Jessica Hart - His Temporary Cinderella

He was being sarcastic, but Caro was delighted at the suggestion and promptly handed over her plate. ‘George always refused to share like this,’ she confided. ‘He said it was embarrassing to pass plates over the table and that everyone would look at us.’

‘And this was a guy who accused you of not being any fun?’

‘He probably swaps plates with Melanie,’ she said with a sigh.

‘You should have tried leaning over the table so that he could fall down your cleavage,’ Philippe said. ‘I’m sure he’d have swapped anything you wanted then.’

‘Do you really think so?’ The blue eyes rested wistfully on George and Philippe was conscious of a quite irrational stab of jealousy.

He was used to being the centre of attention. His dinner companions were invariably beautiful, just as Caro had said. They flirted and sparkled and charmed and laughed at all his jokes. It was a salutary experience to be with Caro, who was far more interested in her ex-fiancé than in him. She was more interested in the food than in him, come to that.

Philippe told himself that he was amused, but the truth was that he was just a little piqued by her indifference. Here was he, a prince famous for his charm and his wit and his sexual prowess, having to work to keep the attention of a woman who wasn’t even really pretty, and who didn’t feel the least need to keep him entertained. Not that he wanted to be entertained, of course, but still …

It was annoying to find that his leg was tingling where she had rubbed her shoe so tantalisingly, and that his eyes kept snagging on that mouth, or drifting to that luscious cleavage. Philippe suspected that Caro had no idea how she looked, with that provocative mouth and that wickedly lush body, so at odds with the combative glint in her blue eyes and the sharpness of her tongue.

I’m not interested in you, she had said.

Just as well.

For the first time in her life, Caro refused pudding. Finally, she’d made it to the Star and Garter, and she wasn’t hungry! Life could be so unfair sometimes.

‘Ready to go?’ asked Philippe. ‘Let’s make sure we make an exit.’ Very casually, he rested a hand at the nape of her neck as they passed George’s table. It was a perfect proprietorial gesture, and it felt disturbingly intimate to Caro. The warmth from his fingers snaked down her spine, making her shiver.

‘They’ll be leaving any minute themselves,’ Philippe murmured as he opened the door for her. ‘Do you want to kiss me?’

‘What?’ Caro stopped dead and stared at him. ‘No, of course not!’

‘Sure? Because here’s an opportunity to convince George that you’re having a passionate affair, if you want to,’ he said, all reasonableness. ‘He might have been convinced by all the hand-holding, but it was all a bit tame, wasn’t it? Whereas if he sees you enjoying a steamy kiss, there’s not going to be much doubt in his mind that you’re a passionate, exciting woman having a better time without him, is there?’

Caro hesitated. The idea of making George believe that she was in the throes of a wild affair was deeply appealing, she had to admit. For too long, she’d felt dull and repressed next to bubbly Melanie, and hated that deadly feeling that they both felt sorry for her.

But this was His Serene Highness Prince Philippe of Montluce … Did she really have the nerve to kiss him? On the other hand, they had agreed to be friends, hadn’t they? ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?’ she asked doubtfully.

In reply, Philippe spread his arms. ‘What are friends for? Besides, it’ll be good practice for us. We’re going to have to kiss in Montluce, so we might as well get used to it.’

True. Good point. Caro took a deep breath. ‘Well … okay, then.’

‘Come over here.’ Philippe took her hand and led her over to the limousine, which waited in the glow of a single street light immediately opposite the door. ‘There’s no point if George can’t see us, is there? They won’t be able to miss us here.’ He turned and leant back against the limousine. ‘Off you go, then.’

‘Where’s Yan?’

‘Don’t worry about Yan. He’s used to looking the other way.’

‘Right.’ Above them, the sky was a dark, dark blue, and the cool night air brimmed with the scents of a northern summer. A little current of excitement ran under Caro’s skin. Moistening her lips, she stepped towards him, then hesitated.

‘I feel silly.’

‘That’s because you’re too far away. You’ll find it easier if you get a bit closer.’

Caro took another step. It brought her up against him. She could smell his cologne—subtle, expensive—and, when she rested her palms against his chest, she felt the hard solidity of him through the fine material of his shirt.

The street lamp cast a surreal orange glow over everything, but at the same time Caro could see exactly what she was doing. It was like being on stage, and now she had to perform. Gripped by shyness, she stared fixedly at Philippe’s collar while her hands pressed against his chest and the warmth of his skin seemed to pulse through her, slow and steady like his heartbeat.

‘I don’t want to hurry you, but they’ll be out soon,’ said Philippe and his voice reverberated through her hands.

‘Right,’ she said again, and swallowed. Passionate, exciting … she could do it.

Forcing her eyes up from his collar, she let them drift up the strong column of his throat. She could see the faint prickle of stubble and, without giving herself time to think, she touched her lips to the pulse beating there.

Philippe inhaled slowly. His hands hung loosely by his sides, but she felt the tension in his body, and she smiled. Maybe he wasn’t quite as cool as he made out.

Her heart was thudding painfully, bang, bang, bang against her ribs. She kissed the pulse again, then drifted soft kisses up to his jaw. It felt deliciously rough beneath her lips and she slid her hands to his shoulders.

‘I think you’d better get on with it,’ said Philippe, but a smile rippled through the words.

‘Stop talking,’ she mumbled, making her way along his chin. ‘You’re putting me off.’

‘I’m just saying. George will be out any second.’

Caro pulled away, exasperated. ‘I can’t do it if you’re going to do a running commentary!’

‘Then make me stop talking,’ he challenged her.

‘Fine.’ Defiantly, she stepped back up to him and put her hands on his shoulders once more. Then she leant into him, angling her face up and pressing her mouth against his. His lips were warm and firm and relaxed and curved into the faintest of smiles.

Was he laughing at her? Caro kissed him again, nibbling little kisses at the edge of his mouth where his smile dented, teasing his lips open so that their tongues could twine together, and it felt so warm, so right, that she forgot everything else. She forgot George and Melanie. She forgot the plan. She forgot about just being friends. There was only the taste of him and the feel of him and the astonishing sweetness spilling through her.

Then Philippe’s arms closed round her at last and he pulled her hard against him, and the sweetness was swept away by a surge of heat. It was wild and dark and fierce, a current that swirled around them, sucking them down, pulling them off their feet. Caro was lost, tumbling in the frantic wash of desire. She linked her arms around his neck to anchor herself, murmuring low in her throat, something inarticulate that might have been protest, or might have been longing.

Somehow Philippe had found the clip in her hair and pulled it free. It fell, unnoticed, to the ground while he slid his fingers through the silky mass, twisting, twining, holding her head still so that he could kiss her back, and he was good, oh, he was good … Caro thrilled at the sureness of his lips, the hard insistence of his hands that slid down her spine to cup her bottom and lift her against him.