plane didn’t crash, of course, but it felt as if something even more disastrous was happening inside her as she watched Philippe push the throttle remorselessly forwards. His long hands were absolutely steady as they shot along the runway, and Caro’s stomach dropped away as the plane lifted into the air.
She was more impressed than she wanted to admit. Why had she assumed that he had been living an idle trust fund existence? She should have realised that a man like Philippe would be bored with nothing to do but party all day. There was that reckless edge to him that she had noticed even as a boy. It was all too easy to imagine him flying planes into war zones, dodging bullets or volcanic ash or pot-holed runways. He would thrive on the danger.
Philippe had been very quick to dismiss what he did, Caro had noticed. Something to do when I’m bored, he had said. There must be plenty of other jaded rich people out there, but how many of them would risk their lives for others the way he did? Philippe could get his thrills racing cars or helicopter skiing or doing any of the other extreme sports that catered to the very rich and very bored, but instead he flew his plane where it was needed. No doubt he did enjoy it, but Caro thought it was more than possible that he would go anyway.
She liked that about him, and she liked the fact that he clearly didn’t publicise what he was doing. He wasn’t like so many other celebrities, using charity work to raise their own profiles. Caro wondered if even Lotty knew.
From where she sat, she could see the hard edge of Philippe’s jaw, the flash of his smile as he turned to speak to Yan 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,
