Page 13 of Claiming His Virgin Princess

Never what? He didn’t push. She had enough going on without his curiosity.

So he shifted his weight to get more comfortable and reassured her when she protested that she was too heavy.

Eventually they lapsed into silence. Noah pondered his unprecedented response to this woman as she nestled against him, her head below his chin. Three hours ago he couldn’t have imagined his evening ending like this. But then three hours ago he hadn’t done more than lust after Ilsa from a distance.

The real woman, close up, was at once more complex and confusing, and far more appealing than he’d imagined. More appealing than any other he’d known.

The part of him that foresaw problems and worked out ways to avoid them warned that Ilsa could disrupt his life, just when he had things going the way he liked.

But a still deeper part of his psyche wanted her on any terms. She’d attracted him on the dance floor. Intrigued him when she asked for juice instead of champagne. Surprised him when she asked what made him smile and what he wanted from life, then moved him when she grew flustered when she couldn’t easily answer that herself.

And through it all desire throbbed hot and strong.

She engaged his mind and his heart as well as his body. It was an intoxicating combination.

‘How long is your holiday?’ he asked abruptly. ‘Days? Weeks?’

She tilted her head back against his shoulder. ‘I don’t have firm plans. I left on the spur of the moment.’

If her schedule was anything like that of the other royals he’d met, that was some feat. Even the quick research he’d done on her last night revealed a woman with a heavy public and diplomatic schedule, more so even than her brother’s, the heir to the throne.

He looked down at her and felt the tightness in his belly ease.

Noah smiled and watched, mesmerised, as her pupils dilated. Whatever this was between them, he wanted it. And so did she. His time was his own for the next several weeks and, by her own admission, Ilsa wasn’t in a rush to return home.

An idea had come to him that made his skin tingle, in a good way. As it did when he got his best ideas. It would mean taking a chance, but instinct urged that it was a chance he must take.

His smile widened. ‘Why not spend your holiday with me? Let’s sail the Mediterranean together.’

Ilsa gaped up into his calm, confident face and told herself she’d misheard.

But how could she have? She was curled against him like a kid needing comfort—something she’d feel embarrassed about in the cold, hard light of day—and watched his mouth form the words. And, despite his smile, she didn’t read levity in his expression.

‘You’re serious.’ It didn’t seem possible.

‘Absolutely.’

If she had more energy, Ilsa would have catapulted out of his hold and found a spot elsewhere in the room, where the cocoon of warmth enfolding her, and the firm cushion of his body, wouldn’t distract her.

But there was no way Ilsa would give up his embrace until she had to. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d been comforted like this and it really did help. Her mother had cuddled her close when she arrived home after ending her engagement, but that had lasted only a few moments, since Ilsa’s father had been there too, waiting impatiently to discuss the political ramifications of the scandal.

Apart from that it had been years since she’d felt the comfort of a physical embrace. She didn’t count circling the royal ballroom, held close, but not too close, by various dance partners.

‘But you want...’ She frowned and shut her mouth before she blurted out the obvious.

‘You. Yes, I do.’ Was it his deep, firm voice saying he wanted her that shot a bolt of longing through her? Or the way his nostrils flared as if drawing in her scent? He dipped his head, as if needing to get closer, and Ilsa’s lips parted in anticipation. But he didn’t lean in to press his lips to hers.

Her pulse thundered as she imagined Noah’s kiss. Even as they’d sat in the dark, holding hands, talking as freely as only two strangers could, she’d been thinking of his mouth on hers.

‘I want you, Ilsa.’ His words were so potent they seared into her, making her shiver. Already he had a powerful effect on her, but hearing him say it in that suddenly rough voice was unlike anything she’d ever known. ‘But you need time.’

‘You’d give me that time?’ It didn’t seem credible. Everything between them had been so immediate, so blatant and urgent. Surely this was a man used to getting what he wanted instantly. ‘I’m not talking about a day or two, you know.’

A glimmer of a smile lit his intent features and Ilsa felt it like the tug of a thread, pulled tight within her. ‘I admit I’m no expert on the female cycle, but even I know that.’

Finally Ilsa gathered the energy to move, to sit straight, albeit on his lap, with his arms loose around her. It was appalling how at home she felt there. Even the sharp ache in her abdomen seemed more bearable when she was tucked up against him.

The realisation pleased yet at the same time worried her. As if she’d relinquished something to this man she barely knew.

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