He frowned, not liking that idea. At all.
“So this is not the time for me to have an office romance and land on shaky ground with Daniel.” She held up a hand before Baptiste could get started again. “I don’t want you to handle Daniel. I want to maintain a spotless record at the office. Why pee in my own swimming pool?”
He paused, determined to choose his words carefully. “Forgive me, but don’t the bride’s parents usually pay for weddings? Why are you—”
“A couple reasons. I’m a financially independent thirty-three-year-old, not some eighteen-year-old virgin that comes along with a dowry and a herd of goats. My parents had planned to pay for some of it, and Terrance and I were paying for other stuff, but I can’t expect my parents to pay for a wedding that never even happened. I’m just not going to do that. They’re retired now, and they were never made of money. So it’s my responsibility.”
He nodded, feeling a powerful surge of admiration for her honor, determination and tenacity, even if those qualities made his life trickier right now.
Meanwhile, a nasty twinge of something—guilt? Unworthiness? —always bothered him when he heard about these sorts of money issues hitting other people. He lived in a rarefied financial bubble where he’d been born with a family fortune and his business manager made sure the funds were there when he wanted to buy a new toy or give his latest girlfriend her own credit card.
Baptiste worked hard because he enjoyed it, hated to be bored and wanted his uncle to look down on him with pride.
He’d never worked hard because he needed the cash.
But most people in the world—especially Samira, who was so much worthier than, say, his mother had ever been—didn’t have that luxury.
The unfairness of his accident of birth rarely irked him as badly as it did tonight.
He didn’t want Samira to worry about her finances. Or about anything else that might put this troubled expression on her face, come to think of it. Didn’t want there to be any impediments between them.
And that brought him back to an idea he’d had earlier and had been thinking about all day—an idea worth exploring. He bookmarked it for later.
“We can be as discreet as you like,” he assured her. “Daniel already knows, but we can, I don’t know, ignore each other at the winery. No one else will know.”
She frowned thoughtfully.
“But I don’t think you’ve told me the real reason yet,” he said. “Have you?”
Her expression closed off like a window slamming shut.
“I don’t want to get into it.”
He hated brick walls between them. He would have to approach his silky cat very carefully on this topic.
“I understand. You don’t know if you can trust me with something personal. But you’ve already trusted me with your precious body, haven’t you? And I took good care of that, non?”
She blushed prettily to the roots of her hair.
“You took excellent care of that. As you know.”
“So…?”
There was a long pause.
“I, ah…” She sighed. Smoothed the sheets with great care. “I hadn’t planned to get into this with you, but…”
He sat up straighter, his entire body on alert.
“Terrance broke it off. The night before the wedding.”
Baptiste tensed. He knew it! Why had that fool hurt Samira so badly by waiting until the eleventh hour to end things? And did he still hold Samira’s heart in his careless and unworthy hands?
“I see.”
“He’s gay,” she said quietly.
Baptiste lost control of his lower jaw, which dropped like an anchor.
“We were together for eighteen months, and I never suspected anything. If he’d told me he was secretly a zombie, I couldn’t have been more surprised.” Now that the floodgates were open, there was no stopping her. “And the man I dated before that? He was also seeing his ex-girlfriend every time he went on a business trip. I only found out when she got wise and called me out of the blue one day. So that was also a nasty surprise. And there were two years between them, and I don’t date much because I don’t warm up to people that easily.”
He nodded, his head spinning.
“Evidently, I’m missing the gene that allows you to be a good judge of potential partners. And the gene that recognizes red flags. And the common sense to know that the marriage is more important than the wedding. So you’ll have to forgive me if I’m not ready to jump off the deep end with you, no matter how many sparks are flying.”
He couldn’t think what to say.
“And, by the way, if I’d thought we’d ever see each other again after last night, or that this relationship had the potential to be anything more than a couple hours of sex, I never would have slept with you that quickly. You can have a one-night stand, or you can have something more. You can’t take a one-night stand and turn it into something more. The world just doesn’t work that way.”
Her story told, she watched him with a wary defiance that touched him in a way few things ever had.
This woman of his (and she would be his again, even if only 50 percent of them realized that at the moment).
So proud.
So wounded.
So misguided.
“Say something,” she said with a tinge of desperation in her voice.
“Thank you for telling me.”
She nodded, lowering her gaze.
“To clarify…Are you saying you had a great sex life with your ex-fiancé?”
“That’s what you want to focus on? Out of everything I just said?”
“I have to start somewhere. I’m a man, so I’m starting with the sex.”
“It was fine,” she said irritably, whacking her pillow to adjust it.
He felt a wild surge of satisfaction, but kept it on ruthless lockdown.
“Samira. You didn’t make him gay.”
“I know. But I didn’t recognize him as gay, either.”
“You cannot let those two men make you doubt your instincts. Or your sexiness.”
She made a scoffing sound. “Of course not. Please.”
“Samira. Look at me.”
It took several seconds, but her turbulent gaze finally flicked back to his.
“This is why we should be together in the same bed,” he said, running a hand over his queue, which was no longer fully engorged but still full and achy, ready to surge to complete readiness in another blink or two of her amazing eyes. “It would be so much easier for me to show you how sexy you are.”
Something of his sincerity must have sunk in, because her lips curled into a woman’s sultry smile.
“That’s just your junk talking.”
He grinned. “I think we agree my junk can be very persuasive at times…?”
“You and your junk can be very persuasive.”
“Don’t try to get me off track with your flirting. You think you’re the first woman this has ever happened to? Or the first woman to ever have a cheating boyfriend?”
Mocking smile. “Ah, but am I the first one to have them back-to-back?”
“I’m sure you’re not. What is it that your Thomas Edison said? ‘I haven’t failed. I’ve just found ten thousand ways that don’t work’? You haven’t failed. You’ve just found two men who are completely wrong for you.”
“I think we’re up to three men now, aren’t we?” she said. “Because a man interested in casual sex who lives on another continent is completely wrong for a thirty-something woman who wants to get married and have kids.”
The funniest thing happened to Baptiste, making him frown just when he opened his mouth to answer.
One part of his brain—the unhappy childhood, partying, model-loving, never-get-attached side—seized up with predictable distaste at the mention of him and marriage in the same sentence.
At the same time, another part of his brain flared to life out of nowhere.
This new half, to his complete astonishment,
flashed through the sorts of irresistibly primal images he’d never had before. Never thought he’d have.
Samira beneath him, rising up to meet him thrust for thrust with a smile on her lips and the words I want a baby pouring out of her mouth;
His hands on Samira’s rounded belly, feeling the strong kick of his baby inside her; and
He and Samira sitting on some sofa together with a toddler between them.
The toddler, in particular, was so vivid that Baptiste could smell the baby shampoo on his brown ringlets and feel the sturdy warmth of his body.
It was a he.
Baptiste blinked and all the images disappeared as quickly as they’d come, leaving behind a powerful yearning in his chest and a lifetime’s supply of bewilderment in his head.
14
“Baptiste?” Samira said. “You okay?”
He blinked away the images and tried to remember what she’d said.
“You can’t know what will happen between us.” He cleared his voice, which had gone hoarse as a result of his sudden insanity. He was, clearly, in the midst of some dire mental breakdown. “Why not see what happens?”
“I predict that you’ll return to your home, which is on another continent,” she said wryly.
Another flash of images produced the echoing hallways, gilt furniture and dusty silk drapes of his apartment in Paris.
He scowled. “Haven’t I already mentioned that I don’t have a home?”
She shrugged. “You have a continent. And it’s not this one.”
“Look into your crystal ball to see if you’ll get tired of me before any of that becomes an issue,” he said, feeling disgruntled. “Perhaps you will pitch me to the curb—”
“Kick.”
“—kick me to the curb tomorrow. Or the next day.”
“Why do you think I’m keeping you at arm’s length?”
“A spiteful God?”
“No,” she said, laughing. “It’s because people can’t think straight when great sex is involved.”
“The sex was great, wasn’t it?”
“Look. I’m not going to let my instincts be clouded by great sex. And my instincts tell me that you’re unsuitable for me because you’re a player who lives in France, and I’m unsuitable for you because I want more from a man than his penis when he’s in town. Bottom line.”
He stared at her, the last of his amusement dying a slow death, leaving him in an uneasy purgatory between overwhelming fascination, blind admiration and growing frustration.
His arm had begun to tire, so he took one of the pillows, laid it a couple feet in front of him and propped the phone against it so she could see the top half of his body. Then he stared into her face, welcoming the hot flood of his desire for her until he felt as though he could reach out and set the linens on fire with the slightest touch of his index finger.
“I think you underestimate me, ma reine.”
Something of his new intensity must have shown through, or perhaps it was the vague new edge in his soft voice. Whatever it was, it caught her attention.
She watched him warily. “Really? Do tell.”
“Yes, indeed. You see, I love to laugh and joke. I enjoy having fun. I can’t recall when I last had as much fun as I’ve had during the couple days I’ve known you, and I intend to extend this period for as long as possible. I also don’t have a crystal ball, but I’m betting that will be awhile yet.”
“Baptiste…”
“But if you need time to adjust to the idea of us continuing our delightful affair, as we will surely do, then I’m happy to give you time. I’m happy to give you everything your heart desires. In fact, I consider it my solemn duty.”
He paused for effect, deciding on the spot to implement the plan he’d been thinking about all day. Yes, he’d resolved to go slowly, but his surging instinct to provide for Samira overwhelmed all other considerations. If she needed something, he would give it to her. Period.
“So that’s two new responsibilities for me, isn’t it?” he continued, wondering what the hell had gotten into him. On his current trajectory, he’d be proposing to Samira before the end of next week. “Your sexual pleasure and your heart’s desires. Good thing I’m man enough for the job.”
She glared at him, clearly not knowing what to make of his little speech.
That made two of them, to be honest.
He watched her. Fascinating to see her wheels spinning as she tried to decide whether she wanted to hang up on him or fuck him.
Luckily, her body told him everything he needed to know.
It was all right there in her glittering eyes, bright color and dark nipples, which were now engorged and plainly visible beneath the thin cotton of her T-shirt.
He waited at absolute attention, knowing that another of her thrilling surprises was heading in his direction.
“Poor Baptiste,” she said. “Showing up when no one’s hiring.”
Sure enough.
He laughed from his belly, his queue stiffening again because it was as delighted with her as his brain was.
“You Americans have terrible memories, don’t you? You just said you were hiring.”
Her lips tightened.
“The position is for men interested in being my husband and the father of my children. Unqualified applicants need not apply.”
That killed his smile, but not his interest.
Nothing thrilled him like overcoming a challenge.
As for a challenge issued from a beautiful, sexy and intriguing woman?
When she was the prize?
“I like to joke with you, but this is not a game, Samira,” he said silkily, his heart rate speeding up because the stakes here were high. “So I will not lie to you. I won’t let you lie in front of me. Even if you’re only lying to yourself.”
She hissed with outrage. “I don’t know what you’re—”
“You might want to reconsider challenging me. Nothing motivates me more, and I’m already quite motivated where you’re concerned.” He slipped his free hand under the sheet to grip himself again. “As you know. Or maybe you’ve forgotten and need another reminder? I’m happy to show you.”
Her eyes went flinty, sparking fire in every direction. “Funny how you say this isn’t a game, then talk like I’m a Rubik’s Cube that you plan to solve so you can give yourself a gold star for tenacity.”
“Non, madame.” As always in times of emotional turbulence, his English slipped. He hated losing control, so he took a deep breath and slowed down. “The challenge will make my victory sweeter in the end, but the prize is not winning. The prize is every time you smile at me. Every time you surprise me. Every time you scratch my back when you come. Every time your hot pussy milks my queue and your juices squirt on me.”
Samira made a choked sound that sounded remarkably like one of the little mewls she’d made last night when he fucked her.
“You want a husband? You want to screen applicants for that position? You think to march off and find one when we both know it’s me you want inside you? Are you going to pretend I’m not parked inside your mind like a semi-truck parked in someone’s driveway?” He shrugged. “Be my guest. But as a woman who was recently hurt by a man who wasn’t honest with himself, I’m surprised you’d consider involving a third person’s time and feelings when you and I are clearly not done with each other.”
She gaped at him.
“That’s quite a speech,” she said after several seconds of shocked silence.
He shrugged again, frustration making him impatient. Why were they wasting this valuable time when they could be together?
“We’ve barely gotten started with our little affair. Why not let it run its course?”
“I need a minute,” she snapped.
He blinked. “Okay…?”
The next thing he knew, his screen went dark as she put the phone face down on the bed.
“Samira?”
He heard a muffled scream. Several loud thumps, as though s
he was attacking the bed with her arms and legs. More screams.
And then, abruptly, silence.
She cleared her throat, picked up the phone again, and there she was. His elegant cat, so composed and dignified as she settled against her pillows again, a little breathless but without a hair out of place.
He stifled a sudden burst of laughter, knowing that if there were a way for her to lunge through his phone and choke the smile off his face, she’d do it if he teased her now.
Meanwhile, a warning bell sounded in a distant corner of his brain. Here they were, spending all this time and effort making sure he didn’t hurt Samira. But who was keeping watch to make sure she didn’t sneak in and steal his heart?
He’d really like to know.
It wasn’t a valuable heart. He knew that. His parents had damaged (ruined?) it when he was a child, and it had long ago atrophied from lack of use. Were a surgeon to crack open his chest, he or she would surely discover something that looked like an oversized raisin where Baptiste’s heart should sit. The shriveled organ had certainly never beat for a woman the way it beat when he looked at Samira. Hell. For all he knew, his heart was incapable of love. That being the case, Samira would be a fool to want it. If he offered it to her, she’d be a fool if she did anything other than hand it back to him with polite thanks.
Even so, it was the only heart he had, and it was fragile.
He really should put more effort into protecting it, especially with Samira around.
“Everything okay?”
“Of course,” she said coolly. “So what do you suggest we do? Since you seem to have all the answers?”
“I don’t have all the answers. I don’t have any answers. I just know that the attraction between us is very powerful. It can’t be ignored or reasoned away.” He paused. Thought it over. “And I also know I could be there in eight minutes.”
The sudden frost in her expression threatened to crack his phone’s screen.
“Not a chance.”
“It was worth a try. Phone sex?”
“You’re losing your shot with me in five…four…”
“Naked pictures?”
“Three…two…”
“Okay.” He heaved an aggrieved sigh, still keeping his delight under wraps. “I see that you are a ruthless negotiator. And although I have been treated very unfairly by you—”
No Ordinary Love Page 14
