Transformed Into the Frenchman's Mistress: Transformed Into the Frenchman's Mistress. Barbara Dunlop

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Transformed Into the Frenchman's Mistress: Transformed Into the Frenchman's Mistress - Barbara Dunlop

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I hurting you?” she asked.

      The man barely shook his head, his attention fixed on the firefighters and the approaching ambulances.

      The attendants ran to a couple of people lying on the ground, and Charlotte wasn’t sure whether she should flag them down.

      “I can wait,” the man said, guessing her thoughts.

      “Are you sure?” The towel was soaking up a lot of blood.

      “Charlotte?” It was Raine’s voice.

      Charlotte looked into Raine’s stark expression.

      “What happened? We just got back—”

      “Can you get us a paramedic?”

      Raine’s gaze jumped to the injured man. “Of course.”

      She scooted across the lawn in her skirt and high heels. She stopped a woman in uniform and pointed to Charlotte. The woman grabbed a black case and trotted toward them.

      “Thank you,” said Charlotte as the woman knelt down.

      “I’m fine,” said the man.

      “Let’s take a quick look,” said the attendant, swiftly removing the towel.

      She opened the case and retrieved gauze, disinfectant and medical tape.

      “I’ll be sending you in for some stitches,” she told the man.

      He simply nodded, looking exhausted.

      “What happened?” Raine repeated.

      “The FX trailer blew up,” Charlotte told her.

      Raine’s voice went hushed. “Anybody inside?”

      Charlotte looked to the ambulance attendant.

      The woman shrugged.

      “We made it out,” said the man, and all three women looked at him.

      “We…” His eyelids fluttered rapidly, and the blood drained from his face.

      “Mon dieu.” The attendant quickly laid him prone, raising his feet. “Shock,” she told them, then lifted her radio mic. “Etienne? Can you bring a stretcher?”

      Her radio crackled something unintelligible in response.

      “Have you seen Alec?” asked Raine as the stretcher clattered toward them.

      “He was hosing down buildings.” Charlotte peered into the gloom. The trailer was beaten down to a glowing pile of rubble. The other trailers and the shed were still standing. The lawn was a mud bog, and the surrounding flower beds were completely in ruins.

      Charlotte’s stomach turned hollow. She was causing the destruction of Alec’s home. “I can’t believe this,” she whispered.

      “Freak accident,” said Raine, gazing around.

      The man with the stretcher came to a halt.

      “Fatalities?” asked the female attendant, attracting Charlotte and Raine’s attention.

      The man shook his head. “It sounds like there were three people in the trailer. They all got out. One broken arm. One concussion. Some superficial burns. And this one.” He nodded to the man who was still unconscious on the porch.

      “He’ll need some stitches. We should start an IV and get a blood-pressure reading.”

      The two counted off, hoisting the man onto the stretcher, securing straps and hooking up tubes.

      “He’s going to be fine,” the female attendant told Charlotte.

      “Thank you.” Too bad the same couldn’t be said for Alec’s front yard.

      “It’s not your fault,” said Raine as they wheeled the man away.

      “I promised him nothing would go wrong.”

      “Did you set off the explosion?”

      “No.”

      “Then Alec will understand.”

      Charlotte watched Alec talking to the fire chief. His hands were waving, his face contorted and he was talking fast and emphatically. He didn’t look as if he understood much of anything.

      “We can replant the flowers,” said Raine. “Haul away the rubble.”

      “Fire me,” said Charlotte with a sigh of defeat. She really didn’t want to face Alec’s anger, particularly after she’d seen such a very different side of him.

      “You’re a volunteer,” Raine pointed out. “I don’t think we can fire you.”

      “Do you think he’ll back out of the deal?” Butterflies formed in Charlotte’s stomach as Alec started toward them, eyes hard, mouth pulled in a grim line.

      “I think we’re about to find out,” said Raine.

      Charlotte moved slightly closer to Raine for protection as Alec marched ominously toward them. Her heart rate seemed to increase with every step he took. His hands were dirty, his clothing soaked to his skin, and his face was streaked with soot and sweat.

      He looked ruggedly sexy. Except for the scowl. Okay, even with the scowl, he looked sexy. She was hopeless.

      He came to a halt. “No one was seriously hurt.”

      “I’m so sorry,” said Charlotte.

      Alec’s eyes narrowed, and she assumed it was going to take a whole lot more than an apology.

      “Do they know what happened?” asked Raine.

      “Some kind of electrical malfunction with the pyrotechnics. It’s going to put them behind schedule.” He glanced around in disgust, and Charlotte figured the movie schedule was hardly his first concern.

      He looked to Charlotte. “Can I talk to you alone?”

      “It’s not her fault,” Raine jumped in.

      Alec gave his sister a look that questioned her sanity.

      Charlotte supposed it was her fault. And she didn’t blame Alec for being angry. She was ready to face the music. But she was sorely disappointed at having let the Hudsons down.

      Alec reached for her arm, then he seemed to remember his filthy hands, because he pulled back, nodding toward a quiet corner of the porch.

      “I feel terrible,” she began as soon as they were out of earshot. “I should have thought about security. I should have thought about safety—”

      “I need to ask,” said Alec, coming to a halt, turning to face her. He didn’t

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