Last of the Great French Lovers

by Sarah Holland

  Alicia found herself breathing erratically. 'That's none of your business!'

  'It is if I want it to be,' he said softly, a threat implicit in his lazy voice. 'Or have you forgotten how much I enjoy exerting my will over you?'

  She just sat there, her black hair tousled around bare shoulders, heart thudding, her white silk nightdress irresistibly feminine suddenly as she stared into space with excited anger in her dark, Latin eyes.

  'Now,' Jean-Marc Brissac said under his breath, 'I want you to come to my room and have breakfast with me. We can talk about this --'

  'No,' she said tightly, 'I haven't even got out of bed yet. Nor do I intend to for at least another hour. Goodbye.' Slamming the receiver down, she stared at it for a long moment, her pulses racing. How did he manage to have this effect on her? It was like adrenalin invading her bloodstream, just to hear his voice.

  Suddenly, she knew she was wide awake and had no hope of getting back to sleep. Picking up the phone, she rang room service and ordered breakfast. Then she got out of bed, and walked barefoot to the bathroom, the nightdress like a floor-length white silk camisole, skimming her slender body with elegant sensuality.

  As she finished brushing her teeth, there was a peremptory knock on her door. Room service at the Ritz is better than ever, she thought with a lift of her brows, and went to the door to answer the knock.

  With a gasp, she saw Jean-Marc Brissac's hard grey eyes and tried to slam the door in his face. He pushed it open, strode in, slammed it behind him.

  'Oh, God...' Alicia backed shakily, her heart hammering. 'What do you think you're doing? Get out..!'

  'You said you were still in bed,' he told her flatly. 'What did you expect me to do—sit alone in my suite imagining what you looked like? Of course I came straight here. I couldn't do anything else.'

  'Get out!' she repeated jerkily.

  'I can't!' he said with a grim smile, staring at her, his grey eyes moving restlessly, intently over her body. 'I had to see you first thing in the morning. I knew you'd look sensational, but, my God, I didn't think you'd knock me breathless!'

  'You can't be breathless,' she said weakly, running an unsteady hand through her long dark tousled hair. 'You're not the type!'

  'I know! That's what bothers me!' he said under his breath, and came slowly towards her, a darkness in his eyes that almost terrified her.

  'Don't come near me!' she whispered, her eyes staring as she backed. 'I'll scream...!'

  'Go ahead!' he said, his face darkly flushed.

  'No...' Her hands fluttered weakly to his broad shoulders, her mouth going dry.

  'Yes!' he said thickly, and scooped her into his powerful arms, his mouth coming down hard on hers. Alicia moaned, helpless to resist, her hands thrusting at once into his hair as she went dizzy, her mouth opening beneath his.

  He made a harsh sound of excitement under his breath, picked her up in his arms, and strode to the bedroom, kicking open the door, his eyes blazing with a dark, ruthless intent that made her whole body burn.

  He threw her on the bed. She stared up at him, overwhelmed by the stark masculinity of him as he looked down at her, his grey eyes flickering over her supine, helpless body and the way she was breathing, so hoarsely and so wildly, her breasts rising and falling in that acute tense silence.

  Then he joined her on the bed, and she gave a hoarse cry as his strong head lowered and he began to kiss her, forcing her mouth open with a hot, insistent pressure that she immediately responded to, helpless with the fierce desire that seemed to crash in through barriers that could not withstand the torrent any longer.

  She was kissing him back, dazed and drowning in a sea of pleasure, her eyes closed as they exchanged kisses endlessly, exploringly, their hands running unconsciously over each other's throats, Alicia's fingers pushing into his thick dark hair as she abandoned herself to him, arching in sweet response to his powerful brand of lovemaking.

  His hands were stroking down her body, stroking up again, and suddenly they were closing over her breasts, making her melt and shiver all at the same time, her nipples so hard that they almost stung with sexual excitement as he stroked down the bodice of her loose satin nightdress to expose them. He gave a rough sound of pleasure, and Alicia's fingers shook in his hair as he lowered his darkly flushed face to slide his hot mouth over her bare breast.

  Her hoarse cry of abandoned desire as her nipple slid into his mouth made him groan thickly, his breathing ragged as he raised his head, eyes black with desire, and a second later his mouth closed over hers again, forcing the heat higher as he kissed her even more deeply, his strong fingers stroking down to her thighs, gently pulling the satin nightdress up, up, up until her slim thighs were bared to his fingers.

  He was shrugging out of his grey jacket, throwing it to the floor, his breathing hoarse as he loosened his silk tie, eyes glittering with fever, his heartbeat crashing in his powerful chest.

  When he came back to her, his mouth closed over hers again, and this time Alicia was swept away on a deep tide of erotic sensation, moaning thickly as she felt his hard thigh slide between hers and his hands gently tug the bodice of her satin nightdress down to the waist.

  They did not hear the knock at the outside door. They were lost in the powerful sea of mutual desire, their eyes closed and their mouths hungry for each other, their hands moving restlessly, exploringly over each other's bare torsos.

  Footsteps approached the open bedroom door. The rattle of a tea-trolley clunking into the suite living-room was a distant nuisance. But the knock on the bedroom door itself was loud and confident enough to make them blink, staring at each other dazedly in their hot bed of sin.

  As Jean-Marc Brissac turned his head blindly to stare over one powerful bare shoulder, Alicia stared dazedly too, and what she saw made her go white and rigid.

  David stood in the doorway, staring in blank shock, his blue eyes stretched wide with horrified understanding.

  The silence was appalling. Behind him, the waiter was setting out the breakfast she had ordered on the linen-covered trolley, arranging silver and cups, and the awful mundane rattle made Alicia feel sick.

  David just turned round and walked out of the room. The slam of the door as he left made Alicia wince.

  'David...!' she whispered, closing her eyes to blot out the truth of what he had seen: what she had done.

  'He had to find out sooner or later, Alicia,' Jean-Marc said deeply, watching her face. 'This isn't the first time. It will not be the last.'

  'Yes, it will!' Bitterly, her eyes flashed back open. 'Because I hate you for what you've just done!'

  'For what I've just done?' he asked grimly.

  Hot colour flooded her face. 'You forced your way in this room and forced yourself on me, just as you have continually over the last twenty-four hours!'

  'That's a blatant lie and not worthy of you!' he said bitingly.

  She closed her eyes at once, desperate to shut out those penetrating grey eyes and the ruthless face, aware of the truth she could not bring herself to admit, even though she lay here like this, her breasts still warm from his exciting caresses, his powerful hair-roughened chest exposed to her gaze, and the sweet flood of sensual pleasure still pulsing through her veins.

  'He doesn't love you,' Jean-Marc said ruthlessly. 'He is in love with your persona—not your true self. He wants the famous beauty who wins awards and commands respect. Has he ever tried to reach the woman in you? To reach her and make her burn?'

  'Shut up!' she said thickly, keeping her eyes shut. 'Just shut up!'

  There was a silence, then his hand thrust into her tousled hair, tugging her head backwards, making her gasp, eyes opening to stare at him in acute awareness.

  'The war is over!' Jean-Marc said thickly. 'You are mine! I could have taken you just now, and you must admit that. Lie to yourself and you will only strengthen the web of lies you're caught in!'

  'What web of lies?' she asked hoarsely, shaking. 'I don't know what you're talki
ng about!'

  He smiled grimly and released her hair, his mouth hard. 'Do you not, cherie? Then why are you still engaged to a man you do not respect?'

  'I do respect him!' she protested angrily.

  'No.' He shook his dark head. 'He is not man enough for you and you know it. He wanders around after you, full of admiration and worship, and boasts to his friends of his fabulous bride-to-be. But he does not love you—and you do not love him. Your engagement is a sham. And who proposed it?'

  Bitterly, she looked into his grey eyes and said nothing.

  'Did you propose to him?' Jean-Marc drawled with cool ruthlessness. 'I think not. Yet you accepted him. Why? Because you were too afraid to seek and find real love.'

  'Shut up!' she whispered, hatred filling her.

  'You tell me to shut up because I tell you things you cannot face,' he said in a hard voice. 'To find real love is to make yourself vulnerable. And that is your fatal flaw, Alicia. Vulnerability is the one part of you that you cannot reveal, yet it is the most vital if you are to fall in love.'

  'I don't want to fall in love!' she said fiercely, almost squirming under the lethal accuracy of his words. 'It's a stupid, pointless waste of energy!'

  'I agree,' he drawled sardonically. 'But I do not offer you love.'

  'No, I know exactly what you're offering me!' she spat.

  'And you respond excitingly to my demands,' he said with sardonic mockery.

  Alicia trembled with rage, hot colour sweeping her face. 'Get out! I never want to see your face again!'

  'No doubt,' he drawled, and slid off the bed, his magnificent chest making her go dry-mouthed with treacherous desire as she stared at him through dark Latin eyes, and felt his burning gaze rest on her naked breasts, noting the erect pink swell of her nipples.

  Angrily, she tugged the nightdress up to cover herself, feeling appalled by her sense of vulnerability, her hand shaking as she watched him dress, shrugging his white shirt on, buttoning it up with strong fingers, never taking his heavy-lidded grey gaze from her for a second.

  'I will tell Dominique that you agree to take the job,' Jean-Marc said with insolent self-assurance, knotting his silk tie. 'She will be delighted.'

  'Don't tell her anything of the sort!' she said with thick hatred. 'I'd rather die than ever meet you again!'

  'How you cut your nose off,' he drawled, bending to kiss her flushed face, 'to spite your beautiful face!'

  Angrily, she jerked away from him, but his hard mouth left its burning imprint on her high slanting cheekbones. He picked up his jacket and slung it over one broad shoulder with a lazy arrogance she found devastatingly exciting.

  'See you at the chateau!' he drawled, strolling to the bedroom door, a hard smile of triumph on his mouth, and blew her a kiss with one strong hand.

  Was it possible, she wondered, to hate someone as violently as she hated Jean-Marc Brissac? Her engagement was now in ruins. Torn to shreds in twenty-four hours by that ruthless swine, and he was triumphant about it.

  She groaned at the thought of David, what she would say to him, how she would ever be able to face him, but she knew she had to. They still had another day left in Paris, and her heart ached for him at the realisation that the romantic weekend they had planned should have turned out like this.

  Taking a quick shower, she ignored her breakfast, feeling sick at the sight of it and the vivid memories it conjured up. She didn't know how she was going to explain this to David or how she was going to save his male pride.

  Certainly, she had to see him quickly. David had his self-respect, and that was what she would have to protect in the way she approached her explanation.

  Dressing, she found herself choosing a very severe business dress in navy blue that fitted her slender shape perfectly, and had a stark elegance that echoed the severity of the chignon she ruthlessly pulled her black hair into.

  It was almost an obstinate refusal to admit the changes in her, and she knew it. Out of the old, classical and severe image stared a pair of dark gypsy eyes flashing with wild emotion, and a pair of red lips bruised with passion from Jean-Marc's hot kisses.

  Angrily, she pushed the thoughts from her mind, and went along the corridor to David's room. He wasn't there. After knocking persistently, she was forced to take the lift downstairs, to find he had left his key at Reception and checked out.

  * * *

  When she arrived back in London, she took a taxi straight to her Chelsea house. The house was silent, of course, because she lived alone. As she opened the door she saw the handwritten letter on the doormat and her heart sank as she recognised David's writing. He said some terrible things, and she winced at each cutting sentence. How could she blame him? It hurt, though, and made her feel colossal guilt.

  Next day, she was discussing the evening gowns of the winter collection with her redheaded assistant, Deb. Standing in her office, leafing through big, bold design drawings, she paused at the scarlet taffeta ballgown when the door burst open and her niece Lindy rushed in, dark hair flying wildly, eyes filled with hurt accusation.

  'Is it true?' Lindy demanded hoarsely, her sweet young face suffused with hot colour. 'Are you Jean-Marc's latest mistress?'

  Every muscle in her body stiffened. 'You can go, Deb!' she told her assistant.

  Lindy was breathing erratically, the powder-blue dress emphasising her youth. Deb moved reluctantly from the office.

  'Lindy, I --' Alicia began gently.

  'You're going to deny it, aren't you?' Lindy said bitterly. 'David said you would.'

  'David!' Alicia put a hand to her horrified mouth, wincing, saying aloud in an unguarded whisper, 'I can't believe it was he who told you!'

  'Well, it wouldn't be Jean-Marc!' Lindy was shaking. 'He'd rather die than ever contact me again! Besides—he doesn't kiss and tell! He leaves that to his mistresses! Welcome to the ranks, Alicia, you --'

  'Please...!' Alicia winced as she moved towards her young niece protectively. 'Darling, don't upset yourself like this! I can't bear to see you so --'

  'Then why did you do it?' she said hoarsely. 'Why, Alicia... how could you?'

  Alicia said thickly, 'It wasn't deliberate. Please believe me.'

  'David said you were in bed together!'

  'We were on the bed,' Alicia whispered, appalled by the way it sounded. 'That's not the same thing.'

  Lindy stared, hatred in her eyes. 'You bitch!'

  Alicia whitened, taken aback by the adult facing her, and felt the strings that had tied her to her niece being severed as though hacked with a machete.

  'You wanted to prove you could get him!' Lindy said shakingly. 'He was an achievement for you, wasn't he? Just like all the other achievements you've notched up over the years!'

  'Please don't say any more,' Alicia said hoarsely. 'Not because of Jean-Marc Brissac, Lindy! Don't let him come between us like this!'

  'It's too late!' Lindy shook herself free, her voice hard with jealous pain. 'He already has, and that's your doing, Alicia. You've finally overreached yourself, haven't you? What a towering achievement! My clever aunt Alicia has caught the Last of the Great French Lovers!'

  'He's only a man!' Alicia said fiercely. 'Stop using that stupid title!'

  'But you wanted him, didn't you? And you got him! Title and all!' She looked her up and down with blazing contempt. 'I hope you're proud of yourself!'

  Turning on her heel, she walked out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Alicia stood in white-faced agony for a moment, then turned and went to. the desk, picked up the receiver and rang her sister.

  'I have to speak to you,' she broke out as soon as Susannah answered the phone. 'Is there any chance I could come over for lunch today?'

  'Well!' Susannah drawled with wry amusement. 'My baby sister taking time off work! Isn't that sacrilegious?'

  'This is different,' Alicia said thickly, 'I'll be there at one.'

  Susannah lived in a lovely little house in Richmond. The sun shone down over the leafy stree
t, the row of suburban houses warm with family atmosphere.

  Alicia parked her red Jaguar XJS convertible in the driveway and walked up the path, smart as paint in her bright red mini-skirt suit, her black hair pulled back severely.

  'Hello, love.' Susannah answered the door, looking as she always did: dark and plump and pretty. With a flowered dress and white Peter Pan collar, she exuded warmth. When they were settled at the pine table with quiche and salad, Alicia briefly outlined Lindy's visit to the office.

  'David was here for dinner last night,' Susannah told her calmly. 'He told us everything. I knew it was deliberate when I saw Lindy's face.'

  'I can't believe David would do it!' Alicia was appalled. 'To betray me like this...'

  'He obviously wanted to put a rocket under your perfect life.'

  She blinked dark lashes. 'Perfect... ?'

  Susannah studied her wryly. 'It's always seemed perfect. Although, I must admit, I did begin to wonder when you got engaged to David. He didn't seem to fit.'

  'Didn't he?' Alicia was shocked by her words.

  'No. He used to boast about you a lot down at the pub. I didn't like that. It didn't seem like love to me.'

  Alicia paled, pushing her uneaten quiche away.

  'I knew you wouldn't be happy with him, love.' Susannah put a hand over hers. 'He couldn't believe his luck when you agreed to a date. And when you agreed to marry him I began to worry. He would eventually have resented everything about you that makes you you.'

  Alicia looked away, unable to take it in.

  'So what about Jean-Marc Brissac?' Susannah asked suddenly. 'Where does he fit into all this?'

  Mouth tightening, she said thickly, 'He's the catalyst! He wants me, Susannah. I don't know why, but he made a determined bid to get me, and he succeeded for a few devastating moments in Paris.' Her eyes flashed with bitterness. 'That's why poor Lindy has been hurt...'

  'She'll get over it,' Susannah said with a fond smile. 'She's only seventeen. She doesn't know who she is yet. How can she know who she loves?'

  'But if you could have heard the things she said...' Alicia broke out hoarsely.