It was a date. How could Ella deny it, when Philippe held her hand as they walked toward Rockefeller Plaza, when he’d poured her wine at lunch and asked if she’d had a boyfriend? Of course it was a date. A wonderful date, a date that had her heart beating hard and her mouth drying and nameless hopes welling up inside her. And yet…
It wasn’t going to go anywhere. It was just one day. One date. And by this time tomorrow Chase would have returned and Philippe would be all about business, and then she’d never, ever see him again.
Which was good, she told herself quickly, because no matter how charming Philippe was now, the tabloids didn’t lie that much. The photos she’d seen were real. He was still a playboy with a woman on each arm, frequenting the casinos and clubs of Europe’s most glamorous cities. Not the kind of guy she should ever fall for. Not to mention the whole royalty thing, which put him right out of her league anyway.
“Why are you frowning so much?” Philippe asked. She heard laughter in his voice as she turned to him, and she frowned all the more.
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.” He touched his thumb to the middle of her forehead. “And you have a little indent there. A worry mark.”
“I was just thinking,” she said, and he shook his head.
“You’d better stop. Thinking is dangerous.”
“Says the academic.”
“Dangerous at least for today. Let’s just enjoy ourselves, Ella.”
She nodded slowly, realized he was setting down the rules. Today was about enjoyment, pleasure, fun. Of course he didn’t want anything else from her. So why should she worry about tomorrow? “Okay,” she said, and he squeezed her hand.
A few minutes later they were both on the ice. Ella hadn’t been ice-skating in years, maybe even decades, so she was wobbly until Philippe slid his arm around her waist. She felt the warm strength of him against her, and with the support of his arm she matched his long, easy glides.
“You skate like you’ve been doing this forever,” she said. Philippe grinned.
“Remember that mountain home I grew up in?”
“Yes—”
“It had a lake.”
“Ah.”
“You’re not bad yourself, though,” he said, and before she could respond he’d spun her in a neat circle, and she let out a little scream.
“Philippe—”
“I think that may have been the first time you’ve willingly said my Christian name.”
“I wasn’t thinking,” she confessed.
He laughed softly, drawing her to him so she had to tilt back her head to look up at his smiling face. “Now you’re getting the idea.”
“Is thinking really so bad?” she asked, and heard how breathless she sounded.
“Sometimes.”
“Like when?” Her lips parted as she waited for his answer, and his eyes darkened to a stormy gray. He reached up and touched her chin with his finger, angling her head below his.
“Like now,” he said, and kissed her.