Page 4 of Claiming His Virgin Princess

His voice made goose bumps skitter across her skin and heat flare low in her body. Impossibly, that voice sounded familiar, as if she’d heard it before.

In her dreams maybe.

Despite her high heels her eyes were only level with his mouth.

The shock of her up-close view ricocheted through her. A tanned, squared jaw was saved from being too aggressively masculine by the hint of a cleft on his chin. And by his wide sensual mouth, curling at the corners and making her lungs squeeze even harder.

A voice in her head urged her to flee, screamingDanger!

But another voice whisperedYes!

Ilsa lifted her chin and met the most extraordinary stare she’d ever seen.

Under coal-black brows and long lashes, his eyes were turquoise. Not blue nor green but somewhere between. Clear eyes, bright and assessing.

No wonder the women on the other side of the lunch venue yesterday had preened and tittered, trying to catch his attention. Up close he was gorgeous, not merely charismatic.

‘Your Highness?’

Disappointment furred her tongue and she swallowed.

For a brief second she’d imagined them yanked together by the implacable force she felt vibrating between them. By a deep, inexplicable compulsion.

Of course it was no such thing. He knew who she was. He wanted to dance with a royal. Maybe make a social or business connection and be able to name-drop later.

Ilsa pulled on a princess smile, cool and charming. ‘I’m afraid you’re too late. The set has ended and I—’

Music rippled on the night air. Not an upbeat pop tune like the band had just played but something slower, melodic and soulful. The lights dimmed and his straight, inky eyebrows rose just a fraction, the grooves around his mouth carving deeper in a look of complacency.

It hit her like a bolt from the blue. He’d arranged it. The change of music. The lighting.

To dance with her.

Ilsa’s eyes widened and she read confirmation in his gaze. Not smugness but a level of calm self-assurance that was powerfully appealing.

She breathed deep, telling herself he was just another man wanting an introduction to royalty. But that slow inhale brought a scent that scattered her thoughts, something rich and earthy that made her nostrils flare and hormones spark.

She could say she was leaving. Or that she’d had enough dancing for one night.

Instead she nodded and was rewarded with a flare of what looked like anticipation in those stunning eyes, even as his mouth firmed into a straight line.

As if he too wasn’t sure this was a good idea.

Then he took her hand in his and slid his other arm around her, his palm sitting at her waist, all perfectly respectable.

It didn’t feel respectable as he led her into a slow dance. Ilsa’s nerves jumped and jangled as if she’d touched an electric wire and her breathing turned shallow.

By contrast, she moved in his arms as if they’d danced together for years. As if their bodies knew each other, anticipating every move, every shift of weight and slight pressure of hands.

Still their eyes held, and it felt impossibly intimate.

Which proved how unexciting her life had been.

Then his attention dropped to her lips and heat seared her. It took a second to realise he was watching her tongue trace her suddenly dry mouth.

Did he think she was trying to entice him? Dismay unfurled and she stiffened.

‘Easy, Princess.’

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