Once she settled next to him with her back against his chest, she whispered over her shoulder, “Baptiste?”
“Yes, mon amour?”
“I-I don’t know if I can get past the hurt,” she uttered in a stifled voice.
He tightened his arms around her waist. “Yes, you can.”
“How?”
“Stay with me for the next three weeks, and let’s figure it out together.”
She swallowed hard and offered up one last defense. “I-I’m still going to Atlanta.”
He kissed the back of her head, but knew from the slight inflection in her voice she didn’t mean a word she’d just said. “But not for another three weeks, right?”
She stared into the darkness, listening to silence. At that moment she was absolutely exhausted. In the past hour, her strength and determination had been zapped.
“Baptiste, come on, work with me here.”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing. And it’s what I plan on continuing to do. Honey, I’m going to love you tonight.”
“How?” she whispered.
He tightened his arms around her. “I’m going to hold you all night long. I’m going to be the man you dream about. And when you wake up in the morning, I’m going to be the man who starts the day with you.”
“But Baptiste—”
He flipped her onto her back and kissed her with such thoroughness it removed any doubt in her mind of his love for her, and she was left breathless.
“Stay?”
“’Kay,” she uttered quietly.
Afterward, he settled his chest to her back and wrapped his arms back around her waist. “Now, close your eyes for me and go to sleep.”
“Je t’aime,” he whispered, hearing Vic’s deep breathing a while later. He smiled. She was exactly where she should be, in his bed, wrapped securely in his arms, and he drifted off to sleep knowing his prescription of a little patience when needed and a whole lot of love once per day had just about put her on the path to recovery.
Chapter 7
Saturday marked exactly one week since the hit-and-run. Around ten that morning, Vic walked into the intensive care unit at Highland Hospital to visit the other accident victim, Nicole Broussard.
Since she wasn’t family, she figured it would be an uphill battle getting clearance to visit Nicole. Thankfully, one of her nursing colleagues, Pam Matthews, was the charge nurse on duty and made an exception.
The front area was quiet except for the occasional concentrated movements of nurses who vigilantly monitored the life-support systems. Vic walked through the unit, which had a strong, familiar aroma of antiseptic, and stepped inside Nicole’s room. For a split second, her lung capacity short-circuited and her heart skipped before lurching back into rhythm again. Through labored breaths she struggled to breathe, and tears sprang to her eyes as she stared at the small, motionless body lying in the bed.
Nicole looked like a mummy. Wide strips of gauze were uniformly wrapped around her head and face. Only her lips, which were swollen and discolored, were visible. A clear plastic tube had been inserted down her throat to aid her breathing and the tiny stream of air that passed through whistled quietly in beat with the other machines softly beeping to record her body functions.
Vic’s throat was so tight it was almost too painful to swallow. Slowly shuffling forward, she reached the bed and observed what she’d seen countless times before. A steady stream of tears trickled down her face, and she wondered how anyone injured this badly could still be alive.
Vic’s fingers were stiff and cold, but the warmth generating from Nicole’s body, indicated that life still existed for her, but just barely. Tears continued to slide down her cheeks, and she couldn’t help thinking it could have so easily been her or Baptiste lying here. Yet, for some reason, they’d been spared. Why hadn’t Nicole?
With fifteen years of training to her credit, Vic knew Nicole needed something medical science could never offer. She needed a miracle.
Vic did the only thing she knew to make that miracle happen.
She knelt next to Nicole’s bed and prayed.
* * *
“So, Vic,” Chandler said, with a hint of amusement after she noticed Vic trying to inconspicuously slip her cell phone back inside her purse. “How’s the patient?”
Vic, Tara, and Chandler were enjoying Sunday brunch at Scott’s in Jack London Square in downtown Oakland.
Vic tossed her friend one of those if-you-say-one-more-word-I’ll-kill-you glances. The phone landed on the floor.
“Let’s see…” With her laughter escalating, Chandler lifted her wrist to study her Rolex. “We’ve been here an hour and that’s the fourth time you’ve snuck out to check on him. That’s a call every—”
“Hush, Chandler,” Vic interjected. “I know how to divide.”
A broad smile graced Tara’s chocolate-brown face. “Oh, now see there, Vic. That’s not right. Are you trying to pull the code of silence on us?”
Even though the restaurant’s air conditioning system was running at full blast, Vic was about to roast from the body heat generated inside the crowded building and removed the short matching jacket to her dress. “Back off, all of ya. Because of me, Baptiste is flat on his back. It’s the least I can do.”
Chandler leaned over, running her finger along Vic’s neck, and snickered. “Well, it looks like you found the time to do a few other things.”
Tara looked at Vic and gasped softly.
“What?” Vic inquired, her confused gaze darting back and forth between her friends.
Tara pointed to the space just below Vic’s collarbone. “Oh, my…he got that spot, too.”
Suddenly, Vic’s hands inched up to her throat to cover the passion marks she’d momentarily forgotten were there. She released a soft, shivering breath at the memory of when and how she’d gotten them. Just before dawn that morning, she remembered how Baptiste had quietly slipped inside the guest room where she’d decided to stay for the next three weeks, and she’d awakened to the feel of his mouth moving sensually along her shoulders, leaving his brand in its wake.
“Take your hand down, heifer, you’re busted,” Chandler quipped, picking up her water glass and taking a sip. “Tell you what. If I was locked up with the man, you’d be seeing more than a few bite marks.”
“Being on lockdown…oooh, how romantic,” Tara crooned softly.
Vic glanced at Chandler. “Don’t you have men to gloat over in San Francisco?” Before she got the answer to her question, she looked over at Tara. “And as for you, hush. Watching reruns of Lassie Come Home is romantic to you.”
Chandler giggled. “Now leave our friend alone. You know how sentimental she gets. Girl, I can’t wait until Caitlyn gets back from Paris to tell her about this.”
Vic snorted. “See, that’s the very reason I don’t tell y’all any more than I do. Every single one of you talks too much.”
“That’s all right,” Chandler defended. “Betcha Mrs. Baptiste will have a story worse than this one to tell us when she arrives home.”
Vic threw her head back and laughed. “Yeah, she’s no doubt making more babies with Marcel on the corporate jet over the Atlantic as we speak.” After she settled down, she glanced over at Chandler again. “Don’t tell me you’re solo these days?”
Chandler snorted loudly. “Child, how about three years, okay?”
“But why?” Puzzled, Vic stared at the woman who looked like a runway model, dressed immaculately, had a career that was better than good, and swapped out her Mercedes every six months.
“The ones out there fall into three categories,” Chandler explained, bending her fingers back. “They either one, don’t know what they want to be when the grow up; two, don’t have a clue on how to be with one woman at a time; or three, are of a different persuasion, and I ain’t talkin’ lighter either.”
Chandler’s last reference made the hairs on the back of Vic’s neck stand at full attention.
“Chandler
’s right,” Tara agreed with a nod. “D.C. was just as bad. I figured once I moved back home to Oakland I would have better luck finding relief for my drought.”
Vic angrily tossed her thumb at the window behind her. “The world’s largest ocean is just over the bridge. Both of ya go jump in it.”
“My, my, my, we are testy here this afternoon,” Chandler said, lifting her brow. “Girl, what’s wrong?”
“N-Nothing.” Vic was immediately mortified at her reaction to Chandler and Tara’s innocent reference to homosexuality. When she noticed how her two friends glanced at each other with a baffled look, she shrugged. They had no way of knowing her situation with Ron, something she was still having trouble accepting herself, and she felt bad she’d yelled at them. “Listen, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you guys. Baptiste is doing fine. Hopefully, he can get down to the clinic—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Chandler butted in. “Listen, that’s more information than we need to know.” Scooting her chair closer to Vic’s, she braced her hands under her chin. “We want to know what it’s like taking care of a home, you know, with a man, kids, goldfish…whatever.”
Vic eyed the caramel-skinned epidemiologist skeptically. “You serious?”
Chandler nodded. “Like a drive-by shooting. Now, start talkin’.”
“Well…” Vic couldn’t stop her enthusiasm from dancing in her eyes. “It’s kinda fun. You know, when you’re raising two kids, you got to stay on a schedule.”
Tara’s doe-brown eyes widened. “Schedule? But Vic, you’ve always been organized and on time. You plan things out almost to the second.”
“Sweetie, that’s the only way I can do the mommy thing. You see, we have a nighttime ritual. We do our bubble bath, put on our lotion, then lay out our clothes for the next morning—”
“Why do all of that stuff at night?” Chandler asked, confused.
“Chandler,” Vic quipped, “I have two heads to do in the morning. I spend forty-five minutes making ponytails—per child—thank you very much. But I put them in braids the other day.”
“Oooh, I bet they look so cute,” Tara said merrily.
“They do.” Vic grinned proudly from ear-to-ear as she reached inside her purse for the picture she’d taken of them. “Just look at my babies.”
Tara covered her open mouth with both hands while Chandler hailed the waiter.
“Your best champagne,” Chandler instructed the waiter after he hurried to their table. “Ladies, Vic’s conversion calls for a celebration.”
Vic’s eyes widened. “What conversion? Wait a minute. It’s not even two o’clock. It’s too early to be drinking champagne. And besides, we just left church.”
“You’re right,” Chandler said, gleefully. Looking at the waiter’s order pad, she amended her request. “Make that three VO and sevens, sir.”
“We can’t.” Vic shirked at Chandler’s request for her favorite drink—whiskey with a 7-Up chaser.
“Why not?” Chandler asked innocently and shrugged. “Listen, Vic, we’ve known you going on eighteen years and ain’t never seen you glow over a man like this. Listen to yourself and the way you talk about A.J.” She flicked her wrist back. “And his babies, too. Oh, pleassse.”
“Forget you, Chandler,” Vic replied, chuckling.
“Vic, come on, girl,” Chandler chided. “Stop kidding yourself. You are so hooked on A.J. and those girls it ain’t even funny. And the killing part in all of this is they feel the same way about you.”
Vic glanced down at the picture in her hand and knew Chandler was right. A week ago, nothing in the world could have landed her inside Baptiste’s home, let alone his bed.
Her hands began to tremble, and she knew Baptiste, Taylor, and Tyler had captured her heart without even trying. There wasn’t a shred of doubt in her mind that she’d kill first and not even bother to ask questions later to protect them. Choking back tears, she tried to rationalize why she’d agreed to stay with Baptiste for the next three weeks. The answer was clear—because she wanted to be there. Plain and simple. Releasing a long sigh, she finally accepted hardcore reality.
Before the next twenty-one days were over, her life would be forever changed.
* * *
A week later, A.J. braced his muscular frame next to the bar at his brother Marcel’s estate and sipped a Perrier at a fundraising event for his clinic. Shortly after he and Vic arrived, he’d gone up to check on his nephews, Etienne and Nicolas, after Caitlyn told him she thought they were coming down with a cold. He’d spoken with the boys’ pediatrician by phone and provided his assessment. Then he reassured Caitlyn that Etienne and Nicolas would be fine. He didn’t argue with her, though, after Caitlyn decided to skip the evening’s event to stay with the twins.
* * *
Amazement slapped A.J. upside the head as he looked over the guests and wondered how Vic had managed to pull off the night’s activities in a little over two weeks. Even after she’d told him she’d set up a meeting with several foundations, never in million years did he expect all of them to be assembled under one roof. She’d orchestrated the catered black-tie affair and invited the CEOs at the top ten philanthropic foundations in California. And how she ever convinced Ray and his jazz band to provide the musical entertainment was beyond comprehension.
Chuckling as a waiter passed by, K-Mart snatched a glass of champagne from his tray. “Doc, can’t you wait until you’re behind closed doors to catch your woman’s eye?”
“What?” A.J. absently answered, pulling a pen from inside the jacket of his tailor-made black tuxedo and scribbling something on a napkin after noticing Vic’s nod.
“I’ve been watching you and Vic winking back and forth at each other for most of the evening,” K-Mart teased.
Ray rallied to A.J.’s defense. “Look here, K-Mart, whatcha seeing is mon frère and Honey’s coding system.”
K-Mart looked confused. “Coding system?”
“Yeah,” Zach drawled, downing a shot of Crown Royal. “Every time Baby Girl gets a funding commitment, she tosses brother-in-law a wink.” He nudged A.J. in the side. “Ya see that? Baby Girl just signaled in another pledge.”
K-Mart whistled low and moved closer to A.J. “How much has Vic raked in so far?”
A.J. scanned the napkin before he placed it back inside his jacket. “That last donation puts us at nine.”
K-Mart nodded. “That’s pretty good. Nine hundred thousand is not a bad take for a couple of hours of work.”
“Oh, hell naw,” Zach protested mildly. “Brother-in-law can come up with that much from his petty cash. He’s talking seven digits. Ain’t that right, brother-in-law?”
K-Mart muttered a string of incoherent words in a strangled voice and ran his index finger along the inside of his wing-tip collar. “V-Vic raised nine million dollars in just two hours?”
A.J. nodded proudly. “Her goal is ten, and she still has thirty minutes left.”
“I’m tellin’ y’all, Baby Girl’s handling business in here tonight,” Zach boasted. “Moni told me when she made the invite to the big-wigs for them not to even show up if they weren’t prepared to offer at least a mil.”
Ray chuckled. “Oh, I can believe it. Got her whole family working the suits, too.” He tossed his thumb over his shoulder. “On my way back in here, saw Louise with one of ’em pinned in a corner. Humph. When she got through with friend, on top of what his foundation gave, he pulled out his checkbook and handed over a personal check for fifty Gs.”
“Nine million dollars,” K-Mart mumbled under his breath. He grabbed another glass of champagne, gulped it down, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Doc, I need Vic on my staff, pronto. I’ll pay her top dollar.”
Ray patted K-Mart’s shoulder. “Look here, K-Mart, mon frère’s woman don’t need to work now. He’s got her back.”
A.J. missed most of the exchange because his focus was solely on Vic. She looked absolutely stunning in a black lace-and-silk chiffon halter
-top dress with a deep v-neck front, open-toed sandals, and a pair of gold chain earrings that hung from a square diamond mount. He chuckled to himself at the thought of how when they first met, Vic would call him chauvinistic whenever he asked her to wear a dress. There really was a method to his madness. If she wore a dress, he wouldn’t have any trouble looking at her shapely legs.
K-Mart nudged A.J in the side. “Doc, come on and let me hire Vic to head up my public health department.”
A.J. polished off the rest of his Perrier. “You ask her. If she wants to work for you, it’s her call.”
They all stood and chatted for a few more moments until K-Mart looked across the room, which was filled to capacity, and spewed out the champagne he’d just taken a sip of. “Doc, doc…nine o’clock to your right.”
A.J. looked over to see Vic, Tara, Chandler, and another woman he assumed was with one of the foundations standing near the entrance to the living room. “What’s wrong?”
“Who’s the one standing on Vic’s left who looks like Tyra Banks’s twin?” K-Mart whispered.
“Uh, what did you say?” A.J. muttered under his breath, his eyes locked on Vic.
“Come on, doc,” K-Mart whined. “Who is she?” Frustrated, he turned to Ray as he straightened his tie and brushed the lapels of his tuxedo jacket. “Do you know who she is?”
Ray glanced in the direction K-Mart pointed out. “Oh, man, that’s just Chandler. She and Honey went to Columbia together.” He curved his hands to form the shape of an hourglass. “I’m trying to check out J. Lo’s baby sister standing next to her. Daaayuuum, she’s fine.”
A.J. cleared his throat. “Ray, don’t mess up what Honey’s doing tonight with your womanizing.”
“Settle down, mon frère,” Ray answered, grinning. “I’ll keep everything on the DL if the sista is with one of the foundations. And if she is, betcha I talk her into giving that last million Honey needs.” Then he opened up his arms. “But now if girlfriend there wanna tack a little somethin’, somethin’ on the end, you know, what can I say?”
When a Man Loves a Woman (Indigo) Page 8
