“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 she 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—”

“I’m unfair?”

“—I’m willing to let bygones be bygones and to accept your gracious invitation.”

“My invitation?”

“To the Halloween bonfire tomorrow night.”

“You want to come to some neighborhood bonfire?”

“Of course. I’m told there will be exceptional food—”

“Exceptional is a little strong, considering that half the dishes will have whipped cream, Jell-O and marshmallows in them.”

“—and I can meet your parents.”

Ringing silence from Samira, who stiffened.

“Why would you want to meet my parents?” she finally said.

“Because they’re your parents. Honestly, I thought Americans were smarter than this.”

Now she looked vaguely alarmed. “But what’s the point?”

“I want to meet these paragons of virtue who have a successful long-term marriage and raised such an exceptional daughter. Why are you looking at me like I plan to kidnap them and hold them for ransom? My idea makes perfect sense. You and I can get to know each other better in a chaperoned setting, and people from work will think you’re being nice to me because I’m a stranger here. I’d think that you would be glad to join me in an activity that involves clothes and doesn’t require a bed. But if you’re rethinking your earlier position, I can still be there in eight minutes.”

“Stay. Where. You. Are. You won’t be so smug when my father gives you the third degree. And the bonfire is potluck, just so you know.”

“Potluck?”

“Everyone needs to bring a dish to share.”

“Ah.”

“Are we finished here? Can I go back to sleep now? Thanks to you, I’ve had about fifteen minutes’ sleep in the last couple days.”

He hesitated.

No, they weren’t finished. He didn’t want to let her go. For one shameful second, he actually considered asking her to put the phone down near her pillow just so he’d know she was still there as he drifted off to sleep.

Thank God he hadn’t quite reached that level of dependency.

Yet.

It was late. They were both tired. But there was a question that nagged at him worse than his semi-engorged state.

“Is it so easy to say good-bye to me?” he asked quietly, his old companion Loneliness settling on the pillow beside him, taking the spot he’d hoped Samira would want. “You’re always trying to do it.”

His mood shifted to the pending emptiness that would fill him until he saw her again. It was early in their relationship yet, and he didn’t believe in getting attached, which meant that nonsense concepts like soul mates, love at first sight or even love had no place in his life. Despite his earlier concerns about protecting his heart.

Even so, he was smart enough to recognize patterns when he saw them, and a troublesome new pattern stared him in the face right now.

Every time he and Samira parted, he ached to see her again. Wondered how long he would have to wait until that glorious moment, and if he could produce the required patience.

He was a strong man with a healthy ego, but the idea that this woman could hang up and go back to sleep when he knew he’d be thinking about her all night…

It didn’t sit right with him.

“Samira?”

“You’re not entitled to all my secrets, Baptiste,” she said softly, her voice hoarse. “You’ve already had enough in your couple days with me. Don’t you think?”

Something inside him eased, just a bit.

The ambivalence in her eyes also helped.

“Maybe I’m not entitled to your secrets. But I still want them, ma reine.”

Her eyes lit with amusement. “Don’t be so greedy.”

“Don’t be so tempting,” he said, unsmiling.

A long moment passed. Her smile slowly faded. He stared at her lips, remembering the taste of them. The exquisite feel of them on his body. She stared back, her unwavering attention leveled on his eyes.

“What do you see?” he wondered. “When you look at me like that?”

“That’s another secret,” she said, a vivid flush creeping up her neck and over her cheekbones.

“La belle dame sans merci,” he said glumly. “So beautiful. So merciless. So many brick walls.”

“Yeah, well, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. Don’t try to make me feel bad with your little Keats poem.”

“A woman who knows both her Shakespeare and her Keats is after my heart. And your heart must be a very great treasure for you to guard it so closely.”

Her gaze was level. Unabashed.

“It’s the only one I’ve got. And luckily, international players such as yourself don’t bother with women’s hearts. Do they?”

This perfectly reasonable assessment of his approach to dating and women also did not sit well with him. It felt as though she wanted to squash him into a trunk and slam the lid.

Where did he want to be instead?

He didn’t know, but it wasn’t in that tiny trunk.

More than he wanted out of that trunk, he wanted his fill of Samira. Freely given, with unlimited smiles and eyes that sparkled without reservation.

He wanted.

“Perhaps you don’t know me as well as you seem to think.”

“That remains to be seen,” she said.

“I don’t know what’s happening here,” he told her. “I only know that it’s happening. Isn’t it?”

“Evidently,” she said reluctantly.

A beat or two passed.

“Now what?” he asked.

Shaky laugh. “I have no idea.”

They watched each other, settling into the silence, and neither seemed inclined to hang up. That being the case, he decided to try for a small concession.

“Do me a favor, angel.”

“What is it?”

Something about the new glow in her eyes—sexy, knowing—told him she knew exactly where this was headed.

“Take off your clothes.”

She made him wait for a long few seconds, his heart a steady thump in his throat. When she spoke, her voice skimmed across his skin like satin.

“Why should I do that for you?”

Finally, an easy question.

“Last night, you gave me heaven. Tonight, heaven is all I can think about, but it’s off-limits.” He cleared his hoarse throat. “If you’re going to be merciless and cruel—”

“Such drama.”

“—dooming me to a sleepless night, the least you can do is give me this one small thing. Let me pretend you’re waiting for me the way I’m waiting for you.”

She hesitated, her gaze sliding out of focus as she looked to the empty other side of her bed and smoothed the sheets where he should be right now.

Then her unsmiling eyes, hotter now, flicked back to his.

His breath hitched. His heart leapt.

In no particular rush, she fluffed up a pillow and propped her phone against it as he had done, giving him a longer view. She rose up on her knees, maintaining eye contact. Her T-shirt, he now saw, just skimmed the tops of her shapely thighs, which were dark and delicious against the white sheets.

He tried to breathe.

She hooked her thumbs through the narrow sides of her bright blue panties, right at her hips, and stood on the bed to shimmy out of them and kick them aside.

In a maddening display, she revealed all of her legs—thighs, toned calves and bare feet—but no pussy.

He waited, heart pounding.

She knelt again, staring him in the face to ensure that she had his undivided attention, eyes glinting with amusement at his expense.

He gripped himself over the sheet. His queue was now roughly the size of some overgrown cucumber at a farmer’s market, so he stroked himself.

Samira gasped.

He stroked again, moaning.

Her lips curled in a faint smile as she took the lower edge of her T-shirt and slowly swept it off over her head.

He exhaled, the sound long and serrated.

There she was.

Pussy…taut belly…softly bouncing breasts with erect nipples.

Flushed skin. Glittering eyes. Captivating half-smile.

She undid him.

Completely and absolutely.

The sight of one naked woman should not rivet a man like this. Especially a man who’d seen dozens of world-class naked beauties.

But it did.

He drank in the sight, paralyzed inside his lust.

Far too soon, she slid under the sheet and resumed her position on her side, with her elbow bent and her head propped on her hand. She picked up the phone with her free hand and held it up to her face once more.

“Happy now?” she asked in that sultry jazz singer’s voice.

Happy?

“What’s the English word for ecstatic and miserable, all at the same time, ma reine? Teach it to me.”

She hesitated.

“I’m not sure there is one.”

This information did not surprise him.

Everything about their situation seemed uncommon.

Extraordinary.

“Good night, Baptiste.”

“‘Parting is such sweet sorrow,’” he said glumly.

Her eyes widened. “Oh, my God. Are you quoting Romeo and Juliet again?”

“Why not? It’s appropriate.”

“Indeed,” she said darkly. “And look how those two star-crossed lovers turned out.”

He glowered at her.

“Good night, Baptiste,” she said, her eyes smiling at him.

“Bonne nuit, ma reine.”

He hung up and collapsed onto his back, knowing he was in for a long night.