Transformed Into The Frenchman’s Mistress

Cece nodded. “Can you lie to him, Charlotte?”

Charlotte shrugged, her eyes dampening again. Could she lie to Alec? She didn’t want to lie to him. But she didn’t want to tell him the truth, either. Because telling him the truth would mean the end. And she had so counted on things not ending just yet.

Another week. Another day. Even another night in his arms. Because once he knew, he’d never hold her tight again. He’d never whisper in her ear, nuzzle her neck, wrap his strong arms around her body. And she’d never be able to pretend, not for one more second, that they had a future together.

Not that she’d be able to pretend, anyway.

Cece was right.

She couldn’t lie to Alec.

“I have to be honest,” said Kiefer, as they replaced their mountain bikes in the rack in Alec’s garage. “It’s worse than I thought.”

Alec squirted a stream of water into the back of his throat, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “You two back to fighting?” It wasn’t surprising. It was damned inconvenient from a business perspective. But Alec had only himself to blame. He was the one who sent them on the trip.

Kiefer shook his head, leaning back and bracing his elbows on a workbench. “Not fighting.”

“What’s the problem then?” Alec didn’t understand.

“All that fighting we used to do?”

“What?” Alec glanced at his watch. He had a conference call with Japan in an hour, and he’d hoped to see Charlotte before then.

“Turns out it was foreplay.”

Alec dropped his water bottle back into the holster. “Seriously, Kiefer. Too much information. She’s my sister.”

Kiefer reached into his hip pocket and pulled out a small metal object, tossing it to Alec.

Alec caught it in midair. It was a scrolled silver box, hinged at the lid. He popped it open, revealing a large, diamond solitaire.

His gaze flew to Kiefer.

“It’s not like I’m asking your permission or anything.” Kiefer sobered. “But I wanted to give you a heads-up. I’m proposing to your sister.”

“It’s not about the money, is it?”

Kiefer scowled, and Alec saw a flash of genuine anger in his eyes.

“I can’t believe you even asked that.”

“Story of my life,” said Alec.

“Not the story of mine. And you know better.” Kiefer glared at him for a loaded moment.

“I know better,” Alec admitted. Kiefer was a man of integrity. Alec snapped the box shut and tossed it back. His lips curved in a grin. “You think she’ll say yes?”

“She damn well better,” Kiefer growled. “Or else become a nun. Because that woman is never, ever getting near another man as long as I’m breathing.”

Alec rocked forward and stuck out his hand, clasping Kiefer in a strong, thorough shake. “Then congratulations, brother. We’ll talk later about reorganizing the company structure.”

Kiefer held his palms up. “Hey, I’m not looking for-”

“I know you’re not. But, trust me, you’ll be sharing the pain the minute the honeymoon is over.”

Kiefer grinned, and Alec grinned broadly in return. He couldn’t imagine a better husband for Raine. He couldn’t imagine a better business partner for himself.

A door opened on the far side of the garage.

Kiefer popped the ring box back in his pocket. “Better go get showered. I’ve got a hot date tonight.”

“Good luck,” said Alec. “You’ll both come and see me after?”

“You bet.” Kiefer gave a jaunty salute as he backed away.

“Alec?”

It was Charlotte, and Alec weaved his way through the parked cars toward her. Something deep inside him settled to contentment as he took her hands in his, drawing her into a hug.

She clung to him for a long minute, burying her head against his shoulder. But there was a tension in her body, a strain in her breathing.

He pulled back to look into her luminous, almost frightened blue eyes.

“Hey?” he asked, going on alert. “What’s wrong? Your father? Jack?”

She shook her head, stepping farther away.

He reached for her, but then something held him back. He got a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Charlotte?”

She turned her head, focusing on the small windows at the top of the bay doors where stark sunlight filtered through. “I…” She closed her eyes.

“You’re scaring me,” he told her honestly.

She nodded, swallowed, then looked back at him. “I’m so sorry, Alec.”

“What?” He took a reflexive step forward, but she shrank back.

“Spit it out, Charlotte,” he demanded. Nothing could be worse than standing here wondering what had put that look in her eyes. And nothing could be worse than getting signals that his help wasn’t welcome.

“I’m-” She took a breath. “I’m pregnant.”

Alec felt as though he’d been punched squarely in the gut. How could she…? When did she…?

“Who?” The question burst out of him with absolutely no eloquence whatsoever.

Her eyes squinted down. “Who what?”

“Who’s the father?” He wasn’t going to rail. He wasn’t going to judge. She was a grown woman when she arrived on his doorstep. He hated that she had a past, but she did.

Her face contorted with anger. “How can you even ask?”

“You think it’s none of my business?” Okay, now he was starting to judge. And now he was starting to get angry. He couldn’t help it. The thought of another man’s hands on Charlotte made him want to break something.

“You, you idiot. You’re the father!”

Alec jerked back. “How-”

“The usual way.” Her hands curled into fists by her sides.

“But it’s only been-”

“Three weeks. Nearly three weeks.”

“The first time?” Not bloody likely.

Her voice went hard. “I’d say so.”

“We used a condom,” he pointed out.

“We did.”

There was a loud buzzing in his ears. She couldn’t be lying. DNA tests were too easy to come by these days. She’d actually gotten herself pregnant. With his willing participation.

Here he’d thought she was different. He’d thought she was honest.

“What?” He sneered. “Did you poke holes in it?”

She blanched, but he honestly wanted to know how she’d pulled it off.

Many women had tried to trap him many different ways. He’d let his guard down with Charlotte. A mistake, obviously. But she’d seemed different, genuine, uninterested in his money. He’d been certain it was safe to enjoy a fling. But now he could almost hear his late father’s admonition in his ears.

Across from him, Charlotte appeared speechless.

“What’s your explanation?” he pressed.

And then they started. The big, shimmering crocodile tears he’d seen a hundred times. Next would be the protestations of innocence, the near-Oscar-quality denial that she’d been involved in any kind of plot whatsoever to get her hands on his money.

Damn.