Transformed Into the Frenchman's Mistress: Transformed Into the Frenchman's Mistress

His eyes darkened, and he brandished the spatula like a weapon. “And give a pack of Hollywood hooligans free rein over my home?”

“It’s not like they’re some biker gang.” Sure, some stars had a reputation for bad behavior, but the Hudson Pictures producers were very professional. And Raine was a friend. Charlotte wouldn’t fill her house with a bunch of wild partiers.

“I never said they were.”

“Then what is it?”

“Do you have any idea how hard I have to fight for privacy?”

“Well, maybe if you didn’t—” She stopped herself.

“Yes?” he prompted, cocking his dark head to one side.

“Nothing.” She shook her head. This was turning into enough of a disaster without her insulting him.

“I must insist,” he said, seeming to grow even taller.

“We could cover any privacy concerns in the contract.” She attempted to distract him. “You’d really have nothing to worry—”

“I’ll decide what I worry about. Now what were you about to say?”

She gazed into his probing eyes. “I forgot.”

He waited.

Her brain scrambled, but she couldn’t for the life of her come up with a good lie.

Oh, hell. She might as well go for it. The battle was all but over, anyway. “Maybe if you didn’t make yourself such an attractive target for the paparazzi.”

He paused. “You’re suggesting it’s my fault?”

“You don’t have to escort supermodels to every A-list party in Europe.”

His brown eyes darkened to ebony. “You think a plain Jane on my arm would stop the gossip? You think a woman who didn’t fit their mold would do anything but guarantee me the front page?”

Charlotte quickly realized he had a point. Being seen with anybody out of type would cause even more speculation. But he’d missed her point entirely. “You could skip the parties.”

“I don’t attend that many parties.”

Charlotte scoffed out a laugh of disbelief.

He frowned at her. “How many did you attend last month? Last week? Lost count?”

In fact, she had. “That’s different,” she pointed out primly. “I was on business.”

He gave the onions another stir and reduced the heat. “What is it you think I do at parties?”

He washed his hands while she thought about that. Then he retrieved a mesh bag of ripe tomatoes.

She tried to figure out if it was a trick question. “Dance with supermodels?” She stated the obvious.

“I make business contacts.”

“With supermodels?”

He sliced through a tomato. “Would you rather I went stag? Danced with other men’s dates?”

Charlotte wriggled forward on the high seat. “You’re trying to tell me you suffer the attentions of supermodels in order to make business contacts?”

“I’m trying to tell you I like my privacy, and you shouldn’t make assumptions about other people’s lifestyles.”

“Alec, you hand out hotel room keys on the dance floor.” She knew from firsthand experience. He’d tried it with her.

His knife stilled.

She sat back, not even attempting to mask her satisfaction. “You are so busted.”

“Really?” He resumed slicing. “Well, you are so not making a movie in my château.”

Chapter Two

Round one had gone to Alec, and Charlotte had no choice but to back off and regroup as they moved to the veranda for dinner. The sizzling pissaladière was now on a round glass table between them.

Flickering light from the garden torches highlighted the planes and angles of his face, while the freshening breeze picked up the scents of lavender and thyme. He seemed relaxed enough. While the pissaladière had baked, their conversation had ranged from vacation spots to impressionist painters to the monetary policy of the European Union.

But now, it was time for round two.

“You could hide anything personal,” she opened conversationally, transferring a slice of the delicate tomato pie to her plate. “You could stay out of sight. I doubt any of the crew would even know it was your château.”

“Please,” he drawled, lifting the silver serving spoon from her hand. “There’s a big sign over the gate that says Château Montcalm.”

“Take it down.”

“My name is etched into five-hundred-year-old stone.”

Right. “Surely you’re not the only Montcalm in Provence.”

“I’m the only one who makes the front page.” He settled on two slices of the pie.

“I think you’re overestimating your fame.”

“I think you’re overestimating your powers of persuasion.”

“More wine?” she asked, topping off his glass while treating him to the brilliant smile her grandfather’s image consultant had insisted she learn for photographs.

He watched the burgundy liquid rise in his crystal goblet. “It won’t work, Charlotte.”

She finished topping his glass. “What won’t work?”

“I was weaned on Maison Inouï.”

She feigned innocence. “You think I’m trying to get you drunk?”

“I think you’re entirely too fixated on my château.” He moved the bottle to one side so that his view of her was unobstructed. “What gives? There are plenty of other châteaus.”

She tried to stay businesslike. But his mocha eyes glowed under the soft torchlight, making it look like he somehow cared.

“It’s perfect for the story,” she told him honestly, gazing around the estate. “The family thinks—”

“You’re not even involved in the business.”

Charlotte squared her shoulders. “I am a Hudson.” She found herself battling a stupid but familiar sense of loneliness. Her Cassettes grandparents had given her a wonderful life, a dream life. If her heart had ached for her brother, Jack, in the dead of night, it was only because she’d been so young when they were separated.

“Charlotte?”

She blinked at Alec.

“There are many châteaus in Provence.”

“He…they want this one.”

“He?”

“The producers.” She was doing this for the good of the film, not specifically for Jack.

“Something going on between you and the producers?”

“No.”

Alec gazed at her in silence. The wind kicked up a notch, and the stems of lavender rustled below them in the country garden.

“What?” she finally asked, battling an urge to squirm.

He lifted his wineglass. “You want it too bad.”

She huffed out a breath. “I don’t see why this has to be such a big thing. What do you want? What can we do? How can we persuade you to give up your precious privacy for six weeks?”

He sipped the wine, watching her intently. Then he set down the glass, running his thumb along the length of the stem.

“There is one thing I want.” His molten eyes told her exactly what that one thing was.

“I am not sleeping with you to get a film location.”

Alec tipped back his head and laughed.

Charlotte squirmed. Had she completely misread his signals? Made a colossal fool of herself?

No. She couldn’t have been that far wrong. The man had once tried to give her his hotel room key.

“I’m not asking to sleep with you, Charlotte.”

She took an unladylike swig of her own wine, struggling desperately not to blush in humiliation. “Well. Good. That’s good.”

He grinned. “Although, I definitely wouldn’t say no if you—”

“Shut up.”

He clamped his jaw.

She waited as long as she could stand.

“Fine. What is it—”

“Charlotte!” came Raine’s delighted voice. She rushed through an open set of French doors, dropping her purse and a briefcase on a lounger. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

She wore a slim, tailored black dress and charcoal stockings, and her high-heeled shoes clattered on the stone deck. Her dark hair was cut in a chic bob, and her bright red mouth was sliced in a smile of delight.

“The trip came up suddenly,” said Charlotte, coming to her feet, as did Alec beside her. “But I thought you were away until Tuesday.” She cursed her stupidity at rushing the conversation with Alec. If only she’d waited a few hours!

“I talked to Henri. He told me you were here.” There was a clear admonishment in the tone.

But then they embraced in a tight hug, Raine laughing with delight in Charlotte’s ear.

When they finally separated, Alec broke in. “Bonsoir, ma soeur.”

Raine glanced over, feigning surprise. “Alec? I didn’t see you there.”

He shook his head and held out his arms.

She walked into a warm hug and an affectionate kiss for each cheek.

Watching them, regret twitched reflexively inside Charlotte. She glanced away, wishing she could have such an easy relationship with Jack.

“So,” said Raine as she settled into the third chair. “What are we eating?” She sniffed at the pissaladière. Then she lifted the wine bottle, brows arching at the label. “Très bon.”

“I know how to be a good host, even if you don’t,” said Alec.

“I didn’t even know she was coming.” Raine tipped the bottle up, and up. “It’s empty.”

Alec reached behind him, exchanging it for a full one while Raine helped herself to a slice of the pie.

“What are we talking about?” she asked, glancing from one to the other.

Alec deftly drilled into the wine cork. “Charlotte wants to use the château as a movie set.”

Charlotte cringed at the bald statement.

But Raine looked intrigued. “Really?”

Charlotte nodded.

“That’s fantastic.”

“I didn’t say yes,” Alec warned.

“Why on earth not?” asked Raine.

He popped the cork. “Because you interrupted us.”

“But you were about to,” she prompted.

“I was about to suggest a compromise.”

Charlotte reminded herself it wasn’t sex. Though there was still a nervous churning in her stomach. What would Alec want? More important, what was she willing to give?

Not sex. No. Of course not. Still…

He continued speaking, and she forced herself to pay attention to the words. “I was going to say yes—”

Raine clapped her hands together in delight.

“Provided,” Alec put in firmly, and Charlotte listened closely. “Provided we have an understanding that the third floor is off-limits. As is the south gallery.”

“Done,” Charlotte quickly answered, sticking out her hand to shake.

“Nobody goes in the rose garden.” He didn’t shake her hand.

She nodded vigorously. Easy. Piece of cake. According to Jack, landowners always had a list of stipulations.

“Or any of the outbuildings. Shooting stops by ten every night. My staff are not part of the production crew. And you stay in residence to make sure it goes smoothly.”

“Abso—” Charlotte snapped her jaw shut, dropping her hand to the table. “What?”

“I don’t want any extra work for my staff,” he repeated.

“Not that part.”

“It’s perfect,” Raine sang, grasping Charlotte’s forearm in a friendly squeeze. “We can hang out, visit. It’ll be like we’re back in college.”

“I can’t move in,” Charlotte protested. “I have a job back in Monte Allegro. My grandfather needs me. There’s a summit in Athens on the twenty-fifth.”

Alec pinned her with a look. “So you’re willing to inconvenience me, but not yourself?”

“I’m not…” She gazed into his mocking eyes.

He raised a brow.

Instinct told her to grab the yes before he could change his mind. But here? With Alec? For weeks on end?

She thought back to the hotel room key, and to the way her stomach had quivered in daring anticipation for the split second when she’d thought about accepting it. She was older now, wiser, and she knew full well the importance of leading a perfectly circumspect life—one that didn’t include a stint on the front page of the tabloids.

But the quiver was still there. And she knew that he knew. She could fight it all she wanted, intellectualize it all she wanted, but the bald truth was that she was attracted to the man. She and several thousand other women fantasized about a night in Alec Montcalm’s bed. And Alec would take advantage of that in any way he could.

But then she pictured Jack’s joy, her pride when she told him she’d succeeded. She thought about her grandmother and the whole Hudson clan. For once, she’d be part of the team.

“I’ll stay,” she told Alec.

Raine squealed in delight.

Alec reached for his wineglass, raising it in a mock toast while his dark, molten eyes told her the chase was on.

“They will hound you,” said Kiefer, as he geared his mountain bike down for the incline.

“She’s a friend of Raine’s,” Alec defended, following suit, putting more power to his pedals.

They were on a dirt road that wound along the ridgeline above the Montcalm estate. The tires bumped beneath Alec, and sweat began to form at his hairline as the sun cleared the eastern horizon, lighting up the river and the patchwork of fields and woods below.

“So?” Kiefer demanded. “It’s a Hollywood movie. There’ll be press all over it. You know how the Japanese are going to react—”

“It’s under control,” Alec cut in, even though the venture wasn’t anywhere near under control. He was attracted to Charlotte, and he’d let that attraction overrule his logic. Filming a movie in his living room? Kiefer, his vice president, was right to be ticked off. They’d met with a high-priced image consultant only last week, and Alec had agreed to try to be more circumspect in his personal life.

“Kana Hanako wants a business partner, not a playboy.”

“It’s a business deal,” said Alec, taking a swig from his water bottle, refusing to acknowledge Kiefer’s point. “They’re renting the château.”

“Who’s the star?”

“Ridley Sinclair.”

Kiefer snorted. “You know what I mean.”

“Isabella Hudson. I’ve never even met her.”

Kiefer gaped at him. “The Isabella Hudson?”

Like there would be another. “She is a member of the family.”

“You’re going to have Isabella Hudson staying at the Château Montcalm. Good God, Alec, why not just go ahead and murder someone? Even the Japanese tabloids will pick up you and Isabella Hudson.”

“I’m not going near Isabella Hudson. There’ll be no pictures, nothing whatsoever for them to report.”

But Kiefer wasn’t listening. He was inside his own head, obviously dreaming up one dire scenario after another. “You’re going to have to move out.”

“No,” said Alec.

“Go stay in Rome. Better still, go to Tokyo and work with Akiko on the prototype.”

“They don’t need me in the bike lab.” If the one he was riding was anything to go on, R & D had made great strides with the frame alloy.

“Well, I need you out of Provence.”

They crested the hill, and Alec grabbed a higher gear, putting his frustration into muscle power that produced speed. Let a film crew invade his house yet miss his chance with Charlotte? No way.

“I am staying in my home,” he told Kiefer, bending his head into the wind.

“We need a mitigation strategy,” Kiefer called, falling slightly behind.

“Mitigate this!” Alec sent back a rude hand gesture.

“Don’t let the press catch you doing that.” Kiefer caught up. “Could you maybe get married?” he huffed.

Alec rolled his eyes. He’d yet to meet a woman who wasn’t after his money or his status—usually both.

“At least find a girlfriend? Not forever, just while Isabella is there. Somebody who’s a nobody, a plain Jane who won’t get you into any trouble.”

Alec didn’t want a plain Jane nobody. And he had zero interest in Isabella Hudson. He wanted Charlotte.

And then he realized he’d missed his big chance. “Damn,” he spat out.

“What?” Kiefer glanced from side to side.

He could have made that a condition of the movie location deal. What was he thinking? Charlotte could have played his girlfriend for a couple of months.

“What?” Kiefer repeated.

But it was too late now. She didn’t strike him as the kind of person who would renegotiate.

“I almost had a girl we could bribe,” Alec admitted.

“Who?”

Alec shook his head. “We missed the boat on that one.”

“Who is she?”

“Nobody.”

“Perfect,” said Kiefer with enthusiasm.

“I lost my leverage.” Alec slowed his bike, taking a right-hand turn into the pullout beside Crystal Lake.

“Well, what was your leverage?” Kiefer’s voice was eager.

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Alec braked to a halt and put his feet down, taking in the view of the lake while they took a breather.

“Oh, no, I don’t what?”

“She’s smart, tough and unreasonable.”

“At least give me a shot.” Kiefer squirted a stream of water into his open mouth.

“There’s no real problem,” said Alec. “The Kana Hanako brass aren’t going to give up my Tour de France connection, no matter what the tabloids write.”

“Yeah, but they can make my life hell in the meantime. Do you know how much time I waste being yelled at by Takahiro’s translator?”

“Do you know how much I pay you to get yelled at by Takahiro’s translator?”

“Not nearly enough,” Kiefer grumbled. Then he recapped his water bottle and ran spread fingers through his short hair. “Who were you talking about?”

Alec shook his head.

“I swear I won’t even talk to her.”

Alec paused. “Charlotte Hudson. She’s the friend of Raine’s.”

“Ah.” Kiefer instantly caught on. “You could have bribed her with access to the château.”

Alec nodded.

“She’s not Isabella’s sister or something?”

“Maybe a cousin. I’m not sure. Raine says Charlotte grew up with her maternal grandparents, mostly in Europe. Her grandfather’s the U.S. ambassador to Monte Allegro. She works for him.”

“Sounds tame enough,” Kiefer mused.

“The plan’s off the table. I had a hard enough time getting her to stay at the château for the shoot.”

Kiefer came alert. “She’s staying at the château?”

“Don’t touch it.” Alec’s tone was flat.

“I’m just sayin’—”

“You are not leaking her to the press.”

“Well, somebody’s going to ‘leak’ something. Better it’s her than Isabella.”

“In whose opinion?”

“Mine.”

“You don’t count. You’re the hired help.” Alec snapped one foot back onto the pedal and pushed off.

Kiefer quickly followed suit. “Will you at least ask her?”

“I will not.”

“If she says no, she says no. But she might—”

“She’ll never agree.”

“How do you know?”

Alec pulled onto the rough road for the return trip. “It’s like this,” he explained with exaggerated patience. “You’re executive assistant to an ambassador. You like your job. In fact, the ambassador is your own grandfather. A man with a public reputation like mine asks you to pretend to date him in order to protect his reputation. You say…what, exactly?”

“Point taken,” Kiefer admitted.

They rode in silence to the crest of the hill, where Alec’s thoughts turned to the croissants his cook had been putting in the oven when they left the château.

“Still,” Kiefer continued, as their speed picked up and the morning air whipped past, “the worst she can do is say no.”

“No, no, no,” Charlotte emphasized into the cordless telephone. “You can’t put Syria next to Bulgaria. Put them next to Canada, or the Swiss—”

The telephone handset was summarily tugged out of Charlotte’s hand.

“Hey!” She twisted her head to Raine, who was lying back in the next deck lounger.

“Charlotte has to go now, Emily,” Raine said into the handset. “She’s in the middle of a pedicure.”

“You can’t do that,” Charlotte protested.

But Raine calmly hit the off button.

“You need to hold still,” warned the esthetician working on Charlotte’s toes. “Or you’ll have purple passion streaked halfway to your ankle.”

“You listen to her.” Raine gestured with the phone.

“You hung up on Emily.”

“You’ve been on the phone with her for half an hour.”

“It’s the summit dinner. She was about to put Syria next to Bulgaria.”

“Will it cause a war?”

“Maybe,” said Charlotte, glancing down at her toes. The purple passion sparkled in the sunshine. She’d borrowed a sea-blue two-piece bathing suit from Raine, and they were lounging on thickly padded lounge chairs next to the Montcalm pool. An emerald lawn stretched out in front of them, while lush cypress trees and flowering shrubs screened them from the house, offering dappled shade.

“They’re cultural attachés,” Raine pointed out. “I doubt they have the launch codes.”

“Maybe not. But I can’t just walk away from my responsibilities on a moment’s notice.” Charlotte had spoken with her grandfather this morning, and he’d been more than gracious in giving her the time off, telling her not to worry. But there were about a thousand details she had to make sure were passed on to other staff members.

“I did,” said Raine. “When I heard you were here, I walked right off the shoot in Malta and onto the corporate jet.”

“Is that a problem?” Charlotte quickly asked.

“I guess we’ll find out when the October issue hits the stands, won’t we?”

“No, seriously—”

“The magazine will survive, and so will the ambassador. You need to relax.”

“You should not move for at least half an hour,” Charlotte’s esthetician advised, admiring Charlotte’s toes as she rose from her chair.

“Thank you,” said Charlotte, raising her newly polished fingernails and fluttering them to compare to her matching toes.

Raine’s esthetician finished a final topcoat, and the two women began to pack their things.

Charlotte leaned over to whisper to Raine. “Do we tip or something?”

“All taken care of,” Raine whispered back. “Shall I ring for strawberries and champagne?”

“It’s still morning.”

“You’re on vacation. And you’re in Provence.” Raine grinned and hit a speed-dial button on the phone.

“At this rate, I may never leave,” Charlotte muttered, sighing and relaxing back into the soft lounger.

While Raine talked to the kitchen, Charlotte closed her eyes, letting the soft breeze caress her face and listening to the gentle hum of the cicadas fill in the background.

“Quick!” Raine’s elbow jolted Charlotte back to reality. “Take a look.”

Charlotte blinked against the bright sunshine, scanning the lawn beyond the pool and coming to two male figures.

Alec. And he was dressed in bicycle shorts and a spandex shirt that clung to every sculpted muscle.

“Isn’t he the hottest thing you’ve ever seen?” asked Raine.

He was, but it seemed an odd thing for Raine to notice. “Alec?”

“Nooo.” Raine grimaced. “Kiefer. The guy with him.”

“Oh.” Charlotte hadn’t paid the least bit of attention to the slightly shorter man with short, sandy-blond hair striding down the brick pathway next to Alec.

“He’s our vice president,” Raine elaborated. “The girls in the office go ga-ga over him.”

“Sounds like you do, too.” Charlotte chuckled, watching the man named Kiefer saunter closer. He was probably six foot two. Though a slighter build than Alec, he was well muscled with an angular face, square jaw and an easy, self-confident stride.

“Don’t you dare say a word,” Raine warned.

“You don’t want to date an employee?” Charlotte asked, her gaze moving involuntarily to Alec. Now that was a gorgeous man. Everything about him moved in perfect symmetry.

“I don’t want him to think I’m one of his groupies,” Raine corrected.

“It’s that bad?”

“Just look at him,” Raine scoffed.

Charlotte glanced back for a split second. Sure, he was attractive enough. But she wasn’t sensing the animal magnetism she saw in Alec. If the girls in the office were going to go ga-ga, she would have thought Alec would be their target.