Barbara Dunlop - Transformed Into The Frenchman’s Mistress

“I said dramatic, not appalling! ” Lars shouted from the bottom of the stairs.

“Spoke too soon,” Raine muttered, as Charlotte quickened her steps on the curved, wrought-iron-railed staircase.

The stocky man was waving his arms, an unlit cigar clamped between his teeth, his dark hair curling over his forehead.

“It’s authentic Stix, Baer & Fuller,” the costume assistant dared, causing the entire room to hush and collectively suck in a breath.

Even Charlotte missed a step. Lars had been at the château for only three days, but she’d quickly learned the near-military command-control structure of the film set.

Lars leaned into the hapless young woman, his dark, round eyes narrowing. “Lillian Hudson will not wear a bird’s nest on her head.”

“She was Lillian Colbert then.”

The man’s face turned purple.

The costume designer quickly stepped in. “We’ll come up with other options, of course.” She latched on to the younger woman’s arm and deftly drew her away.

“Fire that thing,” Lars huffed to an assistant.

The assistant made a note on a clipboard and said something into his walkie-talkie. Charlotte fervently hoped the command was all bluster. Then she spotted Jack.

He was talking to the director of photography, ignoring the commotion on set, while everyone around him continued with set preparation.

“That’s your brother?” asked Raine.

Charlotte nodded, putting one foot in front of the other as she made her way across the foyer.

“You look alike.”

Charlotte disagreed. Jack was much darker. He was dignified, where she was decidedly cute. “No, we don’t.”

“It’s your nose, and the eyes,” said Raine. “That vivid blue. Gorgeous.”

Charlotte gazed at Jack as they drew near. Did they look alike? Did people notice? Could there be other things they had in common? Thoughts, opinions, emotions?

“Hello, Charlotte.” He greeted her with a broad smile.

“Good morning, Jack.” As always, she felt like there was something she should do. A hug? A kiss? A handshake?

He glanced around the huge rotunda. “Well done,” he told her, sounding sincere.

At least she had that. “This is Raine Montcalm,” she introduced.

The director of photography was drawn into another conversation and turned away.

Jack reached out to shake Raine’s hand. “On behalf of the family, allow me to express our gratitude for opening up your home.”

A brief pain shot through Charlotte’s chest. Clearly, Jack didn’t see her as a representative of the Hudsons. She’d already thanked the Montcalms, but that obviously wasn’t good enough.

“Alec Montcalm.” Alec’s deep voice startled Charlotte.

He moved up beside her and shook Jack’s hand.

“Jack Hudson.” Jack introduced himself before she could get her bearings. “My grandmother sends her thanks.”

Alec’s fingertips touched ever so lightly on the small of Charlotte’s back. “You sister made a convincing argument.”

Jack smiled down at Charlotte. “We were hoping her connection to Raine would help.”

Alec’s hand tensed almost imperceptibly. “Yes. Well, I hope you’re happy with the results.”

“We’ll also need a couple of rental houses for the VIPs and stars,” said Jack. “Any suggestions?”

“I can make a couple of calls.”

“I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”

“No trouble,” said Alec. “Charlotte?” He glanced down, his palm warm on her back. “Maybe you could give me a hand?”

More time with Alec?

Her mind screamed no. While her body shouted yes. Then her reflexive nod broke the tie.

To her surprise, instead of taking her back to his office for privacy, he said goodbyes and ushered her out the front door.

“I thought we were making a few calls?” she said as Alec cut toward the garage. She scrambled to keep up in her heels. The sunshine was warm on her bare arms and legs, and the sweet smell of the estate’s flowers and herb gardens invaded her nostrils.

“I brought my cell,” said Alec.

“Where are we going?”

He hit the button on a small remote and one of the garage doors glided open, revealing a burnished copper Lamborghini convertible. The top was down, showing off a black and copper interior, a sexy console and low-slung leather bucket seats.

“Nice,” she acknowledged.

“Thanks.” He popped open the passenger door then offered a hand to steady her as she climbed in.

“Where are we going?” she repeated, even as her body all but sighed into the soft leather. It would be nice to get away from the chaos for a while, clear her head, remember there were other things in life besides the approval of the Hudsons.

In answer to her question, Alec grinned and gestured to the sky. “A day like this? In the south of France? In a Murciélago? Who cares?”

He made a good point.

Charlotte shrugged both in agreement and capitulation. The seat surrounded her body like a glove. Alec leaned in, pulled out the seat belt and reached across to click it into the buckle. She couldn’t resist inhaling his scent, fresh and clean like the region where he lived.

He shut the door, then rounded the hood to the driver’s side, removing his jacket and rolling up the sleeves of his white dress shirt. Next, he untied his tie, slipping it off and setting it behind the seat.

Charlotte glanced around at the classy interior. She couldn’t help a smile at the thought of zooming through the countryside in such a magnificent vehicle.

Henri magically appeared and retrieved the jacket. “You have everything you need, sir?”

Alec nodded, perching a pair of sunglasses on his nose.

“You ready?” he asked Charlotte.

“I don’t have my purse,” she remembered.

“Sir?” asked Henri.

“She won’t need it,” said Alec, turning the key. The powerful engine roared to life, rumbling the seat beneath her. He clicked the car into gear and pulled smoothly out of the garage. They passed semitrailers containing warehouses of filming equipment, one that was a wardrobe room, and another containing a full, industrial kitchen.

“I thought you might like to get away from the circus for a while,” said Alec, picking up speed down the long, concrete driveway.

“That Lars makes me nervous.”

“I don’t know why people put up with him.”

“I guess he’s in charge for the moment.” The second-unit filming was scheduled to take place before the stars and director arrived.

The car came to a smooth stop at the end of the driveway, and Alec turned it toward Castres.

“Being in charge is no excuse for being a jerk.”

“Not an excuse,” Charlotte agreed. “But it’s a reason.”

“There’s never a reason to abuse power,” said Alec, bringing up the revs and changing gears as the road straightened out.

Charlotte considered his profile for a moment.

He glanced over. “What?”

“You have power,” she observed, wondering what he was like with his own employees, remembering how he’d insisted the film crew not cause them any additional work.

“At the moment.” He winked, gearing down and pulling into the oncoming lane to pass a truck. “I also have speed.”

The sports car stuck to the road like glue, accelerating effortlessly past the truck and another car in front.

Charlotte’s hand automatically gripped the door handle.

“Nervous?” asked Alec.

“Not exactly.” There was something about Alec that oozed confidence behind the wheel. Well, actually, there was something about him that oozed confidence about everything. She trusted him not to push himself or the car past their limits.

“I won’t hurt you,” he assured her in a solemn tone.