Claimed by the Millionaire: The Wealthy Frenchman's Proposition

“Is it morning already?” she asked, leaning up to kiss his shoulder blade.

He shifted away from her on the bed, putting some distance between them.

“Yes.”

In the silence that followed, he sensed her confusion.

Her stomach growled, breaking the tension, and he laughed. “Hungry?” He dared a glance at her.

She buried her red face under the sheet. “Yes. I was too nervous to eat last night.”

“Why nervous?”

“Ava wanted her wedding to be perfect and I didn’t want to screw it up. And Augustina is gorgeous, as is Ava’s maid of honor, Laurette. I was the only weak link in the wedding party.”

“You were gorgeous, too,” he said glancing over his shoulder at her again.

She was this morning, too, with her thick hair hanging around her shoulders. She didn’t have a speck of makeup on, but the beauty that he’d somehow never noticed because of her ugly clothes now shone through.

She shook her head. “I’m not, but thank you for saying that.”

She wrapped the sheet around her torso and leaned up, embracing him from behind. She kissed the junction where his neck and shoulder met. “Thank you for last night.”

To hell with restraint. He pulled her around on his lap. Felt her hips brush his morning erection. He kissed her forehead. “Thank you, Sheri.”

She hugged him. Just put her arms around him and held him close. And he knew that no matter what happened he didn’t want to hurt her. He wanted to believe that he could find a way to make sure she didn’t regret being with him.

“Have you thought about doing anything else at the magazine?”

She pushed away from him, sitting on the bed next to him. “I can’t work for you anymore?”

He got to his feet and found his pants, pulling them on quickly. “Of course you can continue to work for me. But I wondered if you’d ever considered an editorial job, or sales?”

“Tristan?”

“Hmm,” he said without turning to face her.

“Look at me please.”

He turned, hands on his hips. “Yes?”

“I don’t expect anything from you after this. This was just two people who hooked up at a wedding reception.”

He doubted she was aware of how transparent her face was, or how she’d flinched when she said hooked up. He scrubbed his hands over his face. The morning sunlight seeped in under the wooden blinds that covered the windows, painting the room in cheery colors. But instead of seeing the promise of a new day, all he felt were last night’s regrets.

He knew better than to take Sheri to his bed. She wasn’t like the women he usually dated. “We were friends before this.”

“We were acquaintances,” she amended. “And we’ll go back to being them again. Don’t worry about me. I might not be as used to this situation as you, but I can handle it.”

He had no doubt that Sheri could handle anything that came her way. She was strong like that. “Very well. Would you like to take a shower while I see about breakfast?”

“You can cook?” she said, with the cheeky grin he’d come to know so well.

He flushed at the way she said it. “No, but my housekeeper can.”

“What’s on the menu?”

“Whatever you like,” he said. Mrs. Thonnopulus was very skilled in the kitchen and he had no doubt she’d be able to fix anything that Sheri asked for.

“Raisin Bran and some coffee would be great.”

He nodded. “We’ll have breakfast on the balcony. I’ll use the guest bathroom down the hall.”

She shook her head. “Don’t be silly. I can use that one.” Then she turned bright red and looked around his room. “I’m going to need something to wear.”

“I’ll bring in some clothes for you. You wear a size six in the States?”

“Yes, I do. But…whose clothes are they?”

“My sister’s.” Thanks to Blanche, he had grown up in a household where discussions had routinely centered on fashion. He knew equivalent sizes. “Go and shower. I’ll leave the clothes on the bed.”

She nodded and tugged the top sheet completely free from the bed, wrapping it around her. She looked small standing there, and vulnerable.

He turned away before he did something else he’d regret, or said something he knew he couldn’t possibly mean, because he never dated a woman for more than a week. He usually only took them to his bed for a night or two and then moved on.

Sheri was no different.

He wondered exactly how many times he was going to have to say that before he started believing it.

Sheri stood on the threshold between the living room and the balcony. Looking out, she saw the place where she’d made love with Tristan for the very first time. Her body was sensitive this morning, remembering the feel of him against her—inside her.

She shook her head, trying to force the images of Tristan making love to her from her head. She wished she could forget him easily. Get the distance she knew she’d need before they were both back in the office on Monday morning.

Yet, at the same time, she didn’t want the feeling of having his body inside hers to fade.

Tristan stood by the railing. He was on his cell phone, and he gestured for her to sit at the wrought iron table that was set for breakfast for both of them. He wore a pair of black dress pants and a short-sleeved, casual shirt. He looked suave, debonair, and she felt… Well, even in the sophisticated clothing he’d provided for her, she still felt a bit frumpy.

There was a plate of croissants with jam and butter, the cereal she’d requested but in European packaging with a different name than she was used to in the States, and a small French press coffeepot.

She fiddled with her hair, tucking it behind her ear, waiting for him to look back at her. And when he did, she wished he hadn’t. There was too much knowledge in his eyes. It was clear that he knew she wasn’t herself this morning.

Tristan put his hand over the phone. “I have to finish this call and I’ll join you in a moment.”

“No problem. I can take care of myself.”

He gave her that steely-eyed look of his, but she ignored him as she seated herself.

“I’ll be right back. Wait for me to eat?”