No Ordinary Love_A Journey’s End Billionaire Romance Read online

  No Ordinary Love

  A Journey’s End Billionaire Romance

  Ann Christopher

  Contents

  Back Cover Copy

  Also by Ann Christopher

  Dear Reader Letter

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Introduction to Excerpt

  Excerpt from BEYOND ORDINARY LOVE

  Also by Ann Christopher

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Meet the Billionaires of Journey’s End…

  * * *

  Opposites attract. But for how long?

  Sexy French billionaire Jean-Baptiste Mercier avoids emotional attachments by giving his model or actress girlfriends his credit card—but never his heart.

  * * *

  Down-to-earth career woman Samira Palmer avoids dating anyone right now—especially bad boys. Until a handsome man with a thrilling accent and piercing green eyes literally bumps into her one unprecedented night.

  * * *

  Sparks fly when opposites attract. As for happily ever after between star-crossed lovers? Anything’s possible in small-town Journey’s End…

  * * *

  If you love hot and emotional contemporary interracial romance, pick up this two-part romantic saga today!

  No Ordinary Love (Baptiste & Samira #1)

  Beyond Ordinary Love (Baptiste & Samira #2)

  Untitled (Anthony & Melody #1)

  Untitled (Anthony & Melody #2)

  Untitled (Nick’s Story)

  Also by Ann Christopher

  JOURNEY’S END Small-Town Contemporary Romance Series

  “Book” 1: A JOURNEY’S END Novella

  Book 2: LET’S DO IT

  Book 3: ON FIRE

  “Book” 4: LET’S STAY TOGETHER Novella

  Book 5: UNFORGETTABLE

  * * *

  Billionaires of Journey’s End Contemporary Romance Series

  Book 1: NO ORDINARY LOVE

  Book 2: BEYOND ORDINARY LOVE

  Click here for more titles in this series!

  * * *

  DEADLY Romantic Suspense Series

  Book 1: DEADLY PURSUIT

  Book 2: DEADLY DESIRES

  Book 3: DEADLY SECRETS

  * * *

  IT’S COMPLICATED Contemporary Romance Series

  TROUBLE

  RISK

  JUST ABOUT SEX

  SWEETER THAN REVENGE

  * * *

  The Davies Family Contemporary Romance Series

  Book 1: SINFUL SEDUCTION

  Book 2: SINFUL TEMPTATION

  Book 3: SINFUL ATTRACTION

  Book 4: SINFUL PARADISE

  * * *

  The Warner Family Contemporary Romance Series

  Book 1: TENDER SECRETS

  Book 2: ROAD TO SEDUCTION

  Book 3: CAMPAIGN FOR SEDUCTION

  Book 4: REDEMPTION’S KISS

  Book 5: REDEMPTION’S TOUCH

  * * *

  Boxed Sets

  DEADLY Series

  IT’S COMPLICATED

  SWEET LOVE

  * * *

  BELLA MONSTRUM Young Adult Horror Series

  Book 1: MONSTRUM

  * * *

  Single Titles

  CASE FOR SEDUCTION

  THE SURGEON’S SECRET BABY

  SEDUCED ON THE RED CARPET

  * * *

  Novellas

  TAILS OF LOVE

  GIFT OF LOVE

  Dear Readers:

  As I finished up the first draft of Unforgettable (Journey’s End Series #5), I realized that I needed to introduce another character to help solve a plot point. At first, I thought s/he might just be a throwaway character, like the process server who moves things along by letting the hero know he’s being sued, then disappears forever. A character so unimportant that s/he doesn’t even need a name.

  But then I thought…what if I make this person an old friend of Daniel’s…what if I make this person the anchor for the Journey’s End spinoff series I’d been considering…what if I try to kill those two birds with one stone?

  Could it work?

  With that—voilà!—Jean-Baptiste Mercier was born.

  He sprang out of my imagination and onto the page fully formed. And let me tell you, it’s a gift when that happens. Baptiste’s voice was so loud that I couldn’t hear any other characters, let alone write their stories.

  So I finished Unforgettable on a Friday, tweaked my writing schedule to make room for him and started No Ordinary Love on the following Monday.

  And can I just say—I LOVE Baptiste! Seriously. LOVE. HIM. Does he mess some @#$% up at times? Oh, yeah. Still love him, though. His big heart is always in the right place.

  And Samira is just the heroine he needs.

  I wrote and wrote and wrote. Way more than I thought I would.

  Baptiste and Samira, it turned out, have a love story too big to be contained in the two-hundred-and-twenty-ish pages I’d been hoping for. They have too much to say to each other. Too many outstanding issues to resolve before they earn a happily-ever-after.

  BTW, this has never happened to me before. Normally, characters and plots behave very well.

  But when this book headed north of four-hundred pages, one of my writing BFFs, Eve Silver, who frequently weighs in with timely and indispensable advice, made a brilliant observation:

  You don’t have one book here—you have two.

  Voilà!

  Introducing the two-part saga of Baptiste and Samira, kicking off my new BILLIONAIRES OF JOURNEY’S END series:

  No Ordinary Love and

  Beyond Ordinary Love.

  Oh, and coming soon? Anthony and Melody’s story.

  Happy Reading!

  Ann

  P.S.: I’m not finished with Baptiste and Samira. So don’t act surprised when they pop up in at least an additional novella—and possibly a whole novel—somewhere down the road…

  1

  Jean-Baptiste Mercier washed his hands, checked his teeth for any lingering signs of dinner and left the men’s room.

  Whereupon he ran directly into Queen Nefertiti.

  Who was on her phone.

  She was tall. Or maybe not. Maybe her height was simply an illusion created by her wedge-shaped electric blue crown, upon which glittered many colorful jewels in the shape of a cobra. At a quick glance, he saw that she wore a matching goddess gown.

  He had a startling glimpse of dramatic dark eyes, heavily lined.

  High cheekbones in a stunning shade of mahogany.

  A whiff of sandalwood.

  A lush mouth, thinning with annoyance as he plowed straight into her.

  He tried to slow his trajectory, but there was no chance. Why? Because she’d startled him. Not by standing in the middle of a hotel hallway where he meant to walk.

  No.

  This one startled with her beauty and elegance.

  Without thinking, he caught her by the upper arms. Steadied her, even as the smooth warmth of her bare skin sparked a frisson of awareness along all his nerve endings.

  Her eyes widened, so perhaps she also felt it. She backed up a hasty step, taking her silky
flesh with her. He felt the unexpected hardness of her gold cuffs as her arms slid out of his grasp.

  “Pardonnez-moi, ma reine,” he said hastily, shocked into forgetting his English.

  “Ça va,” she said, startling him again.

  Actually, that was two startles. First, because she spoke French, and second, because she had the sort of voice—smooth, throaty, resonant—that would be right at home singing jazz in a club on the Left Bank back home.

  “You speak French,” he blurted, the soul of sophistication in that proud moment.

  She didn’t smile. A fourth surprise. Americans, in his experience, were like Labrador retrievers bounding through life, happy all the time and willing to grin at every passing fire hydrant on the street. But this one? She was all Parisienne, a sleek cat who required patience and wooing before she’d deign to trouble herself with your existence.

  No, she didn’t smile. But the lines of her beautiful face eased, bringing her aloofness level down a notch or two.

  “Un peu,” she said, nodding. A little.

  With that, she pivoted to go on her sky-high heels, blowing the tattered remnants of his mind as she went. Slits in the bottom of her gown happily gave way to miles of gleaming brown legs. She had bright red toenails. Her sandals were golden, with straps that crisscrossed and wound their way up to the knees. Her ass? Big. Round. High. What would his buddy Daniel call it? Oh, yes. Tight.

  Queen Nefertiti had a tight ass.

  Her tits looked every bit as promising, although her half-moon jeweled collar had sadly blocked a good portion of his view in front.

  His heart sank as he watched her walk toward the early Halloween party that was evidently in full swing in the hotel’s ballroom down the hall. His scrambled brain and dry throat kept him stupefied and helpless, tripping him up at the very moment he needed to be quick on his feet.

  Don’t just stand there, Baptiste—do something!

  At the eleventh hour, he managed a hurried step after her, his heart thumping in time to the burst of dance music from the party. “Nefertiti.”

  She stopped and looked back over her shoulder at him. Once again, the electrical wiring in his brain sparked and smoked. In fairness, though, it wasn’t his fault. The long line of her neck distracted him and made it official:

  He wanted to touch, nip, lick, suck, bite and possess every inch of this woman. He wanted her silken limbs wrapped around him the way the straps on her sandals wrapped around her shapely calves. He wanted her scratches up and down his back, her tongue in his mouth and her cries in his ears.

  The vehemence of his sudden and unexpected desire made his blood hum and sent tiny shivers racing up the back of his neck and across his scalp.

  “What a relief.” Her delicious lips crept closer to a smile. “You don’t know how many people have called me Cleopatra tonight.”

  He stared at her for a long beat or two, floundering while a harried electrician inside his head worked frantically to get his thought process rewired.

  She was only a woman, he reminded himself. No need to lose his mind.

  He cleared his throat.

  “Of course you’re not Cleopatra.” He approached her, edging around some sort of a zombie and his companion, a ruby slipper, short skirt and garter-wearing version of Dorothy who had evidently spent some time in a pornography shop. “You’re Nefertiti. I’ve seen your bust in the Louvre.”

  She made a dismissive sound. “That’s hard to do, since it’s in Berlin at the Neues.”

  Once again, everything inside him rose to attention, not least of all his queue.

  Oh, yes.

  This one.

  He looked her up and down as he stepped closer. “Are you challenging me, madame?”

  She looked him up and down, her expression disdainful even though her eyes were alight with mischief. “It’ll take me five seconds to prove you wrong.” She held the phone up for him to see. Gave him a rueful shrug. “Not much of a challenge there, monsieur.”

  He grinned. Stepped closer still, which put him right in kissing range.

  “This is an important issue,” he said, his voice turning husky. “We must get to the bottom of it. For…international relations.”

  One sleek brow rose. “International relations?”

  He pressed a hand to his heart. “What could be more crucial?”

  She ducked her head, dimpling but denying him the full smile.

  “I’m just finishing a business dinner with my colleagues in the restaurant.” He gestured to the Asian restaurant at the other end of the lobby. “Let me say good-bye to them, then I’ll join you at the party. For a drink.”

  Her head came up. She studied him for a long, measured beat or two. Long enough for a glorious flush to creep up her neck and over her sculpted cheekbones. She opened her mouth. He waited on high alert, oblivious to a passing stream of costumed partygoers.

  “As important as it is to maintain good international relations—”

  “Between old allies,” he added quickly, sensing that the wind was not blowing in his favor. “Because if the French didn’t have your backs, you Americans would all be celebrating absolutely nothing on July the Fourth, and you’d fly a funny flag and sing ‘God Save the Queen’ at all your sporting events.”

  That did it.

  She finally laughed for him, a breathtaking display of shining eyes, dimples and white teeth in sharp contrast to her dark skin.

  Desire coiled tighter inside him, pooling low in his belly.

  “And I’m very grateful, because I don’t know all the words to ‘God Save the Queen.’”

  He laughed again, at least until her smile tapered off and died.

  “But I’m with my friends tonight. And I didn’t come to flirt with handsome Frenchmen.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have worn that costume,” he said, trying to dial back some of his intensity at this confirmation that the attraction was mutual. “Not a very good plan, was it?”

  She blinked and looked away, hesitating.

  All was not lost, then.

  “You can have a drink with me,” he murmured. “No doesn’t have to be your final answer tonight, does it?”

  Another hesitation. A longer pause.

  And then she surprised him again.

  “It’s a private party,” she said, tipping her chin up in a gesture somewhere between an invitation to kiss her and a challenge. “Too bad you don’t have a costume. Or an invitation.”

  2

  With that parting shot, Nefertiti strode away, treating Baptiste to a heart-stopping view of swaying hips and ass. Only when she’d disappeared through the door and into the crowd did sudden panic lodge in his throat and his hands curl into fists of frustration.

  Merde.

  He needed a costume! Where could he find a costume at—he checked his watch—nine o’clock on a weeknight? Lobby shop? He looked wildly around, but no, the only one open at this hour was the convenience store for aspirins, sodas and chips. Where else could he—

  He spied a Phantom of the Opera walking through the lobby with Christine on his arm.

  Aha. Better idea.

  Hurrying over, Baptiste pulled out his wallet and counted out several bills. “Excuse me, sir. I need a costume. I’ll give you a hundred dollars for the mask.”

  Phantom and Christine exchanged excited looks, quickly repressed.

  “Dude. I can’t part with the mask. It’s part of the whole—”

  “Five hundred dollars.” Annoyed at being fleeced and in too much of a hurry to do anything about this budding capitalist who knew when he had the market cornered (what if Nefertiti slipped out some back door before Baptiste could find her again? He didn’t even have her number!), Baptiste put the twenties back and thumbed his way to five hundreds. “Throw in the cape. And your invitation so I can show it at the door. Final offer.”

  The deal was struck. Money changed hands. Rarely had anyone disrobed so quickly. The Phantom ripped off his mask, while Christine a
ll but decapitated him in her determination to yank the cape off his neck.

  Buzzing with anticipation—and, in fairness, the two bottles of chardonnay he’d shared over dinner—Baptiste slung his new costume over his arm and hurried back to the restaurant. His good friend from their shared time working at a Napa winery, Daniel Harper, waited for him, as did Daniel’s father, Nigel Harper.

  “Forgive me.” Baptiste laid his cape on the back of his chair, the mask on the table and resumed his seat. “I, ah, discovered that there is a Halloween party in the ballroom. I’ll go to it after dinner.”

  Daniel’s eyes narrowed with suspicion—Baptiste shot him a veiled keep quiet! look—but Nigel didn’t notice. The older gentleman cleared his throat and raised his glass.

  “I can’t tell you two young men how thrilled I am with this merger. When my wife and I started Harper Rose Winery all those years ago, we never dreamed that one day we’d grow large enough to capture the interest of a French winemaker.”

  “I never dreamed you’d consider a merger,” Daniel said in a stage whisper.

  Nigel picked up his chopsticks and, without a word, used them to rap Daniel’s knuckles.

  “Hey!” Daniel yelped.

  Baptiste laughed, his loneliness at bay for now as it had been since he arrived in small-town Journey’s End in the Hudson River Valley earlier today. Something about being with Daniel and his family (he’d met Daniel’s parents a couple of times over the years when they visited Daniel out in Napa) relaxed him and put him at the kind of ease he wasn’t sure he felt anywhere else.