The Playboy Prince Read Online Free PDF Page B

different. He wanted her to know the real him…even if their relationship couldn’t go anywhere.
    The cab pulled to a stop and Philippe glanced out at the entrance of the hotel. He squeezed Ella’s hand. “We’re here.”

Chapter Sixteen
    Ella stepped into Philippe’s penthouse suite on the fifty-third floor of his hotel, the floor-to-ceiling windows revealing a glittering panorama of the city. Behind her she heard the door click quietly shut, and then she felt Philippe’s hands close lightly on her shoulders.
    “Are you sure about this?” he asked softly.
    She took a deep breath and turned to face him. “Yes, I’m sure.” And she was, amazingly sure. Scared, too, and certainly nervous, but she knew she wanted this. Wanted Philippe…even if it would all end tomorrow. Even if he was the Playboy Prince.
    And yet he hadn’t acted like a playboy prince in the short time she’d known him. He’d been sweet, thoughtful, wry and kind. He’d been the kind of man she could so easily fall in love with, and she was afraid that was exactly what she was doing.
    Because what if it was all an act, just like it had been with Charles? What if Philippe was just very, very good at getting what he wanted? And even if he wanted a relationship, how could it possibly work? She wasn’t princess material, and she didn’t want to change. She didn’t want him to want her to change.
    “You’re not looking sure,” Philippe said with a wry smile.
    Ella pushed all her thoughts and fears away. She was sure about this, about now. She wanted him, was more attracted to him than any man she’d ever met. Smiling, she put her arms around his neck.
    It was all the invitation Philippe needed. He pulled her gently to him and then his lips found hers, the kiss sweeter and deeper than the one they’d shared before. Ella let her head fall back and exquisite sensation took over as Philippe blazed a fiery path of kisses down her throat to the V between her breasts. She trembled, and he smiled against her skin.
    “You’re so beautiful, you know.”
    And she believed him, believed the sincerity in his voice. In that moment she believed in this man, the man Philippe had wanted her to know, and not the prince of the tabloids. She wanted this man.
    Somehow they found their way to the bedroom, with its huge bed covered in a silk duvet and floor-to-ceiling windows showing Manhattan in all of its electric glory.
    Philippe peeled the silver dress from her body and Ella shivered in the cool air. Then he was stripping himself and covering her nakedness with his own, and all she could think, taste and feel was Philippe. His deep kisses, his expert caresses, the way he coaxed her body to sing with pleasure, the way he encouraged her to touch him, to know him.
    And when he finally joined his body to hers in that sweet act of total union, he slid his hands along her face and gently opened her eyes so she was staring straight into his intent gaze, his loving gaze—or so it seemed in that moment, as tears of pure, raw emotion started helplessly in her eyes. Philippe kissed her deeply as pleasure finally took them over.

Chapter Seventeen
    Ella woke to bright winter sunlight spilling through the windows of Philippe’s bedroom. She blinked and rolled over, felt her heart squeeze at the sight of Philippe lying next to her, naked and asleep. Gorgeous.
    Memories of last night tumbled through her mind in a kaleidoscope of sensations. He’d been a wonderful lover: tender, considerate and yet also passionate and even wild. She’d felt treasured and daring at the same time, liberated and yet wonderfully safe.
    But as for today…for the future…what could possibly happen?
    The answer, she told herself bleakly, was nothing.
    Quietly she slid from the bed and reached for her dress. She should go home, get ready for work. She’d spent too much time away from the office entertaining Philippe, and she could only imagine the number of emails and phone messages she would