The Playboy Prince (4 page)
Read The Playboy Prince Online
Authors: Kate Hewitt
Philippe was silent, and Ella risked looking at him. His eyes were dark, his mouth drawn in a thoughtful frown.
“I’m not sure why I told you all of that,” she said after a moment. “It’s not as if it has anything to do with—” She stumbled, avoiding that dangerous word…us. “You and me.”
“No?” Philippe raised his eyebrows.
“I mean, this is just one day.” She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I overreacted earlier. I know it was just a kiss.”
“Just a kiss.”
“Yes—”
“Well.” Philippe brushed his fingers over her palm, causing sparks to ignite inside her once more. “This day isn’t over yet. Come with me tonight.”
She stared at him, eyes wide. “Where?”
“To a cocktail reception at the Guggenheim.”
Her mind spun. “As—”
“Yes,” Philippe cut her off with a grin. “As my date.”
Ella stepped inside the Guggenheim’s famous spiral tower and her mouth went dry. All around her elegant and well-heeled guests circulated, glittering with jewels, holding glasses of champagne aloft. In her simple silver sheath dress she felt respectable enough, if only just. She glanced at Philippe, who was wearing his formal state dress— white tie and tails with a red sash across his chest. He looked handsome and dignified and yet somehow remote, and she could believe now more than ever that he was a prince, on his way to being a king.
His hand slid around her waist, and with his other he plucked two flutes of champagne from a passing tray and handed her one. “I suspect this will all be very boring,” he murmured in her ear. “Which is why I asked you to join me.”
She half turned to him, conscious of how her breast brushed against his arm. “Oh? I’m just your entertainment?”
“You’re my salvation,” he answered, and with his arm still around her waist he guided her into the crowd.
The next few hours passed in a blur. Philippe was charming with everyone and seemed to know them all. He introduced her easily, and Ella saw the speculation flare in people’s eyes as they wondered just what her relationship to Prince Philippe was. Ella didn’t explain, and neither did Philippe. What could either of them say, anyway? They’d met just over twenty-four hours ago, and their remaining time together was limited.
Yet Ella didn’t want it to end. She wasn’t ready to say goodbye, even though she was well aware Philippe would be. And she should be, too, considering her own past. Even if Philippe decided he wanted to continue some kind of relationship with her, what future could they possibly have? She wasn’t queen material—and she wouldn’t change herself to fit a man’s ideal ever again.
Toward the end of the evening her cell phone rang. Ella saw it was Chase and she excused herself to a private alcove to talk to him.
“Chase? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” He didn’t sound fine, Ella thought. He sounded exhausted and even depressed.
“What’s going on? Are you going to meet with Philippe—”
“I’ll meet him at the ball tomorrow night.”
“The ball—” She’d completely forgotten about the Bryant Ball, hosted by Chase and his two brothers. The Bryants were a prominent family in New York City, and the Bryant Ball was one of the highlights of the city’s social calendar. Ella always went, at least ever since she’d been working with Chase. “What about tomorrow?”
“I’m still busy.”
“Is something wrong?” She’d never known Chase to be absent from work, especially in the middle of such an important bid.
Chase sighed. “Nothing’s wrong. I just had something…unexpected happen. Can you keep Philippe occupied for another day?”
One more day. Ella swallowed. “Yes.”
“Thanks, Ella. I really do appreciate it.”
A few seconds later they said goodbye and Ella stood there for a moment, her mind whirling. She felt Philippe’s hand on her shoulder.
“Is everything all right?”
“Yes—”
“Then,” he asked, his voice dropping to a suggestive murmur, “how about we leave this party?”
“And go where?”
Philippe turned her around to face him. “You could come back to my hotel with me.”
Ella’s eyes widened and her lips parted. No words came out. She looked so comically stunned that Philippe almost laughed. Except this was no laughing matter. He wanted more than anything for her to say yes. He wanted her to come back to his hotel, and he wanted to make love to her.
Finally her mouth curved in a tiny, trembling smile. “If I overreacted about a single kiss, how do you think I might react now?”
He laughed softly. “I’m willing to take the risk. I want you, Ella. I realize we’ve only known each other for a few days—”
“One day—”
“But I care for you. I feel more for you than I have for any woman in a long time.”
Her mouth twisted. “I’m not sure that’s saying much.”
Philippe grimaced. Damn his playboy reputation. “Even so,” he said quietly. “Do you want to come with me?”
Ella didn’t answer for a long moment. Then she looked up, meeting his gaze with her still-wide eyes, and nodded. “Yes,” she whispered.
“Then let’s get out of here,” he said, and without wasting another moment he linked his hand with hers and led her from the museum.
He hailed a cab outside and within seconds they were speeding away in the darkness, toward his hotel. Ella’s face was angled away from him, and he couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Feeling.
“Ella?”
“You don’t act like a prince.” She turned to him suddenly, her voice soft in the darkness. “You don’t fly in a private jet, you don’t have a private car. Your security guys don’t shadow your every step.”
“I gave them the day off.”
“You don’t live in a castle, and you don’t even want to be king. You’re not what I expected at all.”
He reached for her hand and brushed her knuckles across his lips. She shivered in response. “Is that a bad thing?”
“No,” she said slowly. “No, it’s not. But it…it scares me.”
“Scares you? Why?”
“Because I don’t know who you are,” she whispered. “Only who I want you to be.”
His heart gave a strange and rather frightening lurch. “I’m the man you’ve gotten to know over this last day,” Philippe said, sincerity making his voice throb. “That’s exactly who I am.” Not the playboy prince of the tabloids or cocktail parties. Not the man she seemed intent on believing he was, despite what she said she wanted.
He needed the world to believe he was that man. Even when he wasn’t. But with Ella he wanted it to be different. He wanted her to know the real him…even if their relationship couldn’t go anywhere.
The cab pulled to a stop and Philippe glanced out at the entrance of the hotel. He squeezed Ella’s hand. “We’re here.”
Ella stepped into Philippe’s penthouse suite on the fifty-third floor of his hotel, the floor-to-ceiling windows revealing a glittering panorama of the city. Behind her she heard the door click quietly shut, and then she felt Philippe’s hands close lightly on her shoulders.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked softly.
She took a deep breath and turned to face him. “Yes, I’m sure.” And she was, amazingly sure. Scared, too, and certainly nervous, but she knew she wanted this. Wanted Philippe…even if it would all end tomorrow. Even if he was the Playboy Prince.
And yet he hadn’t acted like a playboy prince in the short time she’d known him. He’d been sweet, thoughtful, wry and kind. He’d been the kind of man she could so easily fall in love with, and she was afraid that was exactly what she was doing.
Because what if it was all an act, just like it had been with Charles? What if Philippe was just very, very good at getting what he wanted? And even if he wanted a relationship, how could it possibly work? She wasn’t princess material, and she didn’t want to change. She didn’t want him to want her to change.
“You’re not looking sure,” Philippe said with a wry smile.
Ella pushed all her thoughts and fears away. She was sure about this, about now. She wanted him, was more attracted to him than any man she’d ever met. Smiling, she put her arms around his neck.
It was all the invitation Philippe needed. He pulled her gently to him and then his lips found hers, the kiss sweeter and deeper than the one they’d shared before. Ella let her head fall back and exquisite sensation took over as Philippe blazed a fiery path of kisses down her throat to the V between her breasts. She trembled, and he smiled against her skin.
“You’re so beautiful, you know.”
And she believed him, believed the sincerity in his voice. In that moment she believed in this man, the man Philippe had wanted her to know, and not the prince of the tabloids. She wanted this man.
Somehow they found their way to the bedroom, with its huge bed covered in a silk duvet and floor-to-ceiling windows showing Manhattan in all of its electric glory.
Philippe peeled the silver dress from her body and Ella shivered in the cool air. Then he was stripping himself and covering her nakedness with his own, and all she could think, taste and feel was Philippe. His deep kisses, his expert caresses, the way he coaxed her body to sing with pleasure, the way he encouraged her to touch him, to know him.
And when he finally joined his body to hers in that sweet act of total union, he slid his hands along her face and gently opened her eyes so she was staring straight into his intent gaze, his loving gaze—or so it seemed in that moment, as tears of pure, raw emotion started helplessly in her eyes. Philippe kissed her deeply as pleasure finally took them over.
Ella woke to bright winter sunlight spilling through the windows of Philippe’s bedroom. She blinked and rolled over, felt her heart squeeze at the sight of Philippe lying next to her, naked and asleep. Gorgeous.
Memories of last night tumbled through her mind in a kaleidoscope of sensations. He’d been a wonderful lover: tender, considerate and yet also passionate and even wild. She’d felt treasured and daring at the same time, liberated and yet wonderfully safe.
But as for today…for the future…what could possibly happen?
The answer, she told herself bleakly, was nothing.
Quietly she slid from the bed and reached for her dress. She should go home, get ready for work. She’d spent too much time away from the office entertaining Philippe, and she could only imagine the number of emails and phone messages she would have to deal with. Just the thought that she might have let something slip made her heart lurch. She lived for her job; that had been her choice. She couldn’t risk living for anything else, opening herself up to heartache—
As if he could sense her thought process, Philippe opened his eyes, stretching luxuriously, and cocked an eyebrow. “Where are you going?”
Ella hurriedly slipped on her dress. “I need to go home and change, get ready for work.”
Philippe propped himself on one elbow. “I thought your job for the moment was taking care of me.”
She made a face. “Consider yourself well taken care of.”
“Oh, I’m not sure about that.” Lazily Philippe reached for her. “Come back to bed, Ella. Everything else can wait.” He pulled her onto the bed, dropped a kiss on her bare shoulder as his hands roamed temptingly over her body.
And she was tempted. So, so tempted to crawl right back into bed with him and forget everything else. Forget even her heart, which was already in danger of breaking.
With effort she pulled away and stood up. “I can’t, Philippe. I have to work. My job is very important to me. And in any case, we’ve had our one day. Our one night.” She struggled with the zip of her dress, her hands shaking, and Philippe came out of the bed, gloriously naked, to help her zip it up.
“Is that what you think?” he asked softly, his breath feathering the nape of her neck. “That this is over?”
She closed her eyes against the sting of tears. “Isn’t it?”
Philippe didn’t respond, which was answer enough. Of course it was over. Of course they weren’t going anywhere. He was a playboy, he was a prince, and she was just a secretary who had been stupid enough to have her heart broken a second time by a man who didn’t think she could ever fit into his life.
Swallowing, Ella stepped away. “I’ll see you tonight,” she whispered. “At the ball.”
“Come with me,” he said urgently. “As my—”
“No, Philippe.” She shook her head, her composure so close to cracking. “I’ll see you there, but that’s all.”
And without another word, not trusting herself to speak, she left.
Philippe gazed at himself in the mirror and frowned. He wore a white tie and tails for the Bryant Ball, with the royal red sash across his chest. The Montvidant insignia weighed on him heavily this evening after he’d spent a wretched day alone wandering through the city and thinking about Ella.
She’d been right to end it. Logically he knew that. Agreed with her. Their relationship—the few days of it they’d had—couldn’t go anywhere. He was heir to his country’s throne, and his mother expected him to marry a woman who would make a suitable queen…not a no-name secretary from Connecticut.
More importantly, he was quite sure Ella didn’t want the kind of life he could offer. The kind of life duty required him to live. Of course he’d drop the playboy antics once he was married, but his life would always be in the spotlight. Would always be about image and what people thought of him and his country. From what he knew of Ella and her history with the jerk who had used her, she would despise that kind of life.
And yet
… whispered a voice—treacherous, desperate and yet hopeful—inside him. And yet, what if she didn’t? What if they shared something special enough to make everything else unimportant, or at least manageable? Was he willing to throw away what he’d found with Ella simply because logic told him it was sensible?
When was love ever sensible?
Did he love Ella?
Philippe spun away from his reflection. The Bryant Ball was his last opportunity to talk to her. Convince her— Of what?
That he loved her. Or at least, that he thought he could love her, if a handful of days wasn’t enough time to be sure. But he knew the strength of his feelings, knew he wasn’t ready to give this up. Give her up.