Claimed by the Millionaire

His grandmère had been a famous actress in Europe, and his grandpère, a director twenty years her senior. They’d had a scandalous love affair that had resulted in a marriage that lasted for fifty years, until his grandpère’s death. And the paparazzi had hounded them all their lives.

Tristan’s mother had grown up with the photographers following her and the world being interested in everything she did. Tristan and his siblings had done the same.

They were used to the attention, but there were times like this when he resented it.

“Are you okay?” Tristan asked, looking at Sheri.

She’d be so easy to care for. Hell, he already cared more for her than he should. But he had to keep his focus, his distance from her, because he knew that she was barely holding herself together and a full-blown affair with him wasn’t going to help her.

“I’m fine,” she said, but she was clutching her purse to her stomach and staring out the window.

“Sheri, look at me.”

“Not now, Tristan.”

“Yes, now.”

She shook her head and turned her body away from his as if to emphasize her determination.

He simply took her chin in his hand and turned her toward him. She had that wounded look in her big doe eyes again and he felt the impact all the way to his cold and lonely heart. She kept her gaze fixed at his chest.

“What is wrong now?”

“Um…I work for you. Everyone in the world knows I slept with you. Figure it out.”

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. There was the sassy girl he knew. The one that he’d been attracted to and hadn’t understood why.

But now it all made sense. There was a real fire and passion in Sheri that she kept deeply buried.

“What happens between us is our business, ma petite.”

“That’s easy for you to say. Guys will slap you on the back and say, go, you. But everyone will look at me and think…”

“Sheri, please look at me.”

She turned to face him fully and lifted those beautiful brown eyes of hers to meet his gaze.

“You are never going to be able to control what anyone thinks about you but you can control how you feel about what happened. Do you regret becoming my lover?” he asked.

She nibbled her lower lip and then sighed. “No. I don’t. Being in your arms was incredible.”

“Then don’t worry about the photos or the press or any of it.”

She arched one eyebrow at him. “That’d be a little easier to do if I hadn’t met that lot head-on this morning. It was a little scary.”

“It is irritating. I will install you at my parents’ house and then take care of the paparazzi.”

“You keep saying that. And I don’t like it.”

“What don’t you like?”

“You taking care of everything. I’m not some doormat. Despite how I might act at the office.”

“You’re borderline insubordinate at the office.” He smiled to show that he was joking.

“Only borderline? I’ll have to work on that,” she said, and he saw the spark of her personality peeking through the sadness that had engulfed her for most of the day.

He knew it was a mistake to want to cheer her up. To care so much about her happiness, and about seeing her smile, but he did. He wasn’t going to be able to offer her anything else, so his protection and her happiness were it.

“I’m not above using discipline to keep you in line.”

“Like what? You going to spank me?” She shook her head and covered her mouth with her hands. “I can’t believe I said that.”

Immediately he had a vivid image of her sweet, bare ass as she lay over his lap. He hardened, then shifted to relieve some of the pressure at his inseam.

She flushed, and he knew that he wasn’t going to be able to keep his hands off her. He wanted her again. If he’d been able to distance himself in Mykonos, take her to the airport and put her on a commercial flight, it would have been different but now…he was going to have her again.

He needed to get her out of his system.

Seven

As her words echoed between them, Tristan leaned forward, took her face in both of his hands and kissed her. She closed her eyes and surrendered to the feelings he drew from her effortlessly. She’d been craving this for so long. It felt as if a lifetime had passed, instead of just hours, since he’d touched her like this.

She opened her mouth for his tongue, which teased hers. He ran it along the roof of her mouth and then drew back, catching her lower lip between his teeth and suckling her.

She shifted closer to him on the seat, needing more of him. Shivers of desire coursed through her body. She put her hands on his face, touched his jaw and then slid her fingers into his hair.

It was thick and silky. She tilted her head to the side and he drew her even closer to him as his mouth continued to explore hers.

He drew back from her and she opened her eyes, staring up at him. “I can’t get enough of you,” he said.

“Is that a bad thing?” she asked. Her lips were tingling from the contact with his.

“Of course not. I am French. We live for physical love.”

“And romantic love?” she asked, because she knew deep inside that she was falling in love with him. The seeds had been planted long before she’d known him as anything other than an attractive man who was her boss.

“Romantic love…what about it, Sheri?”

“Do you believe in it, or just lust?”

“I believe that we all get a once-in-a-lifetime chance at romantic love.”

“Once in a lifetime?” she asked. That sounded good to her. “I believe in that, too.”

He gave her a little half smile. She thought about what she knew of Tristan. How he was rumored to still be mourning his deceased wife even though she’d been gone for a long time.

“Did you— Never mind.”

“Go ahead and ask.”

She knew she was prying, but after all they’d shared, and given the fact that she was vulnerable to Tristan in a way she’d tried to not let herself be to any man, she had to ask.

“Did you have that with your wife?”

He looked at her then, and the expression in his eyes made her realize there were layers to Tristan she might never understand. The pain in his eyes took her breath away.

“Yes.”

She nodded. There really wasn’t anything else to say. His one-word answer in that monotone told her everything she wanted to know about where this relationship was heading. Ha, she was kidding herself to call it a relationship. It was a one-night stand, except…he’d just kissed her like he wanted her again.

So she had to decide right now. Was she going to be an affair for him? Could she really deny herself Tristan just because he couldn’t love her?

“Have you ever experienced that?” he asked her.

“Would I be here if I had?” she asked, careful not to let on that she suspected he could be that once-in-a-lifetime love for her.

“I guess not,” he said, stroking his finger down the side of her face and then down the length of her neck. “Why haven’t you?”

She swallowed hard. “I don’t know. I don’t trust easily.”

“But you trust me,” he said. “You came to my bed last night.”

“It wasn’t easy,” she said. “But you wanted me….”

“And you wanted me, too.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Did? And now you do not?” he asked. He traced the scoop neck of her blouse and then moved his fingertip lower, to the upper curve of her breast.

She shifted her shoulders and had to force herself not to follow his touch when he pulled his hand away.

“Do you still want me, ma petite?”

“You know I do. One night…it doesn’t seem like enough time with you.”

“What would be enough time?” he asked.

She doubted a lifetime would be, but she couldn’t say that. So instead she shrugged.

He smiled down at her. “I want more time with you. Are you willing to continue what we started last night?”

She thought about that. Her first instinct was to say yes. But what would that be like? Hell, she was going to be miserable when things ended between them anyway. Now or later…and later sounded much better than now. So…

“Yes.”

He smiled at her. “Good.”

“You are so arrogant.”

“You say that as if it is a bad thing.”

He leaned over and kissed her so deeply that she knew she’d made the right decision. Tristan might think all he had to offer her was lust but she sensed so much more swirling under the surface.

And he’d stayed, she thought, as she wrapped her arms around those broad shoulders of his and hugged him as close to her as she dared. She wanted to hold him even tighter, but she didn’t, afraid he’d realize how much he meant to her. That might be the trigger that finally made him leave.

Rene waited for them under the portico at the side entrance of his parents’ mansion. Tristan took one look at his older brother’s face and knew that he was facing a long afternoon. And he also knew it was nothing that Sheri needed to be a part of.

His family was overbearing at the best of times. Today, with his face once again splashed on the pages of every gossip magazine, it would be even worse.

“You have two choices,” he said, turning to Sheri as the car came to a stop. To the driver he called, “We need a minute, Tollerman, before we’ll be getting out.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tristan curved his arm around Sheri’s shoulders and drew her close to him.

“What are my choices?”

“I can have Tollerman take you to the Ritz and you can use the suite I keep there, but there is a chance that the paparazzi will be there.”

“For me?”

“No. They wait there for a chance photo of anyone of interest. And I can call and ensure that you have security and can go in the back entrance.”

“What’s my other choice?” she asked.

“Come inside with me and sit by the pool while I deal with my family.”

She sighed. “I’ll stay with you.”

“Good.” He smiled at that. “We’re ready now, Tollerman.”

“Very well, sir.”

The driver got out and opened Sheri’s door first. As she slid out of the car, he noticed the way the fabric of her trousers pulled tight across the curves of her butt. The image of her across his lap flashed through his mind again. Dammit, he wasn’t into anything kinky as a matter of routine, but he couldn’t get the idea of spanking Sheri out of his head.

She glanced back at him just before the door closed and he realized she’d caught him staring. He rubbed his hand against his thigh and she giggled a little. He knew her thoughts were along the same line as his. That she’d found humor now made him feel good.

He climbed out of the car as Sheri came around to his side.

Rene pounced. “It’s about time. We need to talk before you go inside.”

“Blanche already delivered the news.”

“Tristan—”

“Not now. Sheri, this is my brother, Rene.”

She held out her right hand and wrapped her left arm around her own waist, something he noticed she did when she felt insecure. He didn’t have to be a mind reader to tell that she felt vulnerable now.

It compounded his desire to make her safe. To take care of her. He was good at taking care of people, he thought. He didn’t have to love her, but he could make love to her and take care of her until this storm blew over.

“Enchanté, Mademoiselle Donnelly. It’s a pleasure to meet you in person.”

“For me, too, Monsieur Sabina. Please call me Sheri.”

“And I am Rene.”

Tristan led her up the stairs away from his brother. He sensed she regretted saying she’d stay with him. He didn’t give her a chance to change her mind, just ushered her into the house and found one of the downstairs maids.

“Nathalie, please escort Mademoiselle Donnelly to the pool area,” he said in French.

“Oui, monsieur.”

“There’s a cabana stocked with leisure clothing. I’ll be a while, so you should eat lunch. Just tell Nathalie what you would like.”

She glanced around the large foyer where Rene stood waiting for him and then she took his wrist and drew him aside. “Look,” she said. “I think I’ve changed my mind about sitting by the pool.”

“Too late.”

“We’re not at work. You can’t just give orders and expect me to do what you say.”

“Yes, I can. And I have. Go relax by the pool while I sort out my family.”

“I don’t like taking orders in my personal life.”

“Too late. I’m a bossy kind of man, which you already know.”

“Yes, but I thought—”

He bent and kissed her, because he knew Sheri would keep arguing and he needed to get her somewhere safe before Blanche and the rest of the family came out and started questioning him in front of her.

If he was going to protect her, he needed her safely tucked away.

He lifted his head, turned her toward Nathalie. “Go.” He followed his command with a smack on her backside. She gave him a quick glance over her shoulder. “I will now, but this is the last time I’m going to be tucked away while you deal with a problem.”

“We can discuss it the next time we’re in this situation,” he said, fairly confident that they’d never be in this situation again.

She shook her head, and he wondered if she regretted going with him last night. He watched her walk away, trying to make himself regret that he’d taken a nice young woman and put her in this situation, but he couldn’t. There was something about Sheri that drew him. For safety’s sake, he should back away, but he’d always lived for danger and this woman seemed like a challenge he could handle.

“An employee! Tristan, honestly, you’ve gone too far this time.”

“Rene, it’s not as it seems.”

“Good luck explaining that to the board.”

Tristan felt very much the wayward son as he leaned against the mantel in his father’s den. It was funny to him that, outside of this room, he was considered to be a forceful man. Inside, he was always keenly aware that he was his father’s son. And that he’d never lived up to the expectations Louis had for sons. Rene did it exceptionally well but he’d been the eldest and the expectations for him had been different than the expectations for Tristan, which were pretty much that he simply stayed out of trouble.

“This can’t continue,” his mother said.

“Maman, it’s not as if I seek out this kind of publicity.”

“We know that, Tris. But you have to admit your behavior is out of control,” Blanche said.

“Out of control? I’m trying to have a normal life.”

“We want you to settle down,” his father said. “That’s the only real solution to this problem. Until you do, the paparazzi aren’t going to lose interest in you.”

Tristan shrugged one shoulder. He wasn’t marrying again, something he’d promised to Cecile on her deathbed. Their relationship had been so intense, even in those last moments when he’d held her fragile body in his arms and watched her slowly slip away from him.

“The press have always been interested in our family,” he said.

“The rest of us don’t do anything that gives them a reason to photograph us,” Rene said.

“What are you getting at? I can’t control their actions.”

“That’s right, you can hardly control your own,” his father said.

“Père, I’m grown. I don’t answer to you.”

“Do you answer to Ms. Donnelly?” Blanche quietly interjected into what would have been a very heated argument between him and his father.

“Why do you ask?” Protecting Sheri had been on his mind since she’d screamed outside the villa on Mykonos. He’d brought her here thinking that together the entire Sabina family could help him keep her out of the glare of the spotlight, but he realized now that he didn’t want to leave her in their care. Not that the option of doing that was open to him now.

“Because she’s not used to being followed by tabloid photographers, and she works for us.”

“Tristan, you slept with an employee?” his mother asked.

“Enough. I’m not discussing my personal life with any of you.”

“This isn’t personal. It’s business.”

“How do you figure, Rene?”

“If it involves someone who works for the Sabina Group, that does involve us. She’s not some heiress used to the paparazzi and she would never have been exposed to them if not for Tristan,” Rene said.

“I agree. We’re going to have to do something. Maybe transfer her to the London office,” Louis said.

“We’re not transferring her anywhere. She’s always lived in Brooklyn and I don’t want her life disrupted,” Tristan said.

“It’s a little late for that,” Blanche said.

Everyone joined in the discussion on what should be done with Sheri and how Tristan should have shown more sense, and he shook his head. He was tempted to grab Sheri and leave. Just walk away from his family and his position at Sabina Group, but he liked the magazine he’d started. And he wasn’t a quitter. Never had been, even when the odds were stacked against him.

So he pushed away from the fireplace and waited until everyone stopped talking at once.

“Sheri isn’t your concern, Rene.”

“How do you figure?”

“She’s my fiancée, so I’ll be the one to look after her.” The words came out of nowhere and stunned everyone into silence. He heard his mother gasp, and Blanche’s expression—a cross between disbelief and shock—was comical.

“Fiancée? You’re going to marry this girl?”

He felt trapped by circumstances and his own desires. He wanted Sheri and wasn’t ready to let her go just yet. But he knew he had to do something to protect her from the tabloid press. As his fiancée, she’d be in the society pages for the right reasons.

He rubbed the back of his neck as he thought of the last time he’d told his family he was getting married. Cecile had been standing at his side, but otherwise the stunned disbelief of his family was exactly the same.

He tried to find the humor in it, but it was difficult. “Now that everything is settled about Mademoiselle Donnelly, I’m going to my townhome in Paris.”

“Everything isn’t settled, Tristan. Bring your fiancée in here so we can all toast the new couple,” Rene said.

“And I want to talk to her about planning a party,” Blanche said. “We can do it in conjunction with the launch of our summer fashion guide. I think that will be the best way to introduce her properly to the world at large and as one of us, don’t you think?”

Tristan shook his head. “She doesn’t have time to plan a party. She’s my assistant.”

“Nonsense, Tris, she’s your fiancée now, that takes precedence.”

“No, Blanche, it doesn’t. You and Maman can plan a party for us if you want to, but Sheri will continue working for me.”

“Why?”

“Because that is her desire. That’s the reason we’ve kept our engagement secret all this time.”

Eight

Sheri had changed into a red-and-white maillot and a wraparound sarong. She sat in the dappled sunlight that filtered into the glass-enclosed pool. There was a sense of peace that reminded her of the quietness of her own small backyard garden in Brooklyn, although the indoor pool was heavily landscaped and looked like paradise, while her own garden was little more than a few fruit trees, bare now that it was the middle of February.

Aunt Millie had been a big believer that being outside could soothe the soul as nothing else could. When Sheri had been upset by her father once again missing a birthday or scheduled visit, Aunt Millie would lead her to the backyard and tell her stories of fairy princesses who lived in the garden under Sheri’s bedroom window.

She closed her eyes, reaching out with her mind to her aunt. She wished she could feel Millie’s arms around her once again. She was so tired of being alone. Of facing every situation on her own.

She heard the sound of footsteps and glanced over her shoulder as Tristan approached. He looked grim, and she wondered if the paparazzi had followed them and were now camped out on his parents’ doorstep.

She stood up. “Is something wrong?”

He shook his head. “Sit down.”

She sank back down onto the lounge chair. It was thickly cushioned, probably more comfortable than the old mattress she slept on at home.

“What’s up?”

“I’ve decided the best way to handle the paparazzi is to take charge of the situation.”

She liked the sound of that. “Good. Running away seems cowardly to me.”

He gave her a faint smile. “You never fail to amaze me,” he said, and for once that arrogant tone she associated with him wasn’t there.

“How am I doing that?” She usually glided through life being dependable or invisible. Which, she realized, was why the photographers had shaken her. She’d never stood out from the people she worked with or dealt with on a daily basis. How could she handle the attention of the world?

“By being calm about the photographers and my family. A quick flight out of Greece to Paris hasn’t seemed to upset you at all.”

It was sweet of Tristan to say that, but she was anything but calm. “I guess we’re going to pretend that moment at the airport where I almost bolted didn’t happen. And the time when I started screaming in front of the photographers,” she said in a teasing tone.

That startled a laugh out of him, and she felt better for it.

“Exactly. The solution I propose may sound a bit odd to you at first. But let me explain everything before you comment on it.”

“Okay,” she said, taking a deep breath. What was he going to say? Well, what could he say? The board and I think you need to find a new job. And I want you to deny ever being with me.

His touch on her shoulder startled her out of her thoughts and she looked up into those deep gray eyes of his. She loved his eyes, and had often imagined him looking at her just as he was right now.

“Breathe,” he said.

“I am,” she said, with a long exhale.

He took her hand in his and held it loosely in his grip. “You have such pretty hands.”

Of course he’d notice her hands. Considering she wasn’t beautiful like the women he normally surrounded himself with, her hands were probably the only thing he’d found good-looking about her.

He lifted one of them to his mouth and kissed the back of it, then tucked his fingers around it. She smiled at the way he did it…linking them together.

She felt a bit of calm steal over her. This didn’t feel like the big brush-off. And she’d had enough experience with being shown the door that she’d know if a man was doing that to her.

In fact, her stomach wasn’t a tight knot like it had been the day that her father had sat her down to talk. She realized suddenly that her dreams were still alive. All this time, she’d thought she was a cynic and a realist but, sitting in this beautiful solarium filled with the sound from the waterfall at the end of the pool and the scents of Eden around her, she was holding her breath not because she felt like something bad was about to happen, but because she anticipated something good.

Tristan made her feel like the kind of woman for whom a man would make a grand gesture to keep in his life. And in the car, he’d all but said he wanted to continue their affair. So what could this be about? What was he going to say to her now, in this paradise?

“So what did you come up with?”

“I want you to be my fiancée,” he said.

Sheri was sure she’d misunderstood him, because she knew he wasn’t the marrying kind, but she thought he’d said be his fiancée.

“What?”

“I want you to be my fiancée for the time being. Just until the furor of the press dies down.”

She felt the blood rush from her face and closed her eyes. Of course, it was temporary. She had forgotten the one truth of her life—she was meant to be alone.

Sheri pulled away from him and got to her feet. Moving a few yards away, she wrapped one arm around her waist and then a few seconds later turned back to him, putting both hands on her hips.