Baptiste arrived at the winery around seven thirty, well ahead of the eight o’clock meeting. He hadn’t planned to arrive so early, but what could he do after Samira walked out on him? Go back to sleep? Out of the question. So he’d lifted weights in the hotel gym, then showered and eaten.

Now here he was, atop a hill overlooking the winding Hudson River below, a stunning blue sky above, and row upon row of burnt orange grapevines marching down to the water.

He parked outside the tasting room and climbed out of his rental car (a Tesla; why scrimp?), taking a moment to enjoy the crisp fall air and the last golden rays of what had been a spectacular sunrise. The sun’s warmth and a nice breeze normally made him feel better. But his spirits had plummeted to the gutter and seemed determined to stay there no matter what he told himself.

Samira’s a complete stranger.

You didn’t know she existed this time yesterday, so there’s no reason why you can’t forget her by this time tomorrow.

Don’t lose your head just because some woman you barely know pinched your ego.

All valid points.

And all completely useless to him now, with disappointment settling in his belly like the Rock of Gibraltar.

He slumped onto the bench nearest the path that led into the vines, ran his hands through his hair and tried to get his thoughts together.

What the hell should he do now?

Pretend it was over, as she was willing to do?

Absolutely not. Not when he felt the absolute certainty that he wasn’t in this alone. That she wanted to see him again, even if she couldn’t figure out how an affair between them might work.

Hell. He couldn’t figure out how an affair between them might work.

That didn’t mean he was willing to give up. It just meant that he needed to approach Samira with a bit more… finesse than was usually required.

He knew how to find her again, of course. He’d planned to contact the hotel’s front desk, track down the driver and ask where he or she had taken Samira. A generous tip loosened most tongues and made people happy to help him.

Did that make him a stalker?

Then perhaps he was a stalker.

And he was surprisingly comfortable with that.

Luckily, though, he wouldn’t have to jump through any of those hoops.

Because he had this.

Reaching into the inner pocket of his blazer, he pulled out Samira’s American Express bill. With her address on it. Which she’d dropped when she knocked her purse to the floor, and he’d found under the table after she’d gone.

Thank goodness she hadn’t elected to receive her bills electronically, eh?

And what had this bill taught him about the fascinating and beautiful Samira Palmer?

Well, she lived a few blocks from his hotel. Within easy walking distance, as she’d said.

More importantly, she was nearly eleven thousand dollars in debt. The figure might or might not be a big issue, depending on her financial circumstances. Perhaps she was wealthy, as he was. Perhaps she came from family money. Or perhaps she had a high-powered career and could easily afford such a monthly expense. This theory was his favorite. Any woman as clever as Samira of course had a lovely career.

Perhaps—this particular theory made the Rock of Gibraltar throb painfully in his belly—perhaps her former fiancé paid all her bills. Or split the bills with her.

Equally unsettling to Baptiste? The charges underlying the bill.

Catering. Flowers. A cake baker.

All of which pointed to the inescapable conclusion that these charges belonged to the wedding that had not taken place. Samira and her former fiancé had, clearly, been within days—if not hours—of getting married.

For all Baptiste knew, they may have been on the church steps.

She must have loved her fiancé very much. Probably still loved him, because women didn’t recover from broken engagements overnight.

The idea made him scowl. Why? For reasons best left unexplored for now. Besides. It wasn’t as if he were in the market for a serious relationship. On the other hand, if Samira found herself in the market for a no-strings-attached rebound man? He was the guy.

The problem was…how to reestablish contact with her? Flowers? Chocolates? Drop by to return the bill while also bringing flowers and chocolates?

He could…

But, no. He couldn’t. How could he contact her again when she’d made her feelings (alleged feelings) so clear? He might be determined and tenacious, but he wasn’t a complete ass.

What if he waited a few days, then contacted her? Absence made the heart grow fonder, correct? In a few days, she might well—

A car horn tooted.

Startled, he watched Daniel pull in and park, then stood and tried to get his head on straight again. Tried not to look the way he felt, which was dejected and lonely.

“Bonjour,” he called as Daniel got out. “I would ask if you were now an engaged man, but your ridiculous smile gives you away.”

“I’m an engaged man,” Daniel said, laughing as he approached the bench.

“Wonderful. You’ve found yourself an exquisite woman. I hope you’ll be very happy together. At least until she discovers how far beneath herself she’s married.”

More laughter from Daniel. “Sadly, true.”

They shook hands. Hugged.

“Come on,” Daniel said, swiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve. “Let’s get some coffee before the troops come.”

Baptiste studied him with an odd mixture of unwilling fascination and vague revulsion. “Are you crying now? Have you turned into a romantic sap?”

“Evidently.”

“I want nothing to do with you ever again. What if it’s contagious?”

Still grinning, Daniel led him down the hallway—the building was nice and the retail shop well-stocked, Baptiste noticed, but a bit shabby around the edges and in need of updating—and into the kitchen, where he went to the coffeemaker and got to work.

“You should be so lucky, man,” Daniel said. “Because I’m the happiest guy in the world.”

Baptiste leaned against the counter and crossed his arms, feeling unaccountably sour as he recalled the boredom he’d felt lately, the increasing emptiness. Nothing interested or surprised him these days, much less made him laugh or feel happy.

Well…

Except for last night. With Samira.

He grimaced and rubbed his chest, trying to relieve the sudden ache. Even worse was his sudden curiosity about a subject that normally held no more interest for him than the atmospheric conditions on Mercury.

“What is it about Zoya?”

Bemused look from Daniel. “Huh?”

“I mean…she’s beautiful and charming, of course, but there are many beautiful and charming women in the world. We enjoyed our share of them in Napa. What if you settle on Zoya, and then—next month or next year, or ten years from now—a better woman comes along? What then? And don’t give me any of this nonsense about meeting your soul mate.”

Daniel snorted. “I thought French folks were supposed to be romantic.”

“We’re very circumspect about love and marriage.” Baptiste was in no mood to let him off the hook. “It’s a fair question.”

“It’s been over a decade since I first met Zoya, and that hasn’t happened. I don’t think it’s going to, or else I wouldn’t have proposed.” Daniel rubbed his chin and tipped his head thoughtfully. “What is it about her? Besides the obvious?”

“What? That she’s sexy as hell?”

Daniel glared. “Watch it. That’s my future wife you’re talking about.”

“Unless you’re planning to make her wear a paper bag over her head, men will notice.”

“True.” Daniel chuckled. “Besides that, the main thing is that she was always the one I wouldn’t stop thinking about. What was she doing? What would she think about this or that? What would her advice be? Would she enjoy trying some new thing with me? Why did she look at me that way? What was going on behind those eyes? What wasn’t she telling me? Why did she see right through me? Why did she understand me better than I understood myself?” He faltered. Managed a rueful smile. “Not sure if this is making any sense.”

“It makes sense,” Baptiste said grudgingly, wondering why he felt so off-kilter today. So out of his element. Probably it was the jet lag catching up with him. “She liked the ring, did she? It was a very fine ring.”

“She loved the ring, but I don’t think she was expecting anything like it. When I told her I’d brought her something from my trip, she actually thought it was a T-shirt. Or a snow globe.”

Baptiste nearly choked on his surprise. “A T-shirt? From some sorry tourist shop that sells, I don’t know, postcards and refrigerator magnets? What is it with American women this week? I don’t understand them.”

Daniel, who’d been pouring water into the coffee machine, paused and focused on Baptiste, his interest sharpening. “Is there a story there?”

“No,” Baptiste snapped, taking great care about checking his nails.

“Hang on. That reminds me.” Daniel clicked his fingers. “What happened at the Halloween party, Phantom of the Opera? Don’t tell me you got all dressed up for nothing.”

Baptiste waved a hand, still trying to avoid Daniel’s gaze. What he didn’t need right now was this one sniffing after his secrets like a baying bloodhound.

“It was fine.”

“Why are you being cagey?”

“I’m not cagey. I just don’t like to gossip.”

“Since when?” Daniel studied him a little harder, then nodded sagely. “Shot you down, did she? After you made a fool of yourself in that costume? That’s why you look so gloomy. Now you’re stuck with a cape.”

Baptiste felt his lips curl into a smirk and his face and ears burn as he thought of Samira arching beneath him as she came, his name on her lips.

“She did not shoot me down.”

“My man.” Daniel fist-bumped him, looking impressed. “So why the mood?”

“She doesn’t want to see me again,” Baptiste said, trying not to sound petulant.

Blank look from Daniel. “So? Isn’t that the definition of a perfect one-night stand?”

“In this particular instance,” Baptiste said slowly, less than thrilled to admit it aloud, “I’m dissatisfied with one night.”

Daniel poured two cups of coffee and passed one to Baptiste. “So make her one of your little offers. Whip out the credit card. Make all your sugar daddy moves. Maybe that’ll change her mind.”

Not a bad idea. As a woman who was facing a five-figure debt, Samira might well be ripe for, say, three months of an arrangement that included liberal use of his money. On the other hand, his gut told him that Samira might be less than enthusiastic about such a suggestion. He didn’t know her well enough to know why she might object. It was just that his mind’s eye couldn’t bring such a scenario into focus.

“Once again, in this particular instance only, I’m not sure the normal rules apply. She’s just coming off a broken engagement. She doesn’t want anything complicated.”

Some of Daniel’s consternation cleared. “Oh, so she wants a rebound man. There you go. You’re the poster child for uncomplicated rebound men. Problem solved.”

It didn’t feel solved to Baptiste.

It didn’t feel solved at all.

Worse, this unvarnished assessment of Baptiste’s shallow nature when it came to women made him want to smash something. Possibly Daniel’s bright-eyed and happy face.

“You know nothing about it,” Baptiste said.

Daniel looked around in surprise. “What’s the problem?”

“I no longer wish to discuss my personal life with you.”

Incredulous look from Daniel, followed by something that looked like dawning comprehension.

“Who is this woman? I’m suddenly dying to know more about her.”

“I’m sorry I mentioned anything about—”

“Good morning,” called a cheery female voice from the corridor outside the kitchen. A mellow, throaty voice that had whispered in Baptiste’s ear all night. “I smell coffee, which means I don’t have to make it for once.”

Baptiste glanced around, his breath hitching audibly.

It couldn’t be.

He was afraid to look. Afraid to hope.

Afraid to make eye contact with Daniel.

Daniel’s expression, meanwhile, had already turned into narrow-eyed disbelief. He looked from Baptiste to the kitchen doorway, his bottom jaw slowly hitting the floor.

“You’re shitting me.”

Stunned, Baptiste shook his head.

“Daniel?” the woman’s voice called again, closer now. “Is that you?”

“In here, Samira,” Daniel called.

Baptiste felt the grin explode across his face as he allowed his sudden reversal of fortune to run away with him. He couldn’t help it. Until he saw the look on Daniel’s face (impending doom) and locked down his excitement.

“Did you save me any coffee?” With that, Samira strode into the room on a wave of fresh air and bustling energy. Smiling and fresh-faced, with a minimal amount of makeup, she had her hair in an edgy style that was spiky and straight. She wore a crisp white blouse, black pants and heels. “I feel like I need it for this mysterious meeting you called this morning—oh.”

The sight of Baptiste sent her into complete paralysis, except for her widening eyes and the vivid flush that raced up her neck and across her high cheekbones. He saw it all in those suspended seconds when their gazes locked together, before she could think to censor her emotions:

Shock. Bewilderment.

Delight, inconvenient though it might be.

“I…” Quickly snapping out of it and back to attention, she focused on Daniel, who was evidently her boss. “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything."

“No worries,” Daniel said wryly.

She edged toward the door. “I’ll just let you—”

“No need to take off.” Daniel extended an arm toward Baptiste to draw him into the conversation. Baptiste stepped closer, his heart pounding in his chest like a marching band’s percussion section. “You can be the first to know: Harper Rose is merging with a French vineyard, and my buddy here is the owner.” Pregnant pause. “I would introduce you and Baptiste, but you two seem to already know each other.”

Her color and eyes still bright with embarrassment, Samira risked a quick glance at Baptiste.

Who stifled most of his amusement, shrugged and raised a what can you do? brow at her.

“Baptiste, Samira Palmer is my PR manager,” Daniel said. “So she’ll be closely involved as the merger gets underway.”

“Indeed?” Baptiste asked silkily. “What a delightful coincidence. I’ve just made this merger my number one priority. I plan to extend my stay in Journey’s End indefinitely.”