When a Man Loves a Woman (Indigo) (2 page)

Angry with herself for losing control of her emotions, she ignored his caressing gaze.

“Baptiste, you got some nerve, you know that?” She planted her hands on her hips. “Why did you call my realtor and fire him?”

A.J.’s half-crooked grin lifted his moustache and deepened his double dimples. “Honey—”

Vic frowned. “Man, how many times do I have to tell you ‘Honey’ is not my name? Are you ever going to call me Vic?”

“As I was saying before you interrupted me…” He flashed a roguish grin and purred, “Honey…” He let his pet name for her roll slowly off his tongue. “I didn’t fire him. I simply told him his services were no longer needed.”

The only comeback Vic had was to shake her head at his annoying reference to her because he knew she hated it when he called her “Honey,” but had given up hope he’d ever refer to her as anything else.

His eyes raked her without condemnation. “You look very nice today, but I much prefer to see you in a dress.”

Goaded to fury, Vic retorted, “Baptiste, don’t start with that dress mess today, pleassse.”

He had some nerve, she thought, always telling her to wear a dress. She slowly perused his attire, starting feet first. Low-cut biker boots, faded jeans, and a well-worn Oakland A’s T-shirt didn’t exactly rank him as fashion model of the year.

A.J.’s appreciative gaze roamed her from head to toe. Despite his adamant belief that nothing was sexier than a good-looking woman in a dress, he had to admit she looked better than good. “Honey…” he said in a soothing, unhurried, bass-pitched tone. “I’m not starting anything. I’m just voicing my opinion. Really, you look very,
very
nice.”

“Yeah, right,” Vic mumbled as she arched her brow and bobbed her head. Oh, it had taken her a while, but she’d finally figured out his tactic of switching topics so she’d lose focus. Well, it wasn’t going to work this time. “Listen, Alcee Jules Baptiste, your little tricks aren’t going to stop me from moving to Atlanta.”

A.J. folded his arms over his chest, enjoying the fire dancing around in her light-brown eyes. God, she was absolutely gorgeous when she got angry. “Really?”

“Yes, really.”

He offered a friendly nod. If she wanted to think she was moving, it was okay by him. What she didn’t know was that it would never happen, not on his watch. He was prepared to do whatever was necessary to make certain it didn’t. “Everyone has a right to their own beliefs. But in this case, what you think you’re going to do will never happen.”

Vic gasped in disbelief. “Whatcha mean, will never happen?”

“Simply put, you’re not moving.”

“Man, you’ve got me mixed up with somebody else, telling me I can’t do something.”

“No, I don’t.” He palmed the side of his face and stared at the floor a second before settling his gaze on Vic again. “You know I’m curious about one thing. Why do you want to run away?”

“Who says I’m running away?”

“Me.”

“Not.”

“Are, too.”

Vic released a nervous laugh. “Get serious.”

She didn’t exactly view her move as running away, as he called it. She preferred to think of it as choosing not to stay around to deal with his schemes to make her fall in love with him.

A.J. moved closer, the warmth of his breath fanning across her cheek. “Oh, I’m as serious as a terminal case of carcinoma. You’ve avoided me since the night we—”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play with me, woman.”

Vic jerked her head away. “Baptiste, t-that was a mistake and you know it.”

Her mind drifted down memory lane, recalling the hot, passionate kiss they’d shared four weeks ago at her condominium. The only excuse for allowing things to go as far as they had was temporary insanity. The mere recollection was causing a wet circle to form in the center of her panties so fast that she knew a trip to the laundry room was inevitable. And she silently conceded a stay at the psych ward wasn’t a bad idea either, because this man had her going in circles.

A.J. closed the gap between them until their bellies touched. With his index finger, he angled her face back to his, and spoke in a voice so low he hardly heard his own words. “
That
was no mistake.”

Vic didn’t utter one word because she couldn’t. Although quiet, his husky, sexy utterance was undeniably clear. And the conviction in those smoldering hazel eyes silently communicated that he meant every word.

“Now, why are you running?”

She didn’t budge from the man who looked like a starting running back for the Oakland Raiders. With all of his six feet, four inches and 220 pounds of muscle next to her, she could smell the tangy scent of his aftershave, and her nostrils flared. Lord, he smelled so good. She discreetly inhaled again. She’d recognize the citrus blend of lavender and sweet spice anywhere. It was Swiss Army, her favorite.

“I’m moving, Baptiste. Period!” She stepped back and hoped the magnetic attraction between them would cease. She slipped her jacket off, flung it across her arm, and headed back up the stairs, determined to stay two steps ahead of the challenge behind her.

With her back to Baptiste, Vic sucked in a deep breath. He could make any woman fall head-over-heels in love before she knew what hit her, and that was the very reason she was hightailing it out of Oakland. She was on the verge of doing what she’d sworn eight years ago she’d never do again. With one bad marriage to her credit and enough heartache to last a lifetime, she’d learned one valuable lesson a long time ago—love and matrimony were as volatile as nitrate and glycerin combined.

“Honey…” A.J.’s voice faded as soon as his gaze landed on his favorite body part, her hips. With just enough curve to cause a man to go weak at the knees, they swayed gracefully. Willpower was the only thing that prevented him from going into full cardiac arrest at the sight of the thirty-eight double D’s beneath the sleeveless crème shell.

Vic stopped, but didn’t turn around. “Baptiste…” She uttered the single word with exasperation. “What is it gonna take before you realize what you want will never happen?”

A.J. settled his back against the banister and went one better. “What has to happen before you realize that it will?”

Chapter 2

“Hey, whatcha staring at,
mon frère
?” The voice belonged to A.J.’s youngest brother, Raphael, who only answered to Ray.

Smiling, A.J. stood at the bottom of the staircase with his head cocked sideways watching Vic ascend the stairs like an Egyptian goddess.

If he had an ounce of sense, he would’ve dismissed the golden-skinned, sassy-mouthed beauty the day they first met as mentors at the East Oakland Youth Center his sister-in-law Caitlyn once ran. A disagreement had ensued two seconds after introductions, and to hear Vic tell it, they had absolutely nothing in common.

She was as headstrong as she was beautiful, with more opinions than a hormone-raging teenager. It only took a millisecond after meeting her for him to realize that he could no more put Vic out of his mind than expect the sun to rise in the west.

Two days after they met, Caitlyn told him about Vic’s agonizing divorce, and since then, he’d been careful not to broach the subject. Initially, he’d thought her resistance to him was because he believed married women shouldn’t work outside the home. Until Vic, no other woman had managed to convince him otherwise. But the more he got to know this sista, the more he realized she was tough enough to juggle a family and bring home the bacon, too.

For months, she’d been dead set on ignoring the attraction between them. And it wasn’t mere lust. He felt it and knew she felt it, too. No matter how much she ignored him, the way her lips parted, the silent beckoning in her eyes whenever they were together, made him even more determined to tear down every single wall she’d erected around her heart. But he needed to know the cause of her symptoms before his love could cure her.

Years of training to observe and assess kicked into gear as he watched her go up the stairs. He stared harder, longer, enthralled with her full figure and smooth, silky, honey-colored skin. Auburn-colored dreads sat atop her head, secured with two pearl-surfaced sticks, highlighting the teardrop diamonds hanging from her ears.

His gaze slid down and feasted on her pretty feet encased in open thin-strapped sandals. Each toe was polished the same as her French-manicured nails.

“
Mon frère
,” Ray repeated, elbowing A.J. in the side.

“Hmm,” A.J. absently answered.

“Don’t tell me at thirty-seven ya hearing is shorting out.” Ray looked up the staircase and whistled low. “Oooh,
daaayuuum
. Baby’s got back.”

“Yeah,” A.J. lazily drawled. “She’s got back all right.”

Ray waited until Vic was out of sight. “She find out whatcha did yet?”

Smiling, A.J. nodded.

Marcel arrived in time to hear the answer and chuckled. “I’m surprised you’re still in one piece,
petit frère
.”

Ray looked at A.J. “She mad, huh?”

A.J.’s cheeks puffed out from the soft rush of air escaping his lips. “Oh, yes
.
”

Ray sat on the bottom step and clasped his hands between his legs. “Well, what’s your next move,
mon frère
? You ain’t got but a few weeks left, you know.”

A.J. had learned about Vic’s plans to relocate to Atlanta the first day of August from her father, George Vincent, but gave his brother an unconcerned shrug. “Trust me, Honey isn’t going anywhere. Besides, I learned a while ago you have to handle her with a little patience.”

“Patience?” Ray yelled out, then broke into laughter so hard he almost choked. He glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “Look here, that patience shit might work with T-One and T-Two and them baby patients of yours, but this is Honey ya dealing with. We talkin’ straight-up sista,
mon frère.
”

A.J. looked down at Ray and chuckled. “Honey’s bark is much worse than her bite.”

Ray snorted, settling back against the step. “Well, I’m surprised she ain’t bit a plug outta ya.”

“You know, Ray,” A.J. said stiffly, “what little patience I do have, you’re wearing on it.”

Ray dismissed the look A.J. tossed him. “No, I’m not. Besides, ya got more patience than Job.”

Marcel patted A.J.’s shoulder. “Listen,
petit frère
, I’m afraid Ray’s right on this one. You’re going to need more than patience this time. I’m not sure who’s more stubborn, Vic or that little bitty wife of mine.”

A.J. shrugged, totally unmoved by his brother’s assessment because he’d already mapped out a strategic plan to prevent Vic’s attempt to relocate. “So am I. Trust me, Honey’s days as a single woman are numbered.” He glanced between Marcel and Ray. “Has she told anyone the real reason she thinks she’s moving to Atlanta?”

“When Vic first told Kitten,” Marcel said, referring to his wife, Caitlyn, “she didn’t offer a reason, and Kitten’s upset. And when my baby’s upset, I’m upset.” Suddenly, he paused and narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean,
thinks
?”

A. J. smiled. “Tell Caitlyn not to worry. Honey’s not moving to Atlanta.”

“She’s not?” Ray and Marcel asked simultaneously.

Confused, Marcel shook his head. “Listen,
petit frère
, your plan with Vic’s realtor backfired. I don’t know what more you can do to stop her from leaving.”

Ray sided with Marcel. “I’m with
mon frère
on this one. It’s the first of July.” Blowing out a hard breath, he pursed his lips. “Thirty days and counting. That ain’t a whole lot of time to snag a good woman.”

A.J. chuckled at the renowned jazz musician. “Don’t tell me this is coming from the man with women on call in half the cities around the world?”

Marcel narrowed his gaze on Ray, too. “Yeah, Ray. Exactly what do you know about getting a good woman, as you call it? What you need to do is settle your behind down, because everything out there that sparkles ain’t gold.”

Ray slid a pair of yellow-tinted lenses in Gucci frames down his nose, peering over the top. “Look it, I’m not searching for eternal light like y’all. Just need a small flicker or two from a woman until the break of dawn.” He grinned. “She the one, huh,
mon frère
?”

A.J. stared up the staircase and silently pondered the question. Yes, Vic was the one, all right. Every woman from his past had become a fuzzy blur. Every single one of them had faded to a distant memory the moment he’d laid eyes on Victoria Louise Bennett.

Oh, yes, she was the one. She’d burst through the door of his serene life like an ocean wave, sweeping him so far out into the depths of desire that he didn’t want to be saved. For months, nothing short of a cold morning shower staved off the guaranteed hard-on he got whenever he recalled the sound of her low, husky voice.

Marcel chuckled. “Well, I don’t know what more you can do to Vic besides lock her up somewhere.”

A.J. flashed a half-crooked grin and nodded in agreement. “My thoughts exactly.”

Marcel and Ray quickly made the sign of the cross.

“
Mon frère
,” Ray uttered anxiously, “you ain’t gonna pull the same stunt that almost got you and K-Mart kicked out of medical school—” he lifted his brow—“are ya?”

“I most certainly am,” A.J. admitted without reservation. His mind flashed back, remembering every detail of the prank he and his best friend, Kevin Martin Bullock, better known as K-Mart, had pulled on a fellow student during their last year of medical school. “That’s exactly what I plan to do—stage a quarantine.”

“No,” Marcel muttered below a whisper. “You wouldn’t do that to her, would you?”

A.J. offered a wide grin. “Watch me. I’ve got to get Honey alone and onto my playing field. This is a sure way for me to win.”

Ray grunted. “Well, just be sure to tell us what suit you wanna be buried in.
Mon frère
, you’re as good as dead.”

A.J. shrugged off his potentially dismal fate. “Well, at least I’ll go a happy man.”

Still stunned, the only thing Marcel could do was mouth the word
no
to himself.

Smiling, A.J. nodded at his brothers, then confidently strolled away whistling the wedding march.

* * *

Vic glanced through the crowd mingling in the living room after the christening and spotted Baptiste across the room. The designer suit molded to his bulky frame was flawless. Add the French-cuffed shirt, solid gold cufflinks, and a diamond stud in his right ear, and he looked good. She knew designer names as well as she knew her Social Security number. The suit was Prada all the way.

He winked and followed it with a sexy smile. Her ability to think rationally fled. His piercing gaze was compelling, challenging, and oozed with desire. The passion in his eyes was so potent that a sexual tension gripped her body in a way she’d never experienced before—not even with her ex-husband, Ron. It was that same look, and his demand for a commitment from her a few weeks ago, that had made her pull back. She’d almost given in that night, and vowed not to let it happen again.

Before she knew it, she raced out of the living room into the foyer, snatched her purse off a table, and headed for the door straight ahead. A hot flash hit her with such intensity, pea-size sweat beads surfaced along the bridge of her nose. At thirty-eight, the temporary body infraction had nothing to do with the change of life and everything to do with the man in the other room who had her hormones jumping like fleas.

She scurried inside the bathroom and braced her body against the door almost before she got it shut. Heaving, she was angry with herself more than with Baptiste. Why did she react to him this way? She pushed the question to the back of her mind and released a long weary sigh.
Don’t let him get to you today
.

Saying the words out loud brought some measure of relief—until she glanced in the mirror. She cringed. Her face gleamed worse than the top layer of an oil spill. Mascara smudges had settled beneath her eyes, and her sable-colored lipstick was cracked and faded.

“Okay,” she whispered, dabbing a makeup sponge across her face. She was determined to stay and get through the rest of the afternoon unaffected. “You can do this.”

She tucked her dreads back in place, applied more lipstick, and snatched a tissue from the box on the counter to blot the excess from her lips. After one last mirror check, she declared herself ready and opened the door.

She froze and took two steps back inside the bathroom, her round face distorted with a scowl. He’d followed her to the john, of all places. She didn’t believe any man existed who was as stubborn as Baptiste.

He never gave up.

“Running from me won’t help.” A.J. leaned against the doorframe with his arms folded across his chest, his thin lips pursed.

“Baptiste, why are you following me?” Vic half shouted through clenched teeth.

He ran a soft, assessing gaze over her before he answered. “We need to talk, Honey.”

She sighed with frustration. “Man, you’re wearing on my last raggedy nerve. What part of ‘I’m moving’ are you
not
getting?”

He stepped inside the bathroom and closed the door. “Why are you running away from me, Honey?”

Her brow rose. “You know, the last member of the male species I answered to was my father.”

“Well, just pretend I’m him and answer the question, woman.”

“Baptiste,” she ground out, “I am not gonna discuss this with you any more. Case closed.”

He shook his head. “What you’ve said so far is not what I want to hear.”

“Well, that’s just too bad.”

“Honey—”

“Baptiste, don’t make me jump to ABW in here.”

He frowned and stared confused. “ABW?”

“Angry black woman,” Vic bellowed.

He grinned. “You’re angry?”

“Oh, Jesus, help me.”

“I’m waiting, Honey.”

Vic walked over to the bathroom vanity, splaying her fingers on the marble-covered top. “Job transfer. End of discussion.”

“You’re lying,” A.J. countered and moved to stand behind her.

She looked up at him in the mirror. “Why do you say that?”

He grinned again. “You quit your job two weeks ago.”

Vic’s jaw tightened. Doggone his soul. He wasn’t a pediatrician. He was a secret agent for the KGB. How did he find out she’d walked into the office of the wire-rimmed glasses-wearing, bean-counting nerd who was her boss and told him to kiss the upside crack of her high yellow behind?

“Who told you?”

Grinning, he shrugged. “My sources.”

She stared at him, wondering if anything was sacred among her family and his, and made a mental note not to discuss a single detail with any of them until after she moved.

“Honey, listen, I admit I can be stubborn—”

“Finally,” Vic shouted with joy and threw her hands in the air. “We’re in complete agreement.”

He shook his head. “You didn’t let me finish, woman.”

“Baptiste,” she uttered loudly, with what little patience she had left.

“Yes?” he answered quietly and flashed another devastatingly bright smile.

Vic paused and sucked in a long breath. He was doing it again. Every time they disagreed about something, he’d lower his tone and then give her that sideways grin when she raised her voice.

“I’m moving to Atlanta.”

He gave her a sympathetic nod. “I understand you
think
you’re moving, but it’s not going to happen.”

Vic stared at him as if he’d just mistakenly been released from the nearest mental ward. “Baptiste, you don’t have the sense God gave baby geese. Have you totally lost your mind?”

Ignoring the jab, he eyed her intently. “Why can’t you accept the fact that we’re going to be together?”

“I swear, man, you’re U.S. certifiable, Grade-A,” she paused, searching for the right word, then shouted out, “incorrigible.”

He lifted his brow. “You really think so?”

“Dear God, help me,” Vic muttered softly and dropped her head.

She silently counted to ten and looked back into the mirror. “Baptiste, there’s not one good reason you can give me why I shouldn’t move.”

Observing their reflections, he shook his head in disagreement. “You’re wrong, Honey. I can give you two. Number one, I love you. And number two, I intend to marry you.”

“I’m
not
gonna marry you, Baptiste.”