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

the bottom of his sweater to pull it up. He lifted his arms and pulled it off the whole way, and then he stood in front of her, bare chested. She could feel her eyes widening as she took in the bronzed magnificence. Whorls of dark hair dusted his pectorals and then met in a silky line that descended down and into the waist of his low-slung jeans which barely clung to lean hips.

      Heat. All Alana could think of was heat.

      He pulled her into him and she gloried in the sensation of his bare chest, running her hands round his back, feeling the satin-smooth olive skin, warm beneath her fingers. He gathered her close and his mouth closed over the beating, throbbing pulse at her neck; his hands travelled down to her bottom and caressed it before searching further and finding the bare skin at the top of her thighs over her stockings. He jerked back and looked down, eyes glittering, breath coming harshly.

       ‘Mon Dieu.’

      ‘What?’ she asked uncertainly, feeling exposed.

      He just shook his head and a huge grin split his face. ‘Stockings. Proper stockings. And suspenders.’ What was turning him on even more was the suspicion that she dressed like this all the time, that it hadn’t been just for him.

      He looked at her then. ‘I knew that underneath all that starch was someone earthy, sensual …’

      He kissed her, and she felt his hands undoing the rest of the buttons on her shirt, the slightly cooler air hitting her torso as he pulled it apart. He looked at her for a long moment before pushing it off, down her arms, until it too joined her dress on the floor.

      The carnal appreciation in his gaze made her throb in response. She was glad now that bizarrely she’d always had an instinctive desire for nice underwear, although she hadn’t indulged it while married, as Ryan had mocked her for trying to be sexy whenever she did. Her breasts were straining against the satin cups of her bra, peaks tingling painfully. Pascal pushed one strap down over her shoulder and dragged down the cup, baring one pale breast to his gaze … and mouth.

      He whispered in her ear, ‘Remember what I said before?’

      She nodded jerkily, anticipation lasering through her veins.

      Then he bent his head and blew softly and enticed, before flicking out his tongue to taste and then drawing that tight, extended peak into his mouth. Alana’s head fell back. She couldn’t stop the moan, and wondered at this woman she didn’t recognise.

      As Pascal suckled, a tight spiral of intense sensation connected directly with Alana’s groin. She found herself pressing closer, seeking, wanting more, arching her back. He had taken down the other cup, so now both her breasts were bared, upthrust and framed by the satin black material.

      He was torturing her with his mouth. She couldn’t breathe. He reached down, lifted one leg and hooked it around his thigh. His other hand was on the leg that was barely able to keep her standing. His fingers danced over the suspenders; she felt him snap open the ties, then smooth around to cup the cheek of her bottom before slipping his hand between her legs.

      She stopped breathing entirely for a long moment as he pushed her panties aside and slid his finger into her, into a caress so intimate that she would have closed her legs if she’d been able to. He was relentless, his mouth on her breasts, his finger sliding in and out, until finally, as if he’d been teasing her, he found the centre of where she throbbed unmercifully and, with one flick of his thumb, she came violently. She could only cling to him as the sensation ripped through her body in case she’d be swept away too.

      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