Jessica Hart - His Temporary Cinderella

‘That was delicious,’ she said, putting her fork down at last.

‘Yes, it wasn’t bad,’ said Philippe indifferently. Michelin starred restaurants would be two a penny to him, of course. He held out his hand. ‘Come on, back to looking besotted.’

‘Must I?’ sighed Caro, but she took his hand and, at the feel of his strong fingers curling around hers, a shiver of pleasure snaked through her.

Clearing her throat, she said, ‘We ought to talk about practicalities.’

‘Practicalities?’

To her consternation, Philippe turned her hand over so that the soft skin of her forearm was exposed. Now he was rubbing his thumb softly over her wrist, where her vein pulsed with awareness.

Caro swallowed hard and soldiered on. ‘What’s going to happen next?’

He would go back to Montluce in the next couple of days, Philippe told her. He would break the news about their supposed relationship to the Dowager Blanche and give Lotty a chance to make her own plans to leave. Then he would escort his father to Paris for his treatment.

‘He won’t want me, but he ought to have someone other than servants there for the operation,’ he said. ‘Once he’s through that, I’ll come and pick you up, and we’ll go back to Montluce together. Will ten days or so be enough time for you to get ready?’

She nodded, desperately trying to ignore that stroking thumb, which was playing havoc with her breathing. ‘I’m only temping,’ she said unevenly. ‘I just need to give a week’s notice.’

‘Once we’re there, you won’t have to do much,’ Philippe said. ‘Hang around with me. Convince my great-aunt that you adore me. Hold my hand like this. The usual stuff.’

‘It doesn’t sound very interesting,’ said Caro austerely to cover the booming of her pulse.

‘No, but it shouldn’t be hard either.’

‘Where—’ She stopped, mortified by how high her voice sounded, and coughed. ‘Where will I stay?’ That was better, huskier, almost normal.

‘With me,’ said Philippe. ‘We’re not going to convince anyone that it’s a serious relationship if we’re not living together. I’ve got apartments in the palace in Montvivennes. Not where I’d choose to live, but it’s comfortable enough.’

Apartments, plural? That sounded big. Caro was reassured. ‘Plenty of space for both of us, then?’

‘Oh, yes.’ His eyes met hers, clearly knowing exactly the way her mind was going. ‘Of course, we’ll have to sleep together,’ he said.

‘That won’t be necessary, surely?’ Caro stiffened and tried to pull her hand away, but he held her tight. ‘No one need know where I’m sleeping as long as I’m staying with you.’

‘That’s what you think.’ Philippe’s voice was crisp. ‘There are servants in and out of the apartments all the time, and it would be a miracle if they didn’t talk to each other. They’ll wonder just what kind of relationship we have if we’re not sleeping together, and word will get back. My great-aunt knows everything that goes on in the palace. She’s got a spy network that would put the CIA to shame.’

‘Couldn’t we tell her you respect me too much to sleep with me before marriage?’

He offered her a sardonic smile in return. ‘Yes, she’ll believe that!’

Caro managed to tug her hand away at last. It was all very well for Philippe to sound coolly amused about the whole business, but he must have slept with millions of beautiful women. He was probably used to sleeping with strangers. The thought of sleeping with her clearly hadn’t left him with an unnerving fluttering underneath his skin and in the pit of his stomach. He hadn’t been misery-eating, so he didn’t have to worry about what she would think when he took his clothes off.

Philippe naked … Caro’s mind veered off track momentarily to imagine him pulling off his shirt with a grin. She could picture the lean, hard planes of his body with startling ease: the flex of his muscles under his skin, the broad chest, the flat stomach. The power and the grace and the sheer, sinful sexiness of him.

Her cheeks burned at the thought. She really didn’t want her imagination to start running wild like that, especially not when taking off her own shirt would reveal all those extra pounds she had put on since George dumped her … and it wasn’t as if she had been sylphlike to start with. No, there would be no undressing going on, under any circumstances.

‘We can put a pillow down the middle, if you like,’ said Philippe, apparently reading her mind without difficulty.

Without being aware of what she was doing, Caro cupped the wrist where he had stroked her with her free hand as if to calm the soft skin there, which was quivering still from his touch.

‘You don’t sound bothered one way or the other,’ she said, unable to keep the snippiness from her voice.

He shrugged. ‘I’m not. It’s entirely up to you, Caro. I’m more than capable of keeping my hands to myself, so there’s no need to panic.’

‘I’m not panicking,’ she said crossly. ‘I’m just trying to think how it would work.’

She took her hand from her wrist and sat straighter. It was time to be sensible. ‘If you say that we need to share a bed, then that’s what we’ll do. I’m not going to be silly about it. But I think sex would just confuse the issue,’ she said, rather proud of her coolness this time. ‘I think it would be easier if we agreed that we would be just friends while we’re together.’

‘Friends?’ he repeated, expressionless.

‘Yes, you know, when you have a good time but don’t want to sleep together.’

‘I’ve got friends,’ he said. ‘They’re just not usually women.’

‘There’s nothing usual about our relationship, though, is there, Philippe? You’re a prince, I’m an ordinary girl with no interest in anything other than an ordinary life. You’re wealthy by any standard, and I’m temping to pay my rent. You go out with beautiful, glamorous women, and I’m neither,’ Caro said. ‘We’ve got absolutely nothing in common apart from Lotty, but just for two months we’re going to be together. I’m not interested in you, and I think it’s pretty clear you’re not going to be interested in me, so it makes sense that we should agree to be friends at least, don’t you think?’

Why not? Philippe asked himself. Caro was right. It would be much easier this way. The last thing he wanted was to get involved with someone who would fall in love with him. That would complicate matters and it would all get very messy. There would be tears and scenes and demands for commitment and stormings off. Philippe had been there before, and he couldn’t afford anything similar this time if he didn’t want to be left at the mercy of the Dowager Blanche’s matchmaking plans again.

So it was just as well Caro had made it clear that she wasn’t interested in him. There was no need to feel nettled. It wasn’t as if she was his type either. Caro was right: she wasn’t beautiful, she wasn’t stylish. She was untidy and distracting, that was all.

It was just that he couldn’t shake the feel of her. When he’d put his arm around her to cross the restaurant, he’d rested his hand on the flare of her hip and felt the silky material of her dress shift over her skin with a shock of awareness. He’d held her wrist and felt the blood beating in her veins, and that, too, had been like a current thrilling through him. He looked away from her mouth.

‘Fine by me,’ he said, as carelessly as he could. ‘Friends it is, and we’ll get that pillow out as soon as we get there.’

Philippe was used to eating with women who automatically chose the least fattening meal on the menu and it was a revelation to watch Caro oohing and aahing over her choice. Philippe himself was largely indifferent to food—he reserved his passion for the wine list—but it was impossible not to enjoy eating with someone who took so much pleasure in it. Caro would close her eyes blissfully while she savoured every taste and texture. She loaded up forkfuls from her dish and insisted he try it, and reached over to help herself to a taste of his, until he suggested that they simply swap plates.