not, said Caro stubbornly. ‘I’m not going to do some kind of Cinderella makeover for you! That wasn’t part of our deal and, anyway, I don’t want any new clothes. I’ve got a perfectly adequate wardrobe.’
Although that might not be strictly true, Caro conceded later as she contemplated the meagre collection of clothes spread out on the bed. She had two evening dresses, one midnight-blue and the other a pale moss colour subtly patterned with a darker green. She was fairly sure Philippe would hate both of them, but Caro thought they were quite elegant.
After a brief eeny-meeny-miny-mo, Caro picked up the moss-green and wriggled into it. It was cut on the bias so that the slippery silk hung beautifully and flattered those pesky curves. She smoothed it over her hips, eyeing her reflection critically. She didn’t think she looked too bad.
The dress had a long zip at the back, and she couldn’t quite reach the fiddly fastening at the top. Clicking her tongue in exasperation, she braced herself for his reaction and went to find Philippe.
He was waiting on the balcony, watching the lake, with his hands thrust in his pockets. He’d changed earlier into a dinner jacket and black tie, and he looked so devastating that Caro’s mouth dried and her nerve failed abruptly. She stopped, overwhelmed by shyness. How could she ever walk into a room and expect anyone to think that she could attract a man like this?
Then he turned and the familiar exasperation swept across his face. ‘Good God,’ he said. ‘Where do you find these clothes?’
Perversely, that made Caro feel much better and she stepped out onto the balcony. ‘Online, mostly,’ she said, ‘although there are some wonderful vintage shops around. Do you like it?’ she added provocatively.
‘I’m not going to say anything.’
Caro laughed. She could cope with Philippe when he was being rude or cross. She could deal with him as a friend. It was only when she let herself think about that lean, hard body that she ran into strife. When she let herself notice the easy way he moved or those startling silver eyes.
The heart-clenching line of his jaw.
His mouth. Oh, God, his mouth.
No, she couldn’t afford to notice any of it.
Friends, Caro reminded herself. That was what they were.
‘Can you do me up?’ she asked, glad of the excuse to turn her back to him. She had left her hair loose, and now she piled it on top of her head with her hand so that he could pull the zip up the last half inch and fasten the hook and eye at the nape of her neck.
Philippe didn’t move for a moment, but then he took his hands out of his pockets and stepped towards her. His first impression had been exasperation that Caro was wearing yet another frumpy dress, but the closer he got, the less dowdy it seemed. She was standing, quite unconsciously, in a shaft of evening sunlight that made her look as if she had been dipped in gold. It warmed the creamy skin and burnished her hair, turning it to the colour of aged brandy.
He set one hand to the small of her back to hold the base of the zip still, and took hold of the zip with fingers that felt suddenly clumsy. Her neck was arched gracefully forward and he could see the fine, soft hairs at the nape of her neck. She smelt wonderful, with that elusive fragrance that was part spice, part citrus, part something that was just Caro.
Very slowly, very slowly, Philippe drew the zip upwards. He saw those tiny hairs on her neck stiffen as his fingers brushed her skin, and he smiled. Caro wasn’t quite as indifferent as she pretended. That was good.
On an impulse, he bent and pressed his lips to the curve of her throat where it swept up from her shoulder, and she inhaled sharply.
No, definitely not indifferent.
‘Th … thank you,’ she managed and would have stepped away, but he put his hands lightly on her hips. Beneath his fingers, the silk shifted and slithered over her skin and every cell in his body seemed to tighten. So small a detail and yet so erotic, he marvelled. It was only an old green dress, it was only Caro, and yet …
And yet …
Philippe wasn’t looking forward to the evening ahead. Lefebvre and the other members of the government would go through the motions with him, but their contempt for the Crown Prince’s feckless son was thinly veiled. You had to earn respect. Philippe was OK with that, but it would be nice to be given a chance.
But he could forget all that with Caro between his hands. As he turned her, she let her hair fall and put out her own hands to capture his wrists. Her eyes were wide, the deep, dark blue that made him think of the ocean surging out beyond the reef.
‘I don’t think this is a good idea,’ she said.
‘What isn’t?’
‘Whatever you’ve got in mind.’ A flash of the old Caro there, and Philippe smiled.
‘I’m tense,’ he said. ‘I need to relax, and what could be more relaxing than kissing a beautiful woman?’
Faint colour flushed her cheekbones. ‘It’s just me. You don’t need to bother bringing out all the old lines.’
‘Maybe it’s not a line,’ he said. ‘Maybe I mean it. Maybe you are beautiful.’
‘I’m a friend,’ Caro said with difficulty, but her eyes were snared in his and they were darkening with desire, Philippe could tell.
‘A beautiful friend,’ he agreed.
Dipping his head, he put his mouth to hers, softly at first, but when she parted her lips on a soft sigh, he deepened the kiss, startled by the jolt of lust. His fingers tightened at her hips, but the material just slipped over her skin and he couldn’t get a good grip of her.
Almost reluctantly, Caro’s hands were sliding up his sleeves to his shoulders, and with something like a groan he gathered her closer. There was a kind of desperation to his kiss as he fisted the dress over her bottom, then let it go in frustration when he realised he was holding silk and not her.
Caro was mumbling ‘I’m not … I don’t … oh…’ but she was kissing him back, warm, generous kisses, and his head reeled with the rightness of it and the sweetness and the hunger.
The ordeal of the dinner ahead forgotten, he eased the zip back down and was backing through the doors and towards the bedroom when a throat was cleared somewhere in the room.
‘The car is waiting, Altesse.’
Philippe sucked in an unsteady breath as he lifted his head. That was the trouble with having servants. They were always there, ready to remind you that you had somewhere to go, someone to see, something to do. They could never just leave you alone …
Squeezing his eyes shut, he fought for control. ‘We’ll be there in a minute,’ he grated.
‘Altesse.’ The door closed softly behind the footman.
Philippe dragged a hand through his hair and looked ruefully down at Caro, who was flushed and trembling, mouth soft and swollen. ‘I’m sorry,’ he sighed. ‘We’re going to have to go.’
Somehow she managed
