Claimed by the Millionaire: The Wealthy Frenchman's Proposition

“If you’d like me to,” she said, but inside a panic was starting. She wanted to forget about breakfast and get away as fast as she could. She also wanted to linger. Wanted him to be sitting here waiting for her. Maybe kiss her when she’d come out instead of being on the phone.

But that was just more of the fantasy she’d always wanted, and this was reality. One-night stands weren’t the beginning of a romance. They were temporary.

Temporary.

Maybe if she said the word enough times she’d start to realize that her reality wasn’t with Tristan.

Too bad she remembered the way he’d held her last night even when they were sleeping. There was some kind of closeness between them that she didn’t want to let go.

“I would.”

She nodded as he walked away. Watch him, she told herself. Watch him walk away and know that he’s not the kind of man who’ll stay. Temporary, she reminded herself again.

But dammit, she wanted him to be. Last night she realized that she’d been trapped in a box of her own making, that she’d let the men in her life dictate how she moved through life.

Last night she’d stepped outside of that box.

Instead of feeling unworthy of a man’s attention, she’d felt as if she deserved to be with Tristan. She wasn’t kidding herself that he might be the man for her. Their lives were too different. But he had changed her, and as she poured a cup of black coffee she realized she didn’t want to go back to being the woman she’d been before.

It was time she started living.

She took another sip of her coffee and felt that nervous anticipation that came from waiting. It reminded her so clearly of the times she’d sat in front of Aunt Millie’s house, waiting for her dad to show up. And he never did.

God, she was pitiful. She pushed to her feet and walked away from the table, taking her coffee mug with her. She went to the railing and looked down at the street. It was crowded this morning with cars and people. Strange for a Sunday.

A man glanced up at the balcony and took a photo. She shook her head, knowing he was capturing the architecture of Mykonos and not her. She stepped back from the railing so that he could get a better picture.

“Come inside,” Tristan said, and something in his tone put her on edge.

“What? Why?”

“We have to talk.”

Man, she hoped he wasn’t going to fire her. If he did, she could find another job as an executive assistant somewhere else in the city, but starting over was always hard.

“Let’s talk here,” she said.

“No. Come inside now.”

“Why are you—”

“Sheri, inside now.”

“Tristan, you can’t speak to me like that. I’m not your pet or slave.”

“I don’t think of you that way. Things have happened. Come inside and I will explain.”

“Is it Christos and Ava? Are they okay?”

“Yes, they are fine,” he said, reaching for her elbow and drawing her into the living room. He closed the door behind her and then clicked a button on the remote in his hand. The blinds slid slowly down, covering the windows.

“If this is how you always behave the morning after, I finally understand why women only stay with you for a short while.”

“Sheri, this is serious.”

“I was being serious,” she said, knowing that she had to find a way back to being his humorous assistant.

“You are being cheeky and another time I’d appreciate that, but not right now.”

He was starting to scare her. “Tristan, I can… Listen, it won’t be weird at work. I’m not going to be all clingy or anything.”

“I know you won’t be.”

“You’re going to fire me?”

He crossed his arms over his chest and gave her a narrow look.

“I can handle it, honestly. I just need to know what I’m facing.”

“You’re not facing anything,” he said, tossing her a newspaper. A Greek tabloid. “We’ll face this together.”

She saw the photo of herself naked in Tristan’s arms as they were kissing on the balcony.

Five (#ulink_83b308df-02de-5b0b-bf25-3baa840a4911)

Sheri had never wanted to be famous. Unlike other kids who dreamed of celebrity, she’d preferred her natural anonymity, so as she stared down at the newspaper in front of her, skimming the headline written in a language she couldn’t read, she saw only her picture.

Her face got hot as she blushed harder than she ever had before. She was going to die. That was it. There was no way she was going to live through this.

It was bad enough that she’d made the highly questionable decision to sleep with her boss. But now the entire world would know… Hell, Lucille would know, and she wasn’t going to let Sheri forget about this.

“Oh, my God.”

“I don’t think praying will help,” Tristan said in a quiet voice.

“What do you recommend?” she asked, desperately wishing she could go back in time.

He put a hand on her shoulder. It was big and warm and as he squeezed so slightly, she felt a little better. Not much, mind you, with her face and the ecstasy she’d felt in his arms clearly on display for the world to see.

Tristan’s expression wasn’t visible, as his face was buried in her hair. Her hands shook as she looked at the picture.

“I don’t look like myself,” she said, tracing a finger over her face. Her eyes were half-closed and she was clutching at Tristan as he kissed her. Thank goodness his broad shoulders covered her naked chest fairly well.

He reached around her to take the paper. “You look like a woman in the arms of her lover.”

“Yeah, ya think?” Sheri said, unable to help herself. She wished she could get good and mad. But this wasn’t Tristan’s fault. It was only that fact that was helping her keep it together. That and the strong belief that if she let go of her control she was going to crumple to the floor and never get up.

“Cheeky is cute, Sheri. Sarcastic is not,” he said, his accent very strong and pronounced.