Claimed by the Millionaire: The Wealthy Frenchman's Proposition. Michelle CelmerЧитать онлайн книгу.
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?”
“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.
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