Page 65 of Claiming His Virgin Princess

Ilsa looked down and realised she was threading her fingers together in a repetitive nervous gesture. The sort of gesture she’d been taught to avoid. But a lifetime’s training in composure went out the window when she was around Noah. He tied her in knots so that everything inside seemed tangled.

‘But the timing...’ He shook his head. ‘Just how pregnant are you?’

‘Twelve weeks.’

‘Twelve weeks?’

His gaze dropped and she realised her fingers were laced together, this time over her abdomen in an age-old gesture of protection.

‘Why wait to tell me?’

Ilsa wished she could read his voice or his face. Work out what he was thinking. But there was nothing to hint at his emotions, apart from the intensity of his stare and the way he canted towards her as if focused on her every word.

‘In London it hadn’t even occurred to me that I could be pregnant because we’d used condoms. My cycle is very irregular, so I didn’t think it odd that I’d had no period. On top of that...’ Ilsa looked past him to the vast ocean beyond the windows. ‘I never expected it to be possible. I’d been warned I could find it difficult to have a baby. Plus you took precautions—’

‘Except there was that one time when the condom tore.’

She nodded. She’d assumed at the time there was virtually no chance of her falling pregnant.

‘That still doesn’t explain why you waited to let me know.’

Ilsa couldn’t read his tone, though that tall body looked primed and ready for action. But what action?

Nerves fluttered in her stomach. Noah was socontained, giving nothing at all away. A reminder that, while he might have been a phenomenal lover, a man who’d broken through her protective shell and made her dream of a fantasy happy ever after, he was a hard-nosed tycoon. He’d built his business from nothing and managed problems all the time.

Did he view their baby as a problem?

Ilsa sank further into the lounge, one hand resting on her abdomen.

She swallowed then moistened her lips with her tongue. Once more she sought comfort in the view of the ocean, rather than face Noah’s piercing stare. Ilsa already felt too vulnerable around him.

‘I didn’t tellanyone. I thought it best to reach the twelve-week mark. The chance of miscarriage is greatest before that, so it seemed sensible to wait.’

There was movement in her peripheral vision then warm fingers covered hers.

Ilsa swung round to find Noah on the seat beside her, so close his masculine scent teased her and she felt she could dive into the clear depths of those stunning eyes. He was turned towards her, one long arm on the back of the lounge behind her head, his knee brushing her thigh.

‘You were that worried you’d lose the baby?’ His deep voice had a husky edge that undid her.

She nodded. ‘I didn’t dare hope. I’ve spent so long believing I’d have difficulty becoming a mother...’ Her throat closed and just as well, before she blurted out more of what she felt.

‘What do the doctors say? Is this dangerous for you? For the baby?’

For a second Ilsa couldn’t speak, fighting the lush, warm feeling that filled her when Noah asked about her as well as the baby.

But it shouldn’t surprise her. Noah was a decent man. Even if he didn’t love her.

‘I’m being closely monitored as I have an elevated risk of miscarriage.’ She heard him suck in a sharp breath. ‘But we’re both doing okay and I trust my doctor to look after me.’

His tight grip fastened even harder around her fingers. Then abruptly he sat back, releasing her.

Ilsa felt it like the sudden chill when the sun disappeared behind a cloud on a winter’s day.

‘So everything’snotgood. But as good as we can hope for.’

Ilsa nodded, repressing a humourless laugh at the buzz of excitement she got, hearing him talk aboutwenotyou.

The trouble was that she still loved this man who, despite his concern, clearly wasn’t excited by her arrival. She’d imagined he’d at least be thrilled to discover he was going to be a father. After all, kids were in his new long-term plan.

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