It was, in short, the most indecent pudding Sophie had ever clapped eyes on. And predictably, Lucien chose the moment she touched a fork against it to reignite the vibrations inside her body. She closed her eyes for a brief moment.

Enough was enough. Sophie laid her cutlery down and reached instead for her wine. She needed to take charge of this situation, and that called for a bolstering shot of Dutch courage.

Selecting her spoon as her weapon of choice, she glanced around the table with a light laugh. "This looks almost too pretty to eat." She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips for Lucien's benefit. He didn't miss it. His eyes narrowed a little, and his finger pressed the button to increase the egg’s intimate vibrations.

Sophie tensed her stomach muscles against the sensation and plunged her spoon into one of the glistening figs before sliding the pink flesh between her lips. She didn't have to fake her enjoyment. It was heavenly.

"Gosh, these are sweet and juicy," she murmured, licking her spoon at Lucien as Peter and Elron, clearly devoted pudding-lovers, were engrossed in their desserts.

His grey blue eyes blazed, and Sophie revelled in the satisfaction of taking back the upper hand. For a moment.

Lucien went nuclear on the egg's control button. Wave, pulse, vibrate. Wave, pulse, vibrate. Faster, deeper, harder.

Sophie had herself under control. Just. She scooped out the rose flesh of another fig and held eye contact with Lucien as she took it slowly into her mouth. This was way more than dessert. It was a battle of wills.

Elron was marvelling at the perfect fusion of the wine and dessert as she savoured the velvet flesh in her mouth. She managed to nod politely in agreement, while only just refraining from banging her fists on the tabletop and noisily orgasming there and then.

What was this? A test of how many rom-com references could be crammed into one lunch date?

Sophie just hoped no one said 'I'll have what she's having.' Because no one was having Lucien apart from her.

"A gastronomic triumph." Peter Carmicheal rubbed his well-fed gut. "Coffee?"

"Sounds perfect," Lucien said, making Sophie want to stab him with her bread knife.

"But I'm afraid Sophie and I will have to leave you gentlemen to it." He glanced at his watch. "There's somewhere we need to be."

Chapter Eighteen

Lucien all but dragged Sophie into the back of the limo when they stepped out onto the pavement.

"You vixen." His mouth was on her ear. His hands were everywhere. He lunged to

slide up the privacy screen a second before he pulled her across his lap and pushed her skirt up.

"I've wanted to do this since the moment you walked into the restaurant."

Sophie couldn't hold the groan in when he flicked the egg back into life again, because she was straddled over his erection.

"You seemed to enjoy your dessert a little too much, Ms. Black," he murmured, pulling her mouth down onto his as she yanked his shirt free of his trousers and unfastened his belt.

Sophie sucked down air when Lucien tugged experimentally on the string of tiny pearls that led to the egg.

"I take it from the look on your face that you like your Easter gift?"

He increased the vibrations and flicked the pad of his thumb up and down over her clitoris, small, targeted movements that had her squirming.

"Better than chocolate," she managed, and he moaned as her fingers surrounded his cock. Christ, he was so ready, and he had her drenched as he wound the pearl tether around his fingers and slid the still vibrating egg slowly out of her body.

Lucien's hot, probing tongue slid around inside her mouth as he settled her over his cock.

"Thank God," she breathed as he buried himself inside her then held her against him hip to hip.

His bold smile pressed against her lips. "Better now?"

"Much better." Sophie unbuttoned his shirt and ran her hands over the hard, warm expanse of his chest. He shifted his hips a little in response and groaned as he moved inside her with slow, satisfying thrusts.

Lucien's hand snaked between them and his other hand clamped over her mouth when she squealed with shock as the vibrating egg in his hand buzzed against her clitoris.

"Shhh," he laughed softly and held her steady, perfectly aware that she was going to come hard and fast within seconds.

He wrapped his arms around her and crushed her body against his naked chest, the vibrating egg wedged between their bodies. He thrust purposefully once, twice, three more times before her body arched rigid with the intensity of release, magnified by the fact that Lucien's body bucked sharply at the same time.

A few breaths later, he stilled the egg’s vibrations and covered her mouth with the slow, blissful kisses of a sexually satisfied man.

A couple of hours later, Sophie stood in front of the Mona Lisa and wondered what must have passed through the sitter’s mind. Her perfectly rendered ambiguous expression and enigmatic smile certainly suggested that she knew something the rest of world didn't. Maybe Leonardo Da Vinci had been naked when he painted her.

Sophie caught herself and wondered at the path her mind had just taken. If she'd come here with anyone but Lucien she'd no doubt have admired the painting in a more scholarly fashion. Being around him seemed to pare away her layers of respectability and leave her five steps closer to her cavewoman ancestors.

Was it a better way to live? It was certainly more fun in the short term. But this wasn't short term for Lucien, it was his life. Sophie wasn't sure who had a better outlook on the world. Then she lost her train of thought completely when Lucien placed his hand on her hip and kissed her neck.

"Seen enough?"

She sighed happily and turned around. "I think so. Thank you for bringing me here. I didn't seriously expect you to show me the sights."

She’d thought Lucien was making small talk with the Carmichaels when he'd asked for their opinions on the best landmarks, but she’d been wrong. Their clothing straightened and features relatively composed after their steamy clinch in the limo, they’d been dropped off at Notre Dame. After a leisurely inspection, they’d sat down for strong French coffees at a pavement cafe, then spent the last couple of hours strolling around the Louvre.

Lucien had proved himself a remarkably knowledgeable guide in ways Sophie hadn't anticipated, offering snippets and anecdotes as they made their way around. She very much doubted whether many other Parisian tour guides would have informed her that the traditional champagne coupe glass had reportedly been modelled on the shape of Marie Antoinette’s breasts.

"I like playing hooky with you," he said now, guiding her out of the museum and past the huge, sharp-edged glass pyramid, so fabulously, incongruously different to the grand palace wrapped around it.