Last of the Great French Lovers

by Sarah Holland

  'How?' she asked, though she knew.

  His mouth tightened into a white line and he bit out under his breath, 'Surrender to me! Now! Give me everything I need to ease my pain and anger!'

  She caught her breath, sudden anger flashing in her dark eyes. 'I've told you the truth! What more do you want?'

  'I've spent the last four hours sitting up here waiting for you to come home from your date with my best friend!' he said hoarsely. 'And I'm eaten up with tension! Now I want you to prove you didn't try to test your new-found passion on Pierre—or any other man—in my absence!'

  'But how can I prove that?'

  He gave a harsh laugh. 'How do you think?' His eyes moved insultingly over her body and his hand shot suddenly to her breast, stroking it, his fingers hard. 'If you let me take you, I'll soon find out if you've been unfaithful!'

  Her hand slapped him hard across the face and his head jerked back.

  With a snarl, he scooped her up into his arms, carried her struggling body to the bed, laid her down on it and joined her, ignoring her angry fight, taking her wrists and pinning them to the mattress as his long hard body took dominance.

  'Please...!' she whispered as his head blotted out the light. 'Jean-Marc, don't...!'

  His hard mouth closed over hers, silencing her, and at once the desire flooded through her, her long hoarse moan as she opened her mouth to him making his hands shake as they slid away from her wrists to the hips, and she found herself sliding against him, her hands moving instinctively to his strong neck, his thick black hair, pushing through it with restless movements.

  The kiss deepened, and she was lost in a sensual daze, her mouth hungrily passionate on his, her body warm and responsive as his strong hands ran over it, both impatient to kiss and to touch each other after such a long absence.

  Like the lovers they had gradually become, they became inflamed so quickly that Alicia's hoarse moans mingled with Jean-Marc's rough sounds of excitement, and his hands grew impatient with the exquisite red silk dress she wore, stroking the zip down, pulling the dress over her shoulders, revealing the lacy red bra she wore.

  'Mon Dieu...!' he muttered thickly, tugging the red lace bra down to expose her full breasts and the erect pink nipples that throbbed for his touch. 'Alicia... tell me you thought of me when I was away! Tell me you thought of this!'

  'Yes...!' she whispered, and he bent his dark head with a groan, his hot mouth closing over her nipple, eliciting a hoarse cry of excitement from her as she arched towards him, her hands in his hair.

  His mouth sucked hungrily at her breast, his strong hands stroking her slim thighs as she moved against him, and he raised his head, thrust one strong thigh between hers, moved back to take her mouth, kissing her deeply.

  'I thought of you constantly!' he said thickly against her mouth. 'You're a drug in my bloodstream!'

  'You didn't call!' she whispered accusingly. 'You didn't write! Three weeks, and not even a postcard!' Her voice shook with bitterness.

  'I sent you flowers!' he said harshly, raising his dark head, face deeply flushed and eyes glittering with fever. 'What more did you want?'

  Her mouth quivered with deep passion. 'You're such a practised lover! How many women have you sent flowers to? And how personal is it? Just a phone call and a credit-card number!'

  'You would have argued with me if I had called you,' he said sardonically. 'And you would have read any written communication with suspicion.'

  She flushed, lowering her lashes. What he said was true.

  He watched her in silence for a moment, then said deeply, 'Did it hurt, Alicia? To no longer be the centre of my universe?'

  With a gasp, she looked up at him.

  'Is that why you went out with my best friend?' he asked grimly. 'To get back at me?'

  'I told you!' she said angrily. 'Pierre was bored and --'

  'And you knew it would hurt me,' he said thickly, his hands tightening on her waist. 'Which is exactly why you did it. Don't deny it, Alicia. I see it in your eyes, a flash of triumph, even though I know you dare not admit it to yourself.'

  Hot colour swept her face. 'I didn't do it deliberately! I didn't even know you were back, or that you'd find out!'

  'I don't doubt you never admitted it consciously to yourself,' he said tightly. 'But you knew I'd find out. And you knew, when I did, I would be jealous.'

  Her breath caught and she said bitterly, 'Just as I was jealous when I caught you with Isabelle!'

  He stared for a second, then laughed softly, and as he did she realised how she had betrayed her deepest motives in going out with Pierre tonight, and knew he was right: she had done it deliberately, unconsciously, needing badly to get back at him and thrust the knife of jealousy into his heart.

  'Oh...!' she whispered in appalled self-awareness. 'Oh, no...!'

  'Oh, yes,' he said thickly. 'You were seething inside and you wanted to make me seethe. Well, you got your wish, Alicia. I am burning with jealousy and rage.' He moved away from her, tore his black sweater off, muscles rippling as his tanned flesh was exposed. 'Here...' he said thickly, touching the left side of his chest.

  With a breathless moan, she was sliding her hands to his broad shoulders, her mouth opening against his chest, luxuriating in his harsh muffled sound of excitement, the fierce ragged heartbeat against her face and the feel of that taut flesh, the black hairs and warmth.

  'You stuck a knife through my heart!' Jean-Marc said thickly, pulling her face back up, his hard mouth very close. 'You betray yourself, she-devil!' His hand slid to her bare breast, felt the thudding heartbeat. 'You betray your desire...!'

  His mouth closed over hers again, and they went up in flames, their hands running over each other with hoarse cries of need, and when he gave a low snarl and began to tug the red silk dress from her she barely noticed, lost in the fire of his mouth, her eyes closed and her head spinning as he stripped her to her red lace briefs.

  He was breathing harshly, pressing her semi-nude body against his, and the male hardness burned a dominant need against her centre as he parted her slender legs, one strong hand shaking on her inner thigh, his mouth sliding over hers with the possession she had needed for so long.

  When his strong hands properly unhooked the bra, she started to pant, shivering with hot excitement as he dropped it to the floor and ran his hands over her, making her moan, her jaw locked with intolerable tension as she moved helplessly, rhythmically against his hardness, hardly knowing what she was doing, her eyes closed and her head thrown back in an agony of need.

  Jean-Marc muttered something hoarsely under his breath, lifting his dark head from her, staring down at her as though about to go insane, his breath coming fast and his heart slamming against his chest.

  Suddenly, he closed his eyes and moved away from her, swinging off the bed, raking a hand through his thick black hair and staring down at her, his grey eyes flickering with restless hunger over her long-limbed, passionately sensual face and body.

  'I want you to move in here with me,' he said thickly. 'Leave your London house and come here for good.'

  Her eyes widened in horror. 'What... ?'

  'I can't go on like this,' he said under his breath. 'Seeing you only at weekends, in between business trips --'

  'You mean you want me to become your mistress!' she said hoarsely, sitting up in bed, suddenly covered in deep shame and humiliation as she dragged the silk quilt up over her nudity.

  'Don't be absurd,' he said thickly. 'You are still seconds away from becoming my mistress, Alicia! I could have taken you just now and you would have welcomed it!'

  She winced, bitterly ashamed. 'You bastard!'

  He gave an angry laugh. 'How can I be a bastard when I did not take what you so obviously wanted to give me?'

  Alicia lowered her eyes, mouth white as she plucked at the silk duvet, hating him for telling the truth, hating herself for being such a fool, so easily drowned in sensual fire by his kisses.

  'Cherie,' Jean-Marc stud
ied her bent head, his voice roughening, 'I want you with me. That is all. And besides—you are scheduled to move in in two weeks' time to put the wedding plans into full operation.'

  'That's different,' she said huskily. 'It's business.'

  He laughed under his breath, sank down on to the bed beside her. 'Alicia, I want you with me.' His hand slid under her chin, forced her face up. 'And if you're honest, you will admit you feel the same.'

  She looked at him through her lashes, her face flushed.

  'You did miss me,' he said softly, 'didn't you?'

  Her eyes closed. 'Yes...!' she whispered bitterly.

  A smile touched the hard mouth. 'Then do as I ask. When you fly back to London, pack as many things as possible and move in for the month preceding the wedding.'

  'Making it clear to the entire world that I'm your mistress?' she asked angrily, flashing her eyes open, filled with dark hate. 'I'd rather die, Jean-Marc!'

  His mouth tightened. 'I want you with me!' he bit out under his breath, then stood up again, his eyes angry, scooped up his black sweater and strode to the door, biting out over one shoulder, 'And I will have you!'

  The door slammed so hard as he left that the wood rattled.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Of course, Alicia was now face to face with her own folly. Jean-Marc had been pushing her towards this choice from the moment he came into her room at the Ritz and forced her to respond to his kiss. She wanted him, and he had known it from the very beginning. And what was the very beginning? If she was honest, it was the moment she first saw him, first met those grey eyes across the room with Lindy beside her, and felt that rage flash out of her like an electric current. Her passionate involvement with him had started with that moment, and led to this one: her sitting almost naked on a bed, her hair tousled, her eyes burning, and her mouth bruised with his kiss.

  It's not love, though, she thought with pain stinging her heart. He doesn't love me. He just wants to make me his mistress, and, after a long hard fight, he's almost got me there: where I wanted to be all along.

  But it wasn't what she wanted. Or at least, it wasn't enough. She knew that as she sat there, staring into space with hurt eyes, and feeling the empty ache in her heart.

  Of course she was in love with him.

  Hopelessly in love with him, and that really was the deciding factor. Alicia had always prided herself on being so cool, calm, collected. So successful and sophisticated and together, with her streamlined life under total control.

  The truth was, that had always been a front for her wildly romantic heart, for her vulnerability and chaotic emotions, and the danger she knew awaited her if she ever let her guard down.

  Well, she had let her guard down with Jean-Marc Brissac, and now she was going to have to pay the price. She had no choice now. No choice at all.

  Slowly, she got to her feet, her legs shaking, and began to dress. It was two o'clock in the morning, but she knew a taxi would come if she rang for one, and by the time she reached Paris an early morning flight would be ready to take her back to London.

  It was like killing herself to walk out of the chateau gates at three in the morning when the taxi slowly sidled up. The engine ran and the headlights blazed in the cool darkness, and the driver looked at her curiously as she got in, but she couldn't speak, and a moment later she was on her way home.

  Her flight landed at eight a.m. at Heathrow, and she shivered as she caught a black taxi to Chelsea. Her house seemed to echo with her own heartbreak, but she forced herself to lock up properly, take the phone off the hook.

  Then, Alicia went to bed and cried herself to sleep.

  It was six o'clock at night when she awoke. The house smelt of loneliness and heartbreak. She couldn't stay here. Besides, it would be the first place Jean-Marc would look for her.

  Half an hour later, she got into her red XJS and drove to Richmond.

  'Alicia!' Susannah's face was a picture of shock as she opened the front door. 'What on earth are you doing here? I thought you were in France with --'

  'I had to leave,' Alicia said, her eyes blazing with dark emotion. 'I couldn't think of anywhere else to go, so I came here. Am I intruding?'

  'No, not at all!' Susannah held the door wide, staring at Alicia's white face, bruised mouth and the tousled silk of her long dark hair. 'I was just making moussaka for Bobby. He's still at the pub, though, and Lindy's out with this new boyfriend of hers. Come in...'

  Alicia went in, going immediately to the warm well-lit kitchen, the sound of the television blaring from the living-room. For a second, she just stood in the kitchen, her mouth trembling with the need to talk.

  Susannah studied her with a concerned frown. 'What's wrong, Alicia?' she asked gently. 'You look as though you've been through the mill.'

  Alicia's dark eyes shimmered with tears as she raised them to her sister's face. 'Oh, Susannah,' she said rawly, 'I think I've fallen in love with him.'

  Susannah caught her breath, walking to her and catching her in a warm embrace. Alicia burst into tears on her plump shoulder for the first time since she was a small child, and found herself clinging to her, unable to stem the flow of tears.

  It occurred to her as she cried that she had not cried when her parents died. It also occurred to her that that had been a bad idea. But all the emotion was whirling inside of her, pouring out as she clung to her sister, crying uncontrollably.

  'There now,' Susannah said gently when at last the storm of weeping was over, and drew back to study Alicia's ravaged face. 'You really needed that, didn't you?'

  Alicia nodded, groping for a tissue, and blew her nose.

  'I take it you mean Jean-Marc Brissac?' Susannah watched her with understanding eyes. 'You're in love with him?'

  Alicia nodded, screwing up the tissue, and the television continued to blare incessantly in the other room.

  'Tell me what happened,' Susannah said, 'while I make you a nice cup of tea.';

  Brokenly, Alicia began to tell her, leaving out the more intimate details and the more betraying revelations of her own passionate nature, but letting Susannah see that Jean-Marc had tried to coerce her into becoming his mistress.

  'It doesn't surprise me,' Susannah said later, sipping her tea with a wry smile. 'I knew it would happen once I heard you'd been caught in a sizzling clinch with him!'

  Alicia stared. 'A sizzling clinch...!'

  'Well, that's what it was, wasn't it?' Susannah laughed. 'And as soon as I heard that I thought: this is it. She's met him.'

  'Susannah...' Alicia said slowly '...I don't think you understand what's happened to me!'

  'Oh, yes, I do,' Susannah said gently. 'You've fallen in love, and this is what love is like, Alicia. It's not a streamlined business operation. It's not something you can control like your career. Love is something much more living than that. It's like two wild animals, recognising each other and deciding to mate.'

  'Susannah!' Alicia gasped, shocked.

  'But it's got to be the right animal,' Susannah continued, smiling. 'And you're a lioness, Alicia. You weren't going to fall in love until a lion came along and roared at you.'

  Alicia gaped, her mouth opening and closing in stunned silence.

  'Jean-Marc Brissac is perfect for you,' Susannah went on, amused by her young sister's shock. 'I haven't met him yet, of course, but I can tell he's the one. He's like you—isn't he? He's devastatingly attractive, he's got lethal sex appeal, a taste for power, excitement, adventure and ambition— and he's ready to settle down.' She tapped her teacup with one unpolished fingernail. 'Perfect!'

  'But he wants me to be his mistress!' Alicia said fiercely.

  'Well, he would say that, wouldn't he?' Susannah drawled. 'He's much too proud and much too masculine to tell you he's in love with you.'

  Alicia's eyes darted. Her breath quickened. 'He can't be in love with me...' she whispered. 'Not me!'

  'I expect he thinks the same about you,' Susannah said softly.

  Alicia stared, s
aid shakily, 'But he's so fantastic...he's got everything... What on earth would he see in me?'

  Susannah laughed, dark eyes dancing. 'Alicia, he's moved mountains to get you! Why else would he do it, if not because he loves you?'

  She felt her eyes stare fixedly at her sister's face. Those words revolved in her brain, but she couldn't let herself believe it, couldn't bear to be such a fool, couldn't tolerate the fear of emotional pain that had been such a constant threat to her for so many years, and which Jean-Marc Brissac had been breaking down, bit by bit, step by passionate step, until at last she had fallen in a landslide of love, not recognising her own powerful feelings until it was too late.

  Suddenly, the television sound was piercing her mind. A man was reading the news headlines and she heard the words with a sense of horror and unreality.

  'Dominique Dusort,' said the television newscaster's voice, 'the goddaughter of the French multimillionaire, Jean-Marc Brissac, was kidnapped in the early hours of this morning in her home town of Brissac --'

  'Oh, my God!' Susannah said grimly, and got up.

  The colour drained from Alicia's face as she rushed into the living-room, shaking, staring at the photograph of Jean-Marc and hearing the newscaster saying,

  'Monsieur Brissac contacted the police immediately he received the ransom demand. He later flew by helicopter to Paris to meet with the Surete. Our correspondent, John Beaver, reports...'

  The picture switched to a film report. There was the flash of a limousine surrounded by jostling reporters. Then Jean-Marc stepping out of the expensive car, shouldering through them, his face grim with tension and his mouth a hard white line.

  Alicia sank into a chair, her legs too weak to hold her.

  'You must go to him, Alicia,' Susannah said, as Jean-Marc's helicopter was shown landing at Chateau Brissac this evening, accompanied by two police helicopters. 'If he is in love with you, he'll be absolutely devastated that you've left him now.'

  'Yes...' she said shakily, getting to her feet, walking unsteadily to the kitchen, getting her bag and keys. 'Poor Dominique.. .what if they hurt her? Oh, God, I couldn't bear it!'