Fiona McArthur - Escape For Mother's Day - The French Tycoon's Pregnant Mistress

Her leg that was lifted fell. She couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. A bit like chemical attraction; she’d read about it, heard about it. But amazingly …

‘Alana, was that your first orgasm?’ He sounded slightly stunned, and Alana cringed inwardly at how gauche she must seem.

He stood upright and let her settle against him, cradling her with a disconcerting level of tenderness. As if he could sense her turmoil, he tipped her head back. ‘No, don’t do that. You’re amazingly responsive, but it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. It’s a compliment.’

She looked at him shyly, mortified. ‘I’m—’

‘Don’t say it.’ He shook his head. His expression was enigmatic. ‘You were married; did you never …?’

She shook her head quickly, her body still pulsing in the aftermath, making her feel a little out of this world. Spaced out. ‘My husband never … made me feel like that. We didn’t sleep together for the last three years of our marriage.’

‘And you were married for …’

‘Five years.’ Unwelcome reality was trickling back in. Alana resented the questions now; she didn’t want to think of Ryan. This was her new start for herself. Ryan was in the past.

‘Alana—’

She pressed a finger to Pascal’s mouth and could feel his breath feather there, could feel a delicious tightening in her belly. ‘Please. I don’t want to talk about it, OK?’ He didn’t say anything for a long moment, and then finally he nodded.

Alana gave a huge sigh of relief, and then yelped as Pascal lifted her into his arms against his chest.

‘Time to go somewhere more comfortable, I think. Much as I could take you standing against that wall right now, I’ll resist the temptation.’

She buried her head in his shoulder as he climbed the stairs and shouldered his way into his room.

A part of her wanted nothing more than that carnality, but another part of her was grateful that he was being so considerate.

He looked down at her briefly, his face tight with need. ‘Is this OK?’

She nodded. She knew one thing for sure for the first time in ages. ‘Yes.’

Alana woke to a delicious sensation of someone running a finger up and down her bare spine in a tingling caress. Pascal. Warmth flooded her even as she registered aches and pleasurable pains all over her body. She opened one eye to see him smiling at her, looking clean, vital and very awake. He smelt fresh, delicious. And sexy. Heat flooded her belly.

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.