Page 6 of Claiming His Virgin Princess

His words hung between them, inviting, tempting. Full of innuendo.

The intensity of his scrutiny stole Ilsa’s breath. Or maybe it was the effect of standing so close to him, locked in his embrace.

The idea was outrageous. To go out into the night with a man she didn’t know. It went against every rule.

Ilsa had lived her life by the rule book.

In her peripheral vision she saw the curious looks they were attracting. They couldn’t stay like this indefinitely. They had to move.

Yet she couldn’t bring herself to care. She was tired of worrying about image and public perception.

‘Who are you?’ Amazing to be considering this yet not know his name.

‘Noah. Noah Carson.’

The name was familiar. Anyone who read the international press would recognise it. A self-made multi-billionaire known for innovation, dazzling success and the glamorous women in his life. Now she realised it was a hint of an Australian accent she heard in his deep voice.

He read her expression. ‘You know the name?’

‘You’re notorious.’

His mouth turned down. ‘Do you believe everything you read in the press?’

Despite herself, she flinched. It was a sore point given the flights of fancy that had been published about her ever since she hit puberty, and now the pity, scorn and lewd speculation levelled at her and Lucien.

She saw Noah register her reaction. ‘Absolutely not. Do you?’

Was that why he gave the impression he responded to her against his better judgement? Maybe he saw her as leeching off her people and giving nothing back.

‘No.’

He squeezed her hand and her thoughts scattered as pleasure rippled across her skin and into her bloodstream.

Noah leaned forward, his words a whisper across her temple. ‘You’re safe with me, Princess. You have my word. Nothing will happen that you don’t want to happen.’

Her breath hitched at the thought of what she’d like to happen. It was unprecedented to hunger like this for any man.

Ilsa tried to tell herself she was simply feeling bruised and rejected and Noah’s blatant interest was balm to her battered ego. But the real truth swamped that totally.

The truth was she’d never in her life been drawn to anyone like this. Every cell in her body screamed that it would be criminal, impossible even, to turn away.

She moistened her lips and saw his gaze flicker and sizzle. In answer her breasts swelled, her already peaked nipples aching.

‘It’s Ilsa. Don’t call me Princess.’

His sculpted mouth tilted up at the corners and that hint of appreciation undid another knot in the fabric of her defensive caution.

How would his lips feel against hers? Hot and decadent or coolly delicious?

‘Shall we go?’ His arm slipped from around her back, making her sway as if suddenly unsteady on her feet.

Or as if she didn’t know how to hold herself without him touching her.

But he still held her hand and somehow, though his was larger and rougher, their palms and entwined fingers felt like a perfect match.

‘Where to?’ Ilsa tried to imagine taking him back to her hotel room, walking past the studiously disinterested gazes of the staff. And past the shuttered stare of the bodyguard she’d spotted when she left the hotel today. Not one of her own, for she’d ordered them to remain in Altbourg, but one of her father’s staff. An unwanted reminder that, though she wanted a taste of freedom, she couldn’t outrun her real life, even if she pretended for a week or two.

‘Come back to mine.’

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