Escape For Mother's Day: The French Tycoon's Pregnant Mistress

The previous night came back in Technicolor: the pathetic fight she’d put up before giving in, the amount of times they’d made love, the amount of times she’d reached ecstasy because of him.

He bent his head and his mouth hovered near her ear. ‘No regrets and no recriminations. We agreed, remember?’

Alana turned her face into the pillow so he wouldn’t see her blushing. She just nodded into the pillow. She heard a soft, sexy chuckle and then felt a playful swat on her bottom. The bed dipped and she could feel him standing up.

‘Come on; my car will be here for you in half an hour, and if you’re anything like the rest of your species, you’ll be struggling to get ready in time.’

Alana lifted her head with a squeak. ‘Half an hour?’ She cursed under her breath and went to get up, and realised that she had no cover, as her clothes had practically melted off her last night in the heat of passion that had consumed them. She was stuck. Pascal stood between her and the door from where she could get to her own bedroom. She was not ready to parade around naked in broad daylight.

He watched, amused, as she pulled the sheet from the bed and wrapped it around her before getting up and trailing it after her.

Before she was clear of him, he caught her and pulled her against him. He pressed a hot kiss to her mouth. ‘Take the sheet for now, but I’ll have you walking around naked in no time.’

‘Never …’

He kissed her again, and suddenly the vortex was opening up around them, and in a shamingly small amount of time Alana knew she would be saying yes to anything, even going to work naked. But then he drew back, showing her that ultimately he was in control, whereas she was not. He pushed her gently towards her room.

Under the powerful spray of her shower, Alana hugged her arms around herself and gave into the stream of images. She groaned out loud as she remembered one moment, half in mortification, half in a state of arousal, even now. Pascal had been poised above her, skin gleaming, slick with sweat, his erection nudging her moist entrance. As if he’d been testing her again, he’d waited until her nerves had been screaming for release. She’d arched up to him, willing him to impale her, but he’d waited until she’d brokenly begged him. And then he’d slid into her slowly, deeply.

With a curt flick of her wrist Alana turned the shower to cold and endured it for a minute. Anything to dampen her flaming hormones.

* * *

At the match later Pascal came and found her at half time, and took her by the hand. She was distracted; she’d been trying to set up an interview for after the match with the England manager.

‘Pascal, I’m working, you can’t just walk up and drag me away,’ she said with a mixture of reproach and breathless anticipation.

He ignored her and took her down into long corridors before ducking into a room full of equipment. He closed the door behind them.

Still holding her hand, he pulled her to him. She was helpless not to respond, her body welcoming his heady proximity. How quickly she’d become consumed by him. Alarm bells weren’t just ringing, they were now joined by sirens and flashing lights.

With quick hands, he undid her ponytail and pocketed the band.

‘Hey!’

Then he put two hands in her hair and mussed it up. He looked at her critically. ‘Much better. And now …’

‘Now what?’

‘Now this.’ He hauled her into him and kissed her deeply, with barely checked passion. She wound her arms around his waist and found her hands lifting his shirt from his trousers, searching for and finding that smooth, taut flesh where the small of his back curved out to firm buttocks. Warmth flooded her. He was opening the buttons of her shirt; she’d tried to put on her tie that morning but he’d kept taking it off her. She could feel the air on her heated skin as he opened her shirt and palmed her breast, her nipple aching against the confines of her bra. She pressed a feverish mouth against his throat.

And then suddenly the spell was broken as someone tried to come in the door behind them. Pascal said something quickly in Italian and started to do up her buttons again. Alana didn’t know how she was going to be able to go back out there and string two words together.

Her brain was mush for the rest of the match and the ensuing interviews, but somehow she managed to keep it together. Pascal was waiting for her, exactly like he’d been waiting and watching that first day in Dublin. Only now … A wave of heat engulfed her … only now it was totally different. She was different.

Her crew feigned extreme lack of interest in the fact that Pascal Lévêque was hovering like a bodyguard. But once the last interview was done, and she’d been given the all clear from the Dublin studio, effectively the rest of the weekend was hers.

In the back of Pascal’s car a short time later, he pulled her over so she was practically on his lap. She’d given up trying to pull away and retain a more dignified position for the sake of the driver. He pressed a kiss to the underside of her wrist and looked up at her.

‘Are you glad to be here now?’

Alana looked down at him and felt the earth move bizarrely beneath her feet even though they were in a moving vehicle. Something very suspicious tightened her chest. She nodded, because she had to admit it. ‘Yes. I am glad.’ She bent her head and pressed a kiss to his mouth, revelling in the freedom she had to do this. They’d achieved an immediate level of intimacy that would be frightening if she thought about it too closely.

She was embarking on an affair with a world-renowned playboy and that was going to be her protection: at no point would she be deluded. At no point would there be talk of love, marriage. It would end when it would end. And she’d take the gift of herself that he’d given back to her, like a guilty, delicious secret. That was all she wanted. This was all she wanted.

Later that evening Alana took one last look at her reflection and turned to leave the room, but just then her door opened. Pascal stopped dead for a moment, his gaze raking her up and down, and then he clapped his hand over his eyes. ‘I can’t believe it.’

Alana felt like a fool. She knew she shouldn’t have worn the dress—it was ridiculous, too tight, too revealing. ‘Look, I can change, I’m not even that comfortable.’

Pascal wasn’t moving.

She took a hesitant step forward. ‘What, what is it? Is it really that bad?’

Alana tried to look back at the mirror self-consciously when she heard something suspiciously like a grunt coming from Pascal.

He’d taken his hand down and was laughing. Then he stopped and walked towards her. ‘I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it. It was the shock of seeing so much exposed flesh at once.’

Alana all at once felt like laughing and angry. She picked up a small cushion from the chair beside her and threw it at him, but he caught it deftly and kept coming. Dressed in a tuxedo, with his hair still damp from the shower, he was magnificent.

She had to speak to try and negate the effect he had on her, the way his teasing wound through her and impacted a place that was so deep, so vulnerable.

‘I’m going to change right now; I knew this dress was a mistake.’

She went to undo the zip that was under her arm, and Pascal reached her and captured her hand. ‘Don’t you dare. That dress is beautiful.’

Alana’s face flamed. ‘It’s not. It’s too—’

‘So why did you bring it, then?’

She couldn’t answer. He walked her over to the full-length mirror and stood her in front of him. His hands rested on her hips. She could feel him, tall and hard and lean behind her, and it was so seductive.

‘Look at yourself.’

Alana closed her eyes, her cheeks still scarlet. She shook her head. ‘I hate looking at myself.’

‘Alana, look at yourself.’

Something in his voice made her open her eyes, and she immediately looked at him through the mirror. She could feel him sigh behind her.

‘Not at me, at yourself.’

With extreme reluctance, she did. She saw the black silk dress that was cut on the bias and fell to just below her knees in an asymmetric line. She saw one shoulder, pale and bared, and just a hint of a curve of her breast. She saw the strap that held the dress up over her other shoulder with its flamboyant red-silk flower, a splash of vibrant colour.

‘Now, what’s wrong with this picture?’

Alana groaned inwardly. This was so embarrassing. She would bet a million dollars that not one of his previous lovers had had to be reassured about a dress before.

She tried to turn. ‘Look, it’s nothing, I’m sorry. Let’s just go, shall we?’

He wouldn’t let her. He held her fast, and something in the air changed. It became electric.

‘You’re beautiful, Alana. This dress is beautiful on you. It’s not too revealing. In fact,’ he growled with mock lasciviousness, ‘it’s not revealing enough.’

He turned her then to face him, his hands warm on her shoulders. She could feel her breasts peak against the silk of the dress.

He tipped up her chin so she couldn’t avoid his eyes. ‘What did he do to you, Alana? I bet you weren’t always like this.’

Alana struggled not to let the tears brighten her eyes, but there was a lump in her throat. She shook her head. ‘No, I wasn’t. He just … he just made me feel cheap. That’s all.’

She pulled free of his arms and looked at her watch. ‘We should really go.’

He heard the emotion in her voice and watched her precede him out of the room, the dress emphasising her gently curved shape, the jut of her rounded bottom. He could recall only too clearly the thrust of her breasts against his chest.

He stalled a moment before following her out. She was so totally different from any woman he’d known before that he couldn’t quite begin to rationalise how she made him feel. Physically, he burned for her. Earlier at the match he’d quite literally had to see her, touch her at half time or he’d felt he would have gone insane. She’d been preoccupied. First of all, he wasn’t used to any woman being preoccupied around him, and secondly, he wasn’t used not to being in complete control with his lovers. They turned him on, yes, that was what he chose them for, but never to the extent that he felt with this woman. This was something different.

He straightened his cuffs before walking out, uncomfortably aware of his near-constant state of arousal. She was just different because she wasn’t one of the polished socialites that littered his social scene, who threw themselves at him, that was all. It was still just an affair, and he’d no doubt that he’d soon look at her and wonder what he’d been hot and bothered about.

A little later, in the exclusive hotel which was hosting his bank’s lavish charity-ball, Pascal felt extremely hot and bothered. Alana was generating a veritable tsunami of attention in her sexy dress. After having spent the last two weeks trying to get her out of her buttoned-up uniform, now he wanted to march her right out of there and make her change back into it.

Clamping her to his side was a need born out of a violent emotion that he’d never felt before as acquaintance after acquaintance came up under the pretext of talking business, whereupon they did nothing but stare at Alana. She seemed oblivious, but Pascal was too inured to women and their wily ways. And he was all too aware of how beguiling her natural beauty was to these men, who were jaded and cynical. As jaded and cynical as he was. Was he no better than these men? He’d just seen her first. All sorts of conflicting, unsavoury thoughts were being unleashed within him. Not least of which was the sensation that perhaps he’d been fooled, fooled by her act, her apparent vulnerability. How could she really be so different?

He dragged her attention back from where she was looking in awe at the room around them, and muttered something about getting drinks. He saw a flash of uncertainty in her eyes and ignored it, and the feeling it generated through him. He needed space.

Alana looked to where Pascal was cutting a swathe through the glittering crowd. She couldn’t help but notice the intense interest he generated among every cluster of women in the room, who also followed his progress with avid attention. Some of them turned then to look at her, and she felt extremely self-conscious. Trying to shrug off the immediate insecurity that their looks generated, she walked to where ornate doors led out to a small, idyllic garden. Even though it was cool, one or two people mingled outside. The hotel was pure opulence, one of the oldest and grandest in Rome, situated with a view of the Spanish Steps.

She couldn’t help but think of similar situations with Ryan. He’d always dumped her as soon as they got in the door and made straight for the bar. Invariably she’d be left on her own all evening and would return home alone, only to wake up in the morning and find that he hadn’t even returned. She’d stopped worrying about his whereabouts soon into the marriage when it had become clear he’d never seemed to miss her.

She rubbed her arms distractedly, as she had that sensation of someone walking over her grave.

‘Bella.’

Alana jumped and turned to see a tall man standing beside her, looking her up and down. She looked nervously over his shoulder back into the room, but couldn’t see Pascal. She smiled tightly. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t speak Italian; I’m just waiting for someone, actually.’

‘Then it’s lucky that I speak English. You are a very beautiful woman.’

Alana blushed. ‘That’s very … nice of you to say.’ The man was attractive in a heavy-set kind of way, but there was something faintly menacing about him. He’d moved subtly and now he effectively blocked her from the room. In order to move, Alana would have to push past him or go into the garden. She didn’t want to retreat to a dark area where he might follow her.

‘Please.’ He held out a hand. ‘Can I know your name?’

Alana sent up a silent prayer for Pascal to find her. Where was he? She couldn’t ignore the man, as that would be unaccountably rude. So she shook his hand very perfunctorily and whipped hers back before he could clasp it. ‘Alana Cusack; I’m very pleased to meet you. Now, please, my friend will be looking for me.’ Except patently he wasn’t. A very familiar feeling of pain clutched her deep down inside.

She went to move past the man, but he stopped her with an arm. Alana flinched back from the contact.

His voice now held a distinctly threatening tone. ‘But I haven’t told you my name yet, and your accent—where are you from? It is so pretty.’

Alana was beginning to feel desperate. Even though Ryan had never physically harmed her, the latent threat had always been there, and now the memory was making her feel panicky. ‘Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t really want to know your name, OK? Now, I’m sorry, but would you please get out of my way?’

After a long, tense moment, he stepped back with hands held high and spread. ‘Go then, if you want, it’s your loss.’

Alana seized the opportunity and fled. Her heart was hammering, and she had an awful, sick feeling in her chest, an overwhelming sensation of foreboding. She pushed through the crowd and then she saw Pascal, and the whole room tilted crazily, the chatter dulling to a faint roaring in her ears.

He was at the bar, talking to a woman. He didn’t look as if he was in a hurry to go anywhere, much less to look for Alana. The woman was stunningly beautiful—blonde, tall, slim, in a sparkling gown with a thigh-high slit that was being provocatively displayed. She had a hand on Pascal’s waist and was leaning in, her whole body arching seductively into his. His head was bent towards hers as if she were telling him something intimate.

It all hit Alana at once, and again she felt acutely self-conscious in her revealing dress. She hated the compulsion that had led her to wear it now. But, worse than that, she’d let herself be taken in again by a man who lived his life searching for the next thrill, the next pleasure-point. The next adoring female. She could see all too well, in a room like this, how she must have been such a novelty. The innocent Irish cailín. And then, like watching a car crash in slow motion, she saw Pascal’s hand go to where the woman’s rested on his waist. He was about to thread his fingers through hers, lift her hand to his mouth. Alana knew it. But just before she could turn away her humiliation became complete. They both turned, as if they could sense her watching them.

The glittering, too-bright icy-blue gaze of the woman was mocking, triumphant. Pascal’s was … She didn’t wait to find out. Turning, Alana stumbled and pushed through the crowd until she was finally free of the room and burst out into the spacious and hushed lobby. She walked quickly to the door on jelly legs, where a doorman rushed to open it for her.

CHAPTER FIVE

ALANA stood on the steps, shivering.

‘You would like me to get you a taxi, madam?’

‘Yes, please,’ Alana said gratefully to the nice doorman. She had no idea where she would go—all her stuff was at Pascal’s—but she just wanted away from here.

‘She doesn’t need a taxi, she’s with me. Can you send for my driver, please?’ a familiar deep voice, throbbing with anger, came from behind her and she stiffened in rejection.

A harsh hand on her arm pulled her round. She met furious dark eyes, and everything in her rebelled against his anger. The fact that the doorman had already scurried off to do his bidding made things even worse.

‘I believe that I just ordered a taxi; thanks all the same for the offer of the lift.’

‘What the hell just happened back there?’

‘Why, I believe what just happened is that you saw a better option and decided to pursue it, leaving me at the mercy of a … a creepy, slimy lounge-lizard.’

His hand tightened on her arm. ‘What are you talking about? Did someone come on to you? Did someone do something to you?’

‘No,’ she dismissed him furiously, while trying to shake him off unsuccessfully. ‘Not that you would have noticed anyway. But, thanks, you’ve saved me going back in to look for you. If you could give me the keys to your apartment, I’d appreciate it; I’ll get my things and be gone by the time you get back. No doubt you’ll be wanting the place to yourself tonight?’

‘And why would that be?’ His voice was arctic, but Alana was on fire.

‘Do you really need me to spell it out, Pascal? I thought you were more sophisticated than that.’ She berated herself bitterly now for having allowed herself to be seduced by him.

‘Apparently not so sophisticated that I can go to the bar to get a drink for my date and turn around to find she has disappeared, only to find her again and have her run from the room as if I’d chased her out myself.’

He’d been looking for her? A reflex to stop, to apologise, was quashed as she remembered the woman. They’d looked far too cosy. She’d only known Pascal two weeks. Did she really think she could trust him? Her astounding naïvety mocked her mercilessly.

‘Your companion might have another impression. She seemed to think that you were quite interested in what she had to offer.’

Pascal could recall only too noxiously what the British model Cecilia Hampton had been offering. She’d all but wrapped herself around him like a clinging vine, and had spoken in an absurdly quiet, jarring little-girl voice—a well-worn ploy to get a man to come closer, whereupon she’d all but thrust her enormous fake bosom in his face. He’d been feeling foolish ever since he’d stalked away from Alana to get drinks, and had turned back to get her, imagining all the predatory males in the room moving in on her, but she’d disappeared.

His car drew up at that moment and, heaving a sigh of relief, he hurried Alana down the steps and into the back, making her slide along the seat and getting in beside her, not giving her a chance to get out. Or say a thing.

In the back of the car Alana ripped her arm from Pascal’s grasp, her skin hot and tingling. ‘How dare you? I want you to let me out this minute. I’ll get a cab.’

She sat forward and opened her mouth to speak to the driver, but Pascal hauled her over and she lay sprawled inelegantly against him. With his other hand he flicked a switch and the privacy window slid up with a hiss.

The air was electric around them. Alana was very aware of how she lay practically across his lap, in a pose of supplication that galled her. His body was tense and taut, and unmistakably hard. It made her feel sick, that he could so easily transfer his desire from one to another.

‘Isn’t there something wrong with this picture?’ she gritted out, holding herself as tense and as far away as possible.

‘Yes,’ Pascal ground out. ‘You’re wearing far too many clothes for my liking and I want you now.’

Alana tried to pull free, but he was remorseless and held her still. ‘You don’t want me, you want her.’

In an instant Pascal had shifted and lifted Alana with an ease that shocked her. She found herself straddling his lap, knees pressed either side of his powerful thighs. His hands were on her waist, holding her captive. A wave of anger and humiliation at her own helpless response, her lack of strength, drove her to try and move but she couldn’t.

Her arms were rigid, either side of Pascal’s shoulders on the seat behind them. With his hands firmly on her waist he shifted her slightly so that she could feel where his erection strained between them against the confines of his trousers. A rush of desire made her suck in a betraying breath. And then his hands came up to her dress, to undo the clasp hidden underneath the flower. If he undid that, her dress would fall to her waist.

‘Don’t you dare.’ She caught his hands, but he swatted hers away with ease. He undid her dress and it fell. Alana caught it. The motion of the car made her fall against him, and made the apex between her legs grind into Pascal’s hardness. She could hear his breath coming harshly, see the colour slash across his cheekbones. She felt sick inside, knowing that he could just as easily be doing this with any other woman.

She heard him sigh, and he looked up at her with a curiously unguarded expression. She was caught by it.

‘Alana, please believe me: if I were in the unfortunate position of having Cecilia Hampton straddle my lap right now, I can assure you that she would not be feeling what you’re feeling.’

He snaked a hand around the back of her neck. Alana tried to hold herself stiff, but it was too difficult. His voice was low, reasonable, and oh, so sexy. ‘You’d disappeared when I went looking for you, so I went back to wait at the bar, thinking you’d come find me there. Cecilia approached me. If you’d watched for another few seconds before running out, you would have seen me extricate myself from her extremely unwelcome embrace.’

Alana looked down at him. He looked sincere. Had she read it wrong? She found herself wanting to believe him so much. And that was beyond scary in its implications. But right now she could avoid thinking about it without a huge amount of effort. The need consuming her, consuming the air around them, was too great. Desire flowed, hot and urgent, between them. This was all-encompassing, and she had to give into it and deal with the fallout later.

Pascal slowly moved his hand from the back of her neck, over her shoulder and down to her hands. He exerted a little bit of pressure and Alana let him pull her hands away, giving in to a need too great. Her dress fell to her waist, baring her breasts. She put her hands back onto the seat behind Pascal. He took her face in his hands and kissed her softly, reverently. It made something hard melt inside her. She sank into him, found her hips moving sinuously against his. Urgency rose. His kiss became more forceful. He dragged his mouth away and held the weight of one breast in his hand before flicking out a tongue and laving the distended peak. Alana’s back arched.