AS IF HE. CAN SEE. EVERYTHING. ABOUT ME. INCLUDING. THE PAST. I WANT TO. KEEP HIDDEN. Page DUBLIN, CROKE PARK. WAAAH. Aviation. Read The French Tycoon's Pregnant Mistress by Abby Green for free with a 30 day free trial. Read unlimited* books and audiobooks on the web, iPad, iPhone. Devastatingly handsome French tycoon Pascal Lévêque has his sights set on Alana Cusack. Her seeming inexperience intrigues him--she used to be married!.

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Ebook The French Tycoons Pregnant Mistress Harlequin Comics currently available at for review only, if you need complete ebook The French. The French Tycoons Pregnant Mistress. Ebook The French Tycoons Pregnant Mistress currently available at for review only, if you need complete . Editorial Reviews. About the Author. Abby Green spent her teens reading Mills & Boon The French Tycoon's Pregnant Mistress (International.

And now documents from his office had appeared in her purse. The papers fisted in his hand, he stalked back to the bedroom to see Marley still sitting on the bed. Marley stared at him in shock. Had she heard him correctly? How could things have gone so wrong? Why are you so angry with me? Is it because I reacted so badly to you calling me your mistress? I assure you it came as a great shock to me. I thought somehow I meant more to you than that.

He held up a hand with several crumpled sheets of paper in them. Do you honestly think I would tolerate you betraying me?

I have no tolerance for cheats or liars, and you, my dear, are both. She wavered precariously, but he made no move to aid her.

What are those papers? Your attempts could have crippled my company. But the joke is on you. These are fakes planted by me in an attempt to ferret out the culprit.

She reached out and yanked the papers from his hand. The words, schematics blurred before her eyes.

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An internal email, printed out, obviously from his company ISP address stared back at her. Sensitive information. Detailed building plans for an upcoming bid in a major international city. She turned around with her heart beating hard, fully expecting to see the man again. A very shapely bottom was raised in the air, encased in the tight confines of a pencil skirt. Its owner was currently bending over, hauling a bag out from under a seat.

The French Tycoon's Pregnant Mistress

His eyes drifted down. Long, slim legs were momentarily bent and now straightened to their full length—which was long , all the way from slim, neat ankles right up to gently flaring hips which tapered into a neat waist.

He wondered if she was wearing stockings, and that thought had a forceful effect on the blood in his veins. He wondered, too, then, what it was about her that had kept him looking, that had kept him here, when he should have long gone. What was it that had kept drawing his eye back again and again, uncharacteristically taking his attention away from the riveting match?

That was it. She was neat. Right from her starchy, buttoned-up stripey shirt complete with tie, down to her sensible court-shoes and shiny, straight hair neatly tucked behind her ears, a side parting to the left.

It was tied back in a small ponytail, but he could well imagine that if let loose, it would fall ever so neatly into a straight shoulder-length bob, framing her face. And since when had he been into neat?

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He was famously into seductive, sensual women, women who poured their beautiful, curvaceous bodies into clothes and dresses designed to fire the imagination and ignite the senses.

She was shrugging into a long, black overcoat now, hiding herself, and bizarrely, he felt all at once irritated, inflamed and perplexed.

What the hell was he doing, practically slavering over some vacuous TV dolly bird? He was already trying to think up something to excuse his very out-of-character behaviour when she did turn round.

He opened his mouth and suddenly his mind went blank. Alana had no warning for what or who faced her. That gorgeous, brooding stranger was right in front of her.

Just feet away. Looking at her. They were standing alone in an eighty-thousand-seat stadium, but to Alana in that moment it shrank to the four square feet surrounding them. The blood seemed to thicken in her veins; her heart pounded again in recognition of some base appreciation of his very masculinity. He stood with his head tilted back, hands in the pockets of his trousers. His coat emphasised his broad shoulders, the olive tone of his skin.

They were wide, dark, intelligent and full of something so hot and brazenly sensual that she felt breathless. Her hands gripped her notebooks close to her chest, and she was absurdly relieved that she was wearing a long coat, feeling very strangely that this man could somehow see underneath, as if with just a look he could make her clothes melt away. She shook her head, unaware of what she was doing, and to her intense relief, she found her voice. Are you looking for someone?

Even though they were alone, Alana felt no sense of fear. Her sense of fear came from an entirely different direction.

Pascal winced inwardly at the accusing tone of his voice and the baldness of his statement, but he was still reeling from coming face to face with her. His recent assumption that she would prove to be entirely unalluring was blasted to smithereens. She was all at once pale and glowing.

Cheeks flushed red from the cold breeze…or something else? That thought had blood rushing southward with an unwelcome lack of control. Her eyes were a unique shade of light green. Her lips were full and soft, not covered in glossy gloop.

But since when had righteous indignation made her shake? The man smiled, revealing gleaming, strong white teeth, and Alana felt momentarily dizzy.

And you were looking at me.

He rocked back on his heels and a different light came into his eyes. An altogether more dangerous light. And Alana could see that she was effectively trapped.

The space between the seats was far too narrow for her to even attempt to push past him, and the only alternative would be to jump into the next aisle—far too unladylike and desperate. And, in the skirt she was wearing, impossible. I love you, Phoebe, with my whole heart. For either of them.

Dimitri found his wife playing with their children in the pool, a vise of emotion squeezing his heart at the tableau the three people he loved most in the world made. His wife smiled up at him, her beautiful body glistening with the water in the hot Mediterranean sun.

They lived in Greece, but spent two weeks every quarter in New York with her sister and brother-in-law, as well as traveling frequently to visit Spiros and Phoebe in Paris.

It worked for them and their children, though once the boys were in school, the travel schedule would have to change.

Alexandra glided through the water and lifted their wet son up to Dimitri. The strain of his recent conversation with pappous melted away as he focused on his own little family.

Dimitri looked over.

Did you? You are getting better and better at staying under the water. Alexandra pulled the four-year-old in for a sweet hug before releasing him back into the water. She was such a good mother, so loving, so committed to the children and their family, but still a woman with her own interests. And opinions. His wife definitely had strong opinions on the sustainability and social responsibility of Petronides International. Theo looked up, to make sure Dimitri had been watching.

Dimitri gave his son a thumbs-up.

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Five years, two children and the fire between them still burned hot. But Alexandra shook her head. Philip was too young to play, but he still loved watching his big brother pound away at the white blocks. Alexandra shook her head at him, smiling as she pulled herself from the pool.

The French Tycoon's Pregnant Mistress

Her body had changed with each baby delivery, her curves fuller, her hips womanly and sexy, each stretch mark a testament to her role as mother to their children. Knowing what his smoldering gaze meant, she blew him a kiss before picking up her own towel to pat water away from damp skin.

When she was done she took their oldest son from Dimitri and dried Theo off. Neither of you are showing sense getting his clothes all wet. His Alexandra knew him better than anyone else. She finger-combed her wet hair. Phoebe and Alexandra were now as close as, or even closer than, Spiros and Dimitri. Phoebe had been hurt, too. And Dimitri understood the need to protect the woman he loved.

It was no wonder that his brother and sister-in-law kept their visits back to Greece to a minimum. Alexandra tsked. How much he hurt you?

Phoebe and Spiros?He followed the trail of her things to the couch where her bag was thrown haphazardly. These are fakes planted by me in an attempt to ferret out the culprit. Which is why this emotional outburst caught him off guard. He was watching her. Anyone could see he was in another league. Certainly something that no other man had ever made her feel. She wavered precariously, but he made no move to aid her.