Read Online The Playboy Prince by Kate Hewitt - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kate Hewitt
Ads: Link
she’d said, although she had no idea what was keeping Chase from wooing his client. This sudden absence was utterly out of character for him, and she was starting to get worried.
“In any case, I shall look forward to having dinner with you,” Philippe had said, and Ella had smiled tightly. She couldn’t say the same; although, really, the problem was that she
could
. She didn’t want to like Prince Philippe, but so far he wasn’t what she’d expected. Underneath that easy veneer of arrogant charm he seemed surprisingly easygoing, sometimes whimsical. Which was the real man? She knew men could put on two very different faces…and she had proven herself incapable of telling which one was real.
She turned away from the mirror and headed for the Mandarin’s restaurant in Columbus Circle. It was only a short walk from her apartment, and the early December night was glittering and cold. The prince was waiting by the maître d’s desk when she entered the restaurant, on the thirty-fifth floor of the hotel with a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree view of the city.
“Prince Philippe.” She just kept herself from clicking her heels as she stopped to stand in front of him. He smiled.
“Please, call me Philippe. I don’t stand on formality.”
Was he flirting? She didn’t think so, but it still seemed like a line. He was just too smooth. He made her both suspicious and stiff.
She nodded, and the maître d’ led them to the best table in the restaurant, a private alcove with deep chairs and a view of Central Park, now shrouded in darkness. Ella busied herself with the menu, not sure what to do with her hands, or even her face. She was trying to look coolly professional, but the intimate, romantic atmosphere of their private table was making that expression feel like a mask. Her heart was beating far too hard.
Philippe leaned forward to get a better view of the city, Columbus Circle visible just beyond the park, glittering with neon lights.
“Amazing.”
“What is your first impression of New York?”
“Frenetic.” He sat back, his smile turning wry. “I must admit, I prefer a quieter life in Montvidant, but as many have said before me, it’s nice to visit New York.”
“A quieter life?” Ella heard the skepticism in her own voice. “But your life is far from quiet, Prince—”
“Just Philippe.” He arched an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize you knew so much about my life.”
“I don’t,” Ella said quickly. “Just what I’ve seen in the newspapers.”
“Ah, the newspapers.” He nodded, his eyes flicking away from her.
What was he saying? That what the newspapers reported wasn’t true? “You seem to have a rather jet-setting lifestyle,” Ella said carefully.
“Of course I do.” He shrugged carelessly and reached for his wine. “I’m a prince.”
Ella glanced at him uncertainly, for she’d heard something dark and unfathomable in his tone. Then he looked up, his expression clearing, although for the first time his smile didn’t seem quite sincere.
“Enough of that,” he said lightly. “Now shall we order?”
Chapter Four
Philippe gazed at the woman across from him, her face now flushed from the two glasses of wine he’d convinced her to have, her hair falling a bit out of its too-tight chignon so that a few auburn tendrils framed her heart-shaped face. Ella Jamison was lovely, and he’d been both intrigued by and attracted to her from the moment she’d approached him in the airport, looking like she’d rather have been meeting anyone else.
It was obvious she believed everything she’d read about him in the tabloids, and he could hardly blame her. By all accounts he should be glad. It was exactly why he’d posed for those photographs, solicited the interviews and articles. He wanted people to believe he was the Playboy Prince. Judging by the way Ella Jamison glanced at him when she thought he wasn’t looking—with chilly disdain—he was succeeding.
Too bad, in that
“In any case, I shall look forward to having dinner with you,” Philippe had said, and Ella had smiled tightly. She couldn’t say the same; although, really, the problem was that she
could
. She didn’t want to like Prince Philippe, but so far he wasn’t what she’d expected. Underneath that easy veneer of arrogant charm he seemed surprisingly easygoing, sometimes whimsical. Which was the real man? She knew men could put on two very different faces…and she had proven herself incapable of telling which one was real.
She turned away from the mirror and headed for the Mandarin’s restaurant in Columbus Circle. It was only a short walk from her apartment, and the early December night was glittering and cold. The prince was waiting by the maître d’s desk when she entered the restaurant, on the thirty-fifth floor of the hotel with a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree view of the city.
“Prince Philippe.” She just kept herself from clicking her heels as she stopped to stand in front of him. He smiled.
“Please, call me Philippe. I don’t stand on formality.”
Was he flirting? She didn’t think so, but it still seemed like a line. He was just too smooth. He made her both suspicious and stiff.
She nodded, and the maître d’ led them to the best table in the restaurant, a private alcove with deep chairs and a view of Central Park, now shrouded in darkness. Ella busied herself with the menu, not sure what to do with her hands, or even her face. She was trying to look coolly professional, but the intimate, romantic atmosphere of their private table was making that expression feel like a mask. Her heart was beating far too hard.
Philippe leaned forward to get a better view of the city, Columbus Circle visible just beyond the park, glittering with neon lights.
“Amazing.”
“What is your first impression of New York?”
“Frenetic.” He sat back, his smile turning wry. “I must admit, I prefer a quieter life in Montvidant, but as many have said before me, it’s nice to visit New York.”
“A quieter life?” Ella heard the skepticism in her own voice. “But your life is far from quiet, Prince—”
“Just Philippe.” He arched an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize you knew so much about my life.”
“I don’t,” Ella said quickly. “Just what I’ve seen in the newspapers.”
“Ah, the newspapers.” He nodded, his eyes flicking away from her.
What was he saying? That what the newspapers reported wasn’t true? “You seem to have a rather jet-setting lifestyle,” Ella said carefully.
“Of course I do.” He shrugged carelessly and reached for his wine. “I’m a prince.”
Ella glanced at him uncertainly, for she’d heard something dark and unfathomable in his tone. Then he looked up, his expression clearing, although for the first time his smile didn’t seem quite sincere.
“Enough of that,” he said lightly. “Now shall we order?”
Chapter Four
Philippe gazed at the woman across from him, her face now flushed from the two glasses of wine he’d convinced her to have, her hair falling a bit out of its too-tight chignon so that a few auburn tendrils framed her heart-shaped face. Ella Jamison was lovely, and he’d been both intrigued by and attracted to her from the moment she’d approached him in the airport, looking like she’d rather have been meeting anyone else.
It was obvious she believed everything she’d read about him in the tabloids, and he could hardly blame her. By all accounts he should be glad. It was exactly why he’d posed for those photographs, solicited the interviews and articles. He wanted people to believe he was the Playboy Prince. Judging by the way Ella Jamison glanced at him when she thought he wasn’t looking—with chilly disdain—he was succeeding.
Too bad, in that
Similar Books
