Baptiste stared at Sean and digested this advice, not liking the sound of any of it.
Leave Samira?
Go back to France?
His entire body clenched at the thought.
No. Absolutely not.
Not that he planned to admit any of this aloud.
Luckily, Daniel stepped in again.
“Yeah, okay,” he said, slinging an arm around Baptiste’s shoulder, steering him away from Sean and turning him loose again. “You want my best advice? Ignore everything this knucklehead just told you.”
“What the hell?” said Sean, looking around in surprise.
“You’re a great friend and I love you, but you’ve been spinning this tragic tale of lost love the whole time I’ve known you, and enough is enough,” Daniel told Sean.
“Meaning?” Sean asked aggressively.
“Meaning you were never with this woman,” Daniel said. “There was never a relationship to lose. You never had a chance. Your brother Mike didn’t steal anything away from you; you never had it to begin with. And if you weren’t so busy weaving this fantasy victim story, you’d see that your situation has nothing to do with Baptiste’s. So you have no business giving him advice about anything other than how to cook a good steak. Chef.”
Crooked smile from Sean. “We’re going to put it all out there like that? You want me to mention how much time you spent walking around like a kicked puppy when we first got back to Journey’s End? How many times I had to peel you up off the floor?”
“Feel free, man.” Daniel let out an incredulous laugh as he swept his arm wide in a the floor is yours gesture. “You think any of that matters now that I’ve got Zoya back? You think I wouldn’t go through it all again to make sure I get to marry her in the end?”
Daniel turned to Baptiste, still chuckling. “It’s up to you, man. You want to take advice from the guy who’s never been with a woman for longer than a football season—”
“He’s never been with a woman longer than a football season!” Sean said fairly, jerking his thumb at Baptiste.
“—or do you want to take advice from the guy who’s about to lock down having his dream woman in bed with him every night for the rest of his life?” Daniel shrugged. “Up to you.”
Baptiste thought about having Samira with him every night, and there was no decision to be made.
“Sorry, Sean,” he said, taking a step closer to Daniel. “I don’t think you’re the loser that Daniel does, but you’re still a pretty big loser. No offense.”
“Both of y’all can kiss my black ass,” Sean said, turning away to admire the view as he drank deeply from his water bottle.
Baptiste looked to Daniel, his simmering frustration making him impatient. “So what’s your advice? Do you have something I can use?”
“Yeah, listen. You’ve got to dial it back from eleven.”
“What?”
“Haven’t you ever seen This Is Spinal Tap?” Daniel asked. “Never mind. We’ll get you some American culture later. The point is, there’s no rush. I’m proof of that. Zoya and I had a connection the first night we met, and we still have it fourteen years later. So if it’s there and it’s strong, it’s not going anywhere. No need to hit her like a ton of bricks. Give her a little space to come up to speed. She’s a sensible woman. She’s got her head on straight, from what I can see. She’s not looking for a sugar daddy or the hottest parties. She’s not the supermodel-movie starlet type. So don’t approach her like that.”
Baptiste mentally kicked his own ass for shooting himself in the foot by ignoring his instincts and paying Samira’s bill. He’d known Samira was different from other women. Why hadn’t he listened to his gut?
He growled with frustration. “That’s the only type I know how to deal with!”
“Take her out to a movie. Go down to the city for the weekend and hang out. Cook her dinner. There’s time enough for the private plane and the credit card later, once you get to know each other better.”
That made some sense, but . . .
“I want to point out that I haven’t said anything about love,” Baptiste said. “I want to make sure we’re all very clear—”
“Do yourself a favor and shut the hell up before you make any more pronouncements you’ll have to retract before it’s all over,” Daniel said. “You’re marching around making declarations like you think you’re Napoleon or something—”
“Napoleon was Corsican. Not French,” Baptiste said.
“—and the next thing you know, you’ll be posing for a statue.” Daniel struck a pose, planting his feet wide, sticking out his chest, jamming his hands on his hips and tipping his chin up. They all laughed. “And then how will you look if and when you ask Samira to marry you? Don’t think I won’t embarrass your ass at your wedding reception.”
“You’ve gone too far.” Baptiste’s face still felt as though it was in flames, and this whole discussion had left him feeling more than a little rattled. “What if Samira turns out to be a Fatal Attraction woman? Ah, you see, you thought I didn’t know any American culture. Never underestimate me again. But what if she’s the crazy one? What if I have to run back to France to get away from her? Have you considered that scary scenario?”
Daniel laughed at him. “Samira? Please. Now you just sound foolish.”
“I didn’t come to Journey’s End for a relationship. I didn’t ask for this big knot in my stomach. I was minding my own business!” Baptiste said, desperation getting the best of him. “I want to make it through this in one piece. What should I do?”
“Pray,” Daniel said, giving Baptiste’s shoulder a supportive squeeze. “Pray.”
18
Late that afternoon, Samira grabbed her potluck item, left her house and walked down the wooded portion of the riverwalk to the Halloween bonfire. The rustling leaves provided a nice shade from the sun, which apparently still didn’t realize it was the end of October. She was beginning to wonder if she should take off her jean jacket when a top-of-the-line Tesla in gleaming black with blackout windows passed with the smooth purr of a powerful engine.
Whoa. Nice car.
Without warning, the car reversed, zoomed back to her and stopped, the front passenger side window gliding down.
Honestly, she had to laugh. Journey’s End had always been a small town, but rarely had it been this small.
“If I turn my head and see Jean-Baptiste Mercier driving this Tesla,” she said without breaking stride, “I’m going to lose my freaking mind.”
“Pardonnez-moi, madame,” he said, his voice heavy with laughter as he rolled alongside her while keeping one eye on the rearview mirror, “but I’m a stranger here in your town and I wonder if you could help me? I’m on my way to the Halloween bonfire.”
“That depends.” She finally glanced his way to discover that he looked wickedly handsome in a baseball cap and aviator sunglasses. The sight of him, predictably, set off a swarm of butterflies in her belly. “Were you invited?”
“Yes. By a very intriguing woman.”
She felt a wild surge of relief. Funny how it was only now that she realized she’d been holding her breath since their argument this morning, waiting to see if he still planned to come. He’d said he would, but what men said and what they did were often two very different things.
“Intriguing women can be problematic,” she warned. “Maybe you should stick with mildly interesting women.”
“Ah, but think how bored I would be then.”
To disguise how much she liked his answer, she ran a loving hand along the car’s roof. “Nice car.”
“I’m surprised to hear you say that. I would think that a woman who turns up her nose at luxury items and displays of wealth, such as yourself, wouldn’t notice a fine car like this one.”
“You French really are terrible listeners, aren’t you?”
He came to a complete stop, laughing. The sound enticed her enough to stop walking so she could brace her free hand on the door an
d lean in to speak to him through the window.
“I never turned my nose up at luxury items,” she continued. “I had an engagement ring from Tiffany, didn’t I?”
“Ah.” His expression went very still behind his sunglasses. “So it’s only my luxury items that trouble you.”
She thought that over. This really wasn’t the sort of thing she wanted to get into by the side of the road, but what the hell?
“Putting the cart before the horse is what troubles me. I had a handsome fiancé, a beautiful engagement ring, an amazing dress and would have had the wedding of the year. All my friends were jealous because my life looked perfect. But I would have been married to the wrong man. That would have been a huge disaster.” She paused. “So if you and I are going to have any kind of a relationship—”
“You and I do have a relationship.”
“—then I don’t want to build it on quicksand.”
Another car drove by just then, tooting as it veered around them. Baptiste took off his sunglasses, tossed them onto the dashboard and looked at her with eyes that were, as usual, way too hot. Much too intense.
“Ride to the bonfire with me. Before we cause a traffic accident. You should have let me pick you up like I wanted.”
She glanced down the riverwalk, where she didn’t have far to go before she reached the park, then turned back to him and the tempting comfort of his car.
“We really shouldn’t arrive together,” she said, although her heart wasn’t in it. “People from work will be there. What would we tell them?”
“How about we tell them the outlandish tale that I ran into you by the side of the road and offered a ride?”
She hesitated.
He sighed loudly, leaning back against the headrest, scrunching his eyes closed and rubbing his hands across his face. When he emerged again, it was with a humorless laugh.
“God is very ironic. I never realized until now.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Every woman I’ve ever been with has been thrilled to be seen with me. They like to pose at events and on red carpets with me. One enterprising woman even made an anonymous”—he made quotation marks with his fingers— “phone call so the paparazzi would catch us leaving a hotel together. Yet the one woman I want refuses to be seen with me, even in tiny Journey’s End, a town barely on anyone’s map.”
He shrugged helplessly, putting the car in gear.
“Perhaps this is that horrible karma everyone is always talking about, coming for me on behalf of those other women. I’ll see you at the bon—”
Something about the forlorn look on his face was absolutely intolerable to her. She would not be responsible for making him look like that. So when an irresistible impulse demanded that she open the door, slide inside, plunk herself down and put her food on the backseat, she went with it.
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” she said as she shut the door again, more to distract herself from the astonished delight spreading across his expression than anything else. “Americans hate self-pity. I told you.”
His laughter echoed inside the cocooned world of the car. He watched her, eyes glittering, as she buckled up, noting everything from her face down to the way the slit in her black maxi sundress slid away from her legs. When she got settled, he took her hand and pressed a lingering and fervent kiss to it as he pulled off.
She shivered and ran the backs of her fingers across his lush lips, her skin growing tighter and tighter with each passing second.
She couldn’t breathe.
By the time he turned into the park, pulled into a shady space on the outskirts of the lot and killed the engine, she was more than ready for him.
He unbuckled and reached for her across the console, taking her face in his hands.
She had time to unbuckle and whisper his name.
Then he was kissing her…kissing her…kissing her.
His lips were firm and insistent, more delicious and persuasive than she’d remembered. His skilled hands went to work, massaging her nape…smoothing over her cheeks… gliding up and down her neck. It really was miraculous the way those hands somehow managed to ignite every far corner of her body without ever traveling further south than her shoulders.
Samira went wild. That was the only reaction her body knew when he touched her. She got as close as she could, surging into him and gripping his forearms to make sure he never let her go.
As for any passing neighbors or coworkers?
She couldn’t care less in those overheated moments.
Her thoughts were limited to how much she wanted him back inside her and a vague feeling of gratitude for the black-out windows. Stopping was the very last thing on her mind.
She’d missed him too much.
Needed this too much.
In the end, he was the one who broke away and rested his forehead against hers, his chest heaving.
They caught their breath while he kept an anchoring hand on the back of her neck. His free hand slid beneath her jeans jacket and rested on her belly, a heavy and possessive presence that kept her right where she wanted to be.
“I think I deserve an award,” he said, his voice ragged.
She almost smiled at that. “Again? For what?”
His fingers found the slit in her dress…trailed lazily up and down her thigh…circled around to the inside edge of her panties…and stopped.
Stopped.
She squirmed, half crazed with lust.
“For keeping my hands to myself when I’m dying to make you come again. For remembering that we have some issues to address first.” His hand returned to her belly and stayed there. “You should thank me.”
She took a shuddering breath.
“I’m not feeling that grateful at the moment, to be honest.”
“I’m sorry about the money,” he said urgently. “I never meant to insult you. You know that.”
“I know,” she said, nodding.
His corded muscles loosened, some of his tension leaching away.
“I miss touching you like this.”
“I miss it, too.”
“You don’t know how much I wish I was inside you right now.”
“I have some idea.”
He sighed. Turned her loose to lean back against his seat again. Studied her, unsmiling, his gaze lingering on her hairline, where he smoothed the baby hair away from her forehead. Her eyes. Her mouth.
“Why do you look so sad?” she asked.
“I’m not sad,” he said quietly. “I’m very happy to be spending time with you. But it’s hard to hold myself in check.”
“This is you happy? If you get any happier, we’ll need a suicide watch.”
He grinned. Sobered again just as quickly.
“My head is very full of stern warnings and reminders.”
“Is that right? Don’t forget to get the Tesla washed later? That sort of thing?”
He laughed, then reverted to looking sadder than ever. “No. Don’t lose your head about a woman you just met. Keep your mouth shut. Don’t overwhelm Samira. Don’t think about what Daniel said. That sort of thing.”
Everything inside her went very still and listened on high alert as she frowned at him.
“Well, that’s a lot of mysteries in a few sentences. Where should I start?”
“Nowhere. I’m keeping my mouth shut so I don’t overwhelm you.”
“Overwhelm me with what?” she asked lightly.
His lips twisted into a crooked smile. “You will not trick me with your clever questioning.”
“No?” Pouting, she shifted around to face him and put a hand on his abs, enjoying the way his muscles leapt in response. His breath stuttered as she leaned in, tipping her face toward his. “What about bribery? Are you susceptible to bribery?”
“Very.”
Grinning, she eased even closer. He put a hand on her cheek, angling his mouth—
She deftly twisted around, grabbed her food container from the backs
eat and thrust it at him. “Here you go.”
“I was promised sex!” he cried, outraged.
“This is even better,” she said, opening the lid.
“Doubtful,” he grumbled. “You shouldn’t tease a man like—oh, what are those?”
“These are Rice Krispie treats with M and Ms in them,” she said triumphantly. “All the little kids go nuts for these whenever we have a potluck. Adults, too. Try one.”
He’d already helped himself to the fattest square he could find and took an eager bite.
She watched as his eyes rolled closed while he chewed, his face slackening into ecstasy.
“You like?”
“I cannot speak,” he said.
The compliment shouldn’t thrill her this much—how much honor was there in creating a dessert treat that took five minutes and had a handful of ingredients, after all? —but she grinned idiotically anyway. Until he reached for another one, forcing her to slam the lid on his fingertips.
“Hey!” he yelped.
“They’re for children.”
“And I take childish delight in eating them.”
“Well, I suppose,” she said, sighing dramatically as she opened the lid again. “Just this one time.”
“Thank you, ma reine,” he said, kissing her again.
“Don’t thank me. They’re a bribe, remember? Now you need to tell me what you were talking about a minute ago.”
“Can’t I finish my treats?”
“No!”
She’d also brought tiny paper plates, so she found one and held it out for him. He sourly but dutifully put his treats down and took a deep breath.
“I want to talk to you,” he said. “About the articles you read about me.”
“It’s okay,” she said quickly, not wanting to open the topic for discussion, curious though she was. There was too much potential for her to lapse into some sort of involuntary and inappropriate display of jealousy or possessiveness, and she couldn’t have that. “It doesn’t matter to me anyway, and you don’t owe me any explanations—”
No Ordinary Love_A Journey’s End Billionaire Romance Page 18