots, and more. All possible now due to a never-ending supply of clean, drinkable water.”
“I’d heard about an American university developing something like this, but it’s amazing to see it in use here on Khronos and to know it’s not just theoretical.”
“It’s a game changer for the world.”
“Indeed,” he murmured, and yet he wasn’t looking at the system but rather at her; his gaze locked on her lips and she felt his scrutiny all the way through her.
Heat bloomed in her cheeks. She felt overly warm, her skin exquisitely sensitive, and she looked away, trying to hide how flustered she felt. She wanted his kiss and yet she feared it, too.
She wasn’t experienced, and she knew most women her age would have had a number of significant relationships by now. She suddenly wished she’d had a more conventional life, a life where she’d had dates and boyfriends so she’d know what to do and how to respond.
She wanted to respond. Could he tell?
“You’re bored,” she said huskily, rising and brushing the coarse dirt from her hands.
“I’m not,” he answered, rising, as well. “I’m fascinated by everything here. Not just by how you’re managing to survive in the middle of nowhere but by you and this father of yours. I can’t imagine any other father leaving his only daughter defenseless in such a remote spot.”
“I’m not defenseless. I have the radio—” she broke off, lips tightening. Her heart was racing and her stomach churned and she felt close to tears and didn’t know why. Nothing had happened, and yet somehow everything was happening and she seemed to be losing control. “Normally it works. I’ve never dropped it before. I’ve never broken it 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.”
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