Transformed Into the Frenchman's Mistress: Transformed Into the Frenchman's Mistress. Barbara Dunlop
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actually. But she’d expected it to be great. If she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have bothered kissing Alec, would she? What woman would embark on a kiss she thought would be boring?
“One picture of you and Alec, doing something as innocent as having a conversation, and Kiefer gets his nefarious wish. You want me to talk to him?” Raine paused. “Charlotte?”
“What?”
“You want me to talk to Kiefer? Or maybe you should steer clear of Alec. Just to be on the safe side.”
Charlotte drew a deep breath and gave herself a mental shake. “Yeah. Good idea.” Steering clear of Alec was better than the alternative—hauling him into the nearest bed and kissing him until her brain exploded.
“Mademoiselle Charlotte?” came a new voice from the hallway. Henri.
Raine turned to meet him. “Oui, Henri?”
“A Jack Hudson has arrived.”
“Jack’s here?” The words jumped from Charlotte as a familiar little knot grew in her stomach. She loved her big brother. But their relationship was complicated.
She couldn’t help remembering Alec and Raine’s greeting embrace. Charlotte hadn’t hugged Jack in more than twenty years—not since she’d been torn from his arms in the airport at four years old, after her mother died, after her own father gave her away.
The next time they’d seen each other, he’d felt like a stranger. She wasn’t sure how to act, and neither was he.
He didn’t seem like the strong, protective big brother she’d fantasized about at night. Their visits grew further apart, and the awkwardness became acute in their teenage years. And now, as adults, neither seemed to know how to break the barrier.
Or maybe Jack didn’t want to break the barrier. He was a grown man with his own life. Why would he need a little sister hanging all over him?
She squared her shoulders and headed to the hallway. Once she got through the initial hello, it was always easier.
Raine fell into step beside her. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You look a little pale.”
Better pale with anxiety than flushed with sexual desire, Charlotte supposed.
“Everything’s moving smoothly,” Raine offered. She knew of Charlotte’s desire to impress the Hudson side of the family. “Even Lars Hinckleman is happy today.”
Charlotte couldn’t help but smile at the mention of the temperamental second-unit director. Raine was right. Things were going—
“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