Page 38 of Claiming His Virgin Princess

Ilsa breathed deep, acknowledging the inevitable wrench of pain and pushing it aside. But then came thoughts of Noah. Her generous, tender, fun, fascinating lover.

She’d never known a man like him. Had never trusted one so much. Never felt so much. She wanted—

Laughter rang out across the water then a babble of excited voices, including a deep masculine rumble that she recognised instinctively. Noah.

Ilsa was torn between the desire to join him and the need to be alone with her thoughts. Except those thoughts would be about him and she worried about exactly how deep her feelings ran for the deceptively easygoing Australian.

What had begun as an act of rebellion and freedom, a choice to indulge in pleasure, had turned into something that worried her. They shared an amazing affair. Fantastic sex, so fantastic it had opened her eyes to her own sensual nature. Camaraderie. Friendship, or so it felt. Caring too.

The problem was what else she felt for Noah.

So, instead of paddling further on her own, she turned towards the shore and welcome distraction.

The white sand beach glowed in the early light. At this hour, before all the visitors arrived, it was magic. The turquoise water was so clear that when she reached the shallows it looked like she was floating on air, not water.

Shouts rose and she turned to see several bodies hurtling down the beach, fine sand spraying from their feet. Noah’s powerful form was surrounded by a gaggle of children. A football shot ahead and a boy yelled in triumph, outstripping the others.

Ilsa watched her lover keep pace with the rest of the group, accelerating enough to make the leader look over his shoulder and put on a burst of speed before aiming the ball between two piles of towels that marked an impromptu goal.

Noah had held back enough to let the boy score a goal, but not too much to be obvious.

She imagined him with his nephew, lolling in the yacht’s lounge, engrossed in the computer game Noah had bought for his visit.

Ilsa couldn’t imagine her father doing either of those things. When she and Christoph were young there’d been no noisy games in the King’s presence. He’d loved and cared for them but in a rather distant way. He was more likely to reinforce a lesson in politics or manners than dirty his clothes with boisterous play.

Her childhood hadn’t been unhappy but it hadn’t been carefree. What would it be like to bring up a child with someone like Noah? To be part of a family that cared and shared and wasn’t focused on royal duty?

Everything she’d discovered about Noah indicated he’d be a wonderful father and supportive partner, if he ever changed his mind about settling down.

For a split second she let herself imagine it then tore her thoughts away, conscious of the dull metallic taste of disappointment filling her mouth.

‘There you are. Just in time. We need another player to even the numbers.’

Strong hands grabbed the prow of the kayak as she reached the shore, dragging it up the sand. Then Noah was there, holding out his hand. Ilsa rose and, before she could step out, he lifted her and swung her high.

Laughter glinted in those sea-bright eyes and an answering smile tugged her mouth. Being with him made her feel good. As for being hugged close to that superb body... Sparks ignited deep inside as she nestled in his arms.

Ilsa couldn’t have a future with him, but she could enjoy every precious moment together. The ache around her heart intensified. Last night, when they’d collapsed, sated and gasping on the bed, bodies humming with sensual satisfaction, Ilsa had found herself blinking back tears.

She wanted things she couldn’t allow herself to want.

Noah’s head lowered and her breath caught, anticipating the touch of his lips. Except the clamour of nearby children interrupted. With a wry smile he put her down on the sand.

‘Later,’ he promised, his lips softly burring her earlobe, making her shiver. Then he straightened. ‘Doyou mind evening up the numbers? If you’d rather not—’

‘It looks like fun.’

She needed something to distract her.

They were a mixed bunch of varying ages and abilities. One child was so small that he fought back tears after getting caught in a tumble of legs as the older children vied for the ball. Noah swung him up to sit on his shoulders, from where he crowed his delight.

Ilsa found herself on a team with a number of girls, quick and light on their feet. One passed the ball to her and Ilsa took off, passing it when a teenager tackled her, then sprinting ahead, the wind in her hair and her blood pumping. Her partner passed again and Ilsa took a shot.

‘Goal!’ Noah’s deep voice called out.

Instantly she was surrounded by cheering kids, a couple of girls high-fiving her and others dancing in delight. It was her team’s first goal.

After that came several more, with Ilsa passing the ball again and again to beaming youngsters who managed to score. It was so long since she’d played group sport. She loved it.

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