His Temporary Cinderella. Jessica HartЧитать онлайн книгу.
beside him. Caro could see one powerfully muscled arm. Her eyes drifted from the dark, flat hairs on his forearm to the broad, strong wrist, and on to the firm fingers holding the joystick, and a disquieting ache stirred low in her belly.
She made herself look away, out of the window. The seat was pressing into the small of her back as they climbed up through great blowsy drifts of clouds, up into the blue. There was no going back to real life now. Instead, she would spend the next two months as Philippe’s girlfriend. Caro’s eyes slid back to his profile, etched now against the bright sky. She could see the creases at the edge of his eye, the corner of his mouth, and remembering how warm and sure it had felt against her own made her stomach tilt anew.
Two months beside him. Two months trying not to notice the cool set of his mouth or remember the feel of his hands.
The squirmy feeling in Caro’s belly intensified. Nerves, she decided at first, but when she looked out at the clouds and felt the plane soaring upwards and thought about the weeks ahead she finally recognised the feeling for what it was.
Excitement.
‘Oh, what a beautiful car!’ Caro gasped when she saw the Aston Martin waiting for them at the quiet airfield where they landed. Philippe watched her practically fall down the steps in her eagerness to get at it.
Unless it was her eagerness to get out of the plane, of course.
‘Oh, you beauty!’ she said, running a hand lovingly over the bonnet. ‘A DB9! I’ve never seen one before.’ She looked up at him, her eyes shining. ‘Is it yours?’
‘It is.’ She was so vivid standing there in the sunlight, her face alight with enthusiasm, that Philippe’s breath hitched in a new and disturbing way, and for a moment he couldn’t remember how to be.
‘This isn’t like you.’ Ah, yes, that was better. Cool, indifferent. That was him. ‘You know the car’s not second-hand, don’t you? And you can’t eat it? I wouldn’t have thought it was your kind of thing at all.’
‘I make an exception for cars.’ Caro let her hand smooth over the bodywork in a way that made Philippe’s throat dry ridiculously. He fought for a casual expression, but all he could think, bizarrely, was: lucky car.
‘Can I drive?’ she asked, with a speculative look from under her lashes, trying it on.
‘Absolutely not,’ he said firmly.
‘Oh, please! I’ll behave very, very nicely.’
‘No.’
‘You’re supposed to be in love with me,’ she pointed out as she straightened.
‘I’d have to be besotted before I let you drive my car,’ he said, and opened the passenger door for her. ‘Most girls would be happy to be driven.’
‘I’m not most girls,’ said Caro, but she got in anyway and he closed the door after her with a satisfying clunk.
‘You can say that again,’ said Philippe, walking round to get in behind the wheel. Now she was stroking the seat and the wooden trim, leaning forward to gaze at the dashboard, wriggling back into her seat with a sigh of pleasure. It was practically pornographic! Not enough oxygen was getting to his brain and he had to take a breath, horrified to find that the hands he laid on the steering wheel weren’t entirely steady.
The clear glass starter button glowed invitingly red, reminding him that he was in control. Philippe pressed it and the engine purred into life.
‘What about Yan and the luggage?’ Caro dragged her attention back from the car for a moment.
‘He’ll follow in the other car,’ said Philippe, nodding back to a black SUV with tinted windows.
‘Isn’t he supposed to be protecting you?’
‘He’ll be right behind.’ Philippe put the car into gear. ‘But for now it’s just you and me.’
‘Oh,’ was all Caro said, but a little thrill shivered through her all the same.
Just you and me.
It wouldn’t be just the two of them, of course. Lotty had told her about the palace servants, and there would always be Yan or a member of the public wanting their hand shaken. Just as well, Caro told herself firmly. It would be much easier to be friends when there were other people around.
‘Where did you learn about cars?’ Philippe asked as they turned onto the main road.
‘From my father.’ The road was clear ahead, and Philippe put his foot down. The car responded instantly, surging forward. Caro felt the pressure in the small of her back and settled into it with a shiver of pleasure. ‘He loved cars. He always had some banger up on the blocks and he’d spend hours tinkering with it. When I was little I’d squat beside him and be allowed to hand him a spanner or an oily rag. Even now the smell of oil makes me think of Dad.’
Caro smiled unevenly, remembering. ‘Driving an Aston Martin was his dream. He’d be so thrilled if he could see me now!’ She stroked the leather on either side of her thighs. ‘And envious!’
Distracted by the stroking, Philippe forced his attention back to the road. ‘It sounds like you had a good relationship with your father.’
‘I adored him.’ She touched the lapels of the jacket she wore. ‘This is Dad’s dinner jacket. He wore it for a school dance once, and no one recognised him. It was as if none of them had ever looked at him when he was wearing his handyman overalls, but put on a smart jacket and suddenly he was a real person, someone they could talk to because he was dressed like them.’
Caro fingered the sleeve where she’d rolled it up to show the scarlet lining. ‘I remember Dad saying that some people are like this jacket, conventional on the outside, but with a bright, beautiful lining like this. He said we shouldn’t judge what’s on the outside, it’s what’s inside that really matters. I think of him every time I put this jacket on,’ she said.
‘My father thinks the exact opposite,’ said Philippe. ‘For him, it’s all about appearances. No wonder I’m such a disappointment to him.’ He was careful to keep his tone light, but Caro looked at him, a crease between her brows.
‘He can’t be that disappointed if he trusts you to stand in for him while he’s sick.’
‘Only because it wouldn’t look right if he didn’t make his only surviving son regent in his absence, would it? What would people think?’
In spite of himself, Philippe could hear the bitterness threading his voice, and he summoned a smile instead. ‘Besides, it’s not a question of trust. It’s not as if they’re going to let me loose on government. My father thinks it’ll be good for me to experience meetings and red boxes and the whole dreary business of governing, but all that’s just for show too. There’s a council of ministers, but the Dowager Blanche will be keeping a firm hold of the reins. I’m trusted to shake hands and host a few banquets, but that’s about it.’
‘You could take more responsibility if you wanted, couldn’t you?’
‘They won’t let me.’ Caro could hear the frustration in his voice, and she felt for him. It couldn’t be easy knowing that any attempt to assert himself would be met by his father’s collapse. ‘And I daren’t risk insisting any more,’ Philippe said. ‘Not when he’s so sick, anyway. My father and I may not get on, but I don’t want him to die.’
‘Why doesn’t he trust you?’ Caro asked, swivelling in her seat so that she could look at him. ‘I know you were wild when you were younger, but that was years ago.’
‘It’s hard to change the way your family looks at you.’ Philippe glanced in the mirror and pulled out to overtake a lumbering truck in a flash. ‘Etienne was always the dutiful, responsible son, and I was difficult. That’s just the way it was.
‘Etienne was a golden boy—clever, hardworking, responsible,