Claimed by the Millionaire: The Wealthy Frenchman's Proposition. Michelle Celmer

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.”