No Ordinary Love

by Ann Christopher

  Samira took advantage of the distraction and sent Melody a text: Thanks a lot!

  Melody: *SHRUG*

  Samira: Don’t you dare fall for his routine!!!

  Melody read the text, rolled her eyes and answered: I do what I want.

  Samira: WTF??? with a scowling face.

  Melody: Don’t make me block you with a tongue stuck out.

  “Cheers, ladies,” Baptiste said, raising his glass when the server eventually departed.

  “Thanks for the drink,” Melody told him, putting down her phone and clinking his glass.

  “My pleasure.” Baptiste beamed at her, then turned to Samira and waited.

  Glaring at him, Samira grabbed a cracker off the platter and crunched it loudly.

  Baptiste sighed loudly. “Don’t cut off your nose to spite your face, Samira. If you don’t toast and make eye contact, we have seven years of bad sex. After last night, I think we can both agree that would be a tragedy.”

  Melody laughed despite Samira’s withering glare.

  “Fine.” Samira raised her glass and clanked it with his as artlessly as she could. “But only because I don’t want to have bad sex with anyone.”

  “As you wish,” Baptiste said easily, inclining his head, but the gleam of irritated amusement in his eyes as he drank told Samira she’d just made an unforced error. She’d inadvertently issued him a challenge, and he took it as such. “Now may I resume my important conversation with your best friend?”

  Samira crossed her arms and sat back to see what he would say, curiosity getting the best of her. “Be my guest.”

  “Lovely.” After a pause to make sure Samira didn’t interrupt again, Baptiste focused on Melody. “The thing is, this morning I told Samira how eager I am to see her again. Yet she wants nothing further to do with me. Very hurtful. And I don’t understand why. I’m a charming and fun guy. Everyone says so.”

  “Samira is very guarded,” Melody said, deftly avoiding Samira’s latest kick under the table. “She doesn’t make it easy for anyone to get close. Especially men.”

  “Understood,” he said. “But did I do something wrong?”

  Though she knew this was all part of his orchestrated charm offensive, Samira heard the veiled note of hurt in his voice and felt the corresponding tug on her heartstrings.

  She ducked her head, hastily grabbing a bite of cheese.

  Melody studied Baptiste closely. “Well, you’re sexy. Generous. Funny. But I just met you, and I haven’t had the chance to look you up online yet. So it’s tough for me to judge.”

  “Merde,” he muttered, draining his glass and pouring a refill. “Don’t believe everything you read when you do look me up online.”

  The women exchanged an uh-oh look.

  Melody focused all her attention on him. “If there’s a story there, we might as well hear about it from you.”

  “There have been…” Baptiste flapped a hand. Flapped it again. Cleared his throat. Sipped his champagne. “Women.”

  “Oh,” Melody said, her expression falling.

  “That reminds me,” Samira told Melody, snapping her fingers. “I forgot to mention that some woman sent him a naked pic this morning. I told him it was none of my business, but he said it was. He claims it was never anything serious with this woman. Says it’s over now.”

  “Well, everyone has an ex,” Melody said fairly. “The question is whether she knows she’s an ex.”

  “That’s what I said,” Samira said triumphantly.

  “She knows,” Baptiste said, sipping his champagne.

  “You must be giving her mixed messages,” Melody told him. “Otherwise, what’s she hanging around for?”

  “Money,” Baptiste muttered.

  “You’re not still giving her any…?” Melody asked.

  “No. But hope springs eternal.”

  Melody eyed him closely for several seconds. He met her level gaze without blinking.

  This continued for several beats, until Melody nodded decisively.

  “I believe him,” she told Samira.

  “If only everyone did,” Baptiste said with a sidelong glare at Samira.

  “Eh, she’ll come around,” Melody said.

  “Let’s hope,” he said.

  “So you have a lingering ex,” Melody said. “But no stalkers?”

  “No,” Baptiste said.

  “Arrests?”

  “No.”

  “Drugs? Alcohol?”

  “No.”

  “Baby mama drama?”

  “No. But my dead parents were a nightmare. I freely admit that.”

  “Define nightmare,” Melody said, taking the words right out of Samira’s mouth. “As in you can’t sit down to dinner together at the holidays? Or did your mother try to run over your father with her car?”

  Baptiste tilted his head and thought that over. “More the latter. Sadly. But that has nothing to do with me as a person. Nothing to do with Samira and me getting to know each other better. I mean… Why be so serious? Why not have fun and see where the mood takes us?” His shoulders slumped as he reached for a piece of cheese. “If only she saw it that way.”

  “So all you want from Samira…?” Melody asked delicately.

  Another thoughtful pause from Baptiste. He looked to Samira, acknowledging her presence for the first time in a while. She’d been having a tough time sitting quietly this whole time, but she risked a peek at him, her heartbeat thumping steadily in her throat.

  “Samira?” he said quietly, unsmiling. “The thing about Samira is that…I love to see her eyes sparkle. It feels important to make sure they sparkle all the time.”

  A piece of Samira’s frozen heart melted.

  Melody, meanwhile, emitted a tiny gasp of appreciation that didn’t help matters.

  At all.

  One of them needed to keep her head on straight where Baptiste was concerned, and since it evidently wasn’t going to be Samira, Melody should step up to the plate.

  Samira would have immediately fired Melody from her position as best friend (what kind of best friend melted into goo after a glass of beer and a couple of pretty words from a foreigner?), except that Samira was so lost in the intensity of Baptiste’s gaze that she was in no position to make personnel decisions.

  “Well.” He laughed shakily, ruffling his hair until it looked like it had this morning, when he got up from their rumpled bed. “Please excuse me. I want to give you ample opportunity to talk about me behind my back. Why don’t you both order your dinners? My treat, of course.”

  With that, he strode off toward the men’s room.

  Melody barely waited until he was out of hearing range before she turned on Samira like a rabid Doberman. “Have you experienced a head injury that I need to check out? Because that’s the only reason I can think of that would make you kick him out of your bed. Even if he only wanted to be there for ten minutes. What the hell is wrong with you?”

  Oh, for God’s sake.

  Samira scowled. “I’m being smart. I’d think you’d understand and be supportive.”

  “What? What’s smart about missing out on sex with a man like Baptiste? And you need a rebound guy anyway.”

  “I’ve rebounded!”

  Melody smacked her forehead and groaned. “One night does not a rebound make, genius. I’m surprised you don’t know that.”

  “Yeah? Well, where will my fragile self-esteem be when he skips off back to France in a couple days? Or drops off the face of the earth and never calls me again? I’ve already had one romantic kick in the teeth recently. That’s enough for the year, thanks.”

  “Why are you painting doomsday scenarios? You don’t know what’s going to happen. Maybe you’ll get sick of him before he gets sick of you. Maybe you’ll get mutually sick of each other and this thing will die a natural death with no one getting hurt on either side. Ever think of that?”

  Samira gestured in the departed Baptiste’s direction. “You saw him! How likely is that? And you,
of all people, shouldn’t want me involved—in any way—with another unavailable man. What’s next? Fixing me up with some nice married man you know?”

  Melody thought that over. Shrugged with reluctant agreement. “So you go into it with your eyes wide open. If he shows up? Fine. If not? Fine.”

  “You cannot be serious.”

  “It’s not like you knew Terrance was unavailable when you got together with him, honey. You’re way ahead of the game with Baptiste. At least you know what you’re getting and not getting. As long as you keep it casual, where’s the harm between consenting adults?”

  Where was the harm? Rarely had Samira heard such a stupid question.

  But, in fairness, Melody had no idea how Baptiste had commandeered Samira’s every waking thought today. Nor did Melody know about the aching fullness Samira still felt between her thighs, a delicious remnant from last night, or, worse, the insidious curiosity about Baptiste that held Samira in an unbreakable stranglehold.

  What was his home like? His family? What did he eat for breakfast? Did he own any pets? No detail of a human being’s life was too mundane for Samira to wonder about it when it came to Baptiste.

  And to think she’d thought about him this much today, when everyone at the winery had been frantically busy with merger business. How much more would she think about him on a normal day, when she had more time?

  She kept telling herself that she didn’t need him and didn’t want the dating drama, but that was the thing about Baptiste. He felt like the kind of man a woman might grow to need, whether she wanted to or not.

  And Einstein, here, believed that as long as Samira made up her mind to keep it casual, everything would be okay.

  Please.

  When it came to potential emotional damage, wasn’t Samira’s incubating obsession with Baptiste just as bad as falling in love?

  “Keep it casual?” Samira echoed. “Really? That’s the best you’ve got? What do I keep you around for?”

  “I don’t know.” Melody darted a quick glance over Samira’s shoulder. “But remember: I love you, and this is for your own good. So I hope you forgive me one day.”

  On that cryptic note, Melody pulled out her phone, hit a button and held it to her ear.

  “Yes, this is Doctor Harrison,” she said loudly.

  What the—?

  “What are you doing?” Samira asked, baffled.

  “Uh-huh. Uh-huh.” Melody nodded and listened intently, launching into a D-list performance that had the potential to fool no one. “Yeah, okay. I’m on my way.”

  “Oh, come on,” Samira muttered, starting to get the picture just as Baptiste returned to the table, one brow quirked.

  Melody glanced at her watch as she grabbed her bag, scooted to the edge of her seat and stood, still talking into the phone. “I can be there in ten minutes. Has the lab come back with the blood work yet? Can you check on it? Great. Thanks. Okay, bye.”

  “Is everything okay?” Baptiste asked.

  “Just got called in to the hospital,” Melody said with exaggerated regret, hitting a button and holding up the phone as proof. “Accident. I’ve got surgery. Sorry.”

  “There was no accident.” Rising panic made Samira shrill, but what could she do? No way was she going to participate in Melody’s little charade, especially if it threw Samira to this sexy French wolf. “You made the whole thing up so you could leave me alone with Baptiste. You’re a terrible actress.”

  Melody shot her a sweetly puzzled look as she slung her bag over her shoulder, all but levitating with angelic innocence. “What do you mean?”

  “No one’s falling for your sad little matchmaking routine,” Samira snapped. “You should be ashamed of yourself. Honestly, I’m embarrassed for you. Keep your day job, Viola Davis.”

  That was the moment that Baptiste stepped in and became complicit with his Machiavellian coconspirator.

  “If Melody says she has surgery, I’m sure she has surgery.” Mischief glimmered in his bright eyes. “Why would she make up a story? Americans are known for their honesty. Anyone will tell you.”

  “Thank you, Baptiste.” Melody shot Samira a reproachful look. “I don’t know what Samira’s problem is tonight. You sure you want to get to know her better?”

  “Oh, I’m sure,” Baptiste said silkily.

  “Well, I’d better go,” Melody said, hastily tossing back a good four ounces of her stout and wiping her lips with a napkin. “Don’t want to be late for my procedure.”

  “Does the medical board know you like to drink before your procedures?” Samira asked, watching while Melody opened up her napkin, deposited several pieces of cheese and crackers into it and tucked her ad hoc doggy bag into her purse.

  “All the best surgeons do.” Melody waved an airy hand before leaning in to kiss Baptiste good-bye. “Great meeting you, Baptiste. I have a good feeling about you. As long as you don’t make me regret my decision to, ah…”

  “Hand your best friend over on a silver platter?” Samira suggested caustically.

  “Head into surgery without seeing Samira home first,” Melody said.

  “I won’t,” Baptiste said solemnly.

  “Great.” Melody nodded with crisp satisfaction. “Call me tomorrow, Sam.”

  “Can’t. I’ll be too busy interviewing applicants for my new best friend,” Samira said.

  Laughing, Melody strode off.

  Leaving Samira breathless and unsettled as Baptiste slid into the booth across from her.

  12

  Baptiste reached for his champagne, trying to disguise some of his avid interest in Samira’s next move. He was far too invested in this one woman’s words, moods and reactions. He knew that. He also knew that the fierce longing he felt deep in his gut was unusual for him and probably unhealthy.

  What had gotten into him?

  For the life of him, he couldn’t figure it out.

  Women came and women went, and the world still turned on its axis. So there was no need to ever get too worked up over one particular woman, especially one who claimed she didn’t want the drama. Hadn’t he learned that lesson early and vicariously through the heartbreak of the various “uncles” and stepfathers who had cycled through his flighty mother’s life through the years?

  No, it was never wise to give a woman too much control over you. Women already had most of the power anyway, being the gatekeepers to sexual pleasure. A man had to keep his head.

  A smart man never allowed himself to want too much.

  Baptiste knew all this.

  Yet desire for everything Samira burned inside him, and it was all he could do to keep the heat of it off his face when he looked at her.

  She had done something extraordinary to him, this one.

  Perhaps she was a sorceress. That would explain a great deal.

  Memories of last night had spent the day darting into his mind at inopportune moments, a normal occurrence when one found an exciting new lover. The unusual part? The extent of his preoccupation had left him distracted and largely unproductive on an important workday.

  Even worse, it wasn’t just sexual distraction he felt.

  He’d wondered things about Samira.

  Was she as excited to work with him as he was to work with her?

  Why had her ex-fiancé visited her today? Did she want him back, despite what she said? Why had she worn the man’s ring?

  What had her entire life been like up until this point?

  The only thing Baptiste hadn’t wondered today?

  Whether he’d imagined the way she’d responded to him last night or the way she’d looked at him this morning when he kissed her.

  No. That much he knew, and his outsized ego was not to blame for the certainty.

  She wanted to see more of him as much as he wanted more of her.

  It was just that she was determined not to face this inconvenient truth when her romantic life was already complicated enough.

  He sipped his champagne, watching her and wai
ting.

  Christ.

  She was beautiful in her confusion, with her brown eyes shadowed and her jaw tight. Wary, like an elegant cat with her back to the wall. She wanted him to coax her. Wanted him to convince her that her trust would not be misplaced. He felt it all the way to his bones.

  His job was to show her the way, even if, as Melody suggested, being adopted had taught her to be wary of the people in her life.

  The thing about cats?

  You had to let them approach you. When they were ready. Not before.

  So he poured them both more champagne and focused on his cheese plate.

  “Sorry about that,” she finally said, cheeks stained with embarrassment. “No one ever accused Melody of being a good actress.”

  “But she is a good best friend. Correct?”

  “She’s a great best friend. Usually.”

  Ah. As he’d suspected, Melody knew Samira inside and out and felt, as Baptiste did, that an affair with Baptiste would be good for Samira at this transitional moment in her life.

  Perhaps the lovely and wise Melody was Baptiste’s new best friend as well?

  “We met in high school,” Samira said, answering his next question.

  “Great friends are priceless. But I will deny it if you tell Daniel I said so.”

  She started to smile. Caught herself and stopped. Opened her mouth. Hesitated.

  All this wariness made last night’s events all the more miraculous, Baptiste decided, watching her work through her turmoil.

  Such a cautious soul.

  He was profoundly lucky that she’d ever let him touch her.

  And profoundly grateful.

  “How did you meet Daniel?” she finally asked.

  “In Napa. We worked at neighboring vineyards. We both came from winemaking families. Both went out in the world to do some learning elsewhere.”

  “Did you like Napa?”

  “I loved it. I love the U.S.”

  “Yeah? What do you love about it?”

  “The countryside. The big cities. The work ethic, which is more important than your birth status. The American Dream. Anything is possible here.” He paused. “And Target.”