The Wealthy Frenchman's Proposition (9 page)

But then, she’d never had a closet full of outfits for every type of event known to man. She’d turned into a socialite without even trying. She was exhausted, because Tristan had been extremely serious when he said that he still wanted her to work for him.

Her phone rang while she was in the middle of getting dressed in a Chanel linen-and-cashmere strip tunic that ended well above her knees, showing off her trim calves and ankles. She’d never really thought about her body, but Tristan’s lovemaking and comments left no doubt that he liked hers. Her legs were slim because she’d always lived in the city and walked everywhere.

“Hello?”

She was getting better at accessorizing, but had been keeping the outfits put together the way Blanche had arranged them for her. Trying to make Tristan fall in love with her, trying to remember how to be fashionable and avoiding the paparazzi were a lot to add to her life. Most of the time she felt as if she was juggling and dropping most of the balls.

“
Bonjour, ma petite.
I’m downstairs in the car waiting for you.”

“Good morning, Tristan. I’m almost ready.”

Propping the phone between her ear and shoulder, she paired the tunic dress with a pair of lizard-and-lambskin sandals and a calf-skin belt in white with a distinctive Chanel belt buckle. She had a chunky bracelet that she put on her right arm and then she carefully opened the box with the diamond watch that Tristan’s parents had given her as an engagement present. They’d had her initials and the date of their engagement—the date she and Tristan had made up—engraved on the back.

“This would be a lot easier if you’d just move in with me.”

“No, it wouldn’t.”

“Why wouldn’t it?”

“Because then I’d have to move out again when the engagement was over. This way, I’ll never have lived in your house.”

“Or slept in my bed for an entire night,” he said.

She always came back home after they made love at his apartment. And he never stayed the night at her place. She was doing everything she could to insulate herself against the pain of heartbreak, but she had the feeling that no matter what she did, it was still going to hurt her if he left.

“Well…”

“Well, what? Why are you so stubborn about this one thing?”

“Because I’m your pretend fiancée, Tristan. If I were really your woman and you were going to claim me in front of the world, then I’d be living with you in a heartbeat.”

He said nothing, as she’d suspected he would. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

She hung up the phone and turned back to the mirror. Her dark brown hair now had highlights and she knew how to put on makeup so that she looked like all the other women who had always surrounded Tristan. A part of her was amazed at how she looked, another part disgusted. She was changing every part of herself for a man who was her
pretend
fiancé, and she was no closer to figuring out how to make him fall in love with her.

She stared down at the engagement ring on her left hand. Tristan had wanted something big and flashy but she’d stubbornly refused. If he really loved her and was buying her a ring that symbolized his love, she would have bowed to his wishes, but he’d been buying the ring for others to see and she had dug in her heels.

She liked the understated platinum ring she had on. It fit her hand and her finger. And unlike a more costly ring, it didn’t make her feel as if she’d sold herself to Tristan.

The clothes she knew she’d donate to Dress for Success when she was done pretending to be his fiancée—if she didn’t turn the pretend part into reality.

“Why did you hang up on me?”

She yelped and spun around. Tristan stood there, gorgeous as always. “Why are you in my house?”

“You gave me a key, remember? I am your fiancé.”

She made a face at him in the mirror. “Just for pretend.”

“Sheri.”

He said her name in a stern tone that told her she was pushing too hard. But she didn’t want to back down. She was tired of pretending, and the only way for that to stop was for Tristan to see her as more than a lover and an assistant. She was pretty sure that’s all he saw when he looked at her.

“What?”

“What is the matter with you this morning?”

She shrugged. If he’d demanded an answer or kept pushing her, she could have gotten angry and then used her anger to keep the truth at bay.

“Answer me. Please.”

“No.”

She reached for a pair of platinum bangle earrings and slipped them into her ears. Tristan came up behind her, rested his hands on her shoulders and leaned in low so that his gaze met hers in the mirror.

“What is wrong?”

She bit her lower lip, afraid of saying too much. But suddenly she realized that the changes she made were all superficial and deep inside she was the woman she’d always been. And that woman wanted more.

“I don’t want to be your fake fiancée. And frankly, I can’t understand why this isn’t real.”

But Tristan knew better. He wasn’t toying with Sheri’s emotions, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to really marry her. He knew himself well enough to know that there were only certain things he could control. And surprisingly Sheri was one of them.

He bent his head to nibble on her neck in the spot he knew was sensitive. She undulated under his hands and reached back to put her arms around his neck, turning her head to the side until their lips met.

He hated not waking up with her every morning. He suspected that was why he still wasn’t ready to move on from her. He had yet to spend an entire night with her, save for that first one on Mykonos. And he hadn’t appreciated it then.

“I thought you were in a hurry this morning,” she said, turning in his arms.

“Just to see you.” Her dresser surface was clear except for a small jewelry box. “Are you wearing panties?”

“Yes,” she said. “I tend to wear them when I’m going to work.”

“Take them off.”

“Ask me nicely,” she said.

And Tristan leaned down to take her mouth with his, kissing her slowly, thoroughly. He caught her earlobe between his teeth and breathed into her ear as he said, “Please.”

She shivered delicately, her hands clenching on his shoulders before she stepped back half an inch. “Okay.”

She tugged the short hemline of her dress higher and lowered a pair of whisper-thin white cotton panties. She balanced herself by putting one hand behind her on the dresser as she stepped out of her underpants.

The movement thrust her breasts forward. The high, round neck of her tunic didn’t show nearly enough of her chest for him. He reached for the belt at her waist and unhooked it, letting it fall to the floor.

He lifted her up on top of the dresser and pushed her tunic dress to her waist. She parted her legs and he groaned her name. Blood rushed through his veins, pooling in his groin.

She continued smiling up at him as she leaned back on her elbows. “Was this what you had in mind?”

“Almost,” he said, pushing her dress even higher until her breasts were bared to his gaze. The bra she wore had thin lacy cups and he could see the distended nipples peeking through the lace. He leaned down and licked them both.

Her legs shifted restlessly around his hips. Though it had been just last night, it felt like an eternity since he’d last held her in his arms.

He’d been aroused since he’d entered her house. She reached up and pulled his head down to hers. Her mouth opened under his and he told himself to take it slow, but slow wasn’t in his programming with this woman. She was pure feminine temptation and he had her in his arms. He slid his hands down her back, finding the clasp of her bra and undoing it.

He grasped her buttocks, pulling her forward until he was pressed against her feminine mound. He felt the humid warmth at her center through the fabric of his pants and reached between them to caress her. She shifted more fully into him.

The fabric of her dress, bunched under her arms, just covered her breasts as she breathed heavily. He saw the hint of the rosy flesh of her nipples and lowered his head, using his teeth to pull the loosened fabric away from her skin. He ran the tip of one fingertip around her aroused flesh. She trembled in his arms.

Lowering his head he took one of her nipples in his mouth and suckled her. She held him to her with a strength that surprised him, but shouldn’t have.

Her fingers drifted down his back and then slid around front to work open the buttons of his shirt. He growled deep in his throat when she leaned forward to brush kisses against his chest.

She licked and nibbled and made him feel like her plaything. He wanted to let her have her way with him, but there was no room here, no time for seduction or extended lovemaking.

He pulled her to him and lifted her slightly so that her nipples brushed his chest. Holding her carefully, he rotated his shoulders and rubbed against her. Blood roared in his ears. He was so hard, so full right now that he needed to be inside of her body.

He caressed her creamy thighs. God, she was soft. She moaned as he neared her center and then sighed when he brushed his fingertips across the entrance to her body.

The area was warm and wet. He slipped one finger into her and hesitated for a second, looking down into her eyes.

She bit down on her lower lip and he felt the minute movements of her hips as she tried to move his touch where she needed it.

He was beyond teasing her or prolonging anything. He needed her
now.
He swept her dress over her head and tossed it on the floor. She shrugged out of her bra and he lifted her off the dresser, turning her to face its mirror.

“What are you doing?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at him.

“I want you to watch us as I make love to you.” She murmured something he didn’t catch. “Bend over slightly,
ma petite.
”

She did as he asked, her eyes watching his in the mirror. “Take your shirt off, please. I want to see your chest.”

He smiled at her as he shrugged off the shirt she’d unbuttoned. His tie was tangled in the collar, but he managed to get them both off. He took out the condom he’d put in his pocket this morning and donned it quickly.

“Hold on and keep your eyes on mine in the mirror.”

“Yes,” she said.

He covered her with his body. Their naked loins pressed together and he shook under the impact.

He cupped her breasts in his hands then slipped one hand down her body, finding her wet and ready. He adjusted his stance, and then entered her with one long, hard stroke.

She moaned his name, still holding his gaze. He bit softly at her neck and felt the reaction all the way to his toes when she squirmed in his arms and thrust her hips back toward him.

A tingling started in the base of his spine and he knew his climax was close. She writhed more frantically in his arms and he moved deep with each stroke. Breathing out through his mouth, he tried to hold back the inevitable. He slid one hand down her abdomen, through the slick folds of her sex, finding her center. He circled that aroused bit of flesh then scraped it very carefully with his nail. She screamed his name and tightened around him. Tristan pulled one hand from her body and locked his fingers on the dresser over her small hand, then penetrated her as deeply as he could. Biting down on the back of her neck, he came long and hard.

Their eyes met again in the mirror and he knew that he wasn’t going to find a way to live without her while he kept making love to her. And that meant he needed to come up with another plan. Something that didn’t involve her being his pretend fiancée.

The one thing she didn’t doubt was that she was in love with Tristan.

“Sheri, have Maurice come to my office in ten minutes.”

“He’s going to want to know what you need to see him about.”

Tristan glanced up from the folder in his hands. “I’m going to fly your suggestion for the Travelogue column at the back. See if we can use celebrities instead of travel writers.”

“Really? It was just an idea to boost readership.”

“I know. I like it. I’ll make sure that Maurice knows you came up with it.”

She smiled. “I don’t care about that.”

Tristan leaned one hip against the side of her desk. “What do you care about?”

“World peace,” she said, completely deadpan. She didn’t want to have a serious discussion at work, but this was the only time when Tristan really opened up to her. It was almost as if he knew she’d only let things go so far in the office.

“
Ma petite,
are you going to leave me for a beauty pageant?”

“Not my scene.”

“I know. This is your scene, isn’t it?”

She nodded. “Working with you suits me to a tee.”

“Just working?”

“Well, we don’t live together.”

“And whose fault is that?” He sounded almost huffy.

“Yours.”

“Mine? I asked you to move in with me.”

“More like ordered.” She smiled. Take that.

“It didn’t do me a lot of good.”

“You wouldn’t want a woman who just said yes to your every whim.” That she knew.

“Try me.”

“Try you? How?”

“Move in with me. Stop making me take you back to Brooklyn every night.”

“What would change if I did that?” She was so tempted to say yes. Had been since the first time he’d told her to move in with him.

He leaned in close. “We’d be together all the time.”

“But just temporarily.”

“Is that what’s stopping you from saying yes?”

She wasn’t going to answer that question. She’d have to reveal too much of herself, too many things she’d long kept hidden. She glanced down at her computer screen and clicked on the instant messenger button to summon Maurice. The sooner they had someone else in the office, the better it would be for her.

“Sheri?”

“Hmm…”

“Look at me.”

She glanced up.

“I want to know why you haven’t moved in with me. The truth this time.”

She folded her hands together on her desk blotter and then pulled them apart. “It is the temporary thing.”

“I don’t understand how it’s any different if you move in with me,” he said.

Sheri pushed her chair back from the desk and got up, walking around so that he wasn’t leaning over her. “The difference is I’ve never lived anywhere but that brownstone.”

Tristan stood up from where he’d been leaning against the desk. “The brownstone is your home.”

“Yes. It’s my home. It’s the one constant I’ve had in my life since I was eight, when my mother died and my father dumped me at my aunt’s, and, as you pointed out, what we’ve got going is only temporary.”

Tristan didn’t say anything else and Sheri wanted to curse at herself for letting the conversation get so personal. She really tried to be cool and breezy whenever she talked to him. Always tried so hard to keep her emotions bottled up and a secret from him.

“Is that it?”

“No…I’m also afraid that, if I move in with you, I’ll start to buy in to the fantasy you’ve written for us. I might start to really believe that I’m your fiancée, and that would be devastating for me when you leave.”

“All relationships end.”

“How do you figure?”

“Even the strongest and most loving relationships end with death. So no matter what, everything is temporary.”

“Tristan, that’s sad.”

“What is?”

“That you view life that way.”

“It’s realistic, Sheri. Hell, if you were to admit it, you see things the same way.”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t.”

“Even though you won’t leave your little brownstone?” he asked.

“That’s different. I don’t see relationships as temporary. I see them as unbalanced.”

“I’m not following.”

Sheri crossed her arms over her chest and stared at Tristan. His eyes were misty gray today because of the shirt he had on. He was so handsome, sometimes she worried that he’d wake up to the fact that there were a million gorgeous women in the world who’d gladly be his pretend fiancée and do whatever he asked of them.

“My reality and that brownstone are tied together. I see relationships as unbalanced because I’ve always been the one to care more than everyone else. And in the end, they’ve all left me behind.”

Tristan didn’t say anything and she felt like an idiot for revealing what she had.

“I’m going to run down and get Maurice.”

She walked out of the office and down the hall, trying to pretend that nothing had changed, but knowing that everything had.