Barbara Dunlop: Transformed Into The Frenchman's Mistress / Bargained Into Her Boss's Bed

“You were beautiful that night,” Alec said, giving her figure a slow once-over.

Charlotte couldn’t contain herself. “I was twenty-two that night.”

“You didn’t have to take the key.”

“I was confused.” It had taken her a moment to realise the card he’d handed her was a hotel room key.

“You were tempted.”

“I’d known you for two minutes.” Other women might be tempted by a dashing aristocrat with money to burn, but Charlotte wasn’t interested in a fling.

“I’d been watching you for a lot longer than two minutes. You were attractive. You seemed interesting and intelligent, and by the way you were making all those other men laugh, I knew you had a sense of humour.”

“Giving me your room key was supposed to be funny?”

“I wanted to get to know you better.”

“It didn’t occur to you to ask me for coffee?”

“I’m not a patient man.”

Don’t miss the exclusive in-book short stories byUSA TODAY bestselling author Maureen Child after thelast page of Transformed Into the Frenchman’s Mistressand Bargained Into Her Boss’s Bed!

The urge to kiss Max awake was almost too strong for Dana to resist. Too bad almost didn’t count.

“Max,” she called quietly. He didn’t stir.

“Max,” she tried again, a little louder this time. Dana eased onto the cushion beside him. The warm proximity of his leg beside hers made her heart race. “Max, wake up.”

His eyelids slowly lifted and his unfocused gaze found hers. “Morning.” The groggy, rough timbre of his voice made her stomach muscles quiver. Wouldn’t she love to wake up to that every day?

His hand painted a hot path up her spine. She gasped. Then his fingers cupped her nape and he pulled her forwards. Warm lips covered hers. Shocked but thrilled, she responded for just a second before reality hit her on the head.

Who does he think he’s kissing?

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Dear Reader,

Is there anything more romantic than a château in the south of France, with picturesque gardens, a well-stocked wine cellar and hot hero? And who doesn’t love the thought of being whisked away to Paris, Rome and London in a private jet?

French aristocrat Alec Montcalm has it all: the looks, the pedigree, the money and all those gorgeous women. And Charlotte Hudson doesn’t trust him for a single second. Unfortunately, the favour she’s forced to ask is a test of her loyalty to her family. It’s a favour Alec is willing to grant her – for a price.

I hope you enjoy the newest instalment in the Hudsons’ saga!

Barbara Dunlop

Barbara Dunlopis a bestselling, award-winning author of numerous novels. Her books regularly hit bestseller lists for series romance, and she has twice been shortlisted for the Romance Writers of America’s RITA ®Award.

Barbara lives in a log house in the Yukon Territory, where the bears outnumber people and moose browse the front yard. By day, she works as the Yukon’s Film Commissioner. By night, she pens romance novels in front of a roaring fire. Visit her website at www. barbaradunlop.com.

For Susie Ross

Slightly windblown, and more than a little jet-lagged, Charlotte Hudson found herself in France. A phone call from her brother, Jack, yesterday had cut short her tour with their grandfather, Ambassador Edmond Cassettes. The diplomatic contingent had been in New Orleans, where Charlotte and the ambassador were being wined, dined and entertained by the governor, a couple of senators and every Louisiana mayor with aspirations of doing business with the wealthy Mediterranean nation of Monte Allegro.

Then Jack had called, and now she was in Provence, pulling up to the Montcalm family château with a favor to ask. Her college friend Raine would be surprised to see her, but Charlotte was couting on Raine’s good nature to help her secure the favor. It was the first time her brother, or anyone on the Hudson side of the family, had included her in Hudson Pictures’ filmmaking business. And she desperately wanted to impress.

Charlotte had been raised in Europe by her maternal grandparents, while Jack was raised an ocean away in Hollywood by the Hudsons. She mad met the filmmaking dynasty of a family on only a couple of occasions. They were perfectly polite to her, but it was clear they were close-knit, and she was very much the outsider.

But now, terminally ill matriarch Lillian Hudson was determined to honor her late husband’s wishes by having Hudson Pictures bring their wartime romance to the big screen. The entire family had rallied around the project and decreed Château Montcalm was the perfect location.

Charlotte finally had a chance to participate in the Hudsons’ world.

She drew a breath, giving her straight skirt and matching ivory blazer a final tug as she approached the main doors of the Montcalm’s stately, three-story stone mansion. The doors were intimidating oversize planked walnut, inset with vintage beveled windows. The château was old-world and impressive. She knew it had been in the Montcalm family for a dozen generations, ever since some fiery warlord of a Montcalm ancestor had taken it in battle. Her friend Raine had quite the pedigree.

Charlotte took a breath and reached for the ornate doorbell, waiting only a moment until a formally dressed butler drew the door wide, his expression a study in formality and courtesy.

“Bonjour, madame.”

“Bonjour,” Charlotte returned. “I’m looking for Raine Montcalm.”

The man paused while he considered Charlotte’s appearance. “Do you have an appointment?”

Charlotte shook her head. “I’m Charlotte Hudson. Raine and I are friends. We were together at Oxford.”

“Mademoiselle Montcalm is unavailable.”

“But—”

“I do apologize.”

“Could you at least tell her I’m here?” She hoped Raine would become available if she heard Charlotte’s name.

“The mademoiselle is not currently in residence.”

Charlotte struggled to decide if she was getting the brush-off. “She’s really not here?”

He didn’t answer, but his expression became crisper and even more formal, if that was possible.

“Because, if you could just let her know—”

“A problem, Henri?” came a gravelly, masculine voice.

Oh no. Not Alec.

“Non, monsieur.”

Charlotte reflexively drew back as a tall, aristocratically handsome man moved into the doorway, displacing the butler. Raine’s brother was supposed to be in London. Charltte had seen his picture in the tabloids just yesterday, dancing at some posh nightclub on Whitehall.