The Playboy Prince Kate Hewitt Contents Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Prince Philippe Montvidant was exactly the kind of man Ella Jamison despised. Not that she’d actually met him. Even so, a quick scan of the tabloids told her all she needed to know about him. Rich. Womanizing. Shallow. And all too attractive. Four reasons to hate him. She knew all about men like him, men who took and used and didn’t care. She had no desire to make his acquaintance, but unfortunately it was a professional necessity. Sighing, she leaned back against the seat of the limo that was taking her to JFK Airport and flipped through the file of information she’d compiled on the prince for her boss, architect Chase Bryant. He had submitted a bid to design a luxury hotel on Montvidant’s unspoiled Mediterranean coast—and he was the one who was supposed to meet the royal at the airport and take him out to dinner. But earlier today, Chase had called Ella at the office. “I’m tied up this afternoon, Ella. You’ll have to meet Prince Philippe yourself.” “Tied up? He’s your biggest potential client—” “I know that.” Chase’s usual easy humor had been replaced with a surprising curtness. “Something came up. You’ll have to do it.” “I could arrange a limo service—” “Every major firm in the city wants this bid. I can’t risk giving any of them access to the prince. You need to be on him, Ella.” “On him,” she repeated, disliking the images those words called to mind. “On him. Like a tick on a dog.” “Lovely.” “I try.” She smiled, glad to hear her boss’s good humor briefly restored, even though she was still uneasy about accepting this assignment. She’d rather not get too close to a man like Prince Philippe, but she was utterly committed to her job. After all, it was pretty much the only thing she’d had in her life for the past four years, the only thing she felt she’d made a success of. “You’re still on for dinner at the Mandarin at eight, right?” “Yes,” Chase said after a second’s pause. “Just get him to his hotel.” That should be simple enough, Ella told herself as the limo pulled up in front of the terminal and she hopped out. She was surprised that the prince was traveling by commercial airline. Trying to prove to the masses he was just like everyone else, she thought cynically. The plane from Paris—there were no direct flights to Montvidant—had only just landed, so Ella knew she had a few minutes to wait, even if the prince got special treatment and was hustled through Customs and Baggage Claim. She glanced disparagingly at a rack of newspapers, and saw a photo of Prince Philippe with not one but two bodacious blondes on his arm as he stood in front of a glittering casino. The Playboy Prince Visits the Big Apple!, the headline gushed. A stream of people was emerging from Arrivals, and her gaze zeroed in on a tall, lithe man in an elegant gray suit, two burly dark-suited men walking three paces behind him. Prince Philippe and his security detail. Quickly—and more nervously than she would have liked—Ella stepped forward. “Prince Philippe?” He stopped midstride, quirked an eyebrow. “You are not Chase Bryant, I think.” His voice was low and faintly accented, his gaze both assured and assessing. “No, I’m afraid Mr. Bryant has been delayed. My name is Ella Jamison, I’m his assistant.” She stuck out a hand for the prince to shake, not sure if that was proper protocol, and he shook it. The warmth of his hand as it encased hers almost made her drop his hand and step back. Awareness tingled from her fingers, spreading a treacherous heat through her whole body. She determinedly ignored the sensation. Basic bodily reaction, that was all. All she had to do was deliver this man to the hotel, then Chase would take over. She’d have done her job as successfully as she always did, and she wouldn’t spend any more time with the Playboy Prince. Simple, she told herself as he finally released her hand. It had to be. Philippe slid his hand from Ella’s with a faint, knowing smile, and she realized she’d been standing there clutching at him like a complete dolt. Clearing her throat, she nodded toward the exit. “I have a limousine waiting.” “Excellent. You travel in style.” “As I am sure you do, Prince Philippe.” His smile deepened, revealing a dimple. “Of course.” He followed her to the limo, and Ella’s gaze was helplessly drawn to his lithe yet powerful figure, encased in what had to be a very expensive suit. “What about your men—” She gestured to the security detail waiting behind them. “They can take a separate car. They are only for high-profile functions—” His smile twisted slightly. “—and of course my image.” The one thing she really hated, she thought as she climbed into the limo, a man obsessed with his image. And yet there had been something rather self-deprecating about Philippe’s remark…almost as if he’d been making fun of himself. She didn’t understand it, and didn’t want to. Philippe slid into the limo next to her, and despite the acres of leather, his thigh nudged hers. Awareness flared again. “Pardon,” Philippe murmured, his eyes glinting mischievously. Ella flushed. Did he realize how he affected her? Or did he just assume he affected everyone, that women fluttered around him like moths to a flame? It didn’t matter. She wouldn’t let it, she was a professional. Clearing her throat again, she turned to the prince. “We have a suite reserved for you at the Mandarin. I’ll take you there now, and then Mr. Bryant will meet you for dinner in the restaurant at eight.” “Excellent. Thank you for being so efficient.” Philippe smiled at her again, and Ella gritted her teeth. Stop being so charming. “I’ve heard the restaurant has a wonderful
