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

I not have said that?”

      He shook his head. Then rubbed a hand over his forehead. “I was not expecting that.”

      “You weren’t? Everyone knows how I feel about you.”

      Sheri felt so incredibly vulnerable right now. She wrapped both arms around herself, holding herself as tightly as she could.

      “Everyone?”

      “Well, Ava noticed, and she hardly knows me at all. I’m pretty sure Lucille knows. She picked up on it the first time we spoke on the phone. Even your friend Gui knows. And I didn’t have to tell him, either, he just guessed.”

      She didn’t expect Tristan to love her back. Oh, man, what if that was what he was afraid of? “I don’t expect you to love me.”

      He shook his head. “I don’t believe in more than one love in a lifetime.”

      “I know that. I think that’s part of the reason I love you so much. I want to fill up that emptiness you have.”

      Tristan walked over to her then. He took her shoulders in his hands and drew her toward him. His mouth came down on hers, heavy. He kissed her so deeply and with so much passion she couldn’t help but respond.

      She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and simply held on to him. He was in complete control and he made her forget everything. But she felt so much more now. It was as if, in admitting her love for him, she was finally free to let go of all the barriers she’d been keeping between them.

      His tongue brushed hers and she moaned deep in her throat as shivers of awareness spread down her body. She moved closer to him. Needed to feel his body pressed up against hers.

      Tristan lifted his head. “Thank you for loving me.”

      She couldn’t help but smile at the polite way he said that. “You’re welcome.”

      He brushed a strand of hair from her face and stared down at her with such seriousness that she felt a pang deep inside.

      “There isn’t a lack of love in my life, ma petite. There is a burned-out hole where my heart used to be, and I’m afraid no amount of love will ever bring it back.”

Eleven

      “I’m home,” Tristan said as he walked into his apartment a little after ten o’clock one week later. He’d had a late dinner meeting and, for the first time since Cecile’s death, he was coming home late not to servants and an empty house but to someone.

      Sheri came down the hallway with a book in one hand and a pair of reading glasses on. She smiled at him. “How was it?”

      “Not too bad. I think we will be launching a cooking magazine in the early fall next year.”

      “Good. I think that’s great. Do you have any meetings you’re going to need me to set up?”

      “Yes, but I do not want to talk about that tonight.”

      Her smile turned suggestive. “What do you want to talk about then?”

      “My woman.”

      “Your woman?”

      She was sassing him and he had to admit he enjoyed it. He’d been unsure what living with Sheri would be like, but after the first night he’d realized that he made a good decision. He’d made love to Sheri twice last night, and then again in the morning before they’d left for work.

      Having breakfast and then heading into the office together underscored to him what a great companion Sheri was. She suited his life perfectly. And the fact that she loved him made it all the sweeter.

      “Were you waiting up?”

      “Sort of.”

      “Why?”

      She shrugged and he was starting to realize that’s what she did when she didn’t want to answer. It was her way of not lying about anything, of hiding when she felt that answering would leave her vulnerable.

      “Will you come into the kitchen with me?” he asked, shrugging out of his jacket. He hung it in the hall closet and then loosened his tie.

      “Yes,” she said. “Are you hungry? Mrs. Ranney made a pie.”

      His New York housekeeper was a whiz in the kitchen.

      “Did you have any?” he asked, following her down the short hallway into the kitchen.

      “No. I wasn’t hungry earlier.”

      “Will you have a piece with me?”

      “Maybe a small slice. I try not to eat after seven.”

      “Why?”

      “Because unlike you, I don’t work out every day.”

      “You could,” he said, settling at the breakfast bar while Sheri moved around the kitchen. She found plates and cut them both a piece of pie. She was more at ease in his house than he was.

      “You don’t need to work out, ma petite. You look lovely as you are.”

      She arched one eyebrow at him. “Really?”

      “Honestly. You have a sexy little body that I can’t get enough of.”

      She blushed and smiled at him. “Then I should keep doing what I’ve been doing, and that’s not eating late at night.”

      “Milk, coffee or some kind of after-dinner drink?”

      She leaned over the breakfast bar to slide his plate in front of him. He took her chin in his hand and kissed her long and slow. Now he felt as if he was home. The home he found in her eyes and in her arms.

      She pulled back, looking bemused, and he smiled inside. He loved that she was so guileless about how attractive she was and about the effect she had on him.

      She turned away, grabbing a napkin and fork for him. “Did you want a drink?”

      “Yes. Milk, please.”

      She poured him a glass and then brought her plate around to his side of the counter and sat down next to him.

      He realized he wasn’t interested in food. He’d forgotten what it was like to have a woman in his home. To have a woman take care of him.

      “Mrs. Ranney said that strawberry-rhubarb was your favorite.”

      “It used to be.”

      “Do you want me to get you something else?” she asked.

      “Yes.”

      She started to hop off her stool, and he lifted her up and settled her on his lap. “What are you doing?”

      “Having something sweet.”

      “I didn’t realize I was sweet.”

      “You’re tongue is sharp, but your kisses, ma petite, they are very sweet.”

      “So are yours,” she said. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held him close. “I missed you tonight. Your apartment is so big. I felt very lonely without you.”

      Lonely. That was a word he’d learned to ignore for a long time.

      He thought about the future, and for the first time he realized he was looking at the future. One that he wanted with Sheri. Not as his wife, because he’d already given his name to the one woman who’d owned his heart.

      But he did want her to stay with him. Wanted Sheri to be in his life, and not just at work.

      “You’re staring at me,” she said. “Why?”

      “Because I like the way you look at me.”

      “Ah, ego. I should