Barbara Dunlop - Transformed Into The Frenchman’s Mistress

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If there was anything Charlotte Hudson had learned in her twenty-five years, it was how to be proper. So how had the ambassador's granddaughter ended up on a wild movie assignment, ensconced in a centuries-old Provençal castle with notorious French playboy Alec Montcalm? While her relatives from Hudson Pictures were busy filming at Chateau Montcalm, the real drama was going on behind the antique wooden doors – beneath satin sheets. Charlotte knew their crazy, scandalous secret liaison wouldn't last. And then she discovered she was pregnant.

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“What?” Not that everything wasn’t colossally wrong at the moment.

“You’re in love with him.”

Charlotte couldn’t admit it. But Jack obviously saw it in her eyes.

“Of course you’re in love with him.” Jack nodded. “Why else would you make love with him.”

“I knew it was temporary,” said Charlotte.

“But you fell for him anyway.”

Charlotte closed her eyes. “Yes,” she admitted quietly.

“I know how that goes,” said Jack in a sympathetic tone. “When I realized I loved Cece-”

“It’s not the same thing,” Charlotte quickly pointed out.

“Are you sure?”

“Oh, I am sure.” She nodded, voice shaking with conviction. Alec Montcalm didn’t fall in love with anybody. He was honest and up-front, and he meant every syllable when he told a woman it was temporary.

“What can I do?” asked Jack.

“You can be an uncle.”

He gave her another hug, and it felt good. Despite the fact that her world was falling apart, it felt so good to hug her brother again.

“I’m only a phone call away,” he told her.

Charlotte glanced around. “I think I’m just going to leave. I don’t need these clothes. What I need is to set up a life for a baby.”

“California is nice,” said Jack. “You don’t have to be right in L.A. to be close by.”

Charlotte managed a smile. “Thanks for that. I have to talk to the ambassador first. But I really will give it some thought.” There were definitely worse places in the world than California.

Alec needed to get away, and Tokyo seemed like it might just be far enough.

He had to get Charlotte out of his head. He had to stop thinking about his baby. And he had to purge the ridiculous idea that his being in love with Charlotte, and Charlotte being in love with his money, was a recipe for happily ever after. It wasn’t, and it never would be.

In the driveway, he tossed his briefcase onto the passenger seat of the Lamborghini. Then he opened the driver’s door and dropped down on the seat, slamming the door and stuffing the key into the ignition.

He’d check in with Kiefer and Raine while the jet refueled in New Delhi.

“You were right,” came Jack’s mild voice as he appeared in Alec’s rearview mirror. “She didn’t know I loved her.” He brought his hand down on the top of the Lamborghini’s door, and rounded on Alec. “But after that, your theory fell way apart.”

Alec didn’t get the point. But he waited for Jack to explain.

Jack placed his other hand on the door and leaned in. “She would have given anything for it to be you who said it instead of me.”

“Said what?” Alec reached for the ignition key.

“That you loved her.”

Alec scoffed. That statement made absolutely no sense. “It’s the money,” he reminded Jack.

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Would you repeat that?”

Hell, yes. Alec would repeat it as many times as Jack liked. “Charlotte and every other woman I’ve ever dated are in love with my money. M-O-N-E-Y. To get it, they’re willing to put up with me.”

Jack suddenly looked as if he might laugh. “You actually believe that? You actually think it’s the money?”

Alec didn’t bother answering this time.

“Charlotte doesn’t need your money,” said Jack. “The family has money.”

“Charlotte’s not involved in Hudson Pictures.” Alec knew that for a fact. Even if she hadn’t told him herself, Kiefer had researched the corporation before letting them anywhere near Château Montcalm.

“I’m not talking about the Hudsons,” said Jack.

What the hell else could he be talking about?

“The real money’s on the Cassettes side.” He shook his head as if he pitied Alec. “Charlotte is the presumptive heir to Ambassador Edmond Cassettes’s fortune. And even if she wasn’t, her trust fund is big enough to buy a small country.”

Alec’s stomach clenched around nothing.

“My God, Alec. To her, your money’s probably nothing but a tax burden.”

Jack might as well have slammed him in the head with a brick this time.

Charlotte had money?

Serious money?

She wasn’t, couldn’t be after Alec’s.

“Then why…” He stared at Jack in confusion. What was this all about then? Why did she sleep with him? Why did she get pregnant?

Jack smacked his hands down on the car door and jerked back to standing. “Grab a clue, Alec.” And he turned and walked away.

“Son of a bitch.” Alec flung open the door.

None of this was making any sense. None of it. But he had to talk to Charlotte. She had to help him understand.

Charlotte came to the bottom of the main staircase with a small suitcase in her hand. Filming had finished in the foyer a few days ago, and it was back to normal again.

Raine was arranging for the limo, and Charlotte had called ahead for a plane reservation to Monte Allegro. By midnight, she’d be back in her own bed.

Then the front door burst open, and Alec strode through. Her stomach clenched, and for a second she felt a wave of dizziness.

Alec glanced from side to side. There were voices in the great room, and footsteps in the hall. On the landing above, two housekeepers chatted as they dusted the wooden railing.

Alec clenched his jaw.

He stepped determinedly forward, grasping Charlottte’s hand. “Come with me.”

In surprise, she dropped the suitcase, spinning around, her legs reflexively taking up a near trot as she struggled to keep up with him.

Behind the stairs, he jerked opened a thick door.

“Alec? What-” And then they were pacing down a flight of stone stairs. They rounded a corner into a cool, dimly lit wine cellar. Old racks stretched away on both sides, covered in thousands of dusty bottles of wine.

Then the aisleway widened out, revealing a hewn beam tasting table, a rack of clean glasses and several antique chairs.

Alec turned on her, letting go of her hand. “I don’t understand.”

Charlotte glanced around. She wasn’t exactly scared, but she was more than a little confused. “I don’t understand, either. What are we doing? Why did you bring me here?”

“Why did you get pregnant?”

Charlotte stood up straight, determined to maintain her composure. She had another chance to give Alec a final memory of her. And it was going to be dignified, or she would die trying.

“Did you miss eighth-grade biology?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Well, that’s exactly how it happened. We had sex. Birth control is not foolproof, and we were in the bottom, or is it the top two percent?”

He took a few steps, in a half circle around her, eyes narrowing like a predator. “What do you want from me?”

“You’re the one who dragged me down here.”

“Do you want my money?”

“I never wanted your money. If you’ll recall, I tried my damnedest to get you to stop spending it.”

“I thought it was part of the plot.” He paced back the other way.

“The plot? ” The only plot she’d ever had was to keep away from Alec. When that became impossible, she convinced herself to have a fling. Falling for him was entirely accidental, and it would have been the stupidest plot in the world.

“To convince me you were different, so I’d let my guard down.”

“Did it ever occur to you that I was different?”

He continued pacing. “Only every second we spent together.”

“So?” What was this all about?

He came to a sudden halt. “You can’t love me, Charlotte.”

A chill poured over her body.

“It’s not possible,” he said. “It makes no sense.” His expression was totally and completely sincere.

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