Transformed Into The Frenchman’s Mistress

by Barbara Dunlop

  “It’s nice to be magic.”

  He kissed her again, more seriously this time. Then he carefully turned her so she was facing him, straddling his lap, her arms loosely around his neck.

  He shimmied her close. “Do you want anything?”

  “Besides you?”

  “Coffee, brandy, dessert?”

  “You’re going to call the steward?” She glanced meaningfully down at their naked bodies.

  “We can have it delivered to the stateroom.”

  “I assumed you had something else in mind for the stateroom.”

  He smoothed back her wet hair. “I’m in no rush.”

  Then his expression turned serious. “We’ve got all night.”

  “What about Rai-”

  He put an index finger across her lips. “Nobody’s called. Nobody’s going to call. It’s just you and me.” His gaze trailed from her neck to her breasts, her stomach and below. “You are astonishingly beautiful. I could sit here and stare at you all night.”

  “That’s only because you can’t see my skinny derriere.”

  “Turn around.”

  “I don’t believe I will.”

  “I’ve grown fond of your derriere.” He slipped a hand beneath her and gave a squeeze. “Plus, you ate all that pasta.”

  She struggled not to wriggle under his hand. But it was strong and warm and oh-so-sensual. “The pasta was delicious.”

  Alec kissed her mouth. “A dismal second.”

  “To?”

  He drew back. “You fishing for more compliments?”

  “Oh.” She pretended to suddenly understand. “A dismal second to me.”

  He chuckled low. “You are shameless.”

  She gave in, shifting her body so that his hand touched the sensitive spot between her legs.

  “Pretty much,” she agreed in a husky voice.

  His eyes darkened, and he leaned in for a very serious kiss, his fingertips setting out on an exploration that made her gasp, even as cool rain water trickled down her spine.

  “Inside?” he rasped, and she quickly nodded her agreement.

  He lifted her out of the tub, wrapped them both in thick, white robes and carried her the short distance to the master stateroom.

  The room was huge, with a cushioned, cream-colored carpet, gleaming cherrywood paneling, a massive bed with a rose-colored comforter, eight pillows and a padded bench at the foot. There were mirrors on the ceiling, oil paintings on the walls and a subtly textured, cream wallpaper that wrapped around a sitting nook with overstuffed furniture and porcelain lamps. Several flower arrangements gave the room a sweet, subtle scent.

  Alec set her down on the soft carpet, dragging back the comforter to reveal crisp, white sheets. He tossed most of the pillows, then tugged at the sash of her robe. With warm hands, he brushed the terry-cloth from her shoulders, easing the fabric down her arms, until it cascaded to a pool at her feet.

  “Amazing,” he whispered, drawing back to gaze at her naked body.

  Charlotte felt amazing. She loved the warm look in his eyes, the hiss of his indrawn breath, the power of his muscled body as he tossed his own robe and stood naked before her.

  She reached out to touch his chest, his skin warm under her fingertips. “Amazing,” she echoed.

  He stepped forward. His palm cupped the curve of her hip, drawing her in. His other hand touched her chin, tipping her face ever so gently as he bent toward her for a soft kiss.

  “I don’t want tonight to end,” he told her.

  Neither did she. “What if we keep sailing? Into the Mediterranean, through the Strait of Gibraltar and out into the Pacific.”

  “Don’t tempt me.”

  “They’d probably send a search party.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “But I wonder how many times we could make love before they found us?”

  “I wonder how many times we can make love tonight?” she countered.

  “Now there’s a challenge.” He backed her into the edge of the bed, kissed her soundly, his hands roaming, while she gave up any pretense at control, dragging him onto the bed, kissing his mouth, tasting his skin, running her hands down his back, his thighs, kneading his hard muscles, before sitting up to straddle his body.

  They both groaned at the contact, staring into each other’s eyes. His hands bracketed her hips, easing inside her. He was huge and hot, and she gasped as sparks spread out to touch her fingers and her toes.

  He locked his hands with hers, and he flexed his hips. She matched him thrust for thrust, her head tipping back, and the world sliding into a cataclysm of color until she cried out his name and he wrapped her in an engulfing hug.

  Hours later, they lay side by side, he on his back, she sprawled on her stomach. She felt as though she might never move again.

  Through bleary eyes, she watched him liberate a long-stemmed rose from the vase beside the bed. He stroked its soft petals along her shoulder, down the indent of her waist, over the curve of her hip then across her derriere.

  “I’ve changed my mind,” he said, “your derriere is perfect.”

  She couldn’t help but smile. “You do know how to show a girl a good time.”

  “I try.”

  “You didn’t have to do all this,” she continued. The yacht, the hot tub, the amazing dinner. “I’d have slept with you again anyway.”

  His voice was a low rumble. “You mean I could have checked us into the Plaza Della Famiglia for thirty euro and had my way with you?”

  She smiled. “Yes,” she answered honestly.

  He stared, not moving, at the ceiling for a while.

  There was a funny catch to his voice when he spoke again. “That means a lot to me.” He paused. “Knowing that you mean it.”

  Then he rose on his elbow to gaze down at her. “But it’s also important to me that I didn’t do that.”

  She nodded, understanding, touched by his point. And, quite frankly, a luxury yacht made for better memories than a cheap motel.

  He gently brushed a lock of hair back from her cheek. “Of all the women…” He went silent for a long minute. Then he leaned forward to kiss her mouth.

  He pulled her almost fiercely to him, kissing harder and deeper. Her energy returned in a rush, and their naked bodies meshed together. The rain drummed steadily on the window and lightning flashed in the sky, while the yacht, droning steadily, made a lazy turn to head back up the Tiber River.

  They made it to the airport just in time to greet Raine and Kiefer and jump on the jet to get to London. The Montcalm Gulfstream had two seating areas, four armchairs facing each other at the front of the cabin and a couch, table and two side-facing armchairs at the back.

  Raine seemed uncomfortable as they boarded, moving to the back and buckling in on the white leather couch. Charlotte followed, wondering if she’d somehow offended her friend by staying out all night. She and Raine were sharing a hotel suite, so Raine had to be fully aware that Charlotte had spent the night with Alec.

  Alec and Kiefer sat down in the second row, on opposite sides of the aisle, facing forward. The captain came back to talk to Alec, while a steward offered drinks all around. Charlotte said yes to champagne and orange juice, steeling her courage to face Raine.

  “You all right?” she asked Raine as the jet taxied for takeoff. Alec and Kiefer had immediately settled in to a work discussion.

  “Yeah.” Raine nodded without glancing Charlotte’s way.

  “The meeting?” Charlotte forced herself to ask. “It went well?”

  Raine gave another nod.

  The engines whined to full throttle, the jet gaining speed before smoothly lifting off the runway, climbing fast and banking north.

  As they leveled, and the noise subsided, Charlotte gathered her courage. “Raine, I have to-”

  “You’re probably wondering,” Raine interrupted, glancing worriedly at the two men in the front of the cabin. She leaned close to Charlotte. “You’re probably wondering why I didn’t show up la
st night.”

  Charlotte was confused. “Show up?”

  Raine nodded. “At the hotel. I-” Her eyes darted to Alec for a split second. “I was with Kiefer.”

  Charlotte raised a hand to her lips to cover up the smile. “You spent the night with Kiefer?”

  Raine nodded, looking pained. “I wasn’t going to-” She twisted her hands around her clutch purse. “I know I said I wouldn’t-”

  “I slept with Alec,” Charlotte admitted in an effort to lessen Raine’s embarrassment.

  Raine drew back. “Huh?”

  “I didn’t go back to the hotel suite, either.”

  “You slept with Alec?” Raine hissed.

  “Shh.” Charlotte checked out the backs of the men’s heads to make sure they weren’t listening. “Yes.”

  “So you didn’t even know I wasn’t there?”

  “Didn’t have a clue,” said Charlotte.

  “I could have gotten away with it?”

  Charlotte nodded. “But you slept with Kiefer? What happened?”

  “After the meeting,” said Raine, keeping her voice down, “we went to dinner. I wondered why you guys didn’t call, by the way.”

  “I wondered why you didn’t call us.”

  “There was dancing,” said Raine. “And, well…”

  “He now knows you think he’s hot?” Charlotte suggested.

  “He knows now.”

  Both women stared ahead in silence for a moment.

  “And Alec?” asked Raine.

  “Knows I think he’s hot, too.”

  Raine nodded, a grin growing rapidly on her face.

  Suddenly, both women burst out laughing.

  The two men turned to stare.

  “Nothing,” Raine assured them.

  “Girl talk,” said Charlotte.

  Alec’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, but Charlotte gave him a benign shrug. It wasn’t her place to give away secrets. After a minute, the men went back to their conversation.

  “What now?” asked Raine.

  Charlotte didn’t know how to answer that. Last night had been magic, from shopping to coffee to the yacht. But in the cold light of day, she had no idea what Alec would expect.

  “What now for you?” she asked Raine, stalling for time.

  “Honestly? I think it’s going to get really awkward, really fast,” said Raine. “It was great, but now we have to work together.” She folded her arms over her chest and leaned her head back on the seat. “There’s just no way this ends well.”

  Charlotte nodded, understanding completely. Really awkward, really fast, was a good way to put it. It was some consolation that she’d be done with the movie in a few weeks. After that, she and Alec’s paths didn’t need to cross. But for Raine, a fling with Kiefer was a whole lot more complicated. She wished she had some helpful advice to offer. But she had nothing.

  Alec rose from his seat and moved down the aisle, his expression serious. He nodded to Raine. “Kiefer would like to talk to you.”

  Without meeting her brother’s eyes, Raine scrambled to her feet and moved up the cabin.

  Alec stayed behind, taking the seat next to Charlotte. And when he turned to her, his expression softened.

  “Hey.” He smiled.

  “Hey.” Despite the circumstances, she couldn’t help but smile back.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Tired?”

  “A little.”

  Between their bodies, he took her hand in his. “So, what do you want to do in London?”

  She didn’t want to be presumptuous. Though she’d happily spend more time with him. “What do you want to do in London?” She put it back on him.

  Unexpectedly, he cupped her cheek, raking spread fingers back into her loose hair, pulling her forward for a kiss.

  “Kiefer,” she warned in an undertone, as Alec’s lips closed over hers.

  “Kiefer knows,” said Alec against her mouth. Then he kissed her deeply. “This is what I want to do in London.”

  “For two whole days?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did Kiefer say…anything?” Charlotte asked carefully.

  Alec nodded toward the front of the cabin. “Take a look.”

  She twisted her head to see Raine sitting across Kiefer’s lap in the big armchair. They were whispering and giggling together.

  “I feel like I’m in high school,” she told Alec.

  He agreed with a nod. “But with much better transportation and a platinum card.”

  “You’re going to try to spend money on me in London, aren’t you?”

  “Try?” he scoffed, cocking his head and giving her a smirk. “I’ve already booked a suite at the Ritz and a box on the Grand Tier at Covent Garden.”

  Eight

  By the time they made it through London and Paris, Charlotte felt like a spoiled princess. She’d given up arguing with Alec about money. She even gave up trying to pay for her own clothes. He’d simply worn her down.

  But now they were back in Provence. One of Alec’s drivers had delivered the Lamborghini to the airport. So they’d stowed the luggage in the limo with Raine and Kiefer and were speeding under the streetlights, top down, along the highway with jazz pouring out of the sound system. She’d dressed casually for the trip, in a new pair of designer jeans and a cropped, peach tank top with flat lace insets.

  Alec was a steady, confident driver. And as their speed increased, she kicked off her sandals and tipped her head back, letting the cool wind flow over her skin.

  “Almost home,” said Alec, shifting out of Sixth as the turnoff to Château Montcalm came into view.

  She tried to formulate the right sentiment. She watched Alec’s profile as the aspen and oak trees flashed by.

  “What?” He glanced over.

  Straightforward seemed like the best choice. “I had a really great time, Alec.”

  He grinned. “Me, too.”

  Their gazes caught and held.

  “Thank you,” she told him sincerely.

  “Anytime,” he breathed, turning his attention back to the road, slowing down further as the château’s driveway loomed.

  Charlotte let out a sigh, sliding her feet back into her sandals. As the headlights caught the semitrailers, the scarred lawn and the open-air buffet tables that provided craft services to the crew during the day, she tried to smooth her hair into some sort of order. But she quickly gave up. And when Alec brought the convertible to a halt at the front door, she decided a shower would be first on her list. She might as well get rid of the dust along with the tangles.

  Alec swung around to open her door, and Charlotte came to her feet, stretching out her neck and back after the long journey. The film set was quiet as they crossed to the front door, with just a few grips, production assistants and security guards putting things in place for the morning.

  Alec pushed open the wide door, and the quiet of the yard disappeared. Chitchat and music wafted out from the great room. Several people laughed, while Lars’s unmistakable voice proposed a toast to Isabella.

  Charlotte’s stomach clenched in alarm. The Hudsons wouldn’t, they would not hold a party in Alec’s château while he was away. She cautiously glanced up at him. His mouth was set in a firm line, and before she could even register the anger in his eyes, he was marching toward the archway leading to the great room.

  Though Charlotte dreaded what she’d find, she felt compelled to follow along.

  “Monsieur Montcalm?” Henri hustled out from the hallway to ambush Alec.

  “Not now, Henri,” Alec growled, brushing past.

  “But, monsieur.”

  “Save it.” Alec kept walking. It was the first time she’d ever heard him utter a sharp word to a member of his staff, certainly not to Henri.

  “Madame Lillian Hudson arrived this afternoon.”

  Alec didn’t react, but Charlotte certainly did. Lillian was here? Her grandmother had shown up on the set?


  “Given her age and illness,” Henri stressed, striding along beside Alec, “I thought it wise to invite her to stay in the château.”

  Alec’s steps faltered.

  “I was certain, were you here, you would insist,” said Henri, a wealth of meaning in his tone.

  “She’s ill?” Alec asked, a muscle twitching near his left eye.

  “She has cancer,” Charlotte supplied in a pained voice. They’d done it. Her family had actually thrown a party in Alec’s home.

  “I put her in the Bombay room with her son, Markus, next door. The rest of the family is with Jack at the hotel.”

  Alec’s nostrils flared as he sucked in a sharp breath.

  “I’m so sorry,” Charlotte whispered.

  Alec glanced at her, but said nothing.

  Henri’s voice went to an undertone. “Dinner tonight is to welcome Lillian to Provence.”

  Alec was silent a second longer. But then he gave a sharp nod. “Thank you, Henri.”

  Henri nodded in return. “Of course, monsieur.”

  Then Alec held out his arm to Charlotte. “Will you introduce me to your family?”

  Charlotte’s stomach clenched tighter. Judging by the noise level, the entire family, along with assorted production staff, were in Alec’s great room. She was tired, trail weary, dusty and disheveled. She didn’t want to see the Hudsons or anyone else right now.

  But she couldn’t say no to Alec. He’d been extraordinarily patient under some very trying circumstances. So, instead of protesting, she nodded and took his arm. They walked through the archway to the stone-walled, high-ceilinged great room. Its polished hardwood floors, Aubusson rugs and Louis XV furnishings were covered in wall-to-wall Hudsons-Charlotte’s grandmother Lillian, her uncle Markus, her father, David, her brother, Jack, and cousins Dev and Max, and Isabella chatting intimately with Ridley Sinclair.

  Jack was the first person to notice Alec. As he came forward, Charlotte quickly disentangled herself from Alec’s arm.

  “Alec,” Jack stated heartily, extending his hand. “Great to have you back.”

  “Thank you,” Alec intoned, but Charlotte could hear the tension in his voice.

  Jack turned. “Everybody, this is Alec Montcalm, our host.”

  There was a chorus of greetings and a surge forward that halted when people realized Lillian was making her way to Alec.