Page 49 of Claiming His Virgin Princess

A few minutes later they emerged from the lift on a luxurious upper floor. There were just two doors in a corridor decorated with Venetian mirrors, vases of fragrant lilies and antique celadon ceramics.

She’d been so befuddled she hadn’t thought this through. Now she turned to him. ‘You’re staying here?’

What were the chances of such a coincidence? Could he have booked a room because he knew she’d be here?

‘Yes, I am.’

He opened a door and gestured for her to enter.

Ilsa hesitated. She wanted, badly, to be alone with Noah. Yet she shouldn’t.

She looked up at his still form in the doorway. His expression was in shadow but she read tension in his jaw and shoulders.

A frisson of mingled warning and excitement tingled along her backbone. She could no more resist stepping over his threshold than she could fly to the moon.

Ilsa put her bag on a table inside the door and heard the door click behind her. Before her was a vast sitting room as opulent as a palace. For some reason she hadn’t imagined Noah staying somewhere like this. Not because he couldn’t afford it, but because she’d imagined him somewhere less traditional.

She was conscious of him just behind her, as if he radiated an energy that she registered like a burst of tiny explosions all across her skin.

‘If you’ll show me the bathroom...’ She didn’t turn, too hyper-aware of him just there, and of her craving to touch him.

Noah moved past her, so close she felt the waft of displaced air. Her gaze skimmed from his neatly trimmed dark hair to his shoulders, wider than ever in a jacket of dark blue, down to the swing of his arms and the easy stride of those powerful legs.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t look at her, and she told herself that was good. They weren’t lovers or even friends any more.

So what did he want to discuss?

Ilsa swallowed hard, trying not to dwell on her tangle of disturbing emotions, and followed.

He led her to a magnificent marble bathroom. She blinked, telling herself it was because of the bright light, not because of the feelings bubbling inside. All because Noah was here, so close she could touch him. Making her want things she had no right to want. That old familiar craving was back, her body awakening to his presence.

Resolutely she stepped past him, crossing the space till she reached twin marble basins set in a bench that ran along one wall.

‘Thank you, Noah. I appreciate this.’

Instead of meeting his eyes in the mirror before her she slipped off her jacket, studying the stain in the hope of distracting herself from Noah, so close, so tempting. Finally she put the jacket aside and surveyed her skirt. It would be almost impossible to salvage.

Ilsa thought of her promise not to attract any more scandal and drew a slow breath.

Glancing up, her gaze locked on Noah’s in the mirror. She’d known he was still there because behind every scattered thought was a deep humming awareness. He stood in the doorway, one shoulder against the doorjamb, jacket open and hands in his trouser pockets.

The bare skin of her arms prickled as she realised her silk camisole was the same green-blue as Noah’s eyes.

Not merely similar but exactly the same.

She’d bought the camisole days after arriving in London, drawn by the colour.

Had she bought it because it reminded her of Noah?

With difficulty Ilsa conjured a smile from tense facial muscles. ‘I won’t be long.’

Instead of replying, Noah silently straightened and took his hands from his pockets as if preparing to go. Ilsa wanted to say she’d changed her mind. She wanted him to stay. She’d missed him, thought of him every day and dreamed of him each night.

‘Ilsa! Don’t look at me like that.’

His voice was gruff and low and it made every tiny hair on her body stand erect.

Ilsa’s pulse thudded. She planted her hands on the marble counter as her legs trembled. In the mirror he looked tall and daunting, his expression compelling.

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