Transformed Into The Frenchman’s Mistress

“Are you serious?” She twisted to look at her backside. She exercised quite extensively to keep her derriere fitting into designer clothes.

Alec laughed. “There’s nothing wrong with a curve or two.”

“Don’t let Lesley Manichatio hear you say that.”

“I already told her.”

“Right.”

He shrugged.

“You actually know Lesley Manichatio?”

“We carry her brands at Esmee ETA.”

“Wait a minute.” Charlotte set her pastry on the edge of her plate, wiping her hands on a paper napkin. “You own Esmee ETA?”

“Yes.”

“The stores? The chain?”

“Uh-huh.” He nodded.

“Alec?”

“Yes?”

“You really are a catch.”

“You want to rethink the river cruise?”

“Not on your life.”

He grinned. “At least eat your pastry.”

She picked it up again.

No wonder the man was paranoid. How would he ever know if a woman fell in love with him or his money? He could write a prenup, sure. But he’d still never know. A woman could fake love for a very long time if Alec was paying the bills.

Seven

The sun slipped below the horizon, and Alec watched the lights come on up and down the Tiber River. He was in no hurry to leave the cafe. He didn’t want to share Charlotte with Raine or anyone else just yet.

Over her empty coffee cup, she sighed at the sight. “It really is beautiful, isn’t it?”

Alec reached for her hand, smoothing his thumb over her soft knuckles, moving to her palm. “Let me take you on a cruise.”

She gave him a pained, wistful look.

“Don’t fixate on the cost,” he whispered. Then he raised her hand to his lips, turning it over to place a soft kiss on the inside of her wrist. “I want to get you alone, and I can’t think of anywhere more alone than in a boat on the river.”

Her glance slid to the marina below, and Alec knew he had her. He seized the opportunity, signaling the waiter. “Do you have a number for the marina?” he asked.

The man nodded and withdrew.

“I didn’t say yes,” Charlotte pointed out.

“Not with your lips,” Alec agreed. “But you said yes with your eyes.”

“That’s a stretch.”

He shook his head. “I’ve been reading women’s eyes for many long years.”

“Bragging?”

“Merely supporting my position.”

The waiter returned with the number written on a small piece of paper, and Alec retrieved his cell phone. He made a quick call, arranged for a yacht and crew, then flipped the phone shut.

He stood from his chair and came around to hers. “We have to eat dinner somewhere,” he told her.

“It’s a dinner cruise?”

“It’s whatever we want it to be.”

The only available boat, the Florence Maiden, was ninety-five feet from bow to stern. She had a chef, a fully stocked galley, three luxury staterooms, a formal dining room, a hot tub on the aft deck and five crew members to ensure the entire evening ran smoothly.

Charlotte drew a deep breath. “I guess a girl’s got to eat.”

Alec held out his hand, helping her to her feet. “That’s the spirit.”

He kept her hand as they made their way down several staircases to the marina gate. There, he gave his name to a uniformed security guard.

“Berth 27B,” the man informed him. “Enjoy your evening.”

Still wearing his jacket, Charlotte slipped her arm into his as they moved onto the bobbing dock. It was full dark now, and the lights of Castle St. Angelo seemed even brighter across the river.

Alec noted a sign on the wharf and pointed to their left. “This way.”

Charlotte turned, and they started past several dozen gleaming-white yachts berthed nose-in. “Tell me it’s not the one on the end.”

Alec could already see the name painted near the bow. “It’s what they had available.”

“You truly can’t be trusted.” But there wasn’t a trace of anger in her tone. In fact, she sounded pleased. Well, he was feeling pretty pleased himself.

The captain greeted them at the bottom of the gangplank, welcoming them aboard. With Charlotte climbing in front of him, Alec’s spirits lifted with every step upward.

They settled in padded, teak deck chairs at the bow of the boat. The steward provided a wine list, and Alec chose a merlot.

“We should call Raine.”

“Why would we do that?” Alec had finally succeeded in separating Charlotte from the herd; he wasn’t about to make contact.

The ship’s whistle sounded and the engines rumbled as they reversed out of the berth, drawing back from the traffic, trees and buildings along the bank.

“She might be worried,” said Charlotte.

“She’s got my cell number. And yours, too, I imagine. She’ll call if she needs anything.”

“They probably expected to join us for dinner,” Charlotte continued.

“They’ll get over it.”

The steward arrived to uncork the wine. He offered Alec a taste and, at Alec’s nod, filled their glasses.

“The chef can offer you a seven-course Italian dinner, featuring gamberi al Limone and rigatoni alla Caruso. If you prefer French, he has a lovely petits tournedos aux poivres vert accompanied by la salade du Montmartre. Or he can prepare a grilled filet mignon, Portobello mushrooms, with a traditional Caesar salad.”

Alec looked to Charlotte. “When in Rome?”

“The Italian dinner sounds perfect,” she said to the steward.

As the man walked away, she leaned closer to Alec. “We can only hope the pasta will improve the size of my derriere.”

Alec leaned toward her, keeping his voice at a conspiratorial level. “I’ll let you know later.”

“Feeling pretty sure of yourself?”

He glanced at the moon, the water, the lights of the city and Charlotte wrapped in his jacket lounging back amongst the subtle lights of the yacht’s deck. “So far, so good,” he admitted, taking a satisfied sip of the merlot.

“It is nice to get away from the crowds,” Charlotte agreed. “The noise.”

“The explosions.”

“Sorry about that.”