Page 62 of Claiming His Virgin Princess

When Noah finally appeared beside her, Ilsa’s pulse kicked up and nerves replaced the sense of wellbeing she’d clung to as a distraction from her inner turmoil.

Silently he reached out to help her up from the seat hemmed in against a table.

Ilsa stared at that strong hand, stunned at the friendly gesture, remembering how she’d spurned him in London. Colour flooded her cheeks and, before she could reach out, Noah dropped his hand to his side.

She scrambled to her feet, but he’d already stepped away and she felt a yawning hollow in her chest. It had just been a polite gesture for the benefit of his family.

Noah was already saying goodbye and there was a chorus of good wishes from his family.

‘You have a lovely family,’ she said when they were out of earshot.

‘I know.’

His voice was tight and his face remained unreadable, but he didn’t pause, though he shortened his stride to her pace. So she felt more comfortable? Or was it just a courtesy that had been drummed into him from an early age? Ilsa’s mouth turned down. Probably the latter.

He gave no indication he was glad to see her.

She’d expected that, yet still she felt bruised.

‘Where are we going?’

‘Somewhere we can talk. Privately.’

He darted her a sideways look and something about it made her blood quicken. ‘Where’s your bodyguard?’

Of all the things he might have said, that was the least expected. ‘At my hotel. I wanted...needed privacy for this.’

It hadn’t been easy but she couldn’t face doing this with a bodyguard in tow.

Noah nodded but he didn’t look happy. Because he worried about her safety? More likely he was annoyed that she might have brought attention to his family. His next words seemed to confirm it.

‘Hopefully you weren’t followed.’

He surveyed the park as if looking for security threats or the photographers who followed her in Europe.

The lovely sense of freedom Ilsa had felt earlier dissipated. ‘What about you? Don’t you have security?’ He was a wealthy, powerful man.

That provoked a laugh, warm and genuine, and the sound swirled through her like a warm tide. ‘You sat next to my cousin Jake at lunch. He’s the head of my local security team.’

Ilsa could imagine it. Jake was big and solidly built but very fit and his gaze had been alert.

Her heart did a strange little tumble in her chest. Had Noah asked his cousin to look after her?

He led her to a car park and a gleaming blue vintage convertible. Ilsa stared, taking in its glorious lines. She knew there hadn’t been many of these made and they had a reputation for great handling.

‘Is there room for your legs?’

‘More than you’d think.’ He paused. ‘What’s wrong? You don’t feel safe in a convertible?’

Ilsa met his narrowed eyes and shook her head. ‘I was thinking how great it would be to drive the mountain roads at home in a car like this.’

Did she imagine a flare of approval in those sea-bright eyes? No. It was an illusion, gone already. Her mind was playing tricks and she couldn’t afford that. Her positive experience with his family had skewed her thoughts.

Fifteen silent minutes later Noah ushered her into the lounge of a large house with a cliff-top view over the Pacific Ocean.

She didn’t take the seat offered. She was too wired. Instead she moved to the large windows, trying to calm her breathing.

‘So, Ilsa.’ His voice, deep and powerful, scraped across her nerves. ‘Are you going to explain what this is about?’

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