Transformed Into The Frenchman's Mistress / Bargained Into Her Boss's Bed. Barbara DunlopЧитать онлайн книгу.
“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.
“I’m afraid Raine’s away on—” He suddenly stopped speaking. A wolfish smile grew on his lips. “Charlotte Hudson.”
She didn’t answer.
“Thank you, Henri.” Alec’s dismissal was polite but clear, his gaze never leaving Charlotte.
As the butler drew back, Alec leaned indolently against the doorjamb. He wore a charcoal Caraceni suit, a classic white shirt and a dark silk tie that was scattered with bright red flecks. The flecks, it seemed, were miniatures of the Montcalm family crest, painstakingly embroidered into the fabric.
Her heart pounding with a mixture of awareness and trepidation, Charlotte decided to bluff. She held out her hand and gave him a breezy smile. “I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced.”
At least that part wasn’t a lie. There’d been nothing remotely formal about their one and only meeting. It had been humiliating, and her only defense was to pretend she’d forgotten all about it.
“Oh, we’ve been introduced, Ms. Hudson.” His warm, callused hand closed over hers, sending a shiver along her spine.
She painstakingly schooled her features, raising her brow in question.
“Three years ago.” He cocked his head to one side, clearly challenging her to acknowledge him.
She held her ground.
“The Ottobrate Ballo in Rome,” he continued, eyes mocking. “I asked you to dance.”
He’d done a lot more than ask. He’d nearly derailed her career in under five minutes.
Rome had been one of her first official assignments as her grandfather’s executive assistant. Becoming his official E.A. had been a big step for her, and she’d been nervous all night, anxious to do well.
Alec’s smile widened as he watched her expression. “It’s etched very firmly in my mind,” he told her.
“I don’t—”
“Sure you do,” he countered softly, and they both knew he was right. “And you liked it.”
Too true.
“But then Ambassador Cassettes stepped in.”
Thank goodness for her grandfather.
“Charlotte?” Alec prompted.
She pretended she’d only just remembered. “You tried to give me your room key,” she accused with a stern frown.
“And you took it.”
“I didn’t know what it was.” She’d been twenty-two years old, a neophyte on the diplomatic circuit, and he’d been right there, poised to take advantage of her.
He chuckled his disbelief, and she glared at him.
Then he sobered. “You were beautiful that night.” His gaze went soft as he gave her figure a slow onceover.
She couldn’t keep the outrage from her tone. “I was twenty-two that night.”
His shoulders went up in a careless shrug. “You didn’t have to take the key.”
“I was confused.” It truly had taken her a moment to realize the card he’d handed her was a hotel room key.
“I think you were tempted.”
Her brain warned her mouth to shut up. But her emotions overrode the instruction. “I’d known you for two minutes.” Other women might be tempted by a dashing, urbane 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.”
His words caused her thoughts to stumble. He’d been watching her? In a complimentary way, or in a creepy, stalker sort of way?
He moved subtly closer. “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 humor.”
“Giving me your room key was supposed to be funny?”
His brown eyes turned to molten chocolate. “Not at all. The ball was ending. I wanted to get to know you better.”
Charlotte couldn’t believe his gall. Aside from being young and naive, she’d been on official business that night, and she’d never dishonor her grandfather nor the ambassador’s office by leaving the party with a strange man, particularly a man with Alec Montcalm’s reputation. He was still one of France’s most notorious bachelors. His dates were lucky to stay out of the tabloids.
“It didn’t occur to you to ask me for coffee?” she asked tartly.
“I’m not a patient man.” He paused, and she checked an impulse to gaze into his dark eyes, or to contemplate that rakish slash of a mouth, or the tilt of his square chin. Which left her his nose—straight, aristocratic, slightly flared, as if he was drinking in her scent.
He continued speaking. “The direct approach is sometimes the most effective.”
“You’re telling me that room-key thing works?” She couldn’t really be surprised. There had to be plenty of women who’d give their eye teeth to hop into Alec Montcalm’s bed. Charlotte simply wasn’t one of them. And she never would be.
His quirk of a smile confirmed her suspicions. But then he seemed to tire of the game. He straightened, his expression turning more businesslike. “In my sister’s absence, is there anything I can do for you, Ms. Hudson?”
Charlotte instantly remembered her mission. She also realized she’d made a colossal error by arguing with him. She forced herself to calm down, to step back from the web of emotions he seemed to evoke, and to focus on the reason she’d come.
“When is Raine expected back?” she tried.
“Tuesday morning. She was called to a photo shoot on Malta for Intérêt.”
Charlotte knew Intérêt was the Montcalm Corporation’s fashion magazine, and Raine was editor-in-chief. Tuesday morning wasn’t going to do it. Jack needed to know this weekend if he could send the film’s location manager to Château Montcalm. Principal photography was set to start at the end of the summer,