Barbara Dunlop - Transformed Into The Frenchman’s Mistress

She’d have to be blind not to catch the double entendre. “How can you be sure?”

“With power comes responsibility,” he said, easing back into the proper lane. “I was born to both.”

Did she dare trust him with her sexual attraction? And was that what this was about? Was he whisking her off to some discreet inn where they could spend the afternoon in bed exploring it?

Pretty bold of him not to ask her. She should tell him no. Just to thwart his arrogant self-confidence, she should tell him she wasn’t interested in a tryst.

He flipped on his signal and left the main road.

And maybe she would.

Soon.

In the meantime, she watched the businesses roll by on the tree-lined boulevard, keeping an eye out for possible hotels and inns. They passed one, then another, then a small bed-and-breakfast.

But, to her surprise, Alec pulled into the parking lot of a real-estate office.

She raised her brows. “Here?”

“My friend Renaldo,” said Alec. “He’ll let us know what’s up for rent.”

“Oh.” Didn’t Charlotte feel like a fool. “A real-estate office.”

A knowing light came into Alec’s eyes. “What were you expecting?”

“This,” she quickly responded with a nod.

He grinned, and she felt her face heat.

Alec wanted to sleep with Charlotte-so much so that it was beginning to feel like an obsession. That kiss this morning told him they would all but combust together, and the confused looks she’d been giving him said she’d felt it, too. And now they were alone. They had several hours to spend together. And there were endless possible locations to make love in town. They had everything but a set of runway lights guiding them to paradise.

But something was holding him back. And he couldn’t begin to imagine what it might be. Guys like him could talk women into bed without breaking a sweat. Half the time it was about his money, of course. But then half the time he didn’t really care.

Maybe he was getting old. Or maybe he wanted to pretend it was different with Charlotte-that there was more to it than sex on his side and manipulation on hers.

Which didn’t make sense. He barely knew her. She could be as susceptible to his millions as every other woman he’d met in this lifetime. Just because she was Raine’s friend, and just because she was bright and witty, with an endearing dash of vulnerability, didn’t make her any different from anyone else.

Still, instead of rushing her to the nearest hotel room, he found himself winding his way through Castres to the first of three houses available for rent.

The first one was an old, converted mill set next to the river on a few acres of lawn.

“Gorgeous,” sang Charlotte, tipping her head back and turning in a circle as they entered a boxy, high-ceilinged main room. A polished wooden staircase was set against the stone wall and led up to the landing on the second story. The wood floors gleamed, and the furniture was big and comfortable.

“You think it might be too small?” asked Alec.

“It’s charming,” said Charlotte, passing beneath the staircase, past the stone fireplace to the arched doorway that led to a restored kitchen. Bright enamel pots hung from the ceiling, and a giant white sink dominated the counter below a window that looked out over the water. The cupboards were worn, and the floor tiles had definitely seen better days.

Alec tested the table for dust. “We’re talking about bigwigs and movie stars.”

Charlotte frowned at him. “I’d stay here,” she declared, wandering to the big sink.

He followed. “Yeah? Well, apparently, you’re not all that fussy.”

She turned suddenly, and they were nearly nose to nose, her back trapped against the sink.

“How would you know that?” she asked.

He held up his finger to show the dust, rubbing it off with his thumb.

She watched the motion, and he felt a flicker of warning heat build up inside him.

“Nothing a little elbow grease won’t fix,” she said.

“I’m guessing stars don’t do windows,” he countered, attempting to keep the mood light.

“Of course not. They have people who do it for them. But then, you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

“Got a problem with my money?” Sarcasm wasn’t the female reaction he normally experienced.

She paused. “I like your car.”

“You have good taste.”

“You like to go fast?”

He digested the statement for a second, wondering which tack to take.

A flicker of unease crossed her face.

“I like to go fast,” he agreed softly, keeping his expression steady, allowing her decide whether to let it drop or pick it up and run with it.

They stared at each other in silence. The river rushed by below the window, and a songbird serenaded them from a nearby tree branch. The house itself was still and silent. It seemed to be holding its breath along with them.

“I thought the kiss would get us out of this,” she finally said.

“I guess it didn’t,” he responded.

Another minute went by.

“Shouldn’t you be doing something?” she asked.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, something decisive one way or the other.”

He smiled. “I thought about that. And then I thought I’d let you make the first move.”

She shifted against the cool ceramic sink. “And if I don’t?”

He shrugged. “Then I guess it’s like a staring contest. We’ll see who blinks first.”

“And you think that would be fun?”

“I think it would be fascinating.” And he did.

He had a will of iron when he wanted it. Not that he necessarily wanted it in this case. But toying with Charlotte was like stomping the accelerator of his Lamborghini. It was always exhilarating to see which would come first, disaster or delirium.

“In that case.” She slipped sideways, dancing away from him, across the kitchen. “I’m betting I can hold out longer than you.”

“You think?”

She snagged his attention with a sultry, sexy look. “I guess we’ll find out. Where’s the next house?”

“Rue du Blanc. Top of the hill.”

It was a modern stone villa with twelve rooms and a pool overlooking an olive grove. Charlotte liked it. So did Alec. The kitchen was clean and modern, and there were plenty of bedrooms and enough baths for an entourage.

Their final stop was a full-on castle, with bleached stones, hewn ceiling beams, a formal dining room and seven bedrooms with king-size beds. A gilded fountain dominated the driveway turnaround, while acres of emerald lawn stretched out front. The furniture was French provincial, with many valuable antiques dotting the impressively large rooms. Out back, there was a swimming pool and a meticulously maintained garden maze that was a work of art.

“I hope they’re not a party crowd,” Alec observed as they moved from the patio back into the formal dining room. Too many highballs, and somebody was going to get hopelessly lost in that maze.

“Okay, now I envy your money,” said Charlotte, making her way back to the grand entrance hall with its octagonal windows, antique rugs and tapestry. “I’d love to pick up something like this on a whim.”

“You like it that much?” asked Alec.

She nodded. “I’d buy it.”

“The kitchen’s a little small.”

“I’d renovate.”

He chuckled. “You’d actually knock out a stone wall?”

She flung open the double doors to the great room. “It’s my fantasy,” she pointed out, walking through the furniture groupings, past oil portraits and a massive, rolltop desk. “I guess I can knock out whatever I want.”

At the far end of the great room, there was a balcony overlooking a duck pond. Charlotte wandered into the sunshine and leaned on the wide rail. “If I lived here, I could name the ducks.”