 
Unhinged by his White Heat

Book One in the Unhinged Romance Series

Sable Rose

Copyright 2018 Sable Rose

AUTHOR'S NOTE

This book is a work of fiction by Sable Rose. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used solely for entertainment. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Thank you for downloading this eBook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from the author's website. Thank you for your support.

Table of Contents

Start of Unhinged by his White Heat

Sneak Peek/Sample Chapters of Unhinged by his Dark Fire, Book 2

Sneak Peek/Sample Chapters of Unhinged by his Fiery Touch, Book 3

Sneak Peek/Sample Chapter of Unhinged by Him, Sequel

Profiles of Characters in the Unhinged Romance Series

Hot New Books by Sable

About Sable Rose

Contact Sable

He's her first. She's the one woman who's making him rethink all his plans...

Kema lay on her side, facing Oliver. His forehead pressed against hers. Their faces were so close that she could see his pointed nose and every shade of green in his eyes. His breath fanned her face.

He watched her full eyelashes flutter up and down. He could see every tiny pore in her smooth skin. Exquisite.

She eased her hand over his hard chest. So solid...

He whispered, "So... virgin, eh?"

"Yes..."

"I never would have pegged you for a virgin."

She met his steamy, relentless gaze. "Why?"

Oliver chuckled. "Because virgins don't look like you. They don't move like you."

His voice dipped, roughened, "They don't kiss like you."

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Chapter One

Kema Ekwueme balanced on the edge of the black leather sofa, her elbows on her knees, aware of another flash of disapproval from her reluctant hostess whose eyes had returned yet again to Kema's spread legs.

Feeling a little perverse, she jerked her black jeans-clad legs apart even more. In response, her hostess, Doctor Awolowo shot her another glare.

She ignored her. She was here to fish out the circumstances that led to the death of a sixteen-year old girl and if that meant that she had to face this woman's judgey glares, she would gladly do it.

The main reason she was here—sixteen-year-old Nike, daughter of Doctor Awolowo—sprawled opposite on another black sofa. The young girl's head was bowed and her legs stuck out at careless angles.

Her mother lingered unbendingly beside her, and now she had transferred her glares to Kema's rather—improper—hairstyle.

Kema pressed her lips together, fighting to keep her face bland, struggling to keep from laughing. Yes, she could imagine what this prim doctor was thinking about her punk cut.

Nike's mother's slim frame was draped with a cream caftan which—of course—happened to match the walls of the room. Her sleek hair was plaited into a neat bun. The epitome of elegance.

Kema leaned forward, training her focus on the girl sitting in front of her.

Nike continued to look away, knotting and unknotting her hands, shaking and shaking her legs... restless, scared—guilty?

"Tell me again what happened."

More leg-shaking and then, she mumbled, "I've told the police... I've told everyone..."

"Yes, I know—but tell me. I want to know."

Nike shrugged. "We had a day out—she... Rachel ... wanted to go to the doctor and r-remove the baby. After the doctor, we came back. That's it."

"That's not all, is it?" Kema nudged.

The girl swung her legs apart; her right foot began a dance.

Her mother suddenly snapped, "Put your legs together, miss!" Simultaneously flicking another baleful glance at Kema's unladylike posture.

Nike slammed her legs together but she twisted her arms, pouting mulishly.

Kema cleared her throat. This woman was not helping. Her daughter and the school were being sued by the grieving parents of the dead girl flailing around for anyone to blame for this tragedy. This wasn't the time to care about seating postures.

"Please, Nike, continue."

The girl shrugged again, flicking her eyes away. "She was okay when we came back, so I left her to go and see Sandra in the next room and when I came back, she-she was crying, complaining of stomach pains. She was s-sweating, I gave her a painkiller. B-b-but she was still crying and-and blood was just... pouring out. I didn't know what to do!" She started wreathing her hands.

Kema watched her attempt to control herself, to keep from crying. This was a teenager, for goodness sake. She must be confused, devastated. Her friend had died—practically in her arms. And to top it all, she was facing a court case.

Yet, she could tell—Nike was hiding something.

"But why didn't you get help in time?" she asked, trying to catch the girl's eye.

"I didn't know she would die! I thought she would be fine..."

"But all the blood, Nike..."

Doctor Sheila Awolowo sighed noisily. She was getting impatient with this brash girl with the weird hair, wearing all black in this twenty-nine degrees centigrade heat, for goodness sake! She was allowing this... this interrogation only because of Crestamead School. This woman had bamboozled her way into her house with a letter from the school, claiming she was the head of the alumni association.

Yes, Nike loved the school but the truth of this mess was that the school was liable for that poor girl's death, even more so than her daughter. They were the ones who allowed teenage girls to roam the streets of Lagos and get abortions from charlatans.

Kema glanced up at the sigh and that was when she noticed that Sheila gripped the letter of introduction between her right thumb and index finger as if it was a soiled rag.

This woman was on the verge of throwing her out.

No time to waste, then. She zoned in on the girl.

"Nike, do you know who got Rachel pregnant?"

She opened her mouth to reply, but her mother was there first.

Sheila glared at Kema. "Excuse me, my daughter is still a virgin and you can't assume she's the same as that... that poor girl because they were friends!"

At the word 'virgin', Nike snorted and rolled her eyes.

Doctor Awolowo pretended as if she hadn't heard. She continued addressing Kema, "I'm afraid your time's up. I will like you to leave."

Kema tried to reason with her. "Doctor Awolowo, your daughter knows something she's not telling. We need to get to the bottom of this—"

"We? You're just here because of Crestamead! You don't care about Nike."

She shook her head. "No, no, you're wrong. I care about her. We've met on multiple occasions—in the school. She knows me." Kema waved her hand at Nike but the girl kept her gaze averted. "She's a track star, in the one hundred and two hundred sprints just like I was."

"I don't care about all that! You are here on behalf of the school. Look," She lifted her hands in the air and then dropped them, "We're handling this. Her uncle owns Olympus Security and he is ready to do all that he can to resolve this issue. His business partner is here—so we don't need anyone's help. Nike, you're done. Go to your room now."

"Doctor Awolowo—" Kema started to say.

She raised her voice, "Nike— _now_."

Nike scurried out of the room, still refusing to meet Kema's gaze.

Kema heard deliberate, brisk steps moving toward them. Someone was coming. To throw her out?

She jumped up from the chair. No use, the interview was over, anyway.

She strode out of the room to the door, with the good doctor on her heels.

But, at the door, she paused, sensing something... peculiar. Static electricity surged up her spine. Someone else had arrived.

She whirled around.

And came face to face with him.

He was tall, very tall; shoulders wide like a nightclub bouncer. With midnight-black hair, piercing eyes the color of the green grass on the lawn outside this house and sculpted lips, he was one fine white man!

Staring at her... caressing her eyes, nose and lips with his stare.

What the heck was this? What did this... this stranger want? Why was he eating her up with his eyes?

Okay, two can play this bizarre game.

She flared her eyes and zoomed in on his... soft, turquoise-green eyes that whispered the promise of unforgettable experiences.

One eyebrow arched, his lips twitched. But he kept gawking. Still not saying a word.

"Oliver, you're here. Please escort Miss... Ekwueme out. I have to deal with..." Sheila Awolowo broke the staring match. She thrust the letter at the man and rushed away in a flurry of cream silk.

He dragged his gaze away from Kema to scan the letter.

She swallowed a deep breath. Her lungs hungered for air. His attention had drifted away from her; she should feel relieved, not deserted... shouldn't she?

She knew what the letter said. The school principal, Mrs. Philippa Ochei, had written that Crestamead was interested in finding out the facts of this case and then she had gone on to introduce Kema, and had inserted her phone number.

When he lifted his eyes back to her, her heart tripped. Wow, those eyes...

Then he made it worse: he smiled, revealing white, even teeth.

Her gaze slid over his dark suit, white shirt and grey tie. A grey pocket square was tucked in the front pocket of his jacket.

"Hi, I'm Oliver."

He had an American accent. "Okay," she said.

"You're Kema?"

"And?"

He laughed softly. The laughter lines fanned out from the corners of his eyes.

What was so amusing?

He was saying, "You're the head of your—"

"President."

"Sorry, the president of your school's alumni association."

"Yes. Look, I have to go. I'd like to have the letter back."

She stuck her hand out. Waiting for the letter.

It was as if his eyes were super-glued to this sunny-skinned, clear-eyed confident beauty sporting a honey-blond Mohawk cut. She was tiny, maybe a few inches over five feet. She would fit into his arms quite easily, her head would rest on his chest and his hands would just as easily grasp both sides of her slim waist...

And best of all, her fingers were bare. No wedding ring.

And then he noticed she was gaping at him as if he was nuts. He also spotted her outstretched hand.

He should return the letter. He was here, in his best friend's sister's house, for Nike's sake... not for a petite goddess with hips and butt that rivaled those of Khloe Kardashian.

A goddess who, at present, was glaring at him with fiery eyes...

But the letter contained a vital piece of information—her phone number.

He folded the letter and pushed it into the inside pocket of his jacket. He said, "I'll keep this, if you don't mind."

"What?... I do mind—," Kema began to splutter but then she changed her mind. "You know what? Keep it." She turned her back to him and yanked open the door. If he wanted it so badly, it was his.

Although, come to think of it, why did he want it? Anyway, she didn't care. She was out.

She stamped out of the house, over the paved footpath to the main gate.

And then, it occurred to her.

She hadn't heard the door slam behind her. Was he... watching her? What a freak! Men were all the same—no matter their skin color. Her twenty-seven inch waist sharply highlighted her forty-two inch hips and if she could count on her fingers the number of men who took one glance at her hips and instantly expressed their desire to date her, she would need extra fingers and even extra toes.

Yes, that many.

She would not look back. His gaze seared her back but she refused to look; Lot's wife turned back and became a pillar of salt. Not she.

She reached the gate. The security man opened the pedestrian side-door.

And then she— _oh fickle woman, thy name is Kema_ —swerved around to glance behind.

The door gaped open, framing his impressive stature. Yes, he'd been checking her out.

Then, he waved.

Kema snorted and then—fled.
Chapter Two

"This is becoming almost common-place... young girls having sex, getting pregnant—" Adaeze said, expert eyes scanning the tray and mentally counting the middle-sized, transparent plastic containers sitting on the kitchen counter in front of her.

"... Having abortions..." Kema added. She was in her elder sister's kitchen, waiting to have what promised to be another delicious lunch, courtesy of her sister. Adaeze was the best cook in the world, even better than her best friend, Wumi. If she could have breakfast, lunch and dinner here every day, she would... but that would be too much. She had her own flat, her very own place... where she cooked the same three meals of beans porridge, Jollof rice, and Okra soup nearly every week. That was as far as her expertise went.

Adaeze ladled a mixture of brown beans flour, spices, crayfish and groundnut oil into each of the containers, managing not to spill any on the counter.

Without looking up, she asked, "And no-one knows who impregnated Rachel?"

Kema shook her head. "No-one knows... except Nike, but she's not telling."

"After she let her friend die."

"She did not let her friend—"

"Yes, whatever. But the girl's still dead." Adaeze moved on to inserting bite-sized bits of cooked kidney, liver and a boiled egg each into each container. She was making _moi-moi_ , a dish Kema loved but was absolutely terrible at preparing.

Kema watched her sister's fluid and practiced movements. This was typical Adaeze. She was the archetypal first-daughter. Great at everything. A thirty-four year old mother of two children and pharmacist who happened to always find time—and energy—to clean their house and cook for her family... despite the fact that her husband was home only two weeks in a month.

But the four year age gap between them notwithstanding, Adaeze was not just her sister. She was also her friend.

Kema wriggled about on the hard chair, remembering her meeting with... him. She hadn't mentioned him yet and she had to find a way to bring it up without tipping Adaeze off about the effect he'd had on her. Adaeze was canny about such things.

Adaeze cleared her throat, keeping her gaze on her task. "I... er... spoke to Dan yesterday. He called."

Kema's spine stiffened. Dan, Mr. Bossy Older-Than-Every-Child-In-The-Family Brother.

"What did he want?"

"Kema..." Adaeze chided.

"I know he called to complain about something else I've done. He didn't call me."

"Because you two will just end up screaming at each other."

"It's gotten worse after my break-up with Ikenna... like it's my fault... Ikenna left me!"

Adaeze heard the pain in her sister's voice. She sighed, her busy hands paused. Then, in a milder tone, she pointed out, "It's been almost a year..."

Kema bit her lip. Ten months and three weeks precisely that the love of her life walked out on her and into...well, wherever he is now... taking her heart with him. And now she was having trouble understanding why the sight of this oyibo man, Oliver was lighting fireworks within her.

Oliver...

Adaeze was saying, "Dan only wanted to know how you're doing. You're his baby sister. He asked about your work at Storm Tech. I told him you're on vacation—though I didn't mention you were asking questions about the death of a student at your former school."

"Yes... thanks." Tapping a meaningless tune with her fingers on the table, while keeping her gaze focused on the plastic containers as they journeyed into the steamer, she continued, "I met someone from a security firm that Nike's uncle owns. I think his name was... Oliver?"

"Oliver!" Adaeze squealed.

Kema frowned at her sister. "You know him?"

"Yes. He's _Oyibo._ His firm, Olympus Security does some work for the company that employs Harrison."

"Harrison, your husband?"

"Yes... how many Harrisons do you think I know? Anyway, I heard they're making quite a name for themselves in Nigeria, in Africa and even beyond. Oliver's a business partner, an investor. The other guy is a Nigerian, Steven... something... Oh, so you met Oliver. He's a great guy. His daughter is in my Bibi's class—"

It spewed out of Kema's mouth before she could stop it. "Daughter? He has a daughter?" So much for concealing from Adaeze her inexplicable attraction to a man she had only met this afternoon.

Adaeze's head swung toward her sister, her pretty eyes narrowed. "Is there something you want to tell me? What happened between you two?"

***

Kema dusted her sandaled feet on the faded blue worn welcome mat in front of the open door and entered into the large, sun-washed room.

At her entrance, multiple eyes zipped in her direction. The sitting-room teemed with people. Sympathizers. All the chairs were taken and so was every available wall-leaning space.

Her eyes wandered to a couch close by the door.

Two people hunched together. The man was full-bearded, his eyes watery behind his thick-lensed eyeglasses. His wife stared into blankness, face drawn, a multicolored scarf wrapped carelessly around her head.

Kema approached them. In a subdued tone, she said, "Mr. and Mrs. Igbinedion, I'm sorry for your loss."

Mr. Igbinedion glanced up at her. "Thank you," he mumbled.

"My name's Kema Ekwueme. I'm the president of the Crestamead Alumni Association—"

The woman's head vaulted upward. Her eyes shone with hatred. "Crestamead! That school is at fault. They caused Rachel's death."

"And that... that... Nike girl... she was supposed to be Rachel's friend. Instead she left her to bleed out and die!" Mr. Igbinedion added.

"And you dare come here... saying you represent that school," Rachel's mother spat.

"I'm sorry I—"

"Leave. Now," Mr. Igbinedion ordered, forehead wrinkling, jowls trembling.

Kema nodded and backed away, out of the room. _Damn._ She hadn't meant to set them off.

Her eyes settled on the condolence register set up on a table right outside the door. Using the pen provided, she filled in the register and signed her name.

Poor, poor girl. Kema sighed and then moved through the throng of people hanging outside. Among them, she spied five girls, teenagers. The oldest was probably seventeen.

She halted by the group. "Hello girls. Are you students of Crestamead?"

They gave reluctant nods.

"Did you girls know Rachel?"

One of them, pretty, bright yellow-skinned, murmured, "We were all in the same dorm."

"Oh. Well, I'm Kema, the president of the alumni association. Did you girls know she was pregnant?"

They shrugged. A girl at the back, wire-framed glasses perched on her nose, stared down at her feet. The pretty one replied again, "She was closest to Nike."

"So you didn't know? None of you?"

Another girl, skinny and snub-nosed, rolled her eyes. She muttered, "We didn't know-o!"

Kema narrowed her eyes at the girl. "I see. Did you at least know who impregnated her?"

"Francis," The pretty girl said, glancing around at her friends.

"Who's Francis?"

"A guy from a school near us. Citadel College."

The saucy one added, "He and Nike were dating."

"How do you know?"

"She told me."

"Okay." Kema stared at the girl at the back. She was chewing her bottom lip and shaking her head. "So, anything else? Is there something you want to add?" Kema addressed the girl.

She glanced up, eyes wide and shocked. The other girls glared at her. She muttered, "N-no, nothing."

Kema frowned. What was up? They were clearly hiding something. "If there's nothing else... then... thank you girls."

She swung away from the group of girls and began to walk to her car. Her phone awoke. A call was coming in from an unknown number.

"Hello."

"Hi, Kema."

"Yes, who's this?"

"We met yesterday. I'm Oliver."

"Oh." The guy with the green eyes and hot body. And a laser, too-intense stare. How did he get her number? Oh yes, the letter. "What can I do for you?"

"I wanted to ask if you're free for lunch."

"Lunch? Now?" My, he was a fast worker.

"Yeah, why not?"

Oh my, his voice was sending a strange but not unpleasant message to her nerves. No, this wouldn't do. She hardened her voice. "Oliver, I can't do lunch now. I'm busy."

"Busy doing what?"

Kema's eyes constricted. _What?_ "For your information, I'm at the home of the dead girl's parents. So you suggest I should leave the grieving parents and come and have lunch with a stranger?"

He chuckled. "I'm not a stranger. I'm Nike's uncle's best friend. And anyway, we can get to know each other better over a nice meal."

"I'm not hungry."

"Kema ..."

Damn. Out of his mouth, her name sounded like a caress. She needed to end this conversation. ASAP. "I really have to go. Bye."

"Okay, if you insist. Bye."

She exhaled air. Whew. What a guy.

"Excuse me... Kema..."

Kema swerved around to spot the wire-framed eye-glassed teenager dawdling behind her. "Hello. What's your name?"

"Lara."

"Did you want to tell me something, Lara?"

The girl pushed up her glasses with a finger. She drew in a breath. "They don't want me to tell you."

"Tell me what?"

"That sometimes, most of them, including Rachel, would take off in the evening from the dorm and come back early in the morning."

"Where?"

"I don't know. But they always returned with cash. Lots of it."

"Cash?" Kema scowled. "How do they manage to sneak out of the dormitory?"

"I don't know. But I don't think Francis is the one who got her pregnant."

"And the housemistress doesn't know about this?"

"I don't think so."

"Thank you, Lara. Is there anything else?"

"No. That's all I know."

"Thank you. Very much."

Lara smiled and then ran off.

Kema shook her head from side to side, a frown garlanding her forehead. Where were the girls sneaking off to at night? What was going on at the school?
Chapter Three

Oliver slipped the brush through Lisa's dark waves, marveling at how similar her hair was to her mother's. Amy was a brunette. It was amazing that the intensity of the love they had felt for each other fizzled out after only two years. He and Amy had both been twenty-two—that was eleven years ago. Wow, those years had practically zipped by. He remembered being overjoyed when Amy got pregnant in the second year of their relationship—he was going to be a father! But he also remembered being miserable; the panic seizing his chest at the thought of proposing to her.

He did another sweep with the brush. Lisa sat cross-legged on her bed. He knelt behind her.

"... Bibi's getting two cakes. Two cakes, daddy! I want two cakes for my birthday too..."

Oliver smiled, half-listening to the stream of excited chatter pouring from his daughter's lips.

He came here six years ago; to Nigeria to start a new life with his daughter after Amy had upped out of their lives, abandoning Lisa to be with her attorney boyfriend who apparently couldn't stand children. He came here to forget about what he had done in South Africa. He came here to take up Steven's mouth-watering offer. He absolutely did not come to Nigeria to start another committed relationship.

No, absolutely not.

So why did he let her affect him? A girl he had just met. How come he couldn't stop picturing her face in his mind? How come her voice danced in and out of his thoughts?

"... We don't want Remi to come. He's icky. Bibi said..."

He sighed, dropped the brush on the bed. What was unique about her? The next day, after he had probably scared her away with his freaky staring in Sheila's house, he had re-read the letter, highlighted her phone number and then inserted it into his phone. And rang her. She had been short with him, ending the call and refusing to lunch with him. But now... should he try again? Call her now?

"Daddy!" Lisa screamed.

Oliver blinked and focused on her face, her pink skin, hair the color of rich wine and grey eyes. Grey eyes that were glowering at him. Cute lips pursed.

"You're not listening."

Oliver said, "No, moppet, I am."

"You're not! I was telling you all about Bibi's birthday—"

Oliver nodded. "I got it. Bibi's birthday. That's... em..."

"Next month! Dad, you weren't listening." She scowled at him, and jumped off the bed.

Oliver stood up. "Moppet! I'm sorry."

In answer, she raised her chin and flounced out of the room.

He began to go after her but then his phone trilled.

***

Kema wrenched the steering wheel of her car to the left, squeezing her white Kia Rio into the narrow space between a Mitsubishi jeep and a black Toyota saloon car. The black Toyota's horn blared.

Rolling her eyes, she pushed down on the accelerator and her car sprang forward. The next few minutes, she was zipping onto another lane, again taking another car by surprise and—of course—earning more horn blasts.

She had to make Nike talk. No more silences. If she had to face Nike's bulldog of a mother again, she would do it. This issue was boiling over, about to explode. It was time for the truth.

She twisted the steering wheel, zooming onto another lane on Third Mainland Bridge. Her destination was Victoria Island.

Some girls of Crestamead had started a war on Facebook and Twitter, accusing Francis of getting Rachel pregnant and then dumping her. They claimed that it was because she felt cornered... like she had no choice but to abort the baby. In effect, they alleged he had caused her death.

Francis had responded, along with his friends and school mates. Yes, he had been dating Rachel but he hadn't gotten her pregnant. How dare they accuse him when they knew who really was responsible?

The battle became so fierce that it reached Kema's ears. Only two days ago, she had called an emergency meeting with the members of their alumni association. And she had promised them— _oh big mouth Kema_ —that she would learn the truth and resolve the situation.

And now, here she was... turning off Adeola Odeku Street, traveling to Sheila Awolowo's house.

Driving at a hundred and twenty kilometers per hour got her to the Doctor's street in less than fifteen minutes. She began tapping on the brake as she reached the gate. But then she glanced straight ahead and jammed her foot on the brake pedal.

Something crazy was happening ahead.

Slamming the gear into park, Kema switched off the engine and leaped out of the car.

A melee. A brawl.

Right in front of Doctor Awolowo's gate.

Three people faced off two.

And in between, paced Oliver, arms outstretched. He appeared to be blocking one of the three on the one side. Keeping him from coming close to the two on the other side. Doctor Awolowo and Nike.

Another encounter with Oliver, great. This time, she would keep her mouth shut about this and not mention it to her sister. The only reason she had been able to divert Adaeze's attention from inquiring further into their fateful meeting in Doctor Sheila Awolowo's house almost four days ago was because the pot of stew had chosen that moment to boil over, thank God. Certainly not because of the weak excuse she had offered.

Kema shook her head, re-focusing on the scene in front of her. The doctor looked as stylish as ever, in another silk caftan—well, apart from the fact that her eyes glared insanely and she was hollering, declaring that they were all bloody fools, freaks.

Nike was a step behind her mother, tears gushing down her face.

Their opponents were a young man, huge with muscles sprawling out of his sleeveless T-shirt, flanked by a man and woman, both probably in their fifties. The man only extended up to the younger man's shoulder. But the woman was as wide as a hippo.

And as belligerent.

She was screaming like a dry fish seller at Oshodi market, clapping her hands in the doctor's face. The young man bounced back and forth on the balls of his feet, acting as if he was trying to slip out from under Oliver's watch.

Kema rushed forward.

The young man yelled, "She knows the truth. I won't let her spoil my life. If she doesn't want to tell the truth, I'll make her."

He darted to the left but Oliver was faster. He towered over the younger man.

"You bloody fool, if you touch my child, I'll kill you," Doctor Awolowo snarled, pushing her face out.

The hippo-sized woman retorted, "Kill him. Let's see you do it. I will break all the bones in that skinny body of yours."

"She and her friends must stop their lies. I won't take it anymore. Why should I suffer for something I did not do? Is it because I dated Rachel? Am I the only one who slept with that prostitute—" the young man ranted, shaking an impotent fist at Nike.

Ah. This must be Francis.

Nike bawled, "Don't you dare..."

Kema shouted, "Francis! Francis!"

He whipped his head in her direction and so did Oliver. Doctor Awolowo and Francis' parents continued hurling insults at each other.

Oliver warned, "Kema—"

She stepped closer. "Francis. I'm Kema, a former student of Crestamead School. Look, you have to stop this. It won't help you."

He shook his head. "What do you know? She and her friends have been trying to ruin my life."

She took a breath, training her gaze on Francis though a part of her longed to stare at Oliver. This was the first she'd seen of him since that day.

She shouted, above the din, "I know you're right."

The young man fell back, a tad deflated. He frowned at her. "A-about what?"

"She," She turned to aim a finger at Nike. "knows more than she's telling."

Nike shrugged trembling shoulders.

Doctor Awolowo heard. She concentrated on Kema, giving her the normal sneering once-over before snapping, "Who the hell gave you the right to talk to my daughter—"

Kema lost it.

"I've had enough of you. You and your daughter are right smack in the middle of this mess and you can't continue to hide her away and stop her from talking. A girl died, for goodness sake."

Doctor Awolowo's eyes glinted. "You've had enough of me?"

Kema nodded. "Yes."

Without warning, Doctor Awolowo's left hand shot out and shoved Kema in the chest.

She stumbled, nearly falling back. But then, her back landed against something solid, something scorching...

She breathed in a familiar scent.

_His_ scent.

Oliver said, "Sheila, this isn't the way."

Kema's skin tingled at the contact. No, no, no... no time for that now... She sprang away as if electrocuted. Some judgey, stick-up-her-butt woman had just... just pushed her!

Unbelievable.

She didn't know who she was messing with.

Kema spit out the words, "Your daughter escorted her friend to get a backdoor abortion. Your daughter held her friend's dying, bleeding body in her arms—and did nothing! What kind of a MOTHER are you?"

Oliver muttered, "Kema..."

Francis' mother snickered, clapping her hands and dancing.

But Sheila Awolowo's eyes widened. She shrunk as if someone had clubbed her in the head. Her mouth fought to counter Kema's onslaught.

Nothing fell out.

Oliver rubbed his jaw. He murmured to Kema, "Too harsh, don't you think?"

But then, Nike shrieked, "No more! Please... no more. I'm sorry. I'll talk—but only to—" She pointed at Kema, "—her."

Sheila lifted a hand. "No, it's okay, Oliver." She swerved on Nike, gripping her arm. "As for you, madam... get in the house. No-one's talking to you today."

She dragged her daughter in through the gate, Nike flashing weepy glances back at Kema.

With a finger, Oliver indicated Francis and his parents. He snapped, "I think it's high time you leave—before I call the police."

The word _police_ jolted them. The father turned away. Francis' mother favored both Oliver and Kema with a scowl and prolonged hiss but she followed her husband.

"Go on, Francis... I'll sort this out," Kema told him.

"You better—"

"—or what?" Oliver's gaze blazed.

Francis glowered at Oliver, shrugged and then escaped with his parents.

Oliver gazed down at Kema. This tiny woman was a lit stick of dynamite. Exactly the way he liked it.

She was glaring at him, her arms folded and— _damn_ —pushing up her breasts.

She arched an eyebrow, sneering. "You see something you like?"

He grinned. "Yes, in fact, I do... but first... you went too far with Sheila."

She jabbed her chest. A little hurt by his words. "Me? Of course you didn't see her practically toss me to the ground."

"She's been having a rough time lately."

"Well, it hasn't been all sunshine for me, in case you didn't know."

"Really?"

"Oh, whatever!" She transferred her hands to her waist. Damn this man and this stupid, perplexing pull he possessed. Damn him!

She waved one hand in the air, "Just leave me alone. Go back to your wife and child."

He tilted his head, peering at her. He said, "Wife? Don't have one."

Okay. Good... no, Great... Whatever... She muttered, "But you have a daughter."

It was his turn to arch an eyebrow. He leaned toward her to drawl, "How do you know I have a daughter?"

She twisted her lips, muttering, "It's a small world. My niece is in your daughter's class."

"Ah." He nodded. "What's your niece's name?"

She dug her hands into the pockets of her blue jeans. She'd just had an overwhelming urge to run her thumb along his pink bottom lip...

She scowled, but managed to sputter, "Bibi."

"Bibi... Yeah, I know her. She's friends with Lisa—my daughter. They're always on the phone, gabbing endlessly." He edged closer. Close enough for him to bend forward... close enough for her to raise her head...

What the hell. "This is a sign... that you and I," He pointed to her and then to himself, "are meant to be together."

She guffawed. "You're delusional."

"Maybe... but at least I'm not frightened."

"Frightened? Who, me?"

"You. You're scared that if you get to know me, you'll want me."

"I said it: you're bonkers."

"Prove it, then... kiss me..."

Sh3 snorted. "Why would I ever... ever, ever kiss you?"

He grinned, his green eyes danced. "Cos, you want to."

Damn him, he was right. But she would rather be flayed alive, placed on a skewer and roasted like _suya_ than tell him that!

She chose a firm, business-like tone. To take charge of this absurd conversation. "I only want to find out why a teenager died. So all I care about at this time is getting the truth from Nike. I hear she's supposed to be like your friend's niece?"

He detected the sarcasm in her voice. And that she was wielding it to protect herself. Yeah, she was into him.

He smiled. "I don't think Sheila is going to be letting you anywhere near her now, do you? But because I'm eager to help my friend's niece—and because I'm also eager to..." his voice sank, deepened, "... taste you—your mouth, I mean..."

Automatically, a spurt of wet heat burst from between her legs. A vision flared in her mind. Two bodies, sweaty, coiled; him tasting her...

She sucked in a huge gulp of smoldering air that scalded her lungs.

He continued, "I'll talk to Sheila, convince her to allow you access to Nike... on one condition."

She croaked, "W-what c-condition?"

"That you have lunch with me."
Chapter Four

Kema aimed the remote at the TV and switched it on. The DVD player resumed playback of the TV show, Nikita. She settled onto the springy, supple carpet, legs crossed. Mmm. Back to watching Nikita take down Division.

Wumi Osoba fell back onto the back rest of Kema's cream sofa. Her eyes scanned the mini sitting room. Her lips twitched. At least Kema's flat wore splashes of color—unlike its occupant. The golden-brown drapes meshed with the sofa and sole armchair. She loved the blue-and gold patterned carpet.

But the electronics were another matter. A massive plasma TV overpowered the opposite wall. Two tall loudspeakers, planted on either side, competed for supremacy. Then there was the DVD player, the DSTV decoder, the music box. Really, one would be forgiven for thinking that this was a man's flat...

Wumi's gaze touched the TV screen. She shook her head, saying, "I don't know why you love shows about ninja women who take down men."

"She's not a ninja. Anyway, it's better than always watching re-runs of America's Next Top Model and Tiwa Savage's music videos..."

"Oh, you be quiet," Wumi said, laughing.

Kema grinned though her eyes remained glued to the TV screen.

"But seriously, Kema... what will you do?"

Kema flicked her best friend a glance. "About?"

"You know about what."

Kema gave her friend her full attention. She said, "I need to hear what Nike has to say and if means having lunch with him, then..."

Wumi slid to the edge of her seat, winking at her friend. "Don't act as if it's a hardship."

"Oh, Wumi. Stop it. You know I'm still in love with Ikenna."

"In love with someone who broke up with you. Good. Wonderful."

Kema huffed. Switching off the TV, she spun around to glare upward at her friend. "No matter what you say, I will always love Ikenna. He was my soul mate—in fact, he still is. No man can compare to him."

"Ye-s-s-s... And yet he couldn't do without the sex so he took off. Even though you helped him out, on occasion." Wumi made an up and down motion with her fist, amusement sparkling in her eyes.

"Do you think I should have—" Kema stared down at her carpet.

Wumi squealed, pinching her friend's cheek, "Are you crazy? You weren't ready to go all the way with him. It was your choice. If he really loved you, he would have waited—after all you were both planning to get married."

Yes, Wumi was right. Kema knew that—somewhere in the deep recesses of her mind. But she couldn't just move on. He'd been her first true love.

So why did her senses zing in Oliver's presence?

Wumi bounded up. "Come on." She grabbed her friend's arm, and heaved.

"What?" Kema frowned.

"If you're going to have lunch with Oliver, you're going to have to wear something other than black. Come on, let's go."

Kema dragged her feet as Wumi giggled, tugging her toward the bedroom. She steered the reluctant Kema past the gigantic bed and in front of the wardrobe.

She released her friend. Kema folded her arms, staring at her.

"This is crazy... everything is black or blue."

"Not everything." Kema indicated some tops and shirts.

She sniffed. She flipped through the selection, muttering, "A white... a grey .... In a sea of black."

"It's not that bad," Kema mumbled.

But Wumi wasn't listening. She had spied something unusual. She pulled it out.

A sleeveless, round-necked, violet midi jersey dress.

She arched an eyebrow. "You have a dress?" she asked, in tones of amazement.

"Yes, Wumi. I do have dresses. That one was from Adaeze."

Wumi laid the clothing against her taller frame. "You should wear this. Give Oliver a glimpse of another you."

Kema shook her head. "No, I don't want that... you know how my bum looks in dresses."

"Ah!" Wumi rolled her eyes. "You have a shape most women will commit murder to acquire. You should flaunt it. Wear this... remember he teased you with that comment about tasting you. Tease him back. Show him what he'll never have. Or if you don't want the dress, I could wear it—"

Kema tore the outfit from Wumi's grasp. "It'll be a mini on you, my model-tall best friend. Give me that!"

***

Oliver dug his hands into the pockets of his dark grey trousers. He noted the change in Sheila... her right arm draped over her daughter's shoulder. Mother and daughter huddled together on the couch. Seeking comfort and strength from each other.

He examined Sheila's face. Exhausted. Her eyes hooded. Her husband, Nike's father—that idiot—should be here with his family in Lagos, not in Abuja with his senator mistress. What did Sheila ever see in him? Anyway, it gladdened him that she had one good man in her life—her younger brother and his best friend—and well, she had him too. He'd relocated to Nigeria because of Steven and in time, he'd formed somewhat of a bond with his elder sister, Sheila.

He rocked back and forth as he remembered two months ago—here, in this house—in the dining room. Her chef had prepared an incredible dinner. There'd been some chitchat, a bottle of white wine. And without warning, Sheila's hand had sneaked between his legs and had grabbed his penis. He'd nearly choked on his wine. All he knew to do was... remove her hand, as gently as possible. No words exchanged. And surprisingly, she kept on talking about something totally unrelated... as if the grope had never happened. To this day, they'd never spoken about it.

From the corner of his eye, he drank in the sight of Kema sitting on an armchair, glorious in a purple clingy dress. He should walk away from her. His hunger for her overwhelmed him.

She inclined forward on her seat. Her legs gaped, exposing smooth knees and the beginnings of her sun-kissed thighs...

Oliver froze. He stared.

She didn't even know she was doing it. A woman used to wearing trousers. She didn't even know she was causing his blood pressure to rocket.

He coughed. She jerked. He stared at her thighs.

Kema shut her legs. Her eyes re-fastened on Nike.

The young girl sobbed, her body trembled. With her gaze on her hands, she began, "I know th-that Francis is... is not... the father of Rachel's baby. A-a couple of us... girls... have an arrangement with the s-s-school to-to... er... visit guys in hotels."

Kema shrieked, "What?"

Sheila Awolowo remained impassive. She had heard this all before.

Oliver leaped forward. "You have what?"

More wailing. Tears flooded Nike's face. And Sheila's hand just went on rubbing her daughter's arm.

"They pay us... ten, s-s-sometimes fifteen k... for two days."

"Fifteen thousand naira every two days? Who pays you?" Kema asked.

"Who are these guys in the hotels?" Oliver snapped.

Nike shrugged. Eyes trained on her hands. "Older men... with money... I don't know their names..."

Kema repeated, "Who pays you?"

"The teacher who b-brings us to the hotel."

"Which teacher?"

"He teaches science..."

Oliver questioned, "What's his name—and is he the only one in the school organizing these—these _visits?_ "

"I don't know anyone else. I only know about Mr. Inyang."

Kema's eyes contracted. She knew a lot of the teachers in Crestamead. Her mind raced, attempting to get a picture of this Mr. Inyang—the panderer! No, she couldn't place him.

"What's his first name?" Oliver asked.

Nike raised wet eyes to the ceiling for a moment, thinking. Then, "Peter... I think his name is Peter."

"First thing tomorrow, I'll speak to my friends on the police force. Get them to arrest this Peter. They'll interrogate him—" Oliver barked.

Interrogate him? Kema shook her head. She stood up. Patting the girl's arm, she whispered, "You were very brave. Thank you."

She moved to Doctor Awolowo. Breathed out. "I'm sorry for what I said to you the other day," she said.

Sheila's head snapped up. Her enraged eyes glowed and she snarled, "Your school did this! To my innocent daughter... get the fuck out of my house. I never want to see you again. GET OUT!"

Kema's body tautened. Then, she stomped out of the sitting room.

She had arrived at the gate before Oliver caught up with her.

"Hey, wait up."

She twisted around. Huge mistake. Delicious how his light blue shirt stressed his defined pectoral muscles... Utterly delicious.

He loomed over her. "What are you up to?"

"What do you mean?"

"When I mentioned interrogating Peter, you shook your head."

"Okay, yes. Peter's a little fish. I can bet that there are major players involved in this prostitution ring. So, if you question him—"

"—He'll squeal and tell us who his accomplices are."

"And if he doesn't?"

"He will."

Kema ran a hand through her hair. "I think we should look for more creative ways to bring down every one of those evil pigs."

"I think you should let the police—and I—handle it."

"You think so?" She chuckled. This guy was a big kidder. Like she wouldn't do whatever she could to avenge the death of that poor girl. All she had to do was figure out how.

He said, "The police have arrested the charlatan who botched up Rachel's abortion. He's not going to butcher another young girl."

"Good. But I'll be happier when they catch the guys who put these young girls in this predicament in the first place."

"We will."

Kema nodded. Well, she hadn't forgotten her arrangement with Oliver. Now, it was time to pay up. "So." She smiled. "I promised I would go to lunch with you."

Oliver scratched the back of his neck. The way the gown fondled her curves... mmmm... Perhaps he should cool it with her. He coughed. "Maybe some other time. I have some work in the office."

Ah. She giggled. "Now who's scared?"

"Scared? No way." He spread his arms. "You know what? I just have to send a report to a client from my laptop at the office and then we can have something to eat."

"Great. Where's your office?"

"Four streets away. Do you want to go there?"

"Why not?"
Chapter Five

Kema perched on her right leg, while the left one dangled over the couch. The plate of Thai-style fried noodles balanced on her thighs.

She put another forkful of Pad Thai into her mouth and chewed slowly, with scrumptious pleasure. This was nice. Being here, eating this lip-smacking meal—in his office. With him.

She liked his office, the marble floor, the traditional-looking wooden desk and leather chair, this sofa, the wooden side-table and especially the large window overlooking the car park. She loved that this room took up massive space, far more than her boss's office in Storm Technologies. It even had an enclosed toilet and sink! The security business must be churning loads of profit.

Sprawled on the same couch, Oliver gaped at her, aware that, at present, her attention was on her surroundings. She'd insisted on inspecting every bit of his office. When she'd entered the toilet cubicle in front of him, he'd had a vision... of her bent forward, the purple dress drawn up to her waist, her perfect bum in the air, pleading with him to...

Damn, his organ throbbed again in reminder.

He hefted a half-full bottle of a sparkling Chardonnay, about to tip it over her plastic cup.

She blocked him, draping the mouth of the cup with her right hand. "No more for me."

He raised an eyebrow, asking, "Sure?"

"Yes. I'm not much of a drinker."

"That's a surprise. In the short time I've known you; I can see that you're a woman who adores adventure, a woman with an enormous lust for life. I assumed alcohol drinking would be one of those things you would gravitate toward."

She smiled at him. If only the meager consumption of alcoholic beverages was the only shocking thing about her... What would he say if she told him that... well, that no man's stuff had ever penetrated her... stuff? Yes, all hail Kema the Virgin...

"Tell me; why do you like to wear only suits?" she asked.

Oliver countered, "The last two times we met, you were dressed in dark clothes, why?"

"You're answering my questions with questions."

"True. The thing is, I like to put them on and it helps in my work, to inspire confidence and authority with my clients. And for the record, it doesn't matter to me whatever color you have on, Kema, you're still the most stunning woman I've ever met."

Despite herself, a bolt of joy pierced her belly. Stunning, eh? She forked some shrimps into her mouth to keep from beaming like a compliment-hungry village belle.

He leaned over the side-table to pour wine into his cup, and she snatched the opportunity to observe him. His superbly molded cheekbones, his full lashes, his assured jaw...

His eyes lifted and she jerked her gaze away. Removing her plate from her lap and setting it on the table, she asked, "So, Oliver... tell me... how did you end up in Nigeria, doing this job?"

Oliver sipped some wine. "I met my buddy, Steven, in the marines. His father's Nigerian, his mother's American. He was born and raised in the States. Steven had done his research. He was convinced that starting a security company in Nigeria would be a great move. We talked it over and I agreed. So, I became his partner. And after the whole mess with Amy, my ex..." He shrugged. "It seemed like the best action to take."

"I see." Oh, this Amy... was she his daughter's mother? His baby mama? This question dangled on the tip of her tongue but Oliver was speaking.

"And you? What's your story?"

"Born into a family of medical practitioners... my father was a doctor and my two elder brothers are doctors, one's a surgeon in Atlanta. My elder sister is a pharmacist. For a time, I actually toyed with the idea of being just like them. I even went to medical school! But... fortunately—thank God—couldn't stand the monotonous, eternal studying so I dropped out. Majored in web design to the overwhelming disappointment of my family... now, I work in a tech company called Storm Technologies."

He noticed her stiff spine, her curled fists even while her lips smiled. Hurt, a tad sad. He ached to comfort her. Tell her that all of her was more than enough for him. He couldn't imagine how it felt having to compete with a couple of over-achieving family members. He was an only child.

"You mentioned your father was a doctor."

Kema's teeth gnawed on her bottom lip. She glanced at her milky-white, square-edged fingernails. "He's dead."

He stared at her. "I'm sorry about that. How did he die, if you don't mind my asking?" he murmured in a low voice.

"He died on his way to visit a sick patient. A car accident. Nine years ago."

He watched her hand on the sofa curl into a fist. "You were close to him?"

"Yes." She smiled, her eyes brightening. "We could quarrel like dogs and cats and twenty minutes later, he's saying to me 'like father, like daughter' and he's calling me his 'knockout girl'."

"Knockout? Do you box?"

She flashed her eyes at him. "What? _No_. In Nigeria, knockout is a term children give to fireworks. My dad meant that I was like fireworks: attention-grabbing, bold and bright. He even had T-shirts made."

He chortled. "He did?"

"Yes. I still wear them, on occasion." Then, her entire body unfurled. Relaxed. Kema said, "Enough about me." She shot him an impish smile. "Your ex... is she your daughter's mother?"

Oliver took a gulp of wine. Discussing Amy with Kema seemed a little weird. But he had nothing to hide. Amy was his past. "Um... I was twenty-two when I met Amy. I thought she was my soul mate... until she wasn't. Two years into our relationship, she got pregnant with Lisa. I intended to propose to her but she-she cheated on me... fell in love with someone else. I broke up with her but to be really honest, I was... relieved."

"You didn't love her anymore?"

He nodded, tracing the tip of his cup with a finger.

Kema's heart bopped.

He glanced up, eyes boring into hers. "Is there a man in your life now, Kema?"

"No... not anymore. I had a bad break-up too. We were engaged one day, the next we were over." She lobbed the words, as if she had dealt with the issues about her past relationship and had moved on. "His name was Ikenna. My family thought the sun shone out of his butt mostly because he was from a good, Christian, Ibo family. Both our families are from the same state in Nigeria—Abia State."

"So, in effect, you think you disappointed your folks again by ending your relationship with this... Ikiina."

"Ikenna..." she corrected involuntarily and then shook her head. "I really don't want to talk about it. Tell me about your family."

He smiled. "My dad's an ex-cop. Now he and my mom are in the restaurant business. They're in Miami. No brothers and sisters."

"Lucky you."

"Don't know if I'll agree with you. By the way, Kema... you'll make an excellent investigator one day."

She grinned, asking, "You think so?"

"Yeah, I do." He nodded. "You're dogged, unafraid of confrontation, you speak your mind. I mean, if you're seeking something else... an unusual job for a unique beauty, I can offer you a job here in Olympus Security."

She tilted her head to one side. "What's the job?"

He rubbed his jaw. The job? Yeah, good question. If only he knew the answer. Or he could confess to her that the vacancy was made-up and he just wanted the opportunity to see her regularly? He had to think of something—at once. "Umm... you can work with the IT department, to—er —bolster our online presence... attend some client meetings with me... stuff like that."

She laughed. "Oh come on, Oliver, you're just offering me a job so you can get me to sleep with you."

"No, what?" He opened his arms out, "How can you say that—"

"Mm-hmm." She bounded to her feet. Damn him—again—and damn this ... this sexual tension flaring between them.

It was time to put a stop to it.

Oliver's face flopped. Was she about to leave? No, please no.

But Kema swooped down to poke a finger in his face. A finger that almost touched the tip of his nose.

He searched her expression. Was she angry?

Ah, she saw it, in his face. The confusion, even a little anxiety. It felt—wow, empowering—to turn the tables around on him.

But then, a grin adorned her mouth. She murmured, "You dared me... you said that I was afraid to kiss you, remember?"

"Ye-es." What was she up to?

She clapped her hands on both sides of his face, hauled him forward and then... fused her lips with his.

His eyes flew open. For a moment, his lips remained shut against hers. What the hell?

Her gaze bored into him. Her mouth teased his, no tongue yet. He could see in her eyes her intention to favor him with a simple, chaste kiss.

But in the next second, everything changed.

She released her tongue, nudging his lips.

Oliver took her in.

Her eyes fluttered close. He watched her, drinking in her exquisite face for a second more and then he too succumbed to the ravening desire taking him over.

Their tongues twined. He grunted.

All that she could think of was that she wanted—no, needed—more of him. She craved him.

She gripped his face closer, devouring his mouth. Her nipples peaked, reaching for him through the fabric of her dress. Her knees quivered.

He groaned. His heart banged and thudded like it was about to pop out of his chest. She tasted... so good. So very good. He slid his hands on either side of her waist, feeling the zing of her velvety, sizzling hot skin through her dress. He tugged her closer.

His touch sent a bolt of undiluted longing down her spine and in between her legs. She rocked on her feet, shocked at how much she wanted him. Shocked by how ready she was to give him—everything. The way it never, ever happened with Ikenna.

She tore her mouth away.

Oliver moved to capture it again but she straightened up. Her breath rushed out of her in great heaves.

But his lips still beckoned. And he was rising to his feet.

Fear soured Kema's stomach. The fear that she could do... _would_ do something stupid and reckless here and now...

She snatched her bag and stumbled to the door.

"Kema... what?"

She didn't dare look back. With her sight trained on the door, her hand quaking on the handle, she whispered, "I'm s-sorry."

And bolted.
Chapter Six

Kema hung by the wall of the principal's office, her eyes sweeping everywhere—outside the window and around the room.

A teacher, Mr. Agagu, stood by the door in a forest-green French suit, his arms folded over his barrel chest, revealing small dark sweat stains under his armpits, despite the fact that it was still early in the morning and the temperature in the room was low. "So the police just left with Mr. Inyang," he offered.

Mrs. Ochei, Crestamead's principal, huddled behind her desk, shoulders slumped, her eyes red-tinged. "Yes, about an hour ago. I can't-can't believe that an underage prostitution ring has been operating under my nose. And a girl is dead. My God, I hope we can survive this."

The fourth person in the room, Vice Principal, Deaconess Akume declared, "We will. Don't worry, Principal Ochei." She rocked back and forth on her chair, attired as usual in a shapeless caftan with her hair bundled up in a turban.

Kema steered her gaze outside, to the various pockets of schoolgirls clustering, anxious, and fearful.

"If not for you, Kema..." The principal was saying. Kema returned her attention to the office. "You made Nike confess. You found out the truth."

Deaconess Akume paused the rocking. She concentrated on Kema. Her brow wrinkled. "You're the one who exposed this scandal?"

Kema stared at her. Why the almost hostile gaze?

Then, the VP flashed a bright smile. "Good job, Kema. Thank you."

She shrugged, replied, "I don't need any thanks. I would do anything for this school."

The principal gave her a shaky smile. "I know, my dear. You've done your best. But in two weeks, we'll have to close the school down—go on an early, probably extended vacation while the police and the ministry continue their investigations. If it were up to Rachel's parents, we would be permanently shut."

Mr. Agagu sighed. Deaconess Akume carried on swaying in her seat.

Kema detached from the wall. Yawned. She eyed her watch. Nine-thirty. She had been here for over an hour. Her stomach whined for breakfast. Her eyes yearned for sleep.

She said, "Principal Ochei, I'll have to leave now. You can call me later if there's anything else you need me to do."

"Thank you, my dear. God bless you."

She passed Mr. Agagu. "Good bye, sir."

" _Odabo_ , Kema."

She glanced at the Vice Principal. "Good bye, ma."

"Take care."

Kema slipped out of the air-conditioned office, into the embrace of the warm morning. People lingered on the grass, in front of the classrooms, under the trees, talking, dissecting, and gossiping.

She moved past them, to her car parked under a huge tree with widespread, lavish leaves. As she pushed her car-key into the slot, a shadowy shape reflected off the side-window of her car.

She whirled around, heart thumping.

And then shot out a loud hiss.

The man beamed at her, revealing bright teeth. His huge, black-framed eyeglasses, one arm of it held together by duct tape, captured his face. Over six feet tall, covered in a black formless T-shirt over black baggy three-quarter length trousers, with his feet in heavy army boots.

"Old Soldier, it's you."

He beamed. "Auntie K!"

Old Soldier, the chief security guard of the school for over twenty years. He must be, like, maybe in his middle fifties. What did he want? She had given him three thousand naira only last week. Did she look like a Guaranty Trust Bank ATM machine?

"Old Soldier, what's up? I'm in a hurry."

"Auntie K, no worry for money. I want help you."

She arched her eyebrows. Really? "How?"

"Ha, Auntie K... you no trust me? Me Old Soldier see things. Me control this gate. If they no see me, they no pass. Before the bus carry girls left school, teacher Inyang must see me."

She translated his strain of broken English in her head. Then, her eyes sparkled. Old Soldier knew about the movement of the girls from the school compound to the hotels. Peter Inyang had to bribe Old Soldier before he could transport the girls out.

She clapped her hands, sneering, "You've done well, Old Soldier. You don't know those girls are children and you're helping Peter sell these children for sex. Don't you have a daughter? What if one of them was your daughter?"

"Ah, Auntie K. Not like that. Ha, Auntie K... you hard. The girls too give me money for no tell people."

_What?_ The girls bribe him?

Old Soldier chuckled at Kema's expression. "Auntie K, you no understand. Peter give me money, some girls give me money, even—"

She glared at him. Snapped, "Even who?"

"Ha, Auntie K, between me and you. Nobody know."

"Even who?"

"Even VP, Akume."

"What? The Vice Principal bribes you to allow the bus leave the gate?"

Old Soldier grinned, nodding his head like an Agama lizard.

Deaconess Akume was one of the masterminds? A woman of God? Did Principal Ochei know? Who else was involved in this?

She stepped closer and demanded, "What else do you know?"

Old Soldier rubbed his hands together, "Auntie K! Auntie K!"

"I'm not giving you any money today. Answer my question."

He took in a heavy breath and muttered, "One bus go Friday."

"You mean... there's one bus leaving this Friday night?"

He bobbed his head.

"What time?'

"Around ten."

Great. She would be at the gate, waiting.

***

Kema sagged into the driver's seat of her car. She rubbed her eyes. Gosh, it had been a long day. After leaving the school in the morning, she had driven home to feast on six slices of white bread and two scrambled eggs. Plus an enormous cup of tea. Two of her co-workers from Storm Technologies had dropped in for a chat—a lengthy three-hour chat. By the time they'd departed, it had been almost time for lunch.

At least, she had managed to scrounge a few hours of sleep after a light lunch.

With everything that had happened today, she had not had more than a glimmer of a moment to think about the kiss. A kiss that almost floored her.

Incredible.

She daren't admit that—only for one second!—she'd considered going all the way with Oliver.

He had rung her many times yesterday but no, no... she had ignored his calls. She couldn't handle it. Couldn't talk about it. What would she say? 'Yes, I snogged you and then ran away like a little child?'

She breathed in the cool air streaming in from the opposite window. The blackness pressed down and hugged her vehicle. She had parked on the right hand side, off the road, next to the bush and about five minutes away from the school gate. Any minute now...

Her eyes flitted from side to side, through the glass of her windscreen, checking for any strangers lurking in the shrubbery. No-one, thank God. Her friends and family would simultaneously go into cardiac arrest if they were to discover her current whereabouts, camped out all alone on a dark and lonely stretch of road at night.

Her lips stretched into a smile. If he was still alive and somehow knew what she was doing at this moment, her dad would have immediately jumped into his car, driven over here and then dragged her out of her car, hollering and cursing. They would have gotten into this horrible quarrel and then twenty-four hours later, he would be at her side, patting her shoulder and whispering, so her mother wouldn't hear, about how proud he was of her, praising her for being fearless and strong. If he wasn't dead...

Her eyes moistened. She shook her head, forcing a smile as a tear slid down her cheek. Gosh, she missed her dad. He was the only one, apart from Adaeze, who almost always took her side.

She sighed and wiped her face with one hand.

Don't think about that now. _Focus, Kema._

She heard a sound! A car engine? Yes. Then, approaching headlights.

She eased downward.

It drew nearer. The lights intensified, bathing the paved road and just missing Kema's Kia Rio.

A brief, heart-pounding moment and the vehicle—a dark school van—sped past. But not before she caught a glimpse of faces in the back.

She ignited her engine and swung on to the road. Her car headlights highlighted the license plate and she repeated the letters and numbers to herself, at the same time, concentrating on keeping the van in her sight while maintaining a safe distance from it.

Her heart thudded against her ribs like a scared prisoner pounding and pounding and pounding against the bars of his cage. Who did she think she was? Tailing a van containing people desperate enough to sneak teenagers out of school to pimp them out to men willing to pay good money... dangerous, fool-hardy, bonkers! But also... exhilarating and—yes—fun. Like a real-life spy.

She pursued them all the way from the school in Gbagada, onto the expressway, veering into Ikorodu Road, continuing on to Western Avenue, turning into Eric Moore Road in Surulere and then finally ending up on a short, residential street.

She slowed, peering ahead. Her knees danced. Her palms dripped wet but still, she gripped the steering wheel. Unbelievably, she had done it!

The vehicle was pulling up to a gated house.

She depressed the brakes, stopping two houses away.

Kema pushed her head forward, watching through the windscreen as a security man emerged from within, bent over to say something to the driver and then re-entered. A minute after, the gates started to slide open.

She sucked in a deep breath. She couldn't pursue them into a house all by herself with no weapons. Clearly, the time to call in reinforcements had come.

She yanked her phone out of her jeans right front pocket.
Chapter Seven

Oliver listened to Kema's animated voice, dread and shock zipping into his blood and multiplying throughout his entire body with every word that burst from her mouth.

_What the fuck?_ What a maddening woman! He barked into the phone, "Stay there. Do nothing. I'm on my way."

Before she could reply, he cut the call. With his hair wet from the shower he had just taken, he dialed his friend, Tola, one of the plainclothes detectives assigned to the Peter Inyang case. He explained the problem, clasping the phone to his ear and using the other hand to hold out a pair of cargo pants, poking one leg in and nearly toppling over.

He cursed.

Fortunately Tola understood the urgency. He would be there in five minutes.

By the time Oliver had managed to put on some clothes, and conscripted his housekeeper who lived downstairs to watch Lisa, Tola had arrived. With four armed police officers. Excellent.

He passed on to his friend the address Kema had given him and they leaped into their cars and tore out, in a convoy, the five police men in a Honda CRV with Oliver following in his Toyota jeep.

Oliver drove like a patient from a mental institution—on speed. How could she do this? How could she endanger her life in this way? He wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her. He wanted to grab her and continue exploring that delicious mouth before tracing a path of fire over that honeyed skin with his tongue.

About twenty minutes later, the policemen's jeep swung into a street and decelerated. Behind them, Oliver eased his foot off the accelerator. This must be the area.

He stared ahead, through the gloom. His headlights bounced off cars parked on the left hand side of the road. A black-and-white cat jumped down from the wall of one house and darted off into the bushes. A petite black-clothed woman marched back and forth, beside a white car.

Yes! Kema... at last.

He switched off his car engine and sprinted out of the car.

Kema saw the vehicles zoom into the street. The first one slowed, the other jerked to a stop. Someone bounded out of the second one and rushed toward her.

With the light spewing from the car enveloping him, she noticed his hair, radiating black and hugging his head, his flaming eyes, his lithe body hurtling forward and when he reached her, he seized her upper arms and forced her to his chest.

Automatically, she sniffed him.

Yum. Lemony, citrusy, whatever...wonderful.

A wave of such sweet relief flooded through Oliver that he shut his eyes for a moment. Thank God she was okay.

His eyes sprung open and his forehead rumpled. "What do you think you're doing, Kema?" He gave her a little shake.

She tore her eyes away from his mouth to glare into his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"How could you do something so-so—"

She scanned his face, picked up on the strain he was fighting to conceal, and remembered that his hair appeared wet. He must have rushed out of the shower just to be here. She had called for his help and he had appeared, ready to assist her.

Wow.

She lifted a hand to push back a stray lock of his hair. He wrenched his head away and dropped his hands from her arms.

"Look, Kema. You shouldn't have done this. You should have called me earlier and I would have gotten someone to track them."

"Come on, Oliver. I saw an opportunity and I took it."

"You don't care that you were putting yourself in danger. You don't care about anybody but yourself."

"Who says so? It's precisely because of others—those young, naïve girls—that I'm here, at this time of the night, risking my life—"

A wiry man in a plain shirt and dark trousers joined them, flanked by four police officers totting guns. He glanced at Oliver, nodded at Kema. "Hi. Where's the house?"

Kema pointed it out. She said, "That's it. The van with the girls drove in there and they haven't left."

He nodded again, then focusing on Kema, he ordered, "Go home now." He gestured to his men. "Let's go."

The law men converged on the house.

Oliver swerved to face her. Eyes stormy, lips curled. "Go home, Kema."

"No." She folded her arms. "I want to be here to see what happens."

"Then I'll just let Tola arrest you."

"Arrest me? For what? You're joking."

His eyes constricted. "Try me," he snapped.

She eyed him. He wasn't joking. What ever happened to the laid-back Oliver?

"What's the matter with you? Are you pissed because I didn't answer your calls?"

His jaw clenched. "You called me this night because you had no choice. You kissed me yesterday and then rushed off and since then you refused to speak to me, so I'll repeat: you don't care about anyone but yourself." He darted his hand through his hair. "I am going to wait in my car."

He stalked off.

She watched him, and then shot out, "Well, fine! I'm going. You can stay here and—and be grumpy!"

She stamped to her car, jumped in, ignited the engine and pulled out of the street.

Luckily, the drive went without a hitch. In just twenty-five minutes, Kema was home. She had gotten into bed when—argh—she remembered she hadn't told Oliver about Vice Principal Akume. So annoying... and it was all his fault. Chasing her off like that... threatening to have her arrested.

She grabbed her phone. It had been just over an hour since she had left the scene so Mr. Grouchy should still be up and about.

She dialed Oliver. Once, twice, thrice. No answer. What the heck? How dare he?

She yawned, fighting back a tempting wave of sleep. Should she try once more? Another yawn burst out of her mouth.

That decided her. She punched out a text, letting him know what she had heard about the Vice Principal and asking for an update on the events of the night.

She barely clicked SEND before her eyelids dropped and sleep conquered.

***

Kema sneaked into the crowded hall. Almost all the seats were occupied. Ah, there's one, at the very back. Perfect. She slid into the chair.

Everyone around her stared forward at the podium, rapt.

She settled in, flung her right dark grey jeans-clad leg over the left one, and followed their gazes.

At the front of the room, three people sat behind a white tablecloth-draped table, facing microphones. She recognized Mrs. Ochei, the Principal of Crestamead School but the other two men were strangers. Three people and one empty chair. Were they expecting someone else?

Kema groaned. Ten-fifteen A.M. She should be at the gym, catching up on some much-needed workout but instead, here she was. At a press conference. On a Tuesday. Only about a couple of days before the expiration of her vacation. No-o-o-o. The principal had rung her yesterday to invite her to this conference. She'd insisted that Kema be there at nine-thirty. Yes, like she had nothing else to do.

Kema surveyed her surroundings. Various Press people lay siege to the stage, lugging cameras and wearing jackets blazoned with the names of their TV stations—Channels TV, Glow Force Media, NTA, AIT and Silverbird TV. Black uniformed police officers hung by the white walls, clutching rifles.

One of the men on the dais, a balding man with hunched shoulders was declaring, "... the school is not liable. You can't fault them because of the malevolent activities of a few bad eggs like Peter Inyang, the security man, the driver..."

She bit her lip. Ah, the saga of a few nights ago. When Oliver turned up his nose at her calls, leaving her hanging until afternoon before finally replying—with texts. Not even one teeny-tiny call. Wow.

In those two, paltry, curt texts, she had gathered the news. The police had raided the house and found six teenage girls in four different rooms, split between four mature clients. Waiting by the van, was one of the school drivers and a security man for the school's west gate. The police had carted everyone to the station and had impounded the van. The girls had been detained but had been allowed to make calls to their parents.

Peter Inyang still claimed the title of Chief Mastermind. Vice Principal Akume had been interrogated but later released for lack of evidence.

"... and as for the vice principal, Mrs. Ruth Akume, she has been cleared by the police of any involvement in this shameful scandal. I want to take this opportunity to state that she is a pillar of the school and the community. Apart from being Vice Principal of Crestamead, she is a deaconess in her church; her husband is a Special Assistant to the Minister of Agriculture and she is mother to four girls. She can't..."

Kema sneered. Yeah, a true pillar. As if it was impossible for pastors, wives of government officials and mothers to commit transgressions. Who the heck was this clown?

Taking her by surprise, someone swooped down on her.

Mr. Agagu. In another forest-green French suit.

"I thought it was you. You're late."

Her brow wrinkled. "Yes?"

He pulled at her arm. "You're meant to be up there."

She flashed wide eyes at him. Shaking her head, she muttered, "No, no, I'm not. I'm fine right here."

"Principal Ochei insists. That free seat is for you. Up you go."

He tugged at her arm again. People's heads were swiveling around, taking notice.

She sighed and sprang to her feet. She strode up toward the podium, aware of curious eyes following her. Thank God she had chosen a light-blue silk shirt tucked into dark grey jeans, and grey lace-up one-inch heeled shoes.

Marching past the front row, her gaze caught a pair of glaring eyes. Vice Principal Akume in another shapeless dress. She nudged the round-faced man beside her—probably her husband, the Special Assistant—and pointed.

Kema flicked her eyes away and sighted Oliver. As dapper as ever in a pale grey suit, white shirt and pink tie.

His eyes alighted on her and stuck like a magnet.

A maelstrom of desire roared through her body. She reached the stage, started to climb and nearly tripped.

Mrs. Akume sniggered.

Kema took in a breath. Stupid Oliver with his stupid stare. She edged into the chair between Mrs. Ochei and a burly, bearded man.

Principal Ochei flashed a smile.

"... now I'll let the Principal of Crestamead School, Mrs. Philippa Ochei say a few words."

The principal cleared her throat, moved forward to speak into the microphone. "This young woman who just joined us is Kema Ekwueme. She's an alumnus of the school, as a matter of fact; she's the president of the alumni association. As a student, she won numerous athletic awards and ended up becoming the Sports Prefect. But the main reason for her being here is the courage and passion she displayed when she unmasked the identity of the brains behind the prostitution ring and at great personal risk, trailed this nefarious gang to their destination and informed the Nigerian police..."

The audience gasped.

"So that's her..." said the man sitting next to Oliver. Sheila's husband, Nike's father. Back from Abuja. "Sheila thinks she's the devil. But, men, she's a babe."

Oliver seared him with one look.

"Hey, what's your problem?"

Oliver ignored him. Zoned in on her. Confident, articulate. Speaking like someone born to be in the limelight. Her white teeth gleamed, her slim fingers danced on the table top. Her stare traveled from one end of the hall to the other. Never reaching him, though.

No doubt, like a virus, she had seeped into his bloodstream.

Kema looked down on the streams of faces below. Her heart tripped. But with a steady voice, she said, "I'm not a hero. I'm not looking for recognition. It's just that I can't believe that adults who should know better are roping young girls into selling their bodies for money. Even worse, these adults are profiting from this heinous goings-on. So I will do everything within my power to save these girls from these pimps."

She gazed down at the faces below. What an honor to be here, to be able to give her opinion about something as vital as this. If only she could turn this into a career... Designing websites just wasn't fun anymore. But what could she do about it? Ask Oliver for guidance? Whew. Maybe. And she could bet one hundred thousand naira that her brothers and mother would have something to say about her choice, just like they did when she abandoned medical school and switched her major to web design.

Oliver stared up at her. Yeah, she wouldn't give up on the girls. She always would throw her whole heart into everything. No half-measures for Kema.

He could see it clearly. If he made the mistake of being intimate with her, she would stick to him like a postage stamp. She would expect total commitment. No, he couldn't—daren't—get involved with her... no matter how much his loins whined. Darn. He wouldn't be in Nigeria forever and of course, there was Lisa. She was his priority. He had no immediate plans to introduce any women to his daughter. He needed to forget about exploring Kema's delights and just maintain his normal tactics... snatching a few hours of relief with women who understood the language of casual sex.

For the rest of the conference, Oliver kept his eyes on his phone. His feet ached to take flight. Even when pissed parents ripped into the principal, demanding her resignation.... And when the school lawyer, the hunched-shouldered balding spokesperson, and the school administrator, the bearded guy, tried to soothe them with vague declarations—and failed... And when the reporters threw question after question at Kema...

Forty-five minutes later, the meeting closed. He sprang to his feet, heading to the exit, abandoning Sheila's husband.

Kema climbed down the dais, and scanned the hall. The room was still emptying but he had almost gotten to the doors.

"Hey. Oliver." She sped after him. Had to push past some straggling bodies.

He kept going.

"Oliver. Wait!" She grabbed his upper left arm, feeling the rock-hard muscles.

He rotated to face her, with distant eyes and tense shoulders. "Yes, Kema?"

She released him. Still with the frowning face? Really? "Look, I only want to say that I think the VP should be re-questioned."

"She was and then had to be set free for want of evidence," he snapped.

"Yes, I know that. But I believe she's involved. She's the boss."

"You know what? Get some evidence."

Her eyes narrowed. "What's your problem?" she muttered.

He wagged his head. Heaved a deep sigh. "Don't worry about it. Anything else?"

She stuck her hands on her waist. "You don't seem to be too bothered about this. You know very well that Peter Inyang is not the leader of the gang. You know this!"

"We still need proof to convict the Vice Principal. Anything else?"

They glowered at each other.

She let her arms fall to her sides. "Okay, fine. I also wanted to—I'm interested in—er—what you do. So I—er—wanted to ask if you'll like teach me a little about the goings-on at Olympus Security."

His forehead creased. Darn, didn't this woman get it? He was trying to extricate himself from her grip and here she was—asking him to spend more time with her.

It didn't help too that that kiss remained engrained in his brain and every part of him hankered for her.

Infuriating.

He said, "I'll find someone to take you through."

Her face slumped. "Y-you're not going to teach me yourself?"

"I'm busy, Kema. When you're ready, give me a call and I'll arrange things. Okay?"

"Yes, okay," she said in a subdued voice. What had she done to him? Why would he be this cold?

"Bye, Kema. I have to go."

She shrugged.

Oliver turned his back to her and stomped off.
Chapter Eight

"My best friend's a celeb." Wumi grinned.

"Oh come on. I wouldn't call myself that," Kema said.

Kema and Wumi lounged by a _suya_ pit on a street corner in Kema's area waiting for their meat to be cooked.

Wumi tossed a glance at her friend. "Those newspaper articles about you, the stories about you on BellaNaija, the conversations about you on Twitter and Facebook... what does all that make you?"

Kema shrugged, replied, "A one-week wonder?"

Wumi snorted, and then leaned over to slap her bare leg. "Ow! These wicked sand flies."

Kema giggled.

Wumi muttered, "Keep laughing. You're lucky your skin's as tough as a cow's hide." She glanced at the skinny youth behind the makeshift grill, flipping the sticks of meat over and ordered, " _Do, abeg._ "

The young man nodded, continued prodding at the barbecuing skewered cow meat.

A plume of white smoke shot out from the coal fire and enveloped the two women.

"Eeuuw," exclaimed Kema. The two women jumped back.

A sliver of moonlight broke through the gloom surrounding them. The beef sizzled. Sparks fluttered off the grill.

Wumi nudged her friend. "I'm no longer the more famous friend."

"Are you still on this?"

"I'm excited!"

Kema stared at Wumi. "My family is not. I've had calls from my mom, from Dan. Complaining about my involvement with the pimps." She chuckled. "Ejike even traveled here from the east. He's at Adaeze's."

"Ejike, your second elder brother?"

"Yes. I'm supposed to spend the night at her place tonight. I'm not ready to hear any more speeches about what I did wrong. I have half a mind not to go."

Wumi glanced down at Kema. Making out her small, shapely form in a light-colored top over white shorts. "I think you should go. At least hear what he has to say."

"Umhmm."

"You look a little... anxious."

Kema folded her arms under her boobs. Her gaze wandered to the roasting meat. "Maybe a little. But it's not all about my folks. I'm resuming at my job very soon and I'm not really looking forward to going back. This period I've spent on the investigation has been—oh—totally awesome. I've never felt this vibrant. I can't imagine returning to sit at a desk, playing with software."

"Wow. Are you saying you want to do this full-time? How would that work?"

She hurled her hands in the air. "I don't know! And Oliver isn't being nice to me right now. So I may not be able to count on help from him."

Wumi nodded. "Yes, you said. My advice is to take time to think about what you really would like to do before making any tough decisions. And I'm sure Oliver will come around."

"I don't know..."

"He will. It's just that you kissed him and ran off. He probably thinks you're a tease. Men don't like that."

She sniggered. "When did you become such an expert on men? Have you met another new guy? Because you're never without suitors."

Wumi grinned. "Yes, okay. There's someone new. Introduced to me by my step-mom, with the approval of my pops. His name's Gbenga. Cool guy, so far. We'll see."

The young man pulled out five perfectly-grilled dark-brown sticks of beef from the fire and transferred them to sheets of newspaper spread out on the top of a crude wooden table. With a sharp knife, he flayed the meat off the stick and into bite-sized pieces. He scooped spoonfuls of golden-brown powder, a mixture of pepper and special spices, and scattered it over the juicy morsels.

Wumi watched. Groaned. "I love suya."

He deftly sliced onions, tomatoes and cabbage onto the meat. Wrapped the entire thing in newspaper.

Kema dug her hand in her shorts' pocket. She had a one thousand naira note in there.

Wumi tapped her friend's hand. "Don't bother. This is my treat. You can handle the next one."

She smiled. What a sweetheart Wumi was. A good and loyal friend. She could always count on Wumi's support.

Why couldn't she say the same about her mom and two elder brothers?

***

Kema stroked the neat plaits on her niece's hair. Smoothed down the lemon-green cotton dress covering the petite body. Trust Adaeze. Her kids were always well-turned out. Case in point: Bibi's tidy corn-rows, precisely-pressed gown and neat yellow sandals.

Bibi squirmed in her auntie's arms.

"Where's your brother?"

Bibi sat up on Kema's lap. "He's on a sleepover at Diran's house. Diran's his best friend. I think mommy will bring him back today."

"Ah, no wonder. Well, tell him his Auntie K says hi. But I'll be back again. Won't I, hmm?" She bumped Bibi's chin.

The little girl giggled.

Kema patted her dress-covered knee. Lovely green dress. A beautiful color, as beautiful as Oliver's eyes. Gosh, she had Oliver on her brain.

She had passed the night in a guest bedroom in her sister's house. This morning, they had all had breakfast. Sausages, poached eggs, fried plantain and toast. Her stepbrother, Harrison, was home.

Now, they were gathered in the family sitting-room. Ejike perched on the edge of an armchair, brows coalesced. Adaeze sat on the sofa, beside Kema. For solidarity? Harrison stood. A black giant, hiding intelligent eyes behind his glasses.

"Harrison, won't you join us?" Ejike asked.

Harrison replied, "No. I'm taking Bibi to the store to choose her cakes. And I only want to say one thing. Although I care about Kema's safety, I think she did a good thing and that is what you and Dan should focus on."

Ejike's plump lips twisted. Tension flared in his broad shoulders and sturdy chest.

"Well said, honey," Adaeze put in.

Ejike cut his eyes at his sister.

"Come on, Bibi. Let's go." Harrison waved to his daughter. She hopped off Kema's lap and scurried to her father's side. He patted her slim shoulders. "Say goodbye."

"Bye-bye mommy."

"Bye, sweetheart. Choose great cakes, okay?"

"Yes, mommy. Bye Uncle Ejike. Bye Auntie K."

"Bye, Bibi."

"Bye, dear." Kema followed their exit with her eyes, and then turned her stare to her brother.

Ejike clenched his hands together. "Kema, we all agree you performed a good act but you put your life at risk! That wasn't your job. Unless you've changed your mind again and your new plan is to be a police woman."

Kema scowled. "What do you mean— _again?_ "

Adaeze tapped her sister's knee. "Ejike, you didn't need to fly in all the way from Nsukka for this. Kema is fine. She's okay. She did a heroic thing and although, for now, her name is in the papers, she'll soon be resuming at Storm Tech and all this will be over."

Kema slanted a glance at Adaeze. Sighed. Going back to web development—not inspiring.

Ejike glared at Adaeze. "You're not helping. Mom is very worried. You are the one in Lagos with Kema; you should have been keeping your eye on her. You know how she is."

Adaeze rolled her eyes. "Ejike, she's an adult. I can't rope her like a bull."

Kema edged forward. "How am I? Please, let me know."

Ejike aimed a finger at her. "You're all over the place. How can you think getting involved in a police matter can benefit you, in anyway? Which sensible man will desire to marry you?"

Adaeze exclaimed, "Ejike, _haba._ "

Tears surged behind Kema's eyeballs. A boiling heat burst in her stomach and poured into her limbs. How dare he? She had had enough. No more of this rubbish.

She leaped up from the couch and walked straight out of the room and the house, ignoring Adaeze's calls.

***

Saturday night. Kema huddled in a group with two people by a reserved table in Unhinged, the latest nightclub to debut in Lagos.

Next to her sat a married male colleague from Storm Technologies, Isibor, whose stomach fought to free itself from the confines of his tight-fitting shirt. His companion and mistress clung to his left arm.

Kema tipped the bottle of coconut-flavored liqueur into her glass. She lifted the drink to her mouth.

Isibor stretched out a halting hand to the glass. "Hey, Kema. Don't you think you've had enough? I know you rarely drink."

She swerved her face and hand to the right. Threw the alcohol down her throat. "Leave me alone. Tonight I'm making an exception, okay?"

Isibor shrugged. Music thumped the air.

The warmth of the booze seeped into her blood, dissolving the knot in her chest. Enveloping her in a cloud of happiness. Great.

She needed this... to end this day on a high note and make up for the horrible morning. Thank God that Isibor had invited her to this club. A pity Wumi couldn't be here. She lived under her father's roof and Chief Tunji Osoba could easily win the award for The Most Insufferable and Dominating Parent Ever.

_Well, here's to drinking to oblivion and dancing till I drop._ She snatched the bottle from Isibor and topped up her glass.
Chapter Nine

Oliver settled into the leather chair, his gaze on the tumbler of deep brown whisky in his hand. Allowing the pounding melody from the club's overhead speakers to wash over him.

Dwayne stirred beside him. Dwayne, an African-American engineer working in a telecoms company in Nigeria for the past ten years and also a nightlife aficionado. They were all here sampling the pleasures of Unhinged this night because of Dwayne.

"This is a regular nightclub, Dwayne," muttered Trevor, a US Embassy employee. Short, frail-bodied, geeky-looking but a fierce and unapologetic womanizer. "I thought you were bringing us to a strip club."

"You should have said something earlier. There's a crazy joint I know not far from here. We can go there after here," Dwayne said.

Oliver sipped his whisky. Damn it, he shouldn't have been that mean to Kema. He could have handled things a bit better.

"Hey, Oliver."

Oliver glanced up from his drink. Pedro Abbas dallied nearby, an older hottie on his arm.

"Pedro! How're you doing?"

"Good, good." Pedro grinned down at Oliver. His slim left hand brushed through his curly black hair.

"Work's going fine, I see." Oliver stole a glance at the woman by Pedro's side. Svelte, dark-skinned, in her forties. Head forward, haughty eyes scanning the club like she was wondering what she was doing here.

Pedro laughed, shrugging his shoulders.

"Pedro, my man," Dwayne shouted, smiling. "You're the luckiest man in the world."

Oliver shook his head. Yeah, most guys would probably agree with Dwayne. He caught Trevor's confused but interested glance. Pedro was an old friend, one of the first new friends he'd made in Nigeria. He'd hung out with both Pedro and Dwayne on numerous occasions. But this was Trevor's first meeting with Pedro.

"Trevor, that's Pedro, a friend of ours," Oliver said. He nodded his head at Pedro. "Pedro, meet Trevor. He works with the US Embassy."

"Good to meet you," Trevor said.

Pedro nodded. "Same here." The woman on his arm shifted from one high-heeled shoe-d foot to the other. Her plush purple lips twisted. He said, "Guys, I'm sorry."

Oliver waved his free hand in the air. "Go, go."

Pedro left, arm-in-arm with his companion.

Dwayne banged his fist against his knee, shifting his head from side to side. "That guy is lucky. But I can't do what he does. I just can't."

"Why? What does he do?" Trevor asked.

Oliver laughed. "He's a male escort."

"No!" Trevor's eyes were as round as watermelons.

"Man, that look on your face is priceless," Dwayne roared, his head flying back.

"Women pay him to fuck them? Fantastic!"

Oliver rolled his eyes and then swigged down the brandy in his glass.

Dwayne muttered, "Lucky, lucky guy. Maybe we should ask him to introduce us to some of his lady friends."

"Great idea, Dwayne," Trevor said.

Oliver stole a glance at his watch. Should he make up an excuse about work and slip away? He just wasn't in the mood for clubbing tonight, not anymore. And he wasn't in the mood for unsatisfying sex with horny girls. And it was Kema's fault. Why couldn't he stop thinking about her? She certainly wasn't thinking about him. She was still stuck in the past, pining for her ex. Wasn't ready to move on.

Dwayne murmured, "Man, I love Nigerian women. Very friendly."

"And fiery..." Trevor whistled, aimed a finger into the crowd and then said, "Just like that one out on the dance floor, dropping it like it's hot. I think I'm going to join her."

Oliver glanced at Trevor and then his eyes tracked Trevor's finger.

His gaze latched on Kema who blew his mind in a black cropped top and pants that looked like it must have been spray-painted onto that amazing bum and athletic legs.

My, my, my. She could move. Her hips were performing some motions that were making his dick sing a rock and roll tune.

Trevor attempted to rise.

Before the thought had formulated in Oliver's mind, he had ditched his drink and his friends and was in front of her.

She twirled around, arms over her head and stumbled.

He reached out, grasped her by the waist. "Take it easy."

Her eyes widened. She tittered. Flung her arms around his neck. "Oliver!"

He breathed in the odor of alcohol trailing her. Was she drunk? Appeared to be. This decidedly over-friendly clinch was definitely un-Kema-like.

She pulled away from him, hunched over and slapped her hands to her mouth.

Oh-oh. He took in her rounded eyes, and posture. She was about to upchuck her dinner.

"Quick. Let's go." He gripped her right upper arm and steered her out of the club and into the cool night air. To a gutter in the car park.

Just in time too.

The vomit surged out of her mouth and into the gutter. She stooped over, heaving.

"It's okay. Let it out," he whispered as he stroked her back. "I'll get you water from my car. Give me a minute."

He rushed off.

Kema groaned. So embarrassing. Of all times... of all people. This was the worst night of her life.

And then another wave swept over her. Out it spewed.

He returned, handing her a bottle. She seized it and poured half of the water over her face.

"Don't use it all on your face. You've got to also rinse out the taste from your mouth."

She poured the water in her mouth and spat it out. She straightened. Shut her eyes as a current of cool breeze embraced her body. Yes. Better.

"You've got some chuck on your clothes."

Her eyes shot open. Centered on Oliver. Those glorious eyes. A tender smile on his lips. She dragged her gaze away to look down at her clothes. No-o-o.

Oliver spilled the remaining water into his right hand, trying to wet the stained portions and brush off the vomit.

With his hand.

Kema stared at him. She wouldn't do this for anyone.

"You need to have this whole outfit laundered." He pulled out a hanky from his trouser pocket and cleaned his hands. "I hope you didn't drive here."

She shook her head. "No, my colleague brought me here. He was supposed to take me home."

Oliver folded the handkerchief and stuffed it back. "I'll get you home. You just have to give me directions. Maybe you can call your friend on the way. Tell him you're okay."

***

Oliver criss-crossed the blue-and-gold carpet, every once in a while shooting a glance at the bathroom door. She had been in there for almost fifteen minutes. And in that time he hadn't heard a squeak from her.

The instant they had entered her flat, he had gone to work filling up her bathtub with warm water. Then he had led her into the bathroom and escaped outside.

And had been waiting in the sitting room since then.

Damn. Had she fallen into the water and drowned?

Should he... should he check on her?

Damn. Damn. Damn. He didn't know what to do.

He drew in a deep breath. Okay. _Here goes._

He rapped on the bathroom door. Called out, "Kema, are you okay?"

She didn't answer.

He knocked again. "Kema! Are you okay? Can I come in and check on you?"

Silence.

"Okay... I'm coming in." Oliver pushed the door in and stepped inside the dimly lighted bathroom.

She was leaning forward in the tub, her back to the door.

She didn't turn at his entrance.

He moved closer. And then stopped. Damn, her naked shoulders were trembling.

"Kema... what's wrong?"

She clutched her breasts with her arms.

He hung behind her, her bare shoulders and part of her back in his view.

She twisted slightly to her left, glancing at him with reddened, wet eyes. "My mother and brothers... they attacked me because they discovered I had helped with the investigation. A-and my brother s-said no man would want me... it made me remember... remember that Ikenna dumped me!"

He crouched by the tub, averting his eyes from her boobs. "Kema... we can't choose our families but that doesn't mean that they have the right to control our lives. They made their own life decisions. They must allow you make yours. You are the one in charge of your destiny." He bit his lip. He wouldn't comment on Ikiina or whatever his name was...

"T-thanks, Oliver," she whispered in such a fragile, almost child-like voice that he lifted his eyes to gaze into her face. The flutter of her eyelashes, her wide eyes, the rounded curve of her chin and her water-slicked face radiated vulnerability. He had never seen this side of her.

Oliver's stomach churned. He was in big trouble.

He fell on his knees. "Umm... do you want a massage? It'll make you feel better."

Kema dipped her head.

He placed his hands on her back, and started to knead. So much tension. And such mind-boggling, silky skin.

She released a sigh.

He stared at his hands over her honeyed flesh. If he replaced his hands with his tongue, what would happen?

Without thinking, he brought his mouth down on that skin. Tiny lip kisses first. Then with his tongue, relishing her flavor. She tasted almost like rare, exotic vintage.

She moaned. That hot muscular tongue scorched her skin and relayed waves of undeniable desire down her body and out through her enlarged nipples and swollen clitoris.

He flicked his tongue up her back, across her shoulder blades and down one upper arm.

Kema whimpered. _Oh, yes._

In the pit of her belly, the longing for him simmered. Her limbs shivered, danced with earth-shaking delight. With the certainty of the rightness of it, she dropped her arms.

Oliver shifted to her side, permitted his gaze to touch those— _wow_ —magnificent breasts. The perfect size, those prominent nipples he couldn't wait to sample.

He stuck his finger under her chin, tipped her head up. Her eyes were closed.

He eased his mouth down on hers.

Her mouth swung ajar.

Mmmm. He savored that tang, the richness he had dreamed about, hoped desperately to repeat.

He dragged his mouth away to murmur, "I want you so much, Kema."

"I want you too," she whispered.

"Then why have you been acting like you don't?"

"Because..." her eyelashes flapped. "Because I'm a virgin."
Chapter Ten

In her oversized bed, Kema lay on her side, facing Oliver. His forehead pressed against hers. Their faces were so close that she could see his pointed nose and every shade of green in his eyes. His breath fanned her face.

He watched her full eyelashes flutter up and down. He could see every tiny pore in her smooth skin. Exquisite.

Kema eased her hand over his hard chest. So solid...

Oliver whispered, "So... virgin, eh?"

"Yes..."

"I never would have pegged you for a virgin."

Kema met his steamy, relentless gaze. "Why?"

He chuckled. "Because virgins don't look like you. They don't move like you." His voice dipped, roughened, "They don't kiss like you."

Kema's stomach jumped up and refused to go back down. She let her gaze descend, to the muscles throbbing in his neck. "Well, I am. I don't know... before Ikenna, my plan was to give myself only to my husband..."

"I see."

"Well, we'd initially agreed to wait. And he seemed onboard with the idea."

"You two were planning to get married?"

"Yes. He had set a date and everything... But then, one day he just took off." Her lips compressed.

"He's an idiot. Should be shot," he snapped.

"Shh." Her index finger tapped his lips. She didn't want to think about her past relationship, not now and especially not here, lying next to Oliver. She had meant it. That she ached for him, even more than she had for Ikenna—though she would never tell him that part about her ex-flame—but it didn't mean that she would actually follow through and have sex with him.

Oliver kissed the finger, his heart hammering so loud he wondered if she could hear it. He hungered for her, a keening hunger that consumed him and tore through very cell in his body. One no woman before her had made him feel.

But he couldn't lose control. No. Because if he did, he knew he would not be able to stop. He would never want to let her go.

The fear surged into his bloodstream, powering his mind. He sucked in air.

She took her finger away, staring at him expectantly.

"Kema... I want to be upfront with you. Always. Okay?"

Her lashes flickered. "Okay."

He shut his eyes. Thinking. Wondering how to say what needed to be said. His eyes jumped open. Damn. "I—er—really want to be with you b-but I'm not sure I can give you the commitment you need, the commitment you deserve. You're a wonderful woman, Kema. You throw your heart and passion into everything you do. That makes you, you. And from what I know of you, you won't give yourself lightly, casually. Especially not your first time. You need someone who can be one hundred percent yours, always."

Kema's breathing heightened. This was it. This virgin thing was freaking him out. As usual. As it did most guys.

He continued, "I haven't had a serious long-term relationship with a woman ever since Amy. Mainly because of Lisa. Her mother left her, worse, abandoned her. I don't want to introduce her to any woman unless I'm very sure—"

She cut in, "—I know. I mean, I understand."

He sighed. "And I don't know how long I'll be in Nigeria."

She patted his chest. "I completely understand, I do. And I appreciate your honesty. I mean, I, of course, am not looking for anything casual. And, you know, we just met and you're not a native. So it's like you said, you may have to leave at any time."

"Exactly," he exclaimed.

"Don't worry, Oliver. We cleared the air. We know we desire each other but we can decide not to do anything about our desires."

"Yeah."

She attempted a titter. "Why don't we agree to be..."

"... friends."

"Yes, let's be friends."

"Good friends."

"The very best." She smiled into his eyes. They could do it. They could channel this—whatever—between them into a close friendship. It could work.

He sprang up from the bed. Already this friend thing seemed like an insane, impossible plan. How the hell could he pull this off?

She sat up. "Where are you off to?"

He grinned. Eyed his watch. "It's almost seven."

Kema started. Her eyes flew to the clock by her bed. "You're right. You've been here all this time? Oh, Oliver..."

"I've got to return to Lisa. And I need a shower."

"Thank you, Oliver. For all you did for me."

He kept his eyes on the bed sheet. Away from her. His belly roiled. Clearing his throat, he mumbled, "What are friends for?"

She swung her legs to the floor. "Well, now I'm up, I might as well take a run up and down my street."

He smiled. "I'll be back in three to four hours, to check on you."

"You don't need to. Really."

"I want to."

"Okay, thanks—again."

"See you in a few." He reached the door, jerked it open and disappeared, closing it behind him.

***

Few hours after, she poured bowlfuls of cool water over her sweaty skin. The jog had been absolutely amazing. The combination of early morning air and exercise—fantastic! Now, she needed to get ready before Oliver's return. Oliver, her new friend. Wow, it sounded a little strange. But at least, they had cleared the air between them. She didn't have to keep running away from him like the Runaway Bride.

She had updated her best friend, Wumi, on the events of the night before and the morning. Sent her long WhatsApp messages. Even though Wumi had been in church, she had replied each one.

Sounds. Knocks at her door.

No-o! Was that Oliver? Already? Argh.

Kema bounded out of her bathtub, snatched a towel and tried to wipe most of the water off her body.

The knocks kept on.

"I'm coming!" she yelled as she dashed into her bedroom and yanked the first wrap she set her eyes on. She draped it over her naked, slightly wet body and raced to the door.

It was only when she hauled the door open and Oliver's gaze swept over body and latched onto her chest that she remembered that this robe was almost transparent.

Ughh.

He gawked, transfixed. At the plump, chocolate-brown, extremely visible nipples. At her shapely body outlined through the flimsy robe. Down there, between his legs, he stirred. Couldn't help it.

The heat glowed in his eyes. She saw it. "Hey, Oliver, I'm up here."

The spell broke.

He dragged his eyes up to her face. Grinned at her wry expression. "This new state of affairs between us will take some getting used to. But don't worry, I wasn't about to throw you on the bed, kiss you all over and make you moan and beg—"

"Come in, Oliver." She noticed a white medium-sized cardboard box in his right hand. "What's that?"

"Snacks. For you." He stepped in and up close. Bending over her.

Okay, she needed to put something else on fast. His eyes had taken on a more intense and vivid green. She edged away, revolved around and sprinted to her bedroom, aware that his gaze was fixated on her bum—again.

"You don't have to change on my account."

"Ha!" she called as she entered her room and slammed the door.

By the time she threw on a blue peplum top over black skinny jeans, and exited the room, he was on the sitting-room sofa.

He glanced up at her entrance. Inspected her outfit. "Hmm. All covered up."

"Yes." She fell into the seat beside him. Grabbed the box.

"The other one was better."

She flashed him a quelling glance and then opened the box. Pastries. Delicious-looking ones. A dozen of them. In chocolate. Mmmm. "These look scrumptious, Oliver. Where did you get them?"

"I baked them."

Her gaze flew upward.

He raised one eyebrow, nodded. "Yep. I did. They're chocolate brownies."

"Wow." Kema grinned. "You did? I'm impressed."

She picked one. Bit into it. Her eyes lighted up. She licked her lips. "Oh, this is great. You're good. I could eat all twelve."

He shrugged. "I made it for you." The way her mouth moved. He could imagine that mouth on his cock. Taking all of him in.

She swallowed the remaining of the first. "I have to keep some for my best friend, Wumi. She's coming here this morning. She'll never forgive me if I eat them all up. She's a model but she definitely does not have a model's appetite. Good food—especially fried plantains—and snacks are her weakness. She's really beautiful though... tall, slim with impossibly long legs. She's a little reserved, especially with strangers but I love her. I'll do anything for her. She'll do the same for me."

Oliver smiled. "I can tell she's special to you. I hope she likes me."

"She will." She chose another one. "I am ravenous." She took a bite, and another. Crumbs stained the edge of her mouth.

He laughed. "You have something... let me..." With his thumb, he brushed them off. The contact seared his hand.

And zipped through him into Kema. The current between them merged, strengthened.

Turquoise gaze bonded with golden-brown stare.

She pulled her gaze away. Returned to the half-eaten brownie in her hand. She replaced it in the box.

He sat back in his seat. "So how did you two meet?"

She beamed. "That's a story for another day."

"Long story?"

"Sort of." She dusted her hands off. Grabbed a laptop perched on a table by the side and dunked it on her lap.

She still didn't look at him.

"You want to do some work?" He glanced at the computer.

She raised her eyes, to his nose. "I've started a blog."

"Really? What's it about?"

She shrugged. "It's aimed at teenage girls, mostly. Sometimes, I talk to parents, teachers, you know... I just want the girls to know there's something more they can aspire to... rather than selling their bodies for paltry, stupid amounts! Ten thousand naira, what's that?"

"Exactly. I don't understand that. A lot of these girls are from good homes, with well-to-do parents."

She sighed. "I don't know, I really don't. Is it greed?"

"Maybe the lure of doing something forbidden?"

She shook her head. "It's crazy. And these people who should know better, people who are supposed to be responsible for them are the ones ripping them off... I get so annoyed about it all."

"What's the name of your blog?"

"That's What Kema Thinks."

"Like it."

Oliver extended a hand to cover one of hers. Kema stared at him. Tensed.

He smiled. "I only want to apologize for that day at the press conference. I was... a little unfriendly—"

"—a little?"

He laughed, releasing her hand. "Okay, a lot. I was hurt because I thought you didn't want me so I lashed out at you. Immature, I know but I'm sorry. And that reminds me... I meant to tell you, Peter, the security man, the driver and those other men have gotten court dates. The girls have been released to their parents and are undergoing counseling, as far as I know. And still no evidence to prove the Vice Principal's culpability. But I promise you, I'm still working on it. Umm... I've spoken to one of our employees, Margaret. She's in charge of organizing basic self-defense classes for our staff and clients. I've asked her to call you. I think the classes are twice a week—Friday evenings and Saturday afternoons—and I gave her your number. What do you think? Interested?"

She grinned. "Interested? Of course, I am! Thanks Oliver."

"And if I'm available, I'll call or text you during the week and I can put you through the theory of what we do, if you want."

"Oh, wow. You're a good friend."

He winced. Damn, he hated that word. What possessed him to say those foolish remarks earlier? If he could only go back in time...

"Lisa's being going on and on about your niece's birthday. It's in a few days, isn't it?"

"You'll be there?"

"Wouldn't miss it."

Someone pounded on the door. Loud thumps.

He frowned at her. "Who could that be?"

Her mouth curved in a smile. "It's probably Wumi." She raised her voice, "Stop banging. I'm coming."

"No." He waved her back, leapt to his feet. "I'll get it."

He jacked open the door.

A young woman sauntered in. A woman about his height in impossibly high lavender shoes, her tall frame covered in a short yellow dress, with an oval face containing clear eyes and full, pouting lips.

She looked him over. Surveyed him from head to toe.

The woman murmured, "You must be Oliver."

"Ah!" He flashed a smile at Kema and then returned his glance to her, "You've heard about me?"

"Don't worry, it's mostly good things."

Oliver guffawed. "Mostly?"

She moved away from the door toward the sofa. Over her back, she added, "I'm Wumi."

"Good to meet you, W-u-u-mi." He stuck his hands in his pockets, switched his gaze to Kema. His friend. _Darn._ "Kema, I'm leaving."

Wumi exclaimed, "Please don't leave because of me."

"No, it's not you. I promised to spend the day with my daughter, so..."

Kema said, "Of course, Oliver. Thanks again for... everything."

He pulled one hand from his pocket and grasped the door handle. "It's no bother. We'll talk later."

The moment he left and shut the door behind him, Wumi arched her brows at her friend, murmuring, "Our new friend, eh?"

"Shut up, Wumi."

Wumi kicked off her heels and flung her slim body into the chair next to Kema. "I don't know why you two are in denial. Friends, indeed. I give this rubbish one week tops and you'll be tearing each other's clothes off." She pounced on the box of brownies. "Ooh, chocolate brownies. He bought them?"

"No, he made them."

Wumi clapped her hands, crowed, "I like him more and more."

Kema sniffed. "You like him mostly because he's not Ikenna."

"That's partly the reason, Kema baby." She consumed three in quick succession. With mouth full, Wumi muttered, "gak remas me... I'm bakking kaks for—"

Kema held up a hand. "Let me stop you there. Can't understand one word."

She chewed, swallowed, and repeated, "I said: that reminds me, I am baking cakes—well, cupcakes actually—for Bibi's birthday."

Kema dropped her laptop onto the seat by her right. "That's sweet. She'll be overjoyed."

Wumi's fingers inched toward the box. "I'm so hungry," she moaned.

"There's no food in the fridge."

"Shocker!" She glared at her friend. "Let's go out for lunch. You'll pay."

"Anything you say." Kema sat up, scooted to the edge of her seat.

Wumi patted her friend's lap. "Have you posted in your blog today?"

"No, tomorrow. I know you just can't wait to comment. You always flood my blog posts with comments."

"I'm being supportive."

"That's nice–ish."

"Whatever. I've been thinking. I want to stop modeling and start my own business—a modeling agency."

Kema gaped at her best friend. "That's fantastic, Wumi. I believe in you. You'll make it, I know. So what are your plans?"

She beamed. "I'm thinking of buying a detached house. My offices will be below and my living quarters above."

"Buying a house? That's like millions of naira!"

She shrugged. "I can raise it."

"Of course you can. How could I forget you're a billionaire's daughter? And have you told your daddy your plans?"

"Not yet. But he can't stop me. Jasper's just moved out. And he's my younger brother."

"Well, good luck to you." Kema bent over, rooted underneath the sofa and extricated a pair of silver loafers. She eyed them.

Wumi stared. "The backs are scuffed."

She groaned, "No! I love these shoes and they're only six months old. Argh. Oh, I know why... I drive with them a lot." She jumped up. "But not to worry: I know what to do."

Kema rushed off and two minutes later, returned with a bottle of silver nail polish. She grinned at her friend. "Nail polish to the rescue!"
Chapter Eleven

"Thanks, ma."

"Have fun." Kema beamed at the sight of the little girl scampering away with her goodie bag of treats.

Here she was. At Bibi's eight year birthday party. On gift-giving duty. Well, at least, she loved the excited, typically gap-toothed smiles she received from the kids in exchange for the bag. She had spent three hours making up these bags yesterday evening at Adaeze's—stuffing coloring books, illustrated storybooks, sweets, crayon boxes and toys into each one. Bibi had demanded perfection. What else could one expect from Adaeze's daughter?

She grinned as her eyes scanned the party to catch Wumi on the dance floor, surrounded by three tiny dance-partners.

Adaeze's first born, ten-year-old Timi zipped toward the bouncy castle, followed by five other boys. In a smart pale oyster-colored gown, Adaeze skimmed from one canopy to another, a warm smile of welcome pasted on her lips. Harrison stood in a corner, holding a drink in his hand, and chatting with three men. A big clown circled the dance floor, trailed by shrieking children. Servers conveyed trays of food from the food area to the guests under the canopy. The bright sunlight bounced off the windscreens of the cars parked behind the fence at the rear of the canopies. One round-faced boy stumbled past, gorging on one of Wumi's cupcakes.

Great day. Even better because Ejike was back in Nsukka with his family. Mom and Dan still far away in Atlanta. Oh joy.

Kema smiled at the sight of the birthday girl herself, in a red-and black dress, coming toward her, hand-in-hand with a white-skinned girl, her dark hair done up in two neat pigtails.

"Hello Auntie K."

Kema glanced at the girl with the heart-shaped face and grey eyes. "And who is this pretty little friend of yours?"

Bibi rolled her eyes. "Oh-h, Auntie K. Don't you know Lisa?"

"No, we haven't met."

"We-ell, she's my best friend, okay?"

"Sure, whatever you say." Kema beamed at Lisa. "Hi, Lisa."

"Hi, Auntie K," she breathed out, pink lips beaming. "Bibi is my best friend."

"I think I've gotten that, thanks."

Bibi stuck out a hand to Kema.

"Yes, what is it?"

"Presents. For Lisa."

"Oh yes, forgive me." She picked one bag and handed it to Lisa.

"Thank you, Auntie K."

"You're welcome—"

Bibi's mouth pursed. "Only one?"

"I thought it was meant to be one each."

Bibi planted her hands on her hips. "Yes, for everyone else. But Lisa is my b—"

"I got it. Here." Kema thrust another bag at Lisa.

The little girl took it, smiled at Kema.

"Come on, let's go." Bibi beckoned to her friend and they scuttled off, nearly running into Oliver.

"Watch it, girls."

"Sorry, daddy."

"Sorry, Lisa's dad."

He shook his head and strolled over to Kema. She looked fabulous in an orange pantsuit, with bright brown lipstick painted on those yum lips. He had never seen her with lipstick on before. Sunglasses perched on her hair.

"Hello, Mr. Constantino." She grinned.

He lifted an eyebrow. "How do you know my surname?"

"Duh, Googled you."

"Ah. Of course. Hello, gorgeous Kema."

"Hello friend."

He cringed.

"You have a beautiful daughter."

"Thanks. You know..." He leaned close, whispering, "The child we can make together will be as beautiful."

Kema's heart thudded. What was he saying? So annoying. Friends shouldn't hint about having babies with friends.

"Oliver!"

"What? Don't you think so?"

She smacked him on the arm. Felt the fire surge inside her belly.

His green eyes flared.

Her gaze settled on his pink mouth. She stepped nearer.

He gripped her upper arm, inclining forward to breathe in her scent of—mmmm—raspberry, and apples. He needed her. Ached for her, down to his very core. He had to woo her. Let her know he had changed his mind. No more of this friends business.

"A couple of our managers are in Ghana for a meeting, rounding up the day after tomorrow. By the way, when are you resuming at work?"

Kema blinked. "Work? Yes... next week."

"Will you be able to join me to Ghana day after tomorrow? For some sightseeing. We'll fly into Accra in the morning and fly out in the evening. You won't need to spend the night there. I'll pick you up from your flat and bring you back. All you have to say is yes and I'll get a ticket for you today. What do you say?"

Wow. Traveling with Oliver. Dangerous, wasn't it? She should decline. They had decided to be friends. She shouldn't put herself in the path of temptation.

No, not wise.

Her mouth opened. Her head nodded. "Yes, I'll like that."

Adaeze and Wumi reached them. Oliver pulled back, released her arm. She dragged her gaze away from him.

"Hello, Oliver." Adaeze smiled. "Nice to see you again. I haven't a chance to talk to you since you arrived with Lisa."

He cleared his throat. Snapped back to this moment. "Hi, Ada. I've said hello to Harrison but you were busy. Hello Wu-u-mi."

"Oliver."

"Oliver, I didn't know you knew my younger sister."

"Well, we met a couple of weeks ago. Because of the investigation into Crestamead School." He spied Harrison. "I'm sorry, will you excuse me? I have something I forgot to tell your husband."

He escaped.

Wumi eyed her friend. "So still friends?"

Kema huffed.

"You didn't look friendly. You two looked like you wanted to gobble each other up. Very X-rated, at a child's party, no less."

"Shut it, Wumi."

Adaeze crossed her arms, peering at her sister. "And come to think of it... weeks ago, when I asked you what happened when you first met Oliver, you fobbed me off with some excuse about his giving you an unfriendly stare. This didn't look hostile."

Wumi smirked.

"Leave me alone, you two. Nothing's going on! Oliver and I are just friends."

Wumi chortled.

Kema glowered at the two women.

***

The party had been outstanding. Bibi had pronounced it 'The Best Party Ever.' Everything worked out. Surplus food and drinks. Amazing music and entertainment. Awesome.

Best of all, she had gotten the opportunity to talk with Oliver yet again. And had found herself agreeing to travel to Ghana tomorrow with him. Argh, Kema! But... they were friends now, so nothing could, would happen. No need for any anxiety.

Kema turned into her street. A few paces and she would arrive at the gate leading into her compound. She bowed her head against the brilliance of the early afternoon sun, quickened her pace. An hour ago, a walk around her area seemed like a wonderful idea. Yes, that was before the wicked sun had broken free through the cloud cover and swept the earth with its angry rays.

An unfamiliar burgundy-colored car was parked on the road adjacent to the wall surrounding her house. The driver's door yawned open. Someone descended.

She eased her head up to take a peek at this stranger. And came to a stop. A scowl dropped over her face. What the heck did she want?

She eyed the woman approaching her.

"Hello, Kema Ekwueme. God bless you." The Vice Principal of Crestamead School, Deaconess Akume tossed her a smile.

Kema frowned. "Why are you here, Deaconess?"

The woman halted. Shrugged. Her eyes sparked but the smile still lingered on her mouth. "I came to see you, Kema."

"Why? I have nothing to say to you."

"But I have something to tell you. I wish to explain to you that I am innocent of this crime you believe me to have committed. My hands are clean." She spread her hands, palms out.

Her mouth curled. "If you're truly innocent, you'll go scot-free. But if you're not, I promise you—"

"—I have done nothing wrong. I can't understand why you keep dragging my name and reputation through the mud. What do you have against me? What did I ever do to you?"

"Me? You know what you did. Stop pretending to be this holy, righteous woman of God." Kema hissed and backed away.

Vice Principal Akume's hand shot out and seized her arm. She pushed her face forward, all traces of the smile vanished. "Bad things happen to people who speak ill of others."

She tore away the restraining arm and aimed a finger into the older woman's face. "Are you threatening me? Is that why you came here, to where I live to prove a point? Well, I can tell you that I am not afraid of you. You can't hurt me. Now, get away from here before I call my street security men."

"I'm not threatening you... I'm only explaining to you how things work. If you involve yourself in someone's business, they will stick their noses in yours."

"Get away with your idiotic warnings. Silly woman!"

"Just remember that I did warn you." The deaconess stalked to her car, hopped inside and zoomed off, her tires screeching on the dusty road.
Chapter Twelve

Five A.M. Thank God. At last she could give up pretending to sleep and start getting ready for her trip to Ghana with Oliver. Her friend.

Kema bounded up from her bed and rushed over to her wardrobe. She yanked it open and peered at the contents, her heart still beating with excitement at the thought of spending a day with him. Yippee!

The night before, she had selected her outfit for the trip; blue jeans and a T-shirt. The tee was one of the set her father had given her. The ones that said 'Knockout Girl'. This particular shirt was sky-blue with pink lettering. Between her overpowering attraction to Oliver and the uncertainty about her career choices, she needed to see herself again through her father's eyes.

Two hours later, inside the Murtala Mohammed Airport, she grinned her thanks at Oliver as he handed her a boarding pass. The flight was boarding. It was time to head to Departures.

Trailing behind him as he strode into the departure lounge, his phone attached to his right ear, she grimaced. Damn, she thought she would have a bit of time to chat with him before the flight but he had been distracted with numerous calls. Argh.

For most of the journey, he barely paid her any attention. Yes, he smiled at her, squeezed her hand on occasion, apologized often, and mentioned something about putting out some security-related fires. Something to do with his work, she gathered.

Yes, okay, fine. But she could barely spend the whole time staring at him while he nattered on his phone and sent numerous emails off his iPad. She had had to resort to playing games on her phone. Ugh.

Eventually, after disembarking at Kotoka International Airport, Accra and zipping through customs, Oliver ended the last call. Profusely apologizing, he ushered her into a waiting car. From the airport, they were whisked straight to the Golden Tulip Hotel where his staff lingered.

***

"They're checking out of the hotel. Do you want to wait in the car or in the hotel lobby?" Oliver asked, glancing at Kema beside him.

"Your people?"

"Yeah."

"How many?"

"Ten."

"Ten?" Her eyes widened. "We don't have space in the car for ten people."

Oliver laughed, teeth gleaming. "One of those calls I received was from the driver of a fifteen-seater bus parked somewhere in the car-park right now. He'll take us to Kakum."

She stared up at the welcoming edifice of the Golden Tulip. She had stayed here once, long ago, on a family trip to Accra. When her dad was alive. She would like to see it again. And besides, her legs needed stretching.

She climbed out of the car and was halfway to the doors of the lobby by the time Oliver had unlocked his passenger door.

He ogled her as she moved, those over-forty-inch hips swinging. The lump in his throat shifted. Damn this woman. This enticing, magnificent, exasperating woman.

He sprang out of the car and strode after her.

Just as she reached the doors, a man stepped out; Lebanese, raven-black hair, luminous mocha-brown eyes, late twenties, probably. The woman, nearly on his heels, was in a black skirt suit, her sleek brown weave cut into a severe bob. She looked like a boss. The guy's boss?

"Sorry," Kema muttered, stepping aside to allow them pass.

The woman's eyes skimmed over Kema and then darted away. She came to his side, drawing nearer to his body. Like she was trying to stake her claim.

Okay, maybe not his boss.

The guy's dark eyes twinkled as they met Kema's. It was almost like he understood what the woman was doing and found it amusing. Then his eyes traveled over Kema to Oliver.

He grinned, revealing small, white teeth. "Oliver. We meet again."

"Pedro." Oliver extended his hand, smiling.

Pedro shook it. The woman in the suit stalked off, toward the car park.

"Hope I'm not causing any trouble."

"No, you're not. She's just being... careful." Pedro's black eyes zoned in on Kema. "Hi. Your haircut suits you and the color... it pops against your skin."

"Careful..." Oliver said, mock growling. "This is Kema. My... um... friend."

"Ah. Is she?" Pedro stuck out his hand to Kema. "It's my pleasure. I'm Pedro."

"Nice to meet you, Pedro." Her eyes scanned him. His short blue-black curly hair hugged his oval-shaped face, his nose seemed like it was sculptured from marble and his fine, pale lips would look at home in a woman's face. This one was a lady-killer, no doubt.

"So..." Pedro threw a glance at Oliver. "How did you two meet?"

"The investigation into Crestamead. You know... the infamous school that's been in the news recently."

Kema arched an eyebrow at Oliver. "Crestamead's not infamous."

Pedro bobbed his head down and up. "You're the lady that tailed the vehicle from the school to the guest house."

"Yeah, she is," Oliver said, shaking his head from side to side.

Kema gazed up into Oliver's face. "He wasn't very happy about what I did. He yelled at me."

"I didn't yell—"

Pedro's eyes swept from Kema to Oliver. He chuckled. "Maybe... he cares about you in a... em... more than friendly way."

Oliver glanced at Kema. Their stares linked.

Heat gathered underneath Kema's skin. Oh, those eyes. And the way he was staring at her... like he agreed with Pedro's statement. Wow. Was it true?

Oliver hauled his eyes away to stare at Pedro. "Um ..." He cleared his throat and then asked, "What are you doing in Accra?"

"My client wanted me here."

"Your client?" Kema interrupted. "Are you a lawyer?" She glanced over his trim frame in a dark purple shirt and black jeans.

Pedro grinned. "No, I'm not."

Oliver guffawed, scratching his chin.

"What's so funny, Oliver?" she asked, frowning.

"I'll leave you to answer that question, Oliver. My client's waiting." Pedro smiled at Kema. "It was good to meet you, Kema."

"Bye, Pedro."

"Pedro, we'll catch up later," Oliver said.

"Yes. Bye."

Her gaze on Pedro as he walked away to join his client, she asked, "What's so funny about asking him if he's a lawyer?"

"Because he's not. He's a male escort."

She laughed as she returned her gaze to Oliver. "Such a joker, Oliver."

"I'm not kidding. He is."

Her eyebrows lifted. "You mean... he escorts women to places..."

He bit his lip to hold back the laughter. "And sleeps with them, if they want."

"Are you serious? I thought we don't have male escorts in Nigeria. Anyway, he's not Nigerian..."

"But he has Nigerian colleagues."

"Seriously?" She stared at Oliver. She couldn't imagine paying a man to have sex with her. She couldn't even imagine sleeping with a stranger.

"Yeah, I am."

"So he's a prostitute."

"Um, I wouldn't call it—"

"That's what he is, Oliver. And anyway, what brought you two together?"

"I saved his life. A jealous husband didn't appreciate the fact that his wife was paying for sex."

She shook her head. "I'd like to hear more about that story."

His eyes rose to the door behind her. "Maybe later. They're done."

Eight managers—five male, three female—streamed out of the hotel and converged on Oliver, welcoming, smiling. Some called him 'Boss', a few 'Oliver'. One or two guys bumped knuckles with him.

Oliver slung his arm around her shoulders, bringing her forward and making introductions. Wide smiles flashed at her, pleasant gazes drew her in.

The bus drew up to the front of the hotel. They clambered in, one by one. One of the men, light-skinned and thin-faced—Kadiri—asked her to come sit by him. The women shrieked in reply, saying something about him being married and having like a million children. Oliver pulled her close, announcing that her seat would always be next to his. Kema joined in the general laughter, although her mind swirled in confusion. How could she maintain this friendship with him when any slight body contact between them perked her nipples and lit another small fire in her nether regions?

In the bus and on their way to the Kakum National Park—a distance of about three hours away from the city center, according to Kadiri—she crammed her body into her chair, trying to keep her legs and arms from touching his. The effort was so tiring that she didn't know when she fell asleep.

When he woke her, hours later, her head rested on his chest and his arm relaxed around her back. He stared down into her face, turquoise eyes deep, blazing, daunting.

"We're here."

She jerked out of his embrace, sat up and looked ahead. They were parked in front of a gate. The driver chatted with an official-looking man.

"What's happening?"

"Paying the entrance fee into the park," he drawled, wishing her head still pressed on his chest. Wishing he could still sniff her hair, still smell her perfume.

Few minutes later, the gates opened and their bus drove through and into the car-park.

She followed the crowd exiting the bus and stepped out into blistering heat of the sun, a shock after the cool of the air-conditioned bus. She put her head down as she hustled after them into a building that proclaimed itself KAKUM VISITOR CENTER.

Whew. Cooler. She glanced around the reception area, smiling at the depictions of those familiar children's stories displayed all over the walls—wily Ananse, the half-man, half-spider trickster, one explaining why the elephant had a flat butt.

Kadiri came to stand by her side.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm good."

"Just wanted to check up on you. Oliver's taking care of the fees into the main park area. From what one of the officials was saying, we're supposed to have a guide and these guides come every fifteen minutes, or something like that. But we're in luck; our group will go in within the next five minutes. It's my first time here, but Shakira..." He cut his eyes at one of the women in their company, "She's been here before. She told me everything about this place. We're going to be walking on these seven rope bridges that go as high as thirteen thousand feet above the ground. Hope you're not scared of heights."

Kema shrugged. "No, I'm not." She loved stuff like this. Scared? Nope.

"Good. Umm... I also wanted to ask something... are you dating Oliver?"

She lifted an eyebrow, twisting her face away from him. "No, we're... friends," she muttered.

He took a step back. "I don't mean to be a busybody. I thought... seeing you two together..."

Before she could say anything else, their guide appeared, bright teeth glowing. Time to go.

She breathed in. Out. Saved by the guide. She definitely didn't want to continue this conversation.

Any flashes of discomfort she had experienced on the trek uphill to the starting point of the bridges, surrounded by oppressive trees and shrubs, battling tireless mosquitoes and gathering sweat, vanished the moment she set her feet on the boardwalk of the first bridge.

Clear, blue skies swirled above. A gust of cool wind wrapped its arms around her. She breathed in, deep into her lungs. She clutched the entwined ropes on either side, took one step, then another and another. Her knees shook, threatening to buckle, and her face aimed straight ahead, not glancing up or down as the bridges took her higher and higher.

No. She could do this. She lifted her gaze to the beautiful sky and allowed her feet to keep moving her forward and upward. Her death grip on the ropes eased, her breathing slowed and a smile crept onto her lips.

Being here felt... right. Marvelous. Awesome. Cautiously, Kema brought her gaze down to the huge expanse of forest below her feet. Wow. What a perfect high! This was better than jetting down a track in a hundred meter race. Her mind sharpened. Of course, everything would be okay. Everything would turn out great.

She arrived at the fifth bridge and continued upwards towards the sixth. What was wrong with doing the job she really wanted? Thanks to Oliver she had the opportunity to learn about the security business. And maybe, at some point, he would give her a job in Olympus Security. Even if she had to start out as a lowly intern, she was ready for the challenge. And as for her mother and brothers, well... they would just have to live with her decision.

And, concerning Oliver... why did she feel such an irresistible attraction to him? She had loved Ikenna very much but her body's response to Oliver, especially the way her nipples perked and her vagina moistened, was unprecedented.

Oliver Constantino. Maybe he had come into her life for a reason and she would only discover that reason if she just stopped analyzing everything and started to trust. He may not be perfectly packaged and tied up in a neat bow but she liked him... a lot. And even though, she still had feelings for Ikenna, he had walked out on her so perhaps the time had come for her to finally move on.

Kema skipped through bridge six and seven, her heart soaring. All she had to was... trust, and maybe, take a step of faith.

The instant she climbed down onto solid ground, her eyes sighted him.

Oliver.

Without stopping to think, she rushed at him and threw her arms around his neck.

His hands hung by his side for a moment as his eyes searched hers. Until he saw it. She had made a decision. For him. For them.

He cupped her face in his hands, and inched down, drawling against her mouth, "I think I'm falling in love with you, Kema."

She gaped at him. Oh, wow. Oh... wow...

She planted her mouth on his.

His lips and tongue captured hers.

One after the other, the members of their company trickled in. She dropped her arms, disengaging from him.

Oliver grinned, murmured, "No, you don't." He snatched her hand and imprisoned it in his.

For most of the return trip from Kakum to the airport in Accra and eventually to Lagos, her hand had remained in his. At one point, Kadiri had winked at their linked hands and whispered, "Friends?"

Her mouth had quivered. Trying to contain the grin that itched to escape.

At the airport in Lagos, two of the waiting Olympus Security vehicles carted the eight managers home while Oliver dispatched his driver and took the reins of his car to chauffeur Kema to her house.

On the way to her place, he kept reaching out to squeeze her hand; she had her hand on his thigh. Their glances met, crackled and caught fire.

He drove like a race-car driver and within minutes had pulled into her compound. By now, darkness had settled in. He peered at his watch, almost nine P.M.

Her heart jack-hammered. She twisted in her seat to face him. Even in the gloom, she could see the gleam of his eyes, the shape of his lean body, the form of his strong thighs.

She rubbed his thigh, kneaded the muscles.

He yanked off the seat-belt, turned to her. "Kema... you drive me crazy..." He sprang forward to annex her mouth.

She gave in to his tongue, and the taste of him. Allowed her hunger to take over. Kema snatched his right hand and placed it on her left breast covered by her tee-shirt.

Oliver groaned. He stroked her swelling nipples.

She pushed forward. Whimpered.

He tugged her top up, above her breasts. His mouth found one perfect breast. He jerked the wispy bra down, exposing her engorged nipple. Kissed it. Flicked his tongue over it. Set it ablaze.

She trembled. "Oliver... I need you." Her questing hand jumped upward and in between his thighs. Caressed the gigantic bulge there. Felt his penis grow beneath her touch.

Oliver thought he would explode. The surge of electricity from her hand zipped through the whole length of his manhood and into his nipples.

He switched to the other breast. Licking. She arched her back.

He tore at the button of her jeans pants, zipped down, exposing light-colored lacy panties. He slipped his fingers inside. Rubbed and stroked the shuddering clit. Hot liquid spurted out onto his fingers.

She rocked against his hand. "Oliverrr, wow..."

He moved in deeper. Fondling. Stroking. His mouth sucked on her nipple.

Kema burned. She didn't care about anything else. She just wanted him inside her. Now. She massaged his hard-on. He spread his legs wider, giving her better access.

He brought his wet mouth to hers, growling, "I love you..." His fingers rode higher.

She danced.

"Maybe we should..." Oliver murmured, "... maybe we should take this to your flat..."

She gasped. Yes. Yes. _Oh yes._ "Okay."

He drew out his wet fingers.

She moaned, "No..."

"We'll continue inside..."

"Yes." She took her hand off his mammoth erection.

He zipped up her jeans bottoms, as she re-arranged her shirt. She chuckled. "I think I soaked my panties..."

He groaned, "I know. I can't wait to help you with that."

They exited the car.

Hand-in-hand, they climbed the one flight of stairs to her flat.

She dug her right hand into the back pocket of her trousers for her keys. At that moment, someone stepped out of the shadows in front of her door.

She yelped.

"What the hell?" Oliver barked.

A big man came nearer. Bent forward.

Kema peered at him. Her eyes widened. Her mouth dropped open. "Ikenna?"

"Yes."
Chapter Thirteen

Kema crossed her arms over her breasts, still in shock. She stared up at Ikenna. Oh.My.Goodness. Was she dreaming? Was he actually here?

"Why are you here this late?" She forced the words out through her stiff lips.

He spread his hands. "I called your phone for hours. It was switched off, went straight to voicemail. I have been waiting at your place for hours..."

She surveyed him. Like Oliver, he was tall, broad-shouldered, good-looking and light on his feet. She hadn't realized how alike he and Oliver were... well, in terms of physical build, anyway. Maybe that meant tall, huge, fine men were her type...

Because Ikenna was fine. With his jet-black eyes, the light trimming of hair decorating his lips, jaw and chin, the diamond stud in his right ear and his shaven head that gleamed under the fluorescent light overhead.

The familiar feelings rose in her heart. She hadn't seen him in a year but already, in this moment as she faced him in her sitting room, that attraction that had hooked her to him for three years gushed over her entire body.

But he had walked out on her. Hurt her more than anyone had ever done before.

She frowned. "What do you want, Ikenna?"

He shook his head. "I came to apologize... to tell you I'm sorry for—for breaking up with you. I made a mistake—"

"Ha!"

"I mean it, Kema." He sunk to his knees, looking up at her.

She stepped back. "What are you doing?"

"I'm begging you to forgive me. Give me a second chance."

She gaped down at him. This was what she had dreamed of for many long months... that he would return and tell her he had done her wrong and on his knees he would plead with her to take him back.

And astonishingly, it was actually happening. Now. Wow.

She didn't know what to say. The words swirled around her head and refused to pass through her lips.

His eyes watered. His voice cracked as he said, "I'm sorry, Kema. I want you back in my life. I want to be your husband."

Her arms flopped down. She gazed at him, wide-eyed. What did he just say? Her husband? Did he just expect them to resume where they had left off?

The words erupted forth. "Ikenna, you broke my heart."

"I know. I'm sorry—"

"We were supposed to get married last year but you dumped me! And for months after, you didn't pick my calls; you refused to speak to me." Her chest expanded, her throat burned.

All those horrible months. Those months of endless frustrating questions. Did he leave because of the lack of sex? Did he ever truly love her? Was there another woman, someone prettier giving him sex all day and all night? How could she live without him? Should she have given herself to him and broken her rule?

But one day, she had eventually stopped asking those questions and woke up to realize that the pain had abated. And now she was just getting used to the idea of moving on. With Oliver.

And here Ikenna was. On his knees, wanting her back.

Kema closed her eyes and sighed.

She didn't know what to do.

***

Oliver ignored the pounding of the rock tune from the earphones in his ears and the flashing beams of headlights from cars on the road as he jogged on the pavement. His gaze focused on the rapidly lightening darkness in front of him but his mind was on last night. At Kema's place.

After the breathtaking moment in his car, he had thought they would end up, in her bed, having the greatest sex of their lives until her damn ex chose to appear at that moment and ruin everything. Ikiina or whatever his name was. What lousy timing.

His mouth twisted. She had asked him to go home so she could deal with her former boyfriend. He had obeyed, expecting she would call him up later to tell him that she had dispatched the intruder.

But no call. Not last night. Not until this morning, about seven A.M. About thirty minutes ago.

She wanted to talk. Damn. Bad news. Her voice had sounded brisk, with a pretend-cheery tone. Like last night in the car never happened.

His fists clenched and unclenched. The soles of his sneakers slapped the ground.

Up ahead he could see the gate of his semi-detached house. He had about two hours to shower, hustle Lisa off to school and then get to work. He spurted forward, feeling the muscles of his thighs rise to the challenge. His teeth gritted. She had asked him to meet up with her at her place in the evening. He almost didn't want to go. He didn't want to hear her say it.

How could he bear seeing her with someone else, especially after he had said it?

Those three BIG words.

***

Kema paced the length and breadth of her sitting room, waiting for Oliver. He would be here in a few minutes. He was always on time. She liked that. She liked a lot of things about him. Ugh. She shouldn't be thinking about him... about the softness of his mouth, the deft touch of his fingers, the way her legs danced like they were electrified...

She had to choose between two men.

One had been the love of her life until he had run off, stepping on her heart and leaving it panting, injured on the ground. But he had come back; ready to make up for the bad. And their three years together had been mostly happy. Even without sex. And now, he was offering marriage, a lifetime commitment. Promising never ever to leave her again. Her brothers and mother would be overjoyed. Her sister and probably, her best friend, less so.

Of course, she had been attracted to Ikenna. She had wanted him to be her first. It had been hard holding back, especially when he begged, cried and even threatened to leave her. So she couldn't understand why she had almost lost it with Oliver more than once.

Last night, she would have. She knew it. Maybe it was a good thing Ikenna arrived then. He had kept her from breaking her rule. Ikenna had been curious about Oliver. He had seen both of them holding hands. She had shrugged it off, called Oliver a friend, the lie tasting sour in her mouth. Friends didn't do what she and Oliver did in his car. Friends didn't dream of doing it again and again with each other.

Oliver. The American _Oyibo_ , who wasn't a Nigerian, who had an eight-year old daughter. Yes, he had told her he loved her and even now, those words made her heart skip but what was he offering? A relationship? He hadn't promised that. In fact, he had agreed on the opposite. There was no saying how long he'll be in Nigeria. He could leave at anytime and then, where would she be? Pining over a man who was long gone? No.

The knock on her door finally came.

Her stomach churned. She breathed in and dragged her feet to the door. Taking in another breath, she pulled it open.

Oliver leaned on the wall opposite, in a dazzling-white smooth shirt, his black jacket slung over his right shoulder, the other hand in his pocket. Always dapper, unlike Ikenna who had worn a T-shirt, waistcoat, saggy jeans and Timberland boots. And yet both men were in the same age-group. At thirty-three, Oliver was only two years older.

She smiled at him. He didn't return her smile.

"Hi." His stormy green eyes bored into her face, reminding her of the first day they'd met. He had stared at her then too, unsmilingly and a little freakishly.

Her heart thudded. She managed to say something through lips that had suddenly started to quake, "C-come in."

He shook his head. "Tell me what you want to tell me."

"O-Oliver..."

"No, Kema. Give it to me, right here. I'm a big boy." The sides of his mouth turned down.

Damn. He'd guessed. And he looked pissed and sexy at the same time. You've made your decision. Don't give in, her mind whispered.

He interrupted her thoughts. "Are you going back to him?"

She opened the door wider, waving her hand toward her sitting-room, "Come in and let's talk inside."

"Are you going back to him?"

"Oliver!"

"Just answer the question, Kema."

"Okay, yes. Let me explain—"

"No need." He slid off the wall and growled, "You're with him so..."

Kema felt the fear rise up her gullet. He was walking away. Just like that. "Oliver, you said—we said, we agreed to be friends. You said you didn't know how long you'll be in Nigeria."

He glared at her and she saw the pain in his eyes. "I told you I was in love with you."

"I know, Oliver but—"

"But it's not enough, is it?"

"Oliver, I meant what I said before... I really want to be with you but..." She couldn't say more. Tears stung her eyes. Unbelievable. The last time she cried was when her father died.

"I understand, Kema. I do." He paused and glanced down at the ground.

She eyed him, blinking back tears.

Then he muttered, "See you around," and stomped off.

Kema stood there, staring into emptiness.

And finally the tears rolled down her cheeks.
Chapter Fourteen

She sat back in her chair, eyes scanning her tiny square workspace, seeing her company-issued laptop and mouse, a pack of Post-its, a black Biro.

She sighed. Her glance moved up and to the left, to where the sheet of paper containing several quotes typed in a black boldface font was taped onto the wall of the enclosure.

She re-read them silently.

"To guarantee success, act as if it were impossible to fail." - Dorothea Brande

"He who has never failed somewhere, that man cannot be great." – Herman Melville

I have failed over and over and over again in my life. And that is why I succeed. - Michael Jordan

What the heck was all this about failure? Argh. She needed to take it down. But not now. That required too much energy, energy that she didn't feel like expending. Not after the awful week she had had.

With swollen eyes from lack of sleep and erratic weeping, she moped at the page layout for a client's website on her computer screen that she had been attempting to design for over two hours. Nothing. No ideas.

She let her eyes wander again and she noticed the picture. Tacked to the wall beside the dreary quotes.

She smiled. It was a picture, taken about four years ago, of her and Wumi, standing back-to-back, grinning delightedly at the camera. They had just exited a fashion show in the Eko Hotel where Wumi had modeled. High on excitement, Kema had boasted to Wumi that she had become an expert hand and mouth job giver, because of the frequency with which she administered them to Ikenna. The two girls had giggled like demented schoolgirls and a friend of theirs had taken that opportunity to capture the moment on camera.

She wagged her head, still smiling as she remembered the first time she'd encountered Ikenna. She had gone to the Sage Bank Head Office on Storm Technologies business, totting loads of ideas for their new website, bursting with enthusiasm and the Head of the Communications department in the bank had listened for five seconds and then referred her to one of his managers: Ikenna Nnadozie.

She had stared at this young, handsome man in a shirt and striped tie. His eyes had lighted up when he saw her and after the introductions, he had murmured, "Kema, these hips of yours are lethal weapons. They can kill." She had laughed, even though she usually responded to such comments with an icy glare and a cutting remark. She had declared to Wumi later that she had met the man she was going to end up marrying.

Her throat closed as her mind zipped over that awful, _awful_ scene with Oliver two days ago and went instead to the afternoon after, in her apartment with Ikenna. She had barely completed her sentence before he had pounced on her, hugging and kissing and swearing undying love. She had had to extricate herself from his arms to be able to make it clear to him that this, between them, was tentative. Like a trial period. And of course, no sex yet. He had readily agreed, thrilled that she had consented to taking him back.

"Hey, Kema. I love 'That's What Kema Thinks'. What are you writing about this week?"

Kema raised her head and glanced at the young woman lounging at the entrance to her cubicle. Immaculata.

She groaned inwardly. Throughout the morning, people had been coming up to her, for one reason or the other, to welcome her back, to congratulate her for the umpteenth time on her blog, to chat about the recent news story on her, to point at her picture on a magazine cover... on and on and on.

She shrugged. "I haven't thought about it yet. Look, Immaculata, today is my first day of work after my vacation and I have mountains of work."

The girl beamed, undaunted. "It's okay. We can talk during your lunch time."

"I'm not having lunch today."

"Maybe, later, around closing?"

She struggled not to roll her eyes. "We'll see."

Immaculata departed, happy. Kema groaned out loud.

"Kema... how are things?" Isibor appeared, sticking his hand out in a fist.

She bumped his fist. "I'm hanging in there. Too much work." And no desire to do any...

He peered down at her. "You look tired. Come, I'll take you to lunch. In a proper restaurant. Not the canteen downstairs."

"No, I can't go to lunch. I'm leaving at five on the dot. My car is with the mechanic and my—my boyfriend is picking me up."

"Ah, that _Oyibo_... at the club... the man you went home with?"

Kema bit her lip. She wagged her head. "No, not him. He's my... friend." Ugh, this hated word again.

"Okay, some other time?"

She nodded, keeping her eyes down so he wouldn't see the forming tears. Damn, this was unlike her. Crying at every mention of him.

Isibor left.

She swung her eyes back to the computer screen. At least, something good to look forward to this evening. Dinner at Adaeze's. Adaeze had prepared native soup, Harrison's favorite and had invited her and Wumi to dinner. That would be her first proper meal of the day after a breakfast/lunch of a cup of coffee and an egg sandwich.

She took in a deep breath. Unfortunately, Adaeze and Wumi would see her with Ikenna and she would have to come clean.

Argh.

***

"Kema, are you crazy?"

"Sister Adaeze, how can you say this?" Ikenna muttered.

Adaeze flicked her eyes at him. "Don't 'Sister Adaeze' me. I'm speaking to my sister. Shut your mouth," she snapped, eyebrows raised.

Ikenna flinched. Kema scowled at her sister. "You don't have to be so rude, Adaeze."

Adaeze's eyes widened. She glanced at Wumi and then back to Kema. "So I'm being rude now because I can't understand why you're back with this guy who dumped you and broke your heart?"

"I understand you're looking out for me but it's my decision."

"Ha! Wumi, are you listening to this?"

Wumi was staring into Kema's face, her forehead knotted. "Kema, is this what you want?"

"Yes."

Adaeze glanced heavenward. Ikenna folded his arms and compressed his jaw. Wumi squeezed her lips together.

"What if he dumps you once more?" Adaeze asked, glaring at Ikenna.

"I won't, Sister Adaeze. I made a mistake last time and I won't repeat it ever again," Ikenna muttered.

Adaeze snorted. "What about Oliver?"

Kema stared at her sister. How could she ask about Oliver in front of Ikenna? "Come, Adaeze, let's continue this in private."

She grabbed her sister's arm and propelled her out of the sitting room and into the kitchen. Wumi followed.

Inside the kitchen, Adaeze pulled out of Kema's grasp. "Leave me alone. I have to ask these questions. You were goo-goo about Oliver one minute and next minute; here you are, back with Ikenna."

"Oliver and I are friends."

"This nonsense yet again?" Wumi added.

Kema threw up her hands and allowed them fall back down. She was done with this inquisition. She was an adult and she had the right to make her decisions. "Yes, Wumi, Oliver and I are still friends, whether I want more or not. And for now, yes, Adaeze, I'm dating Ikenna. You two, take it or leave it."

Adaeze eyed her sister. She took a deep breath. "Kema, I didn't mean to dictate to you whom you should see. It's only because I know how much he hurt you last time and I didn't want him to do it again."

Kema nodded her head. "I know. But the way you acted..."

"I'm sorry, okay? You took me by surprise with this Ikenna rubbish. Sorry."

"Rubbish?" Kema itched to laugh. Adaeze was as not sorry as anyone could ever be.

Wumi came close, and put an arm around her shorter friend's shoulders.

Kema stared up at her.

"I'm sorry about Oliver," she said.

***

"Ow!" Kema muttered as Ikenna clutched her upper left arm. He dropped his hand.

"Sorry, sweetheart. You don't have to attend those self-defense classes if you keep getting hurt."

"I want to—and I'm not hurt... I'm a little stiff, that's all."

"Okay, if you say so."

They were in Kema's sitting room, on the couch. Some dreadlock-haired young artiste rapped in Pidgin English in a music video on the TV.

Ikenna had been visiting her at her place, not yet spending the night. But she hadn't yet been to his new place and he had been on her case about it so she would probably have to go, maybe sometime next week. But for now, she just wanted to take things slow.

"You know what I learned today? To aim for the eyes, nose, ears, neck, groin, knees, and legs, if I want to do the most damage."

"Please don't aim for my groin if I try to make love to you," he joked.

She glanced at him and rolled her eyes.

"Come, sweetheart... sit down. I'll give your shoulders a massage. You're too tense."

She got off the couch and onto the carpet, in between his legs. His thumbs and fingers pressed into both sides of her neck and shoulders, kneading, rubbing. Ah... that felt so good. She bent her head from side to side and then back, onto the seat of the sofa. She really needed this. Her eyelids fluttered down and her shoulders slumped. Mmmm. Her lips curved in a smile as she remembered the night in her bathroom when Oliver started a massage that led to hungry kisses. Her nipples stood at attention.

Her eyes shot open. What the heck was she doing? She had made her choice and she really needed to stop thinking about him, especially not when enjoying the ministrations of another man.

"—I think you should leverage your fame and—"

She focused on Ikenna's words, pushing Oliver from her thoughts. What was he on about?

"—I have contacts in the FMCG industry and in Telecoms and they can get one of these companies to endorse you. That's millions, babe. This is your time; you don't know how long it'll last. We can begin working on that and in the meantime... I spoke to one of my people in the music business. He can get you on a music video with D'Banj. That's money and more fame for you. What do you think?"

"I'm not interested in dancing in a music video like one of those desperado club girls."

"You won't need to dance. They already have dancers. You can stand there; it's just your presence that's needed, really."

"I'll think about it."

"What of the endorsements? Hey, maybe I can be your agent."

Kema yawned. She needed to crash into bed. "Can we discuss this another time, Ikenna?"

The hands paused massaging and then continued. "Okay, later. But we need to work on this fast because—"

Would she be able to go? Would she get time off from her workplace? But Margaret had made a space for her and had promised her a ticket and hotel accommodation. Should she go? Because he was going to be there and he might not want to have her there.

Kema sighed. Did she want to go? Yes, she did. And only because she would learn a lot of important stuff. Definitely not because he would be there. But she would have to get time off from work and—oh, yes—she had to inform Ikenna.

"Ikenna..."

He cut short the stream of words from his mouth. His hands on her shoulders halted.

In as bland a tone as she could manage, she said, "By the way, the lady in charge of the self-defense classes, Margaret, invited me to a five-day course in Port Harcourt. The company will take care of my accommodation, travel expenses and feeding."

"Which company?"

Her mouth puckered. "Olympus Security."

"The one owned by your friend, Oliver."

"Yes," she snapped.

"Is he going too?"

She said, in clipped tones, "I don't know, Ikenna. I'm not keeping tabs on him. I've told you he's my friend, that's all. I don't understand all these questions. This is about my career, not about Oliver."

"Yes, you said. But everyone has been hinting about you and him—"

"By everyone you mean my sister and my best friend."

"Yes."

"Ikenna, I'm not going to discuss this with you any longer. I'm simply informing you. I don't know if I'll be able to go because I'll need time off from the office and they may not give it to me because I've just returned from my vacation."

Jumping up from the carpet, she stood in front of him. She forced herself to yawn again. She needed to not discuss Oliver, and to sleep.

He stared up at her.

"I'm very tired, Ikenna. I want to take a shower and then fall into bed."

"Can I join you in the shower? I promise; I'll keep my hands to myself."

"Yeah right. I've heard that so many times and it's always ended with a hand or mouth job."

"Kema, you!"
Chapter Fifteen

On the edge of the chair, Kema clutched the form in her hand and tried to smile at her new boss, Segun. She let her eyes wander over his pale yellow shirt and brown tie. Eeuuww. To his small, perpetually blinking eyes. And began to count the number of times those little rat-like eyes blinked.

He had started out as her colleague and had been promoted about eight months ago. According to what she had heard in the bull-pen, he was buddies with one of the directors in Storm Tech. And he was also the world's greatest kiss-ass and boot-licker.

She couldn't stand him. The feeling was mutual. But now, she needed him to sign her casual leave form.

"So what I can do for you, Kema Ekwueme?" He grinned, rubbing his hands together. He was in a large chair behind a wide desk, underneath the split-unit air-conditioner in his office.

She sat opposite, in the direct path of the eighteen degrees centigrade blast of cold. "Casual leave... just a week... I know I only got back last week—"

His grin widened. "Is that all? No problem. Anything for you, Kema."

Her forehead creased. Since when?

He pointed to the form.

She passed it to him, watched as he read through, slowly. Of course, moving those thick lips.

He glanced up, chuckling. "Kema Petra Ekwueme. I love your names."

Something was up. She eyeballed him.

Signing the form, he cleared his throat and said, "I'm throwing a birthday party for my one-year-old son in two weeks. My wife thinks you're wonderful. She reads your blog. Everyone in my area keeps asking me if I know you. I wonder... will you be able to come to the party?"

Ah. Now she understood. Her presence at his crummy party for five days off. She could manage that. Sometimes it was good to be famous.

She grinned with her mouth. "Of course, I'll be delighted. When and where?"

He passed the paper over, saying, "I'll text you."

"Perfect."

***

Kema laughed at something one of the other attendees said, one eye on the door to the meeting room in the Protea Hotel. In total, the trainees were fifteen, only four of which were female. Five attendees from Lagos, ten from Port Harcourt and Owerri. The five from Lagos, including Kema, had checked into their hotel rooms. Now, they were all gathered together waiting for the facilitators.

She glanced at her watch. Eight-forty five A.M. Almost time.

She swept her gaze over the room. In the middle, fifteen chairs had been pulled up to tables and in the front, five chairs stood apart, behind another large table. The computers and the projectors had been set up on that table. A PowerPoint slide in a purple layout with OLYMPUS SECURITY, NIGERIA written on it in big, white letters reflected off the white wall.

It had been a quick flight. An hour and they had landed in Port Harcourt airport at seven-forty. She hadn't seen Oliver on the flight. He had probably flown in yesterday night with Margaret.

What would he say when he saw her? Would he be angry? Her stomach burned with acid.

She adjusted the royal purple T-shirt over her white trousers, one of the three in a UK size eight that she had picked from the reception area, along with writing materials. The upper right hand side of the shirt bore the text OLYMPUS SECURITY in silver perched on a silver lightning bolt.

The doors opened. She glanced up.

A man strode in. A fair-skinned young man with brownish curly hair on his head, tawny eyes and an air of entitlement. He was clothed in a dark blue pinstripe suit and pale pink tie. Behind him came another man, much older, probably in his fifties with leathery, deeply tanned white skin. Followed by Margaret. Close to six feet, with muscled arms, one would be forgiven for thinking she was a man, viewed from the back. But from the front, her breasts told a different story.

The last two strolled in. Oliver, in another dark, superbly tailored suit. He was grinning at the woman beside him. In heels, she was up to his jaw and she moved, crossing one leg in front of the other, her hips swaying to the side, nearly bumping into his hip. She was beaming up at him, tossing her wavy weave that fell over her shoulders. The vivid red lipstick on her perfect lips stood out from her dark coffee-colored skin.

Kema bit her lips. Wow. He had moved on, so fast. It was obvious... the way they looked at each other. It didn't help that the woman was beautiful.

Oliver's gaze whizzed around the room and honed in on Kema wearing the company T-shirt but still succeeding in standing out from the rest of the group. What was she doing here? His heart hammered. Was she here to torture him? Damn.

He stalked over to face her. "What are you doing here?"

"Margaret invited me. She said it would be good for me to attend this course. But if you don't want me here, I'll return to Lagos right now."

He wiped his mouth and jaw with a hand. Took a breath. "Well, she has carte blanche to add whomever she wants to the list... so, you can stay."

"Thanks," she said, but he had already stormed away, back to the black beauty's side.

Five minutes later, everyone was seated but the five new arrivals. The pinstripe-suited looker grinned down at them, exposing white teeth. "Hello and welcome. My name is Steven Braithwaite, CEO of Olympus Security." He had an American accent.

So that's Steven. Nike's uncle. Oliver's business partner. Sheila's brother... or most probably, stepbrother because he was clearly of mixed heritage. One of his parents must be white.

"You'll go around the table and introduce yourselves but first, I'll let the other members of my team tell you who they are."

Oliver's eyes were concentrated on another section of the table, far away from Kema. "Hi, I'm Oliver Constantino, COO of Olympus Security."

Kema waited to hear who this woman was, to discover her connection to Oliver and his company.

In a little-girl voice, the woman announced, "My name is Ini Akan. I'm the Training and Development Director in the Port Harcourt office."

Kema scowled at her. A grown woman sounding like a twelve-year-old. A woman Oliver had most certainly shagged. It was clear from their body language. This was better. Easier for her. She had Ikenna and now, Oliver had... Ini with the baby voice and the Oh-Look-I'm-A-Model walk.

Glowering at the file in front of her, she barely took note as the older man commented that he had been a trainer for Nelson Mandela's bodyguards and now worked as Head Trainer in this company.

For the rest of the morning, Steven and Oliver alternately spoke. About the history of the company, the structure and culture, the services they provide and their lists of clients that ranged from multinational companies (one of which was her brother-in-law, Harrison Whyte's oil and gas services company) and government institutions to individuals. Their work involved designing and installing electronic security systems, managing access control for their many business clients, providing bodyguard and private investigation services, handling issues of electronic theft, and preventing and detecting employee and customer theft. Before long, she was hooked. The more she learnt, the more she ached to work here. She needed to be a part of this.

Throughout the day, Oliver found a way to avoid Kema. At tea, lunch breaks and at dinner, he glued himself to Steven and Ini and pretended not to notice her glances. What did she expect? That they would go back to being faux friends once more? Not likely.

He had known Ini for more than a year and they had had sex on and off for nearly that long. Whenever he happened to be in Port Harcourt, he could count on her making time for him. Even though she had once told him she was engaged, she didn't seem to mind blowing off her fiancé for him. Ini was easy and uncomplicated. Kema, she definitely was not.

Pushing open the door to her hotel room after dinner, Kema's mouth tightened. Not even one opportunity for a chat with Oliver. The disappearing man. One minute he was in the meeting room, the next he was at Steven's lunch table. Could he be more obvious? Well, if he thought she would give up that easily, he didn't really know her.

But what do you want to say to him? her mind questioned.

She didn't know, not really.

She just couldn't take this cold shoulder.

***

Day Two. Ugh. How much of this Oliver and Ini sandwich could she take? Baby-voice had practically attached herself to his hip. Ughhhh.

Crossing her arms over her breasts, Kema sighed. Beside her, Margaret stirred.

"Are you glad you came?" Margaret asked, darting a glance down at Kema.

"Yes." She shrugged. "I'm learning a lot."

"You don't look very happy."

She gnawed her bottom lip as her eyes scanned the sparsely-occupied hotel lobby. Outside the entrance doors, the silvery-orange sky darkened. Happy? She should be. She had Ikenna. He was the one she had chosen. But, argh... Oliver didn't have to flaunt his affair in her face, for goodness sake.

Margaret tried to hide a smile. "You're not happy about Oliver and Ini. But you don't have to worry. She's... not significant."

She stared up at Margaret, her gaze catching the wide smile on her lips. But then, the other woman glanced forward and stiffened.

"Talk of the devil," she murmured.

Kema's eyes whipped to the front. Spotted Oliver and his _not significant_ woman strolling toward them. Oh, please. No.

Oliver's gaze locked with Kema's. His step faltered. But Ini was gliding over to Margaret, a wide beam on her red lips.

"Hi, Margaret. I've been looking for you. We're all going clubbing later. Will you join us?"

Oliver stared over the heads of the women, as silent as a mountain.

"Yes, okay."

Ini turned to take in Kema. She smiled. "Hi, you're... Kema, right? Have you been enjoying the classes?"

Her eyes thinned and her voice was deep-freezer cold. "Umhmm."

Ini's smile tottered and then collapsed. Margaret covered her mouth with her hand, fighting back a smile. Oliver stared ahead like nothing was happening.

"Anyway... we'll... er... meet up later, Margaret," Ini mumbled and then with a curious glance at Kema, she swayed off, trailed by a silent Oliver.

"Kema, you're mean," Margaret murmured.

"What did I do?" she asked, spreading her arms.

Margaret laughed. "Ini had better be careful. Anyone who messes with Oliver is in danger."
Chapter Sixteen

Five days had zipped by and Kema couldn't believe that she hadn't yet been able to corner Oliver. The course had ended this afternoon. Miss I'm-Special-Because-I'm-Shagging-The-Boss had handed out evaluation forms. Kema had filled hers out with one eye on Oliver but by the time she submitted it, he had disappeared. What the heck?

Now, in her hotel room, she yanked off her T-shirt and grey jeans, stripped off her underwear, trying to ignore the lonely tiny triangle of hair on her pubis. She had shaved down there yesterday evening, because it had become a little overgrown, like a mini jungle. Not that anyone here would ever see it...

She threw on a bright yellow bikini, draped her body with a housecoat and fled from her empty, boring room. She had spent most of her evenings here, either on phone calls with Wumi, Ikenna or Adaeze or working on her blog with the television blaring in the background.

She reached the poolside. Super. No-one else was here. She shrugged off the coat and plunged into the pool. Around her, day was handing over the reins to night. The hotel loomed up above her, electric lights twinkling out of the windows.

Which one of the rooms was Oliver's?

***

Oliver stuffed six condoms into the back pocket of his jeans. He had a date with Ini in her room and he needed something to take his mind off Kema. Watching her, from the corner of his eyes for five days had been exhausting. He needed to forget her golden skin, those chocolate lips, and her heady perfume.

He dashed out of his room and loped into the elevator.

Ini's room was one floor below his but she had escorted Steven and Brad, the Head Trainer, into the city for a dish of goat-head in oil or something like that. He had shivers even thinking about it. But Brad was the adventurous one. He loved Nigerian food. Anyway, she had called a few minutes ago. Their vehicle would be pulling into the hotel premises in about five minutes. He would take her by surprise; meet up with her at the gate.

He exited the lobby, and passed outside. Ahead was the pool. Maybe he would sit out there, stare up at the stars and wait for Ini.

Kema sliced and diced the water, giving it her all. She needed to get tired enough to return to her room and collapse until the next morning.

She arrived at one end of the pool, chest heaving. Raising her head, she stared ahead. It had grown darker. But not too dark to sight Oliver at the poolside, staring into the light from his phone.

"Hi!" she called out.

His head jerked up, his face moved forward.

"It's Kema."

He left his seat, came closer, bent over the pool. His green eyes glowed with their own light. "Why are you out here all alone?"

She treaded water and grinned up at him. "Who else am I supposed to be with? You're the only one I know here."

Oliver ran a hand through his hair. "That's not true, Kema. There's Margaret."

"You abandoned me for five whole days. Oliver, that's not fair."

"Let's not get into that now. I have somewhere to be."

"Where?"

Oliver fingered the condoms in his pocket. His mouth pursed. "Ini's room."

Her face dropped.

His heart hurt. Damn, he needed to get away from here. But his feet remained in place. "Kema, what do you want from me?" he asked.

"Can you give me a few seconds? Please... don't I deserve at least that?"

He blew out air. "Yes, okay. Do you want to step out?"

Kema giggled. "Come in, the water's cool." She suddenly felt rejuvenated. Excited.

Oliver's brows knit. "Kema, I'm dressed. I can't come in."

"You can pull off your sneakers and stick your feet in the water, can't you?"

He stared at her. Her eyes glittered, her mouth curved in a mischievous smile. Like she knew he couldn't resist her.

He stepped out of his shoes, rolled the legs of his jeans and sat down at the edge. His feet slid into the cool water. "Okay, are you happy?"

"No, not yet." She moved in, between his legs, her head close to his waist.

Oliver froze. The hairs on his skin crackled. "Kema..." His voice had hoarsened, "What are you doing?"

She didn't answer. Her hot mouth pressed down on his navel through his shirt.

"Kema. Stop." The last word was a growl. In his jeans, his penis shifted. Grew.

In response, she lifted his shirt, revealing the smattering of black hair coming down from his chest extending past his navel and disappearing inside his trousers.

She flicked a tongue at his navel, felt his body tense. She did it again.

Oliver knew he should put an end to this. They were in a public place, for goodness sake! Anyone could walk in here and catch them. And this behavior was so totally not Kema's style. What did she think she was doing? What was going on with her— _oh fuck!_

With a speed and dexterity that Oliver couldn't believe, she had zipped down the front of his pants, drawn out his erect cock and had planted her silky, moist mouth on its head.

Oliver gasped. What the hell? Damn.

Kema's eyes whizzed upward. She read the shock on his face, spotted the widening of those gorgeous eyes. Yes, she could understand his surprise. Her being this bold, this uninhibited... the normal, rational part of her stood back, stunned, wondering how this had happened. But fuelled by some undefined emotion that had been building up inside her ever since she arrived in Port Harcourt, she stared back down at his penis.

Wow, he was enormous. Pink, thick-veined and deliciously meaty. Could she fit all of him into her mouth?

She widened her mouth, taking her time, eating more of him moment by moment. Mmmm, his taste sent blasts of heat down into her ravenous vagina. Traces of his perfume mixed with his musk assaulted her nose. One of her hands ringed around his thick bulk, moving and rotating while her warm, sleek mouth cocooned him.

He groaned. Amazing. Oh God. With a life of their own, his hands slid into her hair. Her mouth felt so good on his dick. This was unexpected, yeah, but totally, absolutely fucking mind-shattering.

He stared down, at her mouth and hands moving on him. Was he dreaming?

Her eyes rose to fuse with his. She pulled her mouth off and whispered, "I have wanted to do this to you for a very long time."

"Really?" he croaked.

"Yes." Her eyelashes tumbled over her eyes. The taste of him fired her blood. Her whole body ached for more. Her tongue darted out and licked up all the clear liquid oozing from the dark-purple crown of his penis.

Oliver shut his eyes, his teeth nipped at his bottom lip, as he battled to stop the loud moan from bursting from his mouth. She was a delightful surprise.

He opened his eyes to meet her gaze again and drawled, "Just this?"

"No... everything."

"Do you want to go up... to my room?"

She nodded and released him. He zipped his pants back up. His hard-on protruded through the material.

He leapt to his feet. He leaned over and extended a hand to her. She grabbed his hand and climbed out of the pool. As he put his sneakers back on and re-arranged his trousers, Kema draped the robe over her wet bikini.

She folded her arms, not because she felt cold but because her distended nipples stuck out, even through the wrap. "I need a shower."

He smiled. "You can do that in my room." He gripped her hand and they strolled into the hotel and inside the elevator. In the lift, he kept stealing glances at her, like he couldn't believe she was beside him.

Her heart thumped as he slid the keycard into the door and pushed it open. She barely glanced around. This was it. In his room, alone with him.

She swallowed.

He loomed over her. His hands reached out and slipped off the covering, exposing her bikini in the white glare of the room lights. Gently, he pulled the top off. Her small, round breasts jumped into view. He bent over to slide the bottoms off.

Kema stood nude, the scraps of yellow around her feet. She lowered her eyes, knowing he was staring at her body. Did he like it? She sucked in her stomach even more, pushing out her breasts.

"Perfect. Beautiful..." he said in a thick voice.

She glanced up into his face.

He smiled. Then, he tugged off his clothes, tossing them on one of the chairs. He kicked off his shoes.

It was her turn to gaze at him. Gosh, he was huge. His chest and thighs reminded her of Gerald Butler's in 300. His penis shot out from a thatch of dark, curly hair.

"Come," he said and took her hand again. Into the bathroom, into the shower.

She faced him, pressed together in the cubicle. He dispensed globules of greenish gel from a bottle into his palm and then turned on the water. As the warm streams gushed over her body, she closed her eyes.

He soaped her breasts, massaging the wash in circular motions.

She inhaled a lemony scent. This must be the same soap he had used that night that he had dashed out of the shower to drive all the way over to the mainland the moment she'd called.

She opened her eyes and smiled at him. He grinned back, face wet with water, black hair plastered over his skull.

He moved down from her breasts to her torso, his fingers skimming between her legs for some short heart-stopping seconds before passing on to her thighs and legs.

"Turn over," he growled.

She did so. This time, he worked his way from her legs upward. Then his fiery tongue pounced on her neck, licking upward. He sucked her left ear as his hands rose higher, onto her firm buttocks.

Instinctively, she spread her legs and a moment later, his hands glided in between her legs and stroked her clit.

The fever started from the pit of her stomach and whizzed to her pelvic region. His tongue on her neck and in her ear fed the fever; his hands underneath her thighs sent it off the charts. Her legs buckled. She felt light, unable to do anything else except whimper.

Oliver held her up, rinsed them both off and carried her out of the shower. With one of the bulky hotel towels, he dried both their bodies while she leaned on him, her arms around his neck.

He stared down at her. She looked so small, her eyes half-closed, her hair dotted with drops of water. He still couldn't believe this was happening.

He lifted her in his arms. Her legs quaked. His heart sang. Placing her on the white sheets on his bed, he climbed on.

Her eyes fluttered open to sight Oliver, kneeling between her thighs, his erection as fierce as ever. But he was running his hands over her legs, thighs, waist, and belly, eyes trained on her body.

A finger tapped the skin inside her left thigh. "You have a mole, right there."

"Yes," she breathed. She needed him now. The sheets felt soft beneath her quivering buttocks and the slight chilly air in the room did nothing to reduce the fire in her vagina.

But he didn't seem to be in a hurry.

He raised her left leg, kissed a mid-sized scar close to her ankle. "Where did you get this?"

A part of her considered pleading with him to make love to her, but she whispered, "I... was... sixteen... climbed over a barbed-wire... fence."

He moved back up. His fingers traced the tiny tattoo of an eagle on her right hip.

She couldn't help herself. "Oliver, please..."

Through heavy eyelids, she watched him get off the bed and retrieve something from his trouser pocket. Condoms. He put one on and returned to her.

He straddled her. She wrapped her legs around his waist.

The tip of his gargantuan penis prodded the entrance to her sex. She shut her eyes. Her heart jack-hammered. Oh my goodness, he was so big. Would it hurt?

"Don't be afraid," he whispered in her ear. "I'll be gentle. Do you trust me?"

She dipped her head, her arms twined around his neck.

His mouth sought hers. Her tongue glided in. She moaned, shafts of pleasure shooting through her body. Oliver sucked her tongue. She whimpered.

A moment of friction and his penis eased into her tight, wet vagina. She grunted.

His mouth left hers. Oliver thrust into her, starting slow and shallow and then slow and deeper. She felt his penis reach up to the opening to her womb.

The sensations that had been dancing around in her limbs and torso coalesced, like molecules combining to form a bomb about to blow her up sky-high.

His thrusting picked up speed. He groaned. So perfect. The way her inner muscles squeezed him, held him tight, overwhelmed him with moisture and scorching heat.

"Kemaaaaa..." he murmured.

She placed a palm on his cheek. Their eyes met.

He hoisted her right leg over his shoulder and ploughed in deeper. So deep that he buried his cock into her moist pussy, right up to the base. His testicles slapped against her groin.

She cried out as she exploded and the flood of white heat surged into her bones, her muscles and her nerves. "Oliver, Oliver, Oliver..."

A moment after, he orgasmed, whispering his love.

They clung to each other, bodies slick with sweat, despite the cold air, chests rising and falling.

"Are you okay?" he asked, in between deep breaths.

"Yes, I am," she murmured with a smile.

He slipped out of her and tore off the blood-stained condom.

She stared at it. The blood. From inside her. Gosh, she had actually done it. She had actually made love for the first time in her life. With Oliver. Technically, while dating Ikenna.

His mobile phone sprang to life.

Tossing the condom in the bin by the bed, he grabbed his phone. And groaned. Ini. He had completely forgotten about her. Damn.

"Who's that?"

He gazed at the wall, muttered, "Ini."

"What does she want?"

"I told you... I was meant to meet up with her..."

"You mean, shag her?"

"Kema!" He dropped the phone on the table. It continued ringing. "I'm here with you, aren't I?"

Jealousy seeped into her blood, tainting the sweet post-orgasmic bliss enveloping her. Her lips twisted. The words erupted out of her mouth, "But you've had sex with her before, here in Port Harcourt, haven't you? Yesterday? Two nights ago?"

Oliver sighed. He hadn't planned any of this. So he didn't understand Kema's reaction. She knew Ini didn't really mean anything to him. She knew his heart belonged to her. That was why she'd practically seduced him, wasn't it? Not that he minded.

He switched off the phone mid-ring. "Are you happy now? Kema, let's not quarrel. Not about her. You know how I feel about you."

Yes, she did. The sex with him had been mountain-moving and she didn't want to ruin her memory of her first night. Ini didn't matter. Not now.

With her gaze on Oliver, she stuck her index finger into her wet mouth, moistened it and then circled one nipple with it. It enlarged in reply.

His eyes locked in on the fattened nipple. His breathing accelerated.

Watching him, she whispered, "Yes, I do. And I want you to show me again."
Chapter Seventeen

Kema slunk out of his room at five A.M., clutching the robe around her body. She took the elevator one floor down, grateful that no-one else was around to see her. Their flight back to Lagos was scheduled for sometime after ten so the plan was that they would all check out today after breakfast.

Inserting the keycard and opening the door to her room, she slipped inside. The hotel was quiet. Outside, dark skies lingered. She yawned, exhausted. She ought to take a quick nap for at least an hour but she doubted she could sleep. Last night with Oliver had been... out of this world. They had done it three times more, after the first. Each one better, sweeter, crazier than the last.

She bit her lip as she remembered how she'd progressed from moaning to screaming and how she'd rolled her hips and scratched his back. She wouldn't be able to get those images out of her mind.

She stripped off the bikini and wrap and entered the bathroom. Planting her face in front of the mirror, she stared back at her reflection. Did it show in her face? That she was no longer a virgin? That a man's penis had found its way into her vagina?

She turned from left to right, inspecting her entire face. All she could see was that the sides of her head needed shaving and—oh—that her mouth seemed a little swollen. Too much rough kissing.

Glancing down at her body, she noticed her heavy and jutting nipples. Her hand swept underneath her legs, felt the swollen area. Her stomach still ached from the pressure of his large penis.

Kema shut her eyes for a moment. So it had happened. Did she regret it? No... not yet, anyway. What would she do about Ikenna? Lie to him? Dump him?

Argh. She swerved over to the bathtub and yanked the taps down. Warm and cold water gushed out.

***

Oliver jumped up from the bed, almost two hours later. Stretching his arms over his head, he smiled as he recalled the night with Kema. It had been astounding.

He glanced at the empty bed. When did she leave? He hadn't noticed. He needed to speak to her, to discuss this... thing between them, whatever it was.

He hoped she felt good about their love-making... that there were no regrets. Because he had none. What they had done together was special, unique. She'd obviously thought so because she'd been as eager and as hungry for him as he was for her. She'd desired more, and more and more and more. Four times in a night.

He grinned. At one point, she had sobbed into his shoulder, explaining that they were tears of joy. He had told her again that he loved her. She had burst into tears once more, kissed his mouth hard and then mounted him.

He glanced through his phone on the bedside drawer. Darn! Fifteen missed calls... from Ini.

He groaned. He had to speak to her, to explain himself. She didn't deserve this. But what could he say? He had to say something...

He hustled into the shower.

Forty-five minutes later, in a pale blue shirt, the top buttons free and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tucked into a pair of black jeans, he strode out of his room. He dashed into the elevator, pressed the button to go down one floor.

He had to talk to Ini, yeah, but first, he needed to know Kema was okay. Fortunately... or maybe not, if he happened to run into Ini, their rooms were on the same floor.

Walking out of the lift and toward her room, Oliver snuck an eye at the black Versace wristwatch on his wrist. He had only about twenty minutes to sort out everything here and meet up with the others at the hotel restaurant.

Glancing back up, he spotted her.

Standing in front of her room door, with her back to him, and one hand on the door handle. She had on a silver top, with a deep décolletage that exposed her smooth back. Those voluptuous hips and firm butt seemed as if about to burst out of her grey jeans.

His dick stirred. He stepped forward. Then paused.

She was on the phone. "Yes, Ikenna, I told you... I was asleep when you called yesterday night..."

He crossed his arms and listened.

"Yes... we're coming back today... I'll see you soon..."

His eyes narrowed.

"Yes, yes... okay... I missed you too. I've got to go. I'll call you when we land... okay... bye."

She ended the call.

"So you didn't tell him you spent the night making love with me," Oliver accused.

Kema jumped. She spun around. "Oliver! Were you spying on me?"

"I came to check on you, to see if you were okay but clearly you're perfectly fine. Because you're going back to him."

She breathed in deep. "You and I haven't had a chance to talk yet—"

"But you've already decided."

"Oliver, you know that I want you. Very much. You turn my brains to pap. But you yourself warned me not to expect commitment from you. And despite that, I still went ahead and gave you my body. Doesn't that tell you I want you more? Ikenna and I... we're in a trial period of our relationship."

"I'm supposed to feel good about that?"

"Yes! Because I'm not sleeping with Ikenna, but I did... with you."

He dropped his arms. Aiming one finger at her, he bit out, "Admit it; you slept with me because you didn't want me to go to Ini."

She glared, said, "What? How can you say—"

"Kema, admit it. Tell the damn truth."

She threw up her hands in the air and lowered them. "Okay, fine. That was my second reason. I couldn't let you go to her. You belong to me."

"I belong to you?" He gave a short laugh. "This coming from a woman who is in a trial relationship with her former ex."

She stalked to face him. Jabbed a finger in his broad chest. "Oliver, you belong to me. And I need you."

He shook his head. "We haven't yet defined our relationship."

"I'm defining it. You're mine and I'm yours."

"What does that mean?"

"Means just what I said."

Placing his hands on his hips, he stared down at her. At the fire in her eyes. She meant it. And he wasn't surprised. He'd known what having sex with her would mean.

He said, "So you'll stop me from seeing other women—"

"—from sleeping with other women."

"Kema..."

She moved back one step. Her voice was firm. "Oliver, if you really love me, you won't have sex with anyone else."

He stared at her.

Two doors away, someone stepped out of his room. Down the hall, the elevator bell chimed.

Oliver glanced around. "We'll continue this later."

She raised her eyebrows at him. "We've ended the discussion."

He sighed, and then headed away, back to the elevators.

***

Kema rolled her suitcase out of the hotel doors to the small white bus parked outside, behind a blue-grey Range Rover. Already some people were milling around the bus. Margaret hung by its doors, shepherding those climbing on. Brad sat in the front seat of the jeep. In the back seat, behind the driver's chair, Steven lounged, his mobile phone glued to his ear. Beside the Range Rover, Oliver had a hand on Ini's shoulder, saying something. Her head was up, her body leaning toward him.

Kema bared her teeth. Her hand on the handle of her case squeezed. He better be only apologizing to her for the night before...

On auto-pilot, her feet steered her toward them before her mind had decided.

Ini pulled away from Oliver and threw a quizzical glance at Kema. "Yes, Kema?"

Oliver's green eyes focused on Kema. "Kema, what's up?"

Kema stepped closer to him and placed a hand on his broad white-striped blue silk-shirted chest.

Ini glared at Kema's hand. Her eyes widened, recognition dawned and then her gaze shot up to Oliver's blank face and then zipped over to Kema.

"What's keeping us?" Kema asked, eyes tangling with Ini's.

He sighed. "We'll be leaving soon, Kema."

"Okay then," she said as she stroked his shirt front.

Ini shook her head, lips curling.

"I need to talk with Ini, Kema. Please..."

"Fine," she muttered, removing her hand from his chest. She glowered at Ini and then stalked off, toward the bus.

She climbed in, trying to ignore the thumping of her heart. She had let herself go with him. He dare not be with another woman.

They left, in a convoy five minutes later and Kema glared at Ini through the window as she remained in front of the hotel, waving to the jeep.

She didn't get to see Oliver during the return flight because he and Steven were in the business class section and once they landed at the airport in Lagos, the Olympus Security drivers whisked Oliver, Steven, Brad and Margaret away in one car while Kema joined the dark blue bus taking her and the other four to their homes.
Chapter Eighteen

"Mmm... delicious," Wumi murmured as she bit into the piece of fried plantain and prawn speared on her fork.

"I know," Kema said, through a mouth half-full of plantain and egg.

It had been nearly five hours since her return from Port Harcourt and Kema had driven for over one hour from her flat to meet up with her best friend at the popular Yellow Chili Restaurant in Victoria Island.

She had updated Wumi on an edited version of the trip via phone but Wumi had insisted on a hangout. She'd said she needed face-to-face updates. Now here they were.

Wumi chewed and swallowed. Her bright mauve lipstick remained in place.

"No matter what passes through your lips, your lipstick stays on." Kema grinned at her friend.

"Yes, that's the beauty of it. That's why I invest in only the most expensive."

"Says the billionaire's daughter."

She shrugged. Took another mouthful of her meal. "Remember when you stole your father's car, picked me up and—"

Kema clapped her hand to her mouth, then dropped her hand and yelled, "Yes! I was so mad. I'd just failed out of medical school—"

"—and we went to that party in Ibadan, all the way."

She laughed. "But the party was great."

Wumi nodded. "Yes, it was. I had fun. I met one hot guy there... what was his name?"

"I can't remember... that was almost nine years ago."

Wumi chuckled. "And then the car gave up the ghost. At one A.M."

"I had to call my dad. You called yours."

"My dad sent his PA and two security guards to pick me up."

"Crazy. I remember that Dan and Ejike came in Dan's rickety car to drive me back home."

Wumi poked at another plantain. "My dad didn't give me an allowance that month."

"My dad didn't speak to me for one day and the next day, we were besties again. My mom was furious." Kema paused. The smile died on her face. She missed her dad.

Wumi patted Kema's hand. "I know you miss him. He was a wonderful father."

"Yes, he was. Thanks, Wumi."

She dropped her fork and knife and stared at her friend. Something was up. Kema appeared to be glowing. And she couldn't believe that Kema was wearing such tight jeans and back-exposing top.

"So... what happened in Port Harcourt?"

Kema peered across the table. "I told you already. We did the course. It was interesting. I barely saw Oliver."

"Are you sure?"

She stirred in her seat. What's with all these questions? Was there something on her face that proclaimed to Wumi that she'd had sex?

"Yes, I am. Stop asking me about Port Harcourt."

"Why? Did something else happen? What are you not telling me? You forget I know you, Kema Ekwueme."

She scowled. She didn't want to discuss the sex with Oliver. Not even with Wumi. Not that she was ashamed. She just didn't want Wumi or even Adaeze to gasp and say 'Oh, I thought you said you'd wait before having sex for the first time.' And then she'll have to start attempting to explain to them and to come up with reasons why.

"Wumi, let's change the topic. Why should anything happen with Oliver when I'm seeing Ikenna? What kind of girl do you take me for?"

Puzzled, she gaped at her friend. "It was just some questions, Kema. What's eating you?"

"Nothing," she grumbled. "Let's talk about something else."

"Okay, fine."

The rest of the meal went on in a cold silence.

***

The two men clad in swimming trunks, stretched out on lounge chairs by the pool between their two houses, sipping cognac and staring at the light from the waning sun dancing on the blue water.

"Have you decided on New York?" Steven cut his eyes to his friend.

Oliver took another sip. He didn't know what to say. "I... I don't know, not yet."

"Well, the office is growing. We need you there, bro."

"I know, I know."

"Is it Lisa's school? She's still quite young. You can pull her out and she'll adjust. Children are resilient."

"No, I know that." His voice was a murmur.

Steven chortled. "I see now... it's a woman. Ini?"

Oliver stared at him. "No, not her."

"You guys are still doing the nasty, aren't you? Did you hit that in Port Harcourt?"

"You mean... did I have sex with Ini there? Yeah, I did. Twice."

"My man." Steven brought his fist toward Oliver.

He wagged his head, trying not to smile. Bumping Steven's fist, he wondered when his thirty-year-old friend would ever really grow up.

"So, if not's her... who's it?"

He gulped in air. _Here goes._ "In the hotel, there was a girl there, among the attendees—"

"Punk-cut with very yummy hips?"

His head swiveled around to gape at his friend. "How did you know?"

Steven flung his head back, laughing. "Lucky guess. She was the hottest babe there. Kema..."

Oliver's brow lifted. He eyed his friend.

He raised a hand, palm out. "I'm good with names, don't forget. Are you into her?"

"I think so. I can't stop thinking about her."

"Is she into you?"

He shrugged. "I'm not sure."

"Why?"

"She has a boyfriend."

"So..." Steven settled into his chair, took another sip. "She's not into you."

Rubbing his chin, Oliver said, "Yeah... but she was a virgin... until last night with me."

The brandy shot out from Steven's mouth. He cursed, wiping the spills off his muscled chest. Glaring at his friend, he muttered, "Are you crazy? The girl must be in love with you! Boy... you're one lucky man. Two girls in one trip. That's my kind of action."

"You're insane."

"And you've become a Don Juan in my absence. So what's the problem if you two are all over each other? Well, save for the tiny issue of the boyfriend."

"Yeah, exactly."

Steven slid his fingers into his brown curls. "The thing you have to understand is that Nigerian girls are BIG on commitment... is her boyfriend a Nigerian?"

"Yeah."

"Case solved. He's offering what you're not."

Oliver's mouth tightened. Steven was right. He couldn't compete with Ikenna, especially not with this New York office move dangling over his head. But the problem was that she invaded his thoughts—day and night. He dreamed of being with her, making love to her. He'd had a taste of heaven and he craved for more.

He was screwed.

Steven chuckled into his glass.

"What's so funny?" Oliver asked, frowning at his friend.

"Nothing. It's just that Morayo flew in from Abuja yesterday evening and we spent the whole night fucking. She screamed so loud that my housekeeper knocked on my bedroom door in a panic, wondering if we were both okay." He laughed.

Oliver stared. "You're crazy, you know that? And I've told you to stop telling me anything about this... this aunt of yours. It's disgusting. Your uncle should have had her locked up for child abuse. How old is she now, forty-eight?"

"Forty-five. Don't pretend to be a prude, Oliver."

"Whatever."

"Anyway... I'm glad I'm back," Steven murmured, glancing up at his house to the right of the pool. "I've missed Nigeria. I've missed my mothers and my sisters."

"I can never get over the fact that you have two mothers... that your father married two wives..."

"It's quite common here. My father, lucky dude... but I could never do what he did. I can't manage to marry one, let alone two." He arched his neck back. "Ah! That's better... yeah, what was I saying? Yeah... that's one of the reasons I'm back. My mothers have lined up a couple of wife candidates for me."

Oliver chuckled. "They want _you_ to get married? Are they deluded?"

"Exactly, that's what I said. But... I couldn't keep refusing to at least meet the girls. But I've got a plan. I'm going to fuck the hot ones and discard them when I've had enough. Then I'll go back to my moms and ask for more."

He met Oliver's eyes and they both roared with laughter as the sun disappeared and night set in.
Chapter Nineteen

"Are congratulations in order?" Adaeze asked her younger sister, eyes contracted.

Kema moped at the ring on the third finger on her right hand. It was simple and classy. Just the way she liked it. A thin silver band crowned with a solitary white diamond. Most women dreamed of being proposed to by their boyfriends. And that was what Ikenna had done only yesterday.

She had been in his arms, in his flat. They had kissed. He'd been overjoyed to have her there. It had been a week since her five-day trip to Port Harcourt and that evening in his flat was the first time they had spent hours together since her return.

Without warning, he had pulled out the ring. And asked her to marry him again. This time, he wanted them to fix a date.

In two months.

She had been shocked; first, by the ring and second, by the date. Two months from now? She had stared at him, unable to speak. He had obviously taken her silence for consent because he had slid the ring on her finger.

As her gaze had focused on the ring, the words had sputtered through her shaky lips, "Ikenna, wow... I thought... we were taking it—er—cool. Two months... wow. So soon..."

He had not allowed her lukewarm response to pierce his armor. "I know. It's just that I'm sure that I want to marry you, Kema and I can't wait. But I don't want to scare you off..." He had laughed and continued, "So you can keep the ring and marry me in two months or... you can give it back whenever you feel like. You don't have to give me an answer right now. Although I hope you'll choose the former option."

Now, Kema replied Adaeze, "I don't know."

"Ah." Was all Adaeze said as if she was used to seeing engagement rings every day on her sister's finger.

Still staring at the ring, Kema couldn't shake the heaviness in her chest. She should be happy. She should be bursting at the seams with delight. Instead, her head hurt and her stomach churned.

Adaeze swept up Timi's football sitting on one of the couches and extricated Bibi's coloring pencil tucked in between the cushions. She paused to survey her sister.

Kema's face was down, her gaze fixed on her finger. Her feet in dark brown flats peeked out from underneath her leopard skin patterned knee-length dress. Her honey-blond Mohawk stuck out from the top of her head. Misery surrounded her like a cape.

Adaeze shook her head. Then she cleared her throat and asked, "Can you do me a favor?"

Her head rose. "Yes, Adaeze. What is it?"

"You're sweet. Thanks. Bibi has a sleepover and I'm meant to drop her off but I've got loads to do here at home. Will you take your niece to Lisa's place?"

Her tongue tripped over the words. "L-lis-sa's p-place?" Lisa, Oliver's daughter?

"Yes. Bibi is all packed and you both can go with my driver. He knows the way to Oliver's place... but if you have something else to do..."

"No! I don't mind." She leaped off the couch. "Is she ready now?"

Trying to hide a smile, Adaeze said, "Go and check. She's in her room."

***

Throughout the drive to Oliver's house, her heart thumped, her knees shook and she could barely respond to her niece's endless chatter. She worried the ring round and round her finger.

She had attempted to give her relationship with Ikenna a chance. After the thing she had done with Oliver in Port Harcourt, she had been wrecked with guilt. Well, part guilt because she had been lying to her sister, friend and her boyfriend... and part yearning for more of him. He plagued her dreams. Her nipples throbbed for him. The core between her legs cried out for him.

She had tried to stay away. To speak to him only on the phone. But now, here she was... on her way to see him again.

Her soul rejoiced.

The car eventually rolled to a stop before an electronic gate. Beyond the gate, she could see a house painted in creamy yellow, with a red roof. A wall joined one side of this house to the other side of a replica house in an adjoining compound.

Adaeze's driver waved into a security camera over the gate. A minute later, the gate glided open, revealing a spacious compound. The ground was overlaid with paved stones and as they drew inside, she spotted an open garage housing two jeeps and a black power bike.

"Come on, Auntie K. Let's go," Bibi squealed and hopped out of the car.

She barely had time to tell the driver to wait for her before her niece was dragging her by the arm into the house.

Bibi banged on the polished wood door, yelling, "It's me, Bibi!"

"Shh. Not so loud," Kema muttered.

The door swung open. Lisa stood there, in a blue top over pink flowery trousers. Her smile widened when she sighted Bibi.

"Bibi!"

"Lisa!"

The two girls hugged. Kema rolled her eyes.

"Welcome, Auntie K," Lisa managed to say before tugging Bibi inside.

Kema followed, shutting the door behind her. She scanned the sandstone walls of an empty hallway, noticing stairs to the left of the door. The warmness of the evening had vanished, chased away by the cool interior temperature, no doubt produced by air-conditioners. Ones she couldn't see.

The girls scrambled up the stairs. She trailed behind.

The room before them was tasteful, elegant and so Oliver. Two long sofas and a short sofa in shades of grey surrounded white-trimmed glass-topped centre and end tables. A narrow pale grey thick rug covered a section of the wood paneled floor. Two chromium decorative lamps rested in adjacent corners of the large room, below hefty wall paintings done in a splash of black and orange. Behind the long sofas, wide French windows displayed a view of dark streets, lit off and on by passing car headlights.

Oliver stood by the windows. Bibi ran into his arms. He embraced her and she took off with Lisa, to another part of the house.

He straightened to stare at Kema. His arms dangled by his sides, his green eyes glowed.

She met his gaze, surrendering herself to the rush of emotion through her body.

Their eyes held. Neither turned away. The air thickened with tension.

"Hello... Kema, is it?" A voice broke the spell.

She hauled her eyes away to see Steven, in a dark blue shirt and black cargo pants, approaching her. He smiled.

"Yes, yes," she mumbled. What was he doing here?

As if he read her mind, he said, "I live in the house next door." He jerked his head at a statue-like Oliver. "We're neighbors."

She nodded.

Steven's eyes lighted up. He came up to her. "Pardon me?" he murmured, as he took her right hand.

She froze.

He smiled at the ring. "Are you engaged? I didn't notice this in Port Harcourt."

Oliver seemed to shrink.

She felt like kneeing Steven in the groin. His tawny eyes gleamed with mischief. But she managed to mumble, "Yes, it appears I am."

"Good, good." He flashed a glance at his friend. Then he rubbed his palms together. "I'll leave you two to talk. Oliver, I'll check on the girls."

With his hands in his pockets, he left the room, whistling.

Speaking for the first time since her arrival, Oliver waved a hand at one of the couches and said, "Sit please. I was expecting Adaeze."

She sank into the deep comfort of the sofa.

He settled on the edge of the one opposite. His eyes zoomed in on her face. He couldn't believe how much he had missed her until she strolled into his living room this evening like a gift from God. He longed to bury his head between her breasts and smell her scent. But first, he needed to know what the ring was about.

He inclined his head toward her hand. "Are you really engaged or..."

She sighed. "He took me by surprise. I didn't know what to say."

"I see. Are you happy about it?"

She marveled that he appeared calm now, unlike the last time they had discussed Ikenna. He'd asked her if she was happy about it. She shook her head and added, "No. I'm not."

"Why not?"

It was like they were discussing the weather. All the while, her limbs trembled with every warm turquoise glance. "Because... I don't want Ikenna. There's someone I want more."

His eyelashes draped his eyes as he stared down at his shaky hands. He had been fighting to rein his feelings. But her words sent a jolt of insane hunger into his blood and he gave up the struggle.

In a deep drawl, he asked, "May I see the ring?"

Before she could answer, he had bounded to his feet and had come to stand in front of her.

She stared up, into that handsome face and those bone-melting eyes. She extended her right hand.

He took her hand in his. The fire ignited between them. Oliver breathed in suddenly hot air. He slipped the ring off and placed it on the centre table.

She watched, speechless.

He gripped her hand again, pulling her to her feet. He stared in her eyes, her small hand still in his.

"Come," he said, leading her out of the sitting room, through a short hallway and through a door into his bedroom.

***

Kema had only just enough time to register the King-sized bed in the centre of the wood paneled floor, the computer on a desk by one side of the room, a built-in closet plus a video game console and a flat screen TV before Oliver had stripped naked in front of her, giving her an eyeful of his perfectly muscled body and enormous penis.

Forgetting everything else except the desire to feel his skin on hers, his shaft inside her sex, she yanked her dress off, kicked off her shoes and went to him. She stood on the tip of her toes, held his face in the palms of both hands and planted her open, wet mouth on his.

With a rumble emitting from deep in his throat, he inserted his tongue into her mouth. She sucked hungrily on it.

The impact of the kiss rocked them both. Her legs nearly gave way. He staggered forward. Like two thirsty desert travelers coming upon an oasis after weeks without water, they devoured each other, rotating and at the same time, edging toward the bed.

The back of his thighs slammed into the side of the bed. She shoved him onto the bed. He fell back, with her on top, their mouths still joined.

She gave him her tongue. He took it in, adored it. Her breasts made contact with his solid chest. Her nipples hardened. Her pussy tightened and dampened. Apart from their grunts, moans and whimpers, they were both silent, each desperately ravenous for the other.

In a swift, smooth move, Oliver switched positions. Now, she was lying on her back, looking up into his flaming green eyes. Dragging his mouth from hers, his chest lifting and falling, he flipped her over onto her front.

Her sleek, golden-skinned back, small waist, ample hips and flawlessly rounded ass cheeks were now in full display, before his fevered gaze. At the sight of her buttocks, he swelled even further. My, she was magnificent.

Her face pressed into the soft sheets of the bed as his tongue traced a slow, scorching path from the back of her knees, to the top of her thighs, to each buttock cheek, to the small of her back, and up her spine. Her limbs and butt danced to an ancient, primal tune only she could hear.

She moaned into the bed sheet. Her fingers and toes curled and uncurled.

He returned to retrace with close kisses the path he had carved out with his tongue.

What sort of magic did his tongue and his touch contain? How could he make her feel like she was having an intense out-of-body experience... like every nerve underneath her skin was weeping in overwhelming delight?

It was only when his mouth reached her ears that she discovered that he had been murmuring something. "I love you, Kema. I know you love me too. Admit it."

The words penetrated her fuzzy brain. She struggled to comprehend the enormity of what that meant for her but then, his fingers glided underneath and probed between the lips of her vagina.

Oliver stroked her clit, felt the surge of her slippery juices on his fingers. "You're hot and wet," he growled.

Kema's body jack-knifed. Her breathing came in sharp and fast.

Reaching out with his other hand, he moved her to her side, her back to him.

She felt the head of his penis jabbing at the entrance of her vagina. Drawing one thigh up and sticking her ass out, she offered him better access.

He drove into her vagina, almost crying out with the shock of electric delight. Grasping her rear, one cheek in each hand, he plunged in deeper. With his eyes shut, his neck arched backwards, Oliver took Kema, uncaring of time and space.

She pitched back and forth, increasing the magnitude of the sensations they were both experiencing. Her muscular, round ass bounced with every thrust of his dick.

Minutes sizzled past, forgotten.

And then the throbbing began in her loins, extending to her nerves, her blood and her skin. His thrusts picked up speed. The slap of her buttocks against his balls increased in volume.

He moaned, producing a harsh, animalistic sound. She shouted as her orgasm took hold, her limbs thrashed.

He gripped her bum tighter and gave one last plunge. "Kema!" he cried her name out as he came, balls tightening and ass clenching.

They remained entwined, until their breathing began to slow.

He pulled out of her, unable to believe the strength of the passion he had just enjoyed. He had had many women in his life but none had been able to move him as Kema had.

She rolled to face him. Her eyes wandered downward. A smile decorated her lips. "You didn't use a condom this time."

He fought to catch his breath. Glancing into her eyes, he said, "I got carried away. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. As I told you in Port Harcourt, I belong to you and you to me."

He tipped her chin up with one hand. "Admit that you are in love with me."

Kema gazed into his green eyes and couldn't look away. What was the use pretending? She opened her mouth to speak.

At that moment, a knock sounded on the door. She flinched.

"Who's that?" Oliver called out.

"It's Steven. Lisa needs you."

He sighed. Bending to touch his lips to hers, he murmured, "Hold that thought."

He leaped up from the bed and pulled on his clothes.

She stepped off the bed onto the carpet gingerly, wondering whether her legs could hold her. They did. She threw on her dress, slid her feet back into her shoes and drew a quick hand over her hair.

Yanking open the door, he strode out. She followed. Steven was saying, "... the karaoke set. She wanted to show it to Bibi."

"It's in the study downstairs. I'll get it." Oliver flashed a warm grin at Kema. "Be back in a minute." He rushed away.

Steven smiled at Kema, his tawny eyes glimmering. "You're the reason my friend hasn't yet decided to head the New York office."

A frown settled on her forehead. "What do you mean?"

His eyes widened. "I thought you knew..."

"Knew what?"

"We'd arranged that eventually he would take over the running of our New York office. And he seemed gung-ho for it until a few months ago."

She felt like she had been sucker-punched.

Oliver was thinking of leaving Nigeria for the States and he hadn't told her.
Chapter Twenty

Oliver bounded toward them, a wide grin on his face. "They're having a singing competition, can you imagine?"

Steven averted his eyes, sticking one hand in his pocket. Oliver's gaze swung to Kema. Something was wrong.

He approached her. "Hey, love—"

She held up her hands to him. Her voice was sharp. "Don't touch me! Why didn't you tell me about New York?"

He sucked in air. His eyes swiveled to Steven. Steven turned his head away.

"It wasn't definite... he shouldn't have told you..."

"You should have still mentioned it!" she screamed. She couldn't believe the fury and distress coursing through her veins. This was just what she had feared. And this was precisely the reason she had settled for Ikenna. And why she had resisted Oliver's effect on her for this long. How could he?

"Okay, okay... you're right. I know I should have said something. I'm sorry... let me explain..." Fear scalded the air in his lungs. The way she was looking at him, with those her lovely eyes, now wide pools of disappointment and sorrow, he couldn't take it. Damn. He knew it. He shouldn't have gotten involved with her in the first place. Now, he didn't know how to live without her.

He murmured, even as she edged away from him, "We had planned that I would eventually go to New York for six months to a year but, Kema, I hadn't yet decided."

"Well, when you do, let me know, will you?" The words came out in a hiss. She stumbled backward.

He couldn't let her go. He clutched her shoulders, attempting to pull her close.

She shoved off his hands and sped into the sitting-room. He came after her. Before he could reach her, she had snatched up the engagement ring on the table and slid it back on her finger.

Splinters of ice penetrated his heart, drawing blood. "Please, Kema. Don't leave like this. Not after all we've shared."

But she rushed to the door, calling out over her shoulder, "I need some time alone. I-I need to think..."

And just like that, she had left.

He remained in that one spot, his gaze aimed at the door through which the woman he loved had just disappeared.

***

Inside the car, she folded her arms, her face directed down. She had barely heard the driver informing her that he had passed on Bibi's night bag to Oliver's housekeeper. All she cared about was getting as far away from there as quickly as possible.

Now, on the way to her apartment, she heard her phone ring for about the twentieth time. Glancing at the display, she saw it was Oliver. Again. The fist in her stomach twisted once more.

How could he keep this from her? Maybe because his plan had been to make love to her and then sneak back to the States. Maybe his declarations of love had been all lies. Oh God.

She flung the phone on the seat beside her and allowed it ring. Finally it stopped.

Kema wiped her mouth and picked the phone up. She found Adaeze's number and dialed.

Adaeze answered. "Hi, Kema."

Injecting a smile into her voice that she didn't feel, she murmured, "Ada. We've dropped Bibi off and the driver is taking me back to my place."

"Oh, that's good. I thought you would be spending the night in Oliver's place."

She managed a chuckle, even though her heart was on its knees, weeping. "Ah, you confess that that was your plan. To get me to stay with Oliver."

Adaeze laughed. "Yes, I confess. You've found me out. So why didn't you?"

"I have a lot of stuff to take care of back at my flat."

"Couldn't that wait?"

Gosh, Adaeze. "No, it couldn't."

Her sister paused and then asked, "Are you okay? You sound... different."

"I'm fine, Adaeze. I'm only tired, that's all."

"Was he happy to see you?"

Kema sighed. She didn't want to continue talking about this. But she answered, "Yes, yes, he was." Until Steven divulged his secret.

"That's good, then. I'm glad. We'll talk tomorrow. Harrison needs me."

"Yes, tomorrow. Bye, Ada. Love you."

"Love you too. Bye."

***

The speed with which Oliver's arm shot out, grabbed Steven by the shoulder and slammed him against the nearest wall, took them both by surprise.

Steven stared into his friend's enraged eyes and remembered the things the normally mild-mannered Oliver was capable of, things he had done.

He raised a hand to pat Oliver's arm. "Hey. Cool it. Take it easy."

Through clenched teeth, Oliver snapped, "Don't tell me to take it easy. You shouldn't have told her about New York."

"Yeah, okay. I agree. But it's not all my fault, you know. She should have heard it first from you."

"Are you serious?" Oliver's eyes thinned.

Seeing the dangerous flare in his friend's eyes, Steven back-tracked. "I should have held my tongue. It wasn't my place. I'm sorry."

Oliver frowned but released him.

Steven rubbed his shoulder. "Bro, don't you think you kind of over-reacted?"

He pushed a finger close to his best friend's face. "No. How could you do this?"

"I don't know. I'm sorry."

"Stop saying you're sorry. I know you, Steven. You always know why you do what you do. Don't insult me with your lies. What's your problem? You don't want me to be happy?"

He sighed. "I do. I just didn't expect you to fall this hard for a woman now... while Olympus Security's still growing. I care about our business and I know you do too, that's the real reason why you didn't tell her. I'm sorry, Oliver, but you have to make a decision. Fast."

***

Oliver lingered in the doorway of Steven's office, waiting. Steven was behind his mammoth desk, on the office line, engrossed in a conversation.

"Yeah, girl. Would you like a repeat of what I did to you two nights ago? I could pick you up tonight—"

Oliver winced and banged at the door.

Steven jerked. His eyes shot upward. "You know what, girl? Something's come up. I'll call you later."

He dropped the phone back into its cradle. Leaning back in his white leather bucket seat, he peered into Oliver's face. "Hi, what's up?"

"I just got a call from Tola. He's says that Peter... you know the Crestamead teacher in custody—"

"Yeah, you and Sheila mentioned him."

"Well, according to him, he now has new information about the case. Information about the ringleader of the gang. He wants to pass this knowledge to us and the police."

Steven's forehead rumpled. "He could just say it on the phone, save us a trip to the police station."

Oliver murmured, scratching his chin, "Yes, but Tola says that he claims he has received death threats and wants to be extra careful."

"Okay." Steven bounded to his feet, a grin on his handsome face. "Let's go. Does your telling me all this mean you've forgiven me?"

Oliver stared blankly at his friend and then stomped away.

"Guess not," Steven murmured, grabbed his jacket and followed.

***

Plodding up the stairs to her flat, Kema yawned. It was almost four-thirty, late in the afternoon. It had been another busy day at Storm Technologies but thankfully, after lunch, she'd had a client meeting in their offices which had ended earlier than she'd expected. She had taken off from there. Later today, she had a workout at the gym and a self-defense class but first, she needed a thirty-minute nap.

She hadn't been sleeping well. That was his fault too. He had broken through her defenses, declaring his love. And she had believed him; let him into her secret place. How could he? And how did she allow this to happen?

She sighed and dragged her feet to her door.

Two doors away, two strange men, bodyguard types, loitered. They glanced at her and turned away. What or who did they want? Most of her neighbors were yet to return from work.

She pushed her house key into the keyhole of her door. Strange. The hairs on the back of her neck bristled.

Twisting her neck to the right to peek at them once more, she caught their eyes on her.

She gasped. They were here for her!

Fingers shaking, she struggled to turn the key in the lock.

A second. Two seconds. From the corner of her eyes, she saw them advance.

"Open! Damn you!" she muttered through shuddering lips to the door.

It heard her. The lock yielded. The door opened.

Too late.

They fell upon her. One seized her, clapping his hand over her mouth and shoving her into the flat. The other trailed them in.

She thrashed in his arms, her heart thudding in terror. Oh God, Oh God. What was happening?

The guy behind, the second man, snatched the handbag she had been carrying off her shoulder. He stuck his hand inside it, rooted around in it for a few seconds.

She glared at him, her shouts muffled by her captor's big smelly hand.

The second guy eventually drew out her mobile. With a leer, he smashed the phone on the ground and then stamped on it for good measure.

She moped at the pieces of her now useless phone on her blue and gold carpet.
Chapter Twenty-One

"The girls wanted money for sex. I was only a middleman," Peter explained, an oily smile on his plump lips.

In an expressionless tone, Steven said, "If you say that one more time, I'll break all the teeth in your mouth."

Peter raised hands handcuffed together. He flicked a frightened glance at Steven. "Okay, okay. I was only trying to explain how I got into the business. I'm a teacher. I didn't plan to get involved in the sex business..."

Hanging by the tiny sole window in this bare room, Oliver wrinkled his nose. The stench emanating from Peter enveloped the entire room. How long had it been since he'd bathed? Months? He wondered how Steven and Tola were coping, sitting facing him across the plain wooden table.

Oliver eyed Peter. The face of a cherub and the soul of a predator. The guy was still yapping, speaking words but saying nothing they didn't already know. This interview was a waste of time. He needed to be somewhere else, preferably with Kema. He hadn't known that being apart from her would hurt this much. It was like a part of his soul had been ripped away. Would she ever forgive him? She was right, he should have told about New York months ago. He hadn't spoken to her, hadn't laid eyes on her since that night at his place weeks ago. He'd tried calling her, of course. But she hadn't picked up. Not once.

He needed to speak with her. He needed to hear her voice now.

Uncoiling his lithe frame off the wall, he strolled out of the room, muttering to Steven and Tola, "I need to make a quick call."

Once outside, on the pavement surrounding the front of the building and under the shade of the overhanging roof, he breathed in a huge gulp of air. He pulled his phone out of the inside pocket of his jacket and dialed Kema's number.

It went straight to voicemail. No matter how many times he tried, it kept going to voicemail. Her phone appeared to be switched off.

Which almost never happened.

He took another breath, glowered at his phone, and then typed a short message. 'Hi, Kema. Been trying to get a hold of you. About the case. With Peter at the police station now. Call me.'

He sent the message and got a reply that the message could not be delivered.

He frowned. Feeling eyes boring into him, he revolved around to catch Peter's eyes. Immediately, Peter glanced away, still talking to Tola and Steven.

Hmm, suspicious. Something was up.

Oliver called Harrison, succeeding in getting his wife's number from him. Then, he called Adaeze. After introducing himself, he asked her when she'd spoken to her sister last.

"This morning. Have you tried calling her?"

"Yes. Her phone seems to be switched off."

"Switched off?" Adaeze's voice took on a strained quality. "She rarely does that, especially not at this time of the day. I'll try now and call you back."

The line dropped. He waited. Some unnamed fear whispered in his ear. Why were they all here with Peter, listening to rubbish? For weeks, Peter had been insisting he had no boss. All of a sudden, he'd decided that indeed, he had a boss and now wanted to reveal the name of the said boss. Which he had as yet not done. What he had done though, was keep him, Steven and Tola here.

The phone in his hand came to life. Adaeze. Now her voice was laced with anxiety. "We've tried. I... Wumi... We can't get through. I even called her office. They said she left hours ago. Oliver, I can feel it. Something's wrong."

"It's okay. I'll go look for her. Don't worry." He hung up, replaced the phone in his jacket and as the potent mixture of rage and worry zipped through his bloodstream, he wheeled around and back into the room and right in front of Peter.

He loomed over the other man, and with his two hands, yanked the front of his filthy T-shirt, tugging him forward and upward.

The table shifted, ramming into Steven and Tola. Peter rose, in that powerful grip, his feet on tiptoes.

Oliver pushed his face into his. "What the hell did you do to her?" he snarled.

"I-I don't know what you're talking a-about," Peter protested, eyes wide with panic.

"You better tell me what's going on or I swear—"

Tola jumped to his feet. Holding up a hand, he snapped, "Oliver, release him. You have no right to manhandle him. This isn't America."

Oliver turned wild eyes to Steven and Tola. "He called us here on a ruse. Kema's phone is off and no-one has spoken to her in hours."

"Release him!" Tola ordered. "We'll question him about this."

Steven patted his friend's arm. "Do as he says, Oliver. I'll handle this... please."

He let go, although his big chest moved up and down, and his fists tightened at his sides.

Steven glanced at Peter. He waved to the chair on the opposite side of the table. "Please, sit."

Gaze sweeping from Steven, to Oliver and Tola, Peter sank into the chair.

Clapping Tola on the back, Steven murmured, "See? Everything's fine. Can we have... let's say, five minutes alone with him? I promise; Oliver will not lay a hand on him. We only want to find out what he knows about Kema. That's all."

Tola's brows drew together. "Steven, I don't know."

"Yes, you do. Don't worry." Steven fired a grin at him. Slapping his back again, he steered Tola out of the room.

"So..." he murmured, with a smile as he returned to face Peter. "Sorry about that."

Peter started to nod, and the blow took Oliver by surprise.

Steven's fist crashed into Peter's jaw. The impact hurled him and his chair onto the hard concrete floor. The back of his head banged against the ground and his back slammed into the wooden slats of the chair. Oliver heard the sound of wood breaking. Peter howled.

Steven's expensive loafer tapped the man's exposed throat. His screams dried up instantly. He gazed upward, eyes drenched with fear.

"You're going to tell us what you know about what happened to Kema or I'll crush your larynx like a bug. Dead, dumb or disabled, I don't care," Steven stated.

Oliver stared into his friend's cold brown eyes. "You better believe him," he said to Peter.

Peter gulped.

***

"What's happening?" Kema mumbled through numb lips. She glanced at both men. One, the one who had shoved her, had a longish face and a broken nose. His companion was about an inch shorter with a small scar etched along the edge of his thin lips.

Scar-Face chuckled, exchanged a glance with his mate. Broken-Nose glared at her. He snapped, "You put your nose in our business. That's why we are here."

Her eyes compressed. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Stop that. You're lying. You know who sent us and you know why."

Deaconess Akume. Who else could it be? She swallowed spit. What did they plan to do to her? Fear pinched her insides. She had never been in a situation like this before. Her mind floundered for solutions. She couldn't think of one. She was doomed.

She bit her lip. If she had only taken the silly woman's threat seriously she wouldn't be in this dilemma. And now she could see no way out. Anger, fear and confusion simmered in her heart.

Scar-Face raised his brows at her, laughing like a hyena.

And the anger took control. "You should know that I know people at Olympus Security. They will tear you limb from limb."

"Ah, Olympus Security. We know about them. Don't worry; we've taken care of that. They're out on a wild goose chase."

Vice Principal Akume must have done some digging and discovered her affiliation with the company. Now they were probably far away, on some fool's errand while she faced grievous bodily harm or even death. Sweat spurted out on her forehead and in her armpits. Was she about to die? She had to know. The words crawled out of her mouth. "W-What are you going to do to me?"

Scar-Face chuckled again.

His mate answered, "Glad you asked. You see..." His tone was conversational, "Madam told us to beat you up, teach you a lesson. But..." His gaze left her face and traveled down, lingering on her breasts and then on her hips.

She shivered. He didn't need to complete his sentence.

Rape. No, she would rather die than let these grubby creatures touch her body.

Just then, her mind flashed a thought. They weren't expecting anything. They didn't consider her a threat. She could use that.

She swept the room with her eyes.

Scar-Face was leaning against the door. Broken-Nose was two feet away. As yet, they weren't brandishing any weapons. She had a chance.

She allowed tears into her eyes. Her shoulders slumped. Sniffing and glancing from one man to the other, she murmured, "Please. Don't. I swear, I won't cause any more trouble. Please. You can take whatever you want in my flat. But don't..."

Broken-Nose turned to smile at his partner.

This was it. The moment she had been waiting for.

Kema lunged. Her right leg came up and out, smashing into the side of his left knee. It connected with a loud crack.

With a shouted "Bitch," he bent over to clutch his injured knee. Scar-Face rushed to his side.

She darted to the right, shoving aside a chair and flew to the door. Her pulse banged. The door appeared in front of her. She would make it.

Her hand fell on the door handle. Turned it.

The door remained shut. No-o-o.

She pushed against the door, twisting the handle once more.

"Don't bother, bitch."

She swung back to see Scar-Face in front of her with the door key in his large hands.

She stared into his face. Saw the fury in his eyes.

Her heart plummeted. She was in serious trouble.

She didn't see his fist move until it hammered into her stomach.
Chapter Twenty-Two

Oliver hunched over the steering wheel of his jeep, glaring at the road in his windscreen view. The car whizzed down Third Mainland Bridge, breaking every speed limit. Beside him, Steven's alert eyes scanned the cars coming up behind them and those ahead. They needed to get to Kema without any incident.

Eyes still directed outside, he said, "We'll get to her in time, bro."

Oliver's mouth clamped together. Yes, they would. He would get there in time to save her. The alternative was... unthinkable. "Yes, we have to."

"We will. And don't forget; Kema's a fighter. From all that you and Sheila have told me about her, I know she won't just roll over and show them her belly. Any person who can stand up to Sheila has my respect."

Stealing a glance at Steven, Oliver cleared his throat and then murmured, "Umm... thank you for what you did... back there with Peter. We wouldn't have gotten the information that we did if you hadn't stepped in."

He shrugged. "You can thank me after we've gotten her back." He flicked his eyes at Oliver, taking in the clenched hands on the steering wheel, the jutting jaw and the black hair on his brow, wet with sweat despite the air conditioning in the car. He added, "You're my best friend and she's your woman. So she's important to me too."

"Thanks," Oliver said and then he stared ahead and let out a loud curse.

"Damn," Steven muttered.

A trailer lay on its side like a hulking beast occupying two lanes of the road and disgorging its load in a seemingly endless stream of brown carton boxes onto the asphalt.

***

Blows and slaps rained down on her arms, her cheeks and her shoulders.

She had had only a few seconds to process the hit to her stomach, to feel bile surge up into her throat, to feel woozy before the man she had attacked had sneaked up behind her, threw his arms under her armpits and crossed them under her breasts. He had lifted her in the air so easily, like she was light as a cobweb.

Now, Kema thrashed in his firm grip, trying but failing to dodge Scar-Face's strikes. Her stomach burned. Her face, shoulders and arms screamed for mercy. Broken-Nose's arms threatened to crush her ribs. When would this torture end? Because she couldn't take any more. No more, please.

In the next moment, she felt herself flying into the air to crash-land into the carpet.

She shrieked. Lying there, spread-eagled, battling the fog of darkness that threatened to overpower her, she barely sensed her Scar-Faced assailant mount her and straddle her hips.

Her eyes fluttered open. His dark face flitted in and out of her gaze. His teeth were white and very large. A vein pulsed in his forehead. He was saying something.

"Because you nearly broke my friend's knee, he will have the first taste. So? What do you think of that?" He guffawed.

Then, she felt a hot, sweaty hand on her bare stomach, circling her belly-button and going lower. No.

His hand popped the top button of her jeans. Zipped down.

Summoning a strength she didn't know she still had, she punched him in the face, and again in the shoulder.

"Stop. Stop it," he hissed.

She slapped his face.

"I warned you," he muttered and then reached into his back pocket for something. A knife. A slim, fine-pointed scary-looking knife.

He aimed it at her left eye. "Hit me again and I will take out one eye."

Kema stared at the silver tip and froze.

***

The two men sprinted up the stairs to Kema's flat. Oliver tried the door.

"It's locked," he whispered to Steven.

"Peter said they would be in there with her."

Oliver took in a deep breath, leapt forward and smashed his foot into the door.

The lock gave in. The door crashed open.

The first thing he saw was Kema's black jeans-covered legs on the blue-gold carpet, sticking out from underneath the hulk of a man. Who was kneeling in front of her, between her legs. The other man stood over them, fiddling with his belt.

Oliver advanced into the room, at the same time registering the guy with Kema spring to his feet, carrying her up with him. Holding her close to his chest, he put a knife to her throat.

From the side of his eye, Oliver sighted Steven move in, a nine millimeter semi-automatic in his hand.

The gun went off.

The thug fooling with his belt squealed, clutched his stomach and slumped to the ground.

"I'm going to slit her throat," The other man mumbled. His eyes skipped from his friend on the ground to Steven's gun and to Oliver's face. He looked trapped, like a fox surrounded by hunters.

Oliver halted, a few feet away. Gliding to his side, Steven aimed his gun at his next target.

Oliver's gaze fell on Kema.

Her eyes stared into his. They brightened, like the sun had risen behind her pupils. Then, she smiled.

At that moment, tears prickled his eyes. His heart warmed and as his gaze traveled over her swollen cheeks, dark-bruised body and unzipped jeans, the warmth became an inferno.

He raised his eyes to the guy with the knife. "Hey! Listen... listen..."

The man turned fearful eyes to Oliver. Oliver saw his hand with the knife tremble.

"My friend, here..." Oliver gestured to Steven. "... will tap you here..." He pointed a finger at his own forehead and continued, "And you'll be dead. Then, we'll have to finish off your friend on the floor. We don't want to do that. Because then, we'll have to dispose of two bodies. But if you make us..."

He took one step, then another. "I will be pissed. And then I'll have to find your father, your mother, your siblings, your best friend, your neighbor, your boss and her husband, your girlfriend or wife and I'll have to end them."

Kema stared at Oliver. His dark forest-green gaze was on the man behind her.

She watched his mouth move, noticed the sheen of sweat above his lips. He was joking, wasn't he? He couldn't be serious about killing a whole bunch of people. He must only be trying to scare Scar-Face. And it appeared to be working because Kema could feel the knife at her throat quiver.

Oliver inched closer, keeping his gaze locked with the guy. "So what's your decision?"

"You're crazy—"

Without warning, Oliver's fist shot out and collided with his jaw. The man collapsed to the ground.

Oliver pulled Kema into his arms. Steven came over, his gun ready, and picked up the knife.

Gingerly, Oliver placed his hands on both sides of her face and lifted it. "I'm sorry, baby that you had to go through all that alone. I should have been here earlier."

She smiled and flung her arms around his neck. "You're here now. You saved me."

It was over. She was still alive.

She closed her eyes and sank into the shadows.

***

She was sick of staying in hospital. One whole, long week.

Gosh, she had had enough of the narrow bed. She missed her humungous bed at home. She had had enough of the tasteless and pepperless food. She ached for some peppery _moi-moi_ and savory fried rice and she definitely had had enough of staying in bed. She would give anything to go for a jog and workout at the gym. She hated being stuck in one place. Argh.

And she felt much better. Her face had gone back to its normal size, thank God. The bruises on her body had practically disappeared. And she could climb out of bed and walk around without shrieking in pain the instant her feet touched the ground.

There were some advantages in being here, though. The main one was that Oliver was here, with her. Almost twenty-four, seven. Well, apart from a few hours he spent away with his daughter and at work.

She was in love with him. She knew that now. Was certain of that. But she hadn't told him, not yet. She was waiting for the right time... or at least, until she got off her sick bed and resumed her life. Or until she had that conversation with Ikenna. She wasn't looking forward to it but it had to be done. So she could move on with Oliver with a clear conscience.

But until that time, she loved to talk and listen to him. Staring into those magnificent eyes, watching those enchanting lips move and spotting every muscle shift through his shirt, a part of her wanted to capture this time and remain like this forever.

During one of their talks, she had asked him about those threats he'd uttered that day in her flat. Did he really mean them? She had kept her eyes down on the white bedspread of her hospital bed, not daring to look into his eyes. Oliver's tone had flattened as he'd muttered something about being too anxious to register the words coming out of his mouth.

Which was understandable, of course. Didn't mean he was a cold-blooded killer. And anyway, a big part of her hated those men, hated the VP. She wanted them all to suffer.

From the first day Kema opened her eyes and found herself in a hospital bed, she had been struggling to encapsulate how she felt about the whole incident. Most people would expect her to be more fearful and maybe, even a bit paranoid. She'd endured a vicious attack. But one morning, as she tossed about in bed, it struck her.

She was furious. Who did they think they were? How dare they hurt her? She had been only trying to do the right thing. To help those young impressionable girls. To help her school. She didn't deserve to be punched, to be slapped and to be threatened with a knife. She wanted them to be punished.

She had gathered from Oliver, Steven and the police that her attackers had been arrested and charged with assault. The injured one, the one Steven has shot, had been taken to the hospital under guard. Peter and the two thugs had quickly given their boss up. And the Deaconess had also been taken into custody. Her husband and lawyer had gone on the defense in the Press, claiming her innocence, insinuating that the men were hired by Olympus Security to frame her and also hinting that Kema had lied about everything.

Kema had given a statement to the police a day after it happened. Tola had been in her hospital room with a Police Inspector. Both Oliver and Steven had stayed by her side throughout the interview. She'd told them what had happened. That those villains had assaulted her, forced her into her flat and then proceeded to beat her up. That the Olympus Security guys had intervened just in time to prevent them from raping her. She had insisted that the men had just about fingered the Deaconess as their employer. She had also mentioned the confrontation she had had with the very same woman on the street beside her house some weeks prior to the attack at her flat.

Soon after, the Press carried the story. Steven had shown her the articles in the newspapers vilifying Vice Principal Akume and hailing Kema as a 'true Nigerian Heroine' who, through 'some miraculous events', had been fortunate to escape the clutches of the thugs sent to rape and murder her. They had had a laugh about those _miraculous events._

Only three days ago, Kema had gotten an earful from Adaeze on her return with new clothes for her from the scene of the crime AKA Kema's apartment. Adaeze had been besieged by newspaper and TV reporters as well as bloggers desperate to find Kema. She had managed to escape without revealing anything to them but she had being adamant about not going back any time soon.

And as for Steven, Kema had been slightly surprised that they had become such good friends in such a short time. He had even offered her a new job. In Olympus Security as an investigator. Yes! And although the pay was a little lower than that from her job in Storm Technologies, he was throwing in accommodation—a two-bedroom flat—on the island and the use of any of the company cars whenever she desired.

And she had actually decided to accept it. Indeed, one of the first things she would do when she left this place would be to resign from Storm Tech. Whew, just in time too. She wouldn't have to be present at the party her former boss, Segun, had practically blackmailed her into attending.

Best of all, Steven was the only one who didn't warn her off any more risky and life-threatening dealings. He understood that this incident had changed her. It had toughened her up. She needed to do more. She needed this job with Olympus Security. And there was nothing Oliver could do to stop her. There was nothing anyone could do to stop her. They could all discuss it, form their opinions about her choices from now until the earth stopped spinning around the sun and she would still do what she wanted.

Her brothers, sister and mother had decided that she should vacate her flat immediately. Dan had wanted to rent a place for her in a gated estate in Ikoyi starting from next month but now that she would be an employee in Olympus Security with a company-rented flat, she had managed to convince him to give up his plan. Gosh, he took his duties as first-born too seriously. And she had being able to keep her mom from hopping on a plane from Atlanta to Lagos by agreeing to speak with her on the phone three times a day. She loved her mom, but they weren't really close and the thought of enduring a visit with her for a whole month was more than she could bear. She had more than enough visitors and well-wishers.

Apart from Oliver, Steven was one of the regulars. As were Adaeze, Wumi, Ikenna, Harrison, her nephew and niece, Timi and Bibi. And Ejike had flown in from the east and had hung around for two days. Principal Ochei and a few of her colleagues had also come to check up on her. And surprise, surprise, Nike and Sheila had put in an appearance. There was some good news: Crestamead School had dodged the permanent closure bullet and Rachel's parents had dropped the case against Nike. Sheila had announced that she would be sending Nike off to stay with her grandmother, Sheila's mom, a former nurse and a martinet, currently living in Manchester, United Kingdom.
Chapter Twenty-Three

Sitting up in bed, alone for a blessed hour, Kema smiled as she recalled Steven's reaction to seeing tall, leggy and wavy-haired Wumi stride into the room. He had practically drooled.

But for some reason, Wumi had been icy cold, responding to his overtures in monosyllables and avoiding his eyes. When she left that day, he had lingered behind to ask Kema if she could find out whether he had a chance with Wumi.

"Kema, he's handsome, polished and rich, yes," Wumi had muttered, "But he's a playboy. A dangerous playboy with a gun. Not for me, thanks. And anyway, I have Gbenga."

And that had been that.

Steven had taken it quite well and a few minutes later, she had heard him on the phone making a date with another girl.

"Hello darling." Ikenna sauntered into the room with a grin on his face. "How are you doing today?"

Kema sighed. She had to do it today. She couldn't put it off any longer. "I'm good, Ikenna."

He sank into one of the chairs beside the bed. "I saw the posse downstairs; your sis and your best friend. They were just arriving. Where's the hero? Not here today?" Ikenna's tone was mocking.

Kema rolled her eyes. She said, "When will you stop calling Oliver 'the hero'? You should be grateful to him for saving my life."

"I am, Kema, I am. But he's always here and you claim he's just your friend. I don't understand what kind of friend he is."

She coughed to clear her throat. "About that..." Her thumb and finger tugged at the ring he had given her.

His eyes fell to her hands. And constricted. He half-rose. "Are you about to do what I think you're about to do?"

"I'm so sorry, Ikenna but I can't marry you." She pulled the ring all the way out and held it out to him.

He glared at the ring but made no move to take it. He stood up. "Why can't you marry me?"

"I don't love you."

"And you're realizing this in one week? Because before this incident, you seemed to want to be with me. You took the ring."

"Only because you told me that I could return it at any time," she shouted, stung. He knew this was a trial reconnection.

"I see. So you never wanted to marry me, did you?"

She scowled at the ring in her palm. Why was he making this so difficult?

"Why did you take me back? Why did you let me believe there was hope? Were you planning on breaking my heart like I broke yours?"

"No! I would never do that."

"Then why?"

"I don't know, Ikenna. I was... confused."

Ikenna leaned over her, eyes flashing. "Because it's him you're in love with?"

"Him, who?"

"Don't insult me, Kema. You know who I mean. Your _friend_ , Oliver."

She wanted to deny it. To spare his feelings. But then, she changed her mind. He needed the truth. "Yes, okay? I'm in love with Oliver."

He clapped his hands on his head and whirled around to face the wall. "I knew it. I knew it."

He swung back to glower at her. "How many men would remain in a sexless relationship with you for years? Would he?"

What? Without thinking, she snapped, "Maybe it wouldn't have to be sexless."

He stopped. His eyes roved over her face and then over her torso. His mouth thinned. "Are you even still a virgin?"

"What?" she spluttered.

"You've just confirmed my suspicions. You've slept with him. How long have you known him? Weeks, months? And yet, you gave up your virginity to him. And I was with you three years... THREE YEARS, Kema! What's so special about him? What makes him better than me?"

"I'm not going to answer you. Take your ring and leave."

He pointed into her face with a shaky finger. "You are wicked. How could you do this to me?"

"You? You?" Kema yelled. "It's my body to give. It's my choice. Get the hell out."

He swooped upon her and snatched the ring from her hand. His eyes were venomous. "You're a whore. And he will use you and dump you like the whore you are."

"Get out of here before I call the police!" Adaeze shrieked, dashing into the room. Wumi followed on her heels.

He turned on them, towering over Adaeze. But Wumi stepped close, drawing her body to her full height, almost nose to nose with him.

"She said: GET OUT." Her voice was hard as granite.

"Whatever. I don't need any of this. I don't need her," Ikenna said and stormed out of the room.

Adaeze rushed to her sister's side while Wumi dawdled near the door. "Kema, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, sis. I'm okay."

"He's such an ass."

"Yes," Kema murmured. She glanced into her face. "Did you... you know... hear?"

Adaeze nodded. "I had guessed anyway that you had lost your virginity. Probably in Port Harcourt?"

She stared, mouth open. "How did you know?" she asked.

"I'm your elder sister, remember? And I know you. When you returned, you were different. Of course, it's your choice, you're an adult. At least, I hope you used protection."

She bit her lip. _Only in Port Harcourt._ She muttered, "Yes, of course." Now, she was lying to her sister. Great.

Adaeze straightened up to glance at Wumi who stood, face pointed at the wall. "Wumi, are you okay?"

She raised her head to show eyes that glowed with anger. "No, Adaeze, I'm not. I asked her if she'd been with Oliver in Port Harcourt and she denied it. She lied to my face and even got very irritated with me." Wumi veered to eye Kema. "I tell you everything, Kema!"

Kema shook her head. "I'm so sorry, Wumi. I didn't know what to tell you."

"I won't have judged you."

"I know! I didn't want you to think me weak."

"But you got angry with me and told me off."

"I'm very sorry, please forgive me."

She glared at her best friend. "It's not that simple, Kema." And she walked out of the room.

"Wumi!" Kema called, too late.

Adaeze patted Kema's hand. "Don't worry, she'll be back. She just needs some space."

***

Tugging his slim black tie off his neck and tossing it on one of the chairs in the empty living room, Oliver headed for the kitchen to get a bottle of water. He still couldn't believe that he was coming back home to see her—in his house. He would be coming home to her. Joy mingled with uncertainty and fear stormed his chest. He was delighted she had chosen to stay with him instead of at Adaeze's while she waited for her new flat to be ready. Her brothers and sister were in charge of moving some of her things into the new place and Adaeze had declared that it would take about a week before the flat would be habitable.

And Kema had mentioned to him only yesterday that she had ended things with Ikenna. It was very good news but he yearned to know more. What did that mean for them? Now that Ikenna was out of the picture, did she want to start something new with him? But she had been vague, simply informing him about her ex and not expatiating. Damn, he needed to know and he daren't ask her outright. After the dust-up about New York, he wasn't eager to bring up any conversations about their future together. Because he hadn't yet decided about whether to leave Nigeria or not.

A shiver ran up his spine as he also recalled the questions she had asked him. Those particular frightening questions she had asked him in the hospital. The ones he had been most afraid to answer. Did he mean what he had said? Would he have carried out the threats he'd spoken against that thug?

He hadn't been able to look her in the eye. He daren't tell her the truth. She wouldn't understand. And anyway, that bloody episode that resulted in the death of those two young men was in his past. He'd pushed it deep down below. Convinced himself that he'd become a different man. And it only took another attack on a woman he loved by a couple of bullies and he was ready to do it again. How could he find the words to explain to Kema what had happened that day in South Africa? His only hope was that she would never find out.

Shaking his head, he forced all thoughts of South Africa from his mind and concentrated on the thought that in a couple of seconds he would be with her. At least, he hoped this time he would get to spend some hours alone with her. Since her discharge from the hospital and her move into his house twenty-four hours ago, she'd been surrounded by people.

Adaeze and Bibi had been with her for most of the day, leaving around eight in the evening. And then, Steven had visited and by the time he had left over two hours later, Kema's eyes had started to glaze over and she had had to retire to one of the guest bedrooms. One day gone and even though they were living in the same house, he had barely enough time to be alone with his love.

He reached the kitchen and then, halted. There they were. His daughter and his... what was she?

Kema posed against the white cabinets, one leg hooked behind the other one, in a tiny grey T-shirt that just skimmed her waist over blue jeans cut off above the knees. With a hand on his daughter's shoulder, she smiled down. Lisa stared back up at her. The scene seemed so normal. Like a tableau of the perfect, happy future within his grasp. Something that could be his now. Something that a better man than he deserved.

Lisa asked, "Can I cut my hair just like yours?"

Kema opened her mouth to answer and he strode in. "No, moppet. Definitely not."

Kema swung around to face him, one eyebrow raised but with a grin on her face.

"Daddy, you're back!" Lisa yelled and launched her tiny body into her father's arms.

"Yeah, moppet. How was school?" He ruffled his daughter's dark-brown curls.

She pulled away slightly to glance into her father's face. She beamed and answered, "Great. Daddy, tomorrow's Saturday. You promised to take me to the movies."

"And I will. Just you and me."

"Yes!"

Kema laughed and the slumbering flame in his groin flickered.

His gaze fixed on her face. Their eyes linked. The laughter seeped away.

She licked her lips with a pink tongue. His heart jumped.

He coughed and said to Lisa, "Moppet, why don't you go and play? I want to speak to... Auntie K."

"Okay, Daddy." She darted away, leaving them alone, staring at each other.

Oliver started to say something. "Kema, I—I—er—wanted to—em—talk..." He sounded like a blithering idiot.

"Kema! Are we on?" Steven strolled into the kitchen. "Hey, Oliver."

"On? On for what?" Oliver frowned.

With an apologetic shrug, she replied, "He's taking me bowling."

Without warning, the frustration within Oliver boiled over and gushed out. He roared at Steven, "You have like a thousand women you could go bowling with. Why don't you leave Kema alone?"
Chapter Twenty-Four

As Oliver heard the words springing out from his lips, the regret followed, immediately. He sounded like an immature, jealous twenty-one-year old.

Kema and Steven traded glances.

He stamped out of the kitchen to his bedroom door. Pushing open the door, he entered the room and slammed it after him. He collapsed on the bed, shutting his eyes. He shouldn't have taken his frustrations out on Steven. His friend was only trying to keep Kema occupied, he knew that. But he just longed for time with—

Someone knocked at his door.

"Yes?" he muttered.

"It's me." Her voice was soft, calm. She came in.

He pressed his eyes shut although he could hear the sound of her bare feet on the floor as she approached the bed.

She climbed on.

He smelled her perfume. A sweet scent of vanilla. His eyes opened.

"I'd like to say something," she murmured.

He took a breath and sat up.

Her palms moistened. Her head thumped. But she didn't let it stop her. She stared into his green eyes and said, "I love you, Oliver."

His eyes widened, and his face melted. He reached for her.

She held up her hands, palms out. "Wait, let me finish. And I'm willing to be with you however long we have before you move to New York. I don't want to look back and regret that I never got to be with the man I love, even if it was for a moment."

"Kema..." Oliver whispered. He had allowed himself to believe somewhere in his heart that she reciprocated his love but now that she was saying it to his face, it was almost more than he bear. And that she was ready to sacrifice her ideals, her desire for commitment to be with him. He was speechless.

He lunged forward, captured her mouth and took in her tongue. He savored the taste of her and craved to taste more. He craved to taste all of her.

It was her turn to suck his tongue. She did so avidly. Then, after a few seconds, dragged her mouth away.

He protested, "No..."

Against his soft lips, she murmured, "I want to undress you, my love."

With trembling fingers, she plucked at the buttons of his black shirt, easing them open all the way down to the point where it was tucked into his trousers. She tugged it up and slipped it over his shoulders while his hot eyes bored into her very soul.

As he aided her in undressing him by drawing the arms of the shirt down, she felt the heat pulsing from him, leaping over to her and setting her whole body on fire. His wide torso finally bare to her touch, she ran her hands over those smooth, perfect pectorals and lower to that flat belly. Her fingers played with his belt buckle.

The warm flesh of her hands against the burning flesh of his stomach powered more blood into his dick. It was exquisite torture.

He got up from the bed and faced her. His voice was a growl, "Let me help."

Kema gazed at the massive lump in his trousers almost in her face. She glanced up at him. He smiled, but she could see the storm in his eyes and the strain in his expression.

Quickly, she worked on both the belt and trousers, until he was free of them.

Her eyes fell on the dark hair moving in a V from his chest to his waist and between his legs. His majestic penis, its crown purple and engorged, was only about two inches away from her mouth.

She whimpered, feeling the answering gush of moisture between her legs.

"It's my turn to undress you," he murmured. He bent over her.

Her eyes locked on his quivering lips, the pounding pulse in his throat and then he was yanking her T-shirt up.

She lifted her arms, helping. Her breath came in loud gasps. Her black-and-white polka-dotted bra sprang into his view.

Oliver touched the fevered flesh above her breasts. So soft... He pulled one bra cup down, exposing one ideally-formed breast.

One thick nipple drew his eyes downward. Oliver pounced on it, with his wet tongue and lips. He sucked it, flicked his tongue over it in circular motions.

The tendrils of an impending inferno in her body zipped to that point where his mouth worked its magic. She whimpered again. And when he did the same thing to the other breast, she shuddered uncontrollably.

With one hand and while his mouth ministered to the second breast, he tore off the bra and let it fall to the floor. Then unplugging his mouth from her nipple, he muttered, "Lie back."

She obeyed, gaze joined to his.

He unbuttoned and slid her jeans off, leaving her white silk panties on and then he pushed her legs apart.

He knelt between her legs and as his head came down, she flinched.

She had never being this vulnerable before. A man's tongue in the inner recesses of her womanhood. Should she tell him to stop?

She started to say something and then his mouth latched on her clit through the silk and his tongue and lips began their magic again and she felt a surge of electricity radiate out into her nerves, through her skin, out through every strand of hair, through her eyeballs, her mouth, her hair, all over.

Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes. She barely noticed when he wrenched the panties off, turned her to the side, and continued licking, sucking, eating her up. Devouring her hungrily.

She almost lost her senses. Who knew such intoxicating pleasure existed? It was like her beating heart lived between her legs and he was stoking it. And then her waist, ass and legs started to quiver, her arms shot out on either side of her as her fingers gripped the bed.

Kema gave in. And something exploded from her chest, through her mouth.

A scream.

His greedy tongue continued its labor even while she screamed and bucked, rocked by orgasm after orgasm.

Finally, as she lay, still trembling in the bed, he rose.

He cupped her face with his hands. She struggled to open her eyes.

"My love, are you okay?" he asked.

"Y-yes..." she panted. She gazed up at him, to those beautiful, adoring eyes, that mouth that had just given her such unforgettable pleasure, and down to the chunky, proud penis...

She reached down to grab him in one hand. His penis swelled and pulsated in her grasp.

She said, "Oliver..."

"Don't worry, there's more to come." He chuckled.

She smiled a little shyly and let him go. She had never thought of herself as someone who hungered for sex, as someone who loved sex until she met Oliver and experienced his touch. Now she couldn't get enough.

He sat on the bed, pulling her up with him, stretching out his legs. "Sit and face me."

She climbed on his laps, sitting astride him.

"Put my cock in," he whispered, fiery green eyes flashing.

She gripped his meaty penis again in one hand and with his eyes on her, guided it into her slippery wet vagina. She slid down on him, his thick girth gradually filling every part of her vagina. Wow.

Oliver groaned, "Wrap your legs around me."

As she did so, he crossed his legs. He clutched her beneath her hips. "Put your arms around my neck."

She draped her hands over his neck and as they began to sway back and forth, her breasts brushing against his smooth chest, the hot, slick length of his penis rammed deeper and deeper inside her tight, muscled vagina.

She gasped. He was taking over. Dominating.

And when he bent forward to tease her breasts with his tongue, she shoved against him, faster and faster. Oh yes. This was heaven.

He groaned again as he surged into her. Their rocking intensified and he latched onto Kema's mouth with his, ravenously drinking from them to his satisfaction. Down below, at the junction where their groins met, he thrust his starving cock, in, out, in, out. Her ripe, soaking pussy was a well of molten honey that he never wanted to withdraw from.

And as the contractions began from her loins, extending throughout her entire body, Kema moaned loud, her mouth pressed to his. She squeezed her arms around him as her body took on a motion all of its own.

Moments later, he laid her down on the bed and then knelt above her.

"Did you come?" she whispered, her blood still singing with ecstasy.

"No, not yet."

Her eyes widened. She glanced down. He was still huge, fierce and hungry. And she'd had multiple orgasms. She felt a flood of guilt. "Didn't I please you?"

Oliver grinned. That could never happen. He told her, "You always please me, Kema, always. I wanted to make you happy. And sometimes men have orgasms even though they don't ejaculate."

"But I want you to come inside me."

"I will, my love." And he lifted both her legs onto his shoulders and entered her again with his turgid penis. He pumped into her, unleashing the torrid hankering he'd been keeping at bay. Now, he allowed himself to plunder and possess her.

Minutes after, he drained what felt like an ocean of semen into her as he cried her name over and over again.

***

Excellent! Thank God, she could finally settle in. And just in time too. She would be starting work eight A.M. Monday.

Kema sped up the stairs, through the sitting-room and into the bedroom she shared with Oliver, a set of keys jangling in her hand.

Halting in front of the built-in closet, she peeked at her watch. Almost five-thirty in the evening. Oliver would be home very soon. She couldn't wait to tell him about this.

Drawing apart the doors to the closet, she inspected the contents. A small quantity of her clothes nestled on one side of the huge closet, dwarfed by the seemingly endless rows of Oliver's jackets, shirts, and trousers. Black, blue, grey, dark-brown...

She sighed.

"Hello beautiful." Oliver strode in, grinning. He circled her, wrapping his arms around her waist, her back to his chest. Breathing in her scent off her neck, he added, "How was your day?"

"The same. I swam, ate breakfast, wrote in my blog, watched some TV, read some books, ate lunch..."

"You'll start work soon enough. I'm sure you're excited." His eyes skated through the entire contents of the closet, focusing on the small cluster of her clothing in a corner. "You'll need some new clothes. I'll buy you some skirt suits, maybe Anne Klein or Chanel..." He clutched her breasts, "I'll say a size four here and..." his hands descended to grab her bum. "... A size ten down here."

She grinned. "Don't be silly. Wait a minute... are you talking UK or US sizes?"

"US, of course. So, as I was saying, I'm planning on getting you a new wardrobe."

Kema shook her head. "No. I wasn't even thinking of skirt suits."

He chuckled. "Okay, pant suits it is, then."

She slid out of his grasp, turning to stare up into his face. Smiling, she said, "Baby, I got a call about my new place from someone in your office and they dropped off the keys today. It's ready! I can move in tomorrow or over the weekend."

His brows lowered, his eyes thinned.

"What is it, baby?"

"I thought you'd changed your mind about moving out," he snapped.

With one eyebrow raised, she asked, "Why would you think that? I never said anything like that."

Funneling his hands through his hair, he scowled down at her. "We're happy together, here in my place. You told me you love me. We're finally a couple. Why would you want to leave my place?"

Kema stuck her hands on either side of hips. What was he talking about? They'd discussed this, planned this... that she would be moving into her flat once it had been properly arranged. She said, "I don't get you, Oliver. The last time we talked about this, you agreed. Where is this coming from?"

"Well, the last time, we had not defined our relationship. Now, we have. You're my girlfriend."

"Yes, so?"

He glared at her. "So, we can now live together."

"Without discussing it?"

Spinning about on his heels, he offered her his back. "I assumed you would want to spend as much time with me as I want with you."

"Of course I do, but I don't have to live here with you."

He veered to face her, green eyes stormy. "Why not?"

She shrugged. What to say? Moving in with him had never occurred to her. "It's not done... in Nigeria... I mean, girls don't just move in with their boyfriends."

He bit his lip. He muttered, "Cos it's a bad thing, is it?"

She drew air into her chest. Why was he being this difficult? She pursed her lips, deciding not to say anymore.

He scrubbed his face with his hand. His gaze pinned her to a spot. "Okay, Kema. Let's talk about this later. I have to help Lisa with her homework."

And he left the room.

She sighed again.
Chapter Twenty-Five

Four hours later, after dinner, with Lisa bathed and in bed, Kema and Oliver retired to the bedroom. He had not mentioned the move again throughout that time and she allowed herself to relax. He must have realized his mistake and would probably apologize anytime soon.

They undressed and climbed into his wide bath.

His back to her, her legs sitting over his, she soaped his hair with an apple-scented shampoo, enjoying the feel of her hands on his head.

He sighed, sagging backward onto her breasts.

She giggled. "It's amazing how much you love to have your hair washed."

"You're the best hair-washer in the land."

"Thank you, my king."

"Don't mention it, my lady."

She massaged his head, a smile playing at her lips. She had never imagined she could be this happy with someone so different from every man she had ever known. But she was.

Hopelessly, senselessly, in love with Oliver Constantino.

"You've changed your mind, haven't you, baby?" he whispered.

"About?"

"Your moving out. You'll stay with me, won't you?"

Her mouth sagged open. What the hell? Her hands fell from his head to her sides. "Are you serious, Oliver? Why would I just change my mind like that?"

"Because you love me." He pulled away from her, shifting in the water to come face to face with her.

She took in a breath, struggling to control her temper. "Yes, I love you but I'm not ready to live with you."

"Oh yes," he sneered, "Because it's a bad thing and you're a good girl."

She glowered at him. "I never said it was a bad thing."

Oliver aimed a wet finger at her. "But you implied it, don't deny it."

She frowned. This was getting to be a problem. She spoke slowly, calmly, "We didn't discuss this. You have no right to spring it on me and then get angry because I refused."

His eyes darkened. Compressing his lips into a pink line, he moved away from her, pouring water from the tap over his hair.

Kema rolled her eyes. So now it was time for the silent treatment. Great. Awesome. So mature.

She rinsed her body off, eying him as he leapt out of the bath and toweled his hair and body.

Stalking into the bedroom, he yanked open a drawer and pulled out blue striped pajama bottoms.

She stepped into the bedroom. Ah. Pajamas tonight. All other nights, he had slept in the nude. "So you're not speaking to me now?"

"I'm tired, that's all."

"Tired? Convenient. You're never too tired for sex."

He glared at her. "Well, today, I am."

She narrowed her eyes. So this was the way he wanted to play it, hmm? Fine.

She jerked open another drawer, removed a cotton nightdress and threw it over her body. Sleeveless and pink, it stopped mid-way on her thighs.

He collapsed onto the bed, the blue bottoms hanging below his waist, the black hair on his chest tracing a path to its home almost visible over the top of the waistband.

"This is stupid," she said, staring down at him.

"I've told you, I'm tired, Kema."

"You're acting like a child, Oliver. This is childish."

"Whatever," he muttered and then turned to his right side. His eyes closed.

She fumed. She climbed on the bed, lying beside him, legs stretched out while miles and miles away, on the other side, her boyfriend pretended to be asleep. Ugh.

This was stupid. She jumped up and landed on his big body, pressing her body against his side.

Surprised, Oliver turned toward her and she planted her mouth on a nipple, licking and kissing. It stiffened.

"Kema..." It started out as a protest and ended as a groan when she reached down and grabbed his organ through the cloth. It grew automatically.

She grinned, moving her mouth to another nipple.

With a growl, he swept her off his chest and back onto the bed. Unsmiling, he shoved her nightdress up to her waist and spread her legs. Then, he tugged down his pajama bottoms and rammed his penis inside her.

She moaned, shutting her eyes.

One deep stroke, another and another and as her body responded, hovering over the brink of an orgasm, he stopped.

"Baby..." she whispered, her eyes fluttering open to stare at him.

He stared down at her with dark eyes. "Tell me you'll stay."

Was she hearing things? Did he actually say what she thought she just heard him say? She scrambled to get her thoughts together. He had to be joking.

She lifted her hips to his, sucking him into her. He groaned again and then pounded into her vagina once, twice, slowed and then paused.

Her hunger roared. She needed him to take her over and quell her craving, instead he was deliberately holding back.

He stared down at her with hooded eyes. "Say you'll stay, baby."

Anger surged through her blood. He had gone too far.

"Get off me!" she shrieked, shoving at his chest and wriggling out from under him. Frustration fed the anger and she sprang off the bed. Voice quavering, she shouted, "That wasn't fair. I would never do that to you."

He didn't answer. He simply pulled up his pants over his erection.

"I'm going to a guest bedroom. You can have this room all to yourself." Snatching her mobile off the dresser, she stomped to the door, tore it open and then slammed it shut with all her might.

Muttering, "Idiot," she rushed into a spare room next door, locking the door behind her. Idiot! He didn't even try to stop her. Didn't even make any effort to apologize. Stupid idiot! Her chest heaved with fury and the strain of unshed tears, the ache between her thighs cried out for relief. How did he expect her to sleep? How? And he didn't say anything to keep her from leaving; only moping at her with those infuriating green eyes!

She sank into the cold, hard bed, fighting to keep the tears at bay. A gentleman wouldn't even think of using sex as a weapon. How could he? Stupid, stupid idiot.

Kema tossed to her left side, staring at the sandstone-colored wall. She hissed through her teeth and then flung her body to the right. Now, she was staring at the golden drapes over the window.

What an awful night.

***

Eventually, sleep came. By that time, it was almost four in the morning.

Too soon, her eyes flew open. Her mobile phone by her pillow dinged, the screen flashed.

Groaning, she grabbed the phone and peered at the screen. Eight-ten. A text message. From him. An apology, _finally!_ And that he had to leave for work but would like them to talk after.

She bounded up from the bed, all trace of sleep vanished from her eyes. Just before falling asleep, she had made a decision. She would move out today and present him with a fait accompli. See how he would like that!

She dialed Adaeze.

"Kema, how are you?" Adaeze's warm voice soothed her ears.

"Good morning, Ada. I'm good. You must be about to head out to your workplace..."

"No-o." Adaeze laughed and said, "I'm off this week, thank God. The children have just left for school and I now have the entire afternoon to put my feet up, watch a movie or two."

"Good, you deserve it. Ada, those movers that Ejike hired to move some of my things from my old place to Oliver's... Do you have their number? I'm moving into my new flat today."

"Oh, you're moving today? That's great. Yes, I have their number. You know what; I'll call them myself and tell them to meet you at Oliver's house. When do you need them there?"

"As soon as possible, sis."

"Okay. I'll come by to your new accommodation later today."

"Sure."

"We'll talk later. Bye, K."

"Okay, bye."

The call ended and she stared down at the phone in her hand. At that moment, another call came in. From Dan.

She answered it. "Hi, Dan."

"Kema... how are you feeling?" Her brother asked in his usual loud, booming voice that seemed to eat up the miles between them.

"I'm much better, thanks."

"Are you still in that man's house?"

"You mean... my boyfriend." Over the line, she could hear an intake of breath.

"I don't understand you, Kema. How did you happen to choose this man, a total stranger, a foreigner, to be your boyfriend? Are all the men in Nigeria married? I don't get you."

Kema could feel the familiar irritation build up in her blood. She gritted her teeth and then said, "It's my life, Dan. I'm an adult, thirty years old! Stop treating me like a child."

"Because you're acting like someone without sense..."

"Really?"

"Yes. What do you know about this Oliver?"

"It's not your concern!"

"Will he marry you? In the end, won't he just dump you and escape back to wherever in the States he's from? Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying you should hook up again with Ikenna... I heard he practically assaulted you... but there are plenty other men—"

Her bottom lips trembled. She clutched the phone tight, squeezing. In a hard voice, she said, "I'm going to drop this call right now."

"Wait, wait..." Her brother sighed and then continued, "Okay, have it your way. Hold on, though... Mom wants a word."

She took the phone away from her ear, swallowed in air and then returned to listening.

Her mom was speaking, in her soft, whispery voice that had always been in sharp contrast to those of her husband and her sons.

"Kema, my daughter, I hope you're feeling better."

"I am, mom."

A pause, then, "And how's Oliver?"

Her nostrils flared. "He's fine." Don't you dare.

At the threat implied in Kema's tone, Rose Ekwueme seemed to back down. She said, instead, "Is your new place ready?"

"Yes, mom. I'm moving in today."

"That's very good. Very good." The relief in her mom's voice was unmistakable. "And your new job in Olympus Security?"

"I'm starting Monday."

"Kema, my daughter... I'm so worried about you. This new career is a dangerous one—"

"And yet, that's the one I've chosen. Mom, the moving men will be coming soon and I'm yet to take a bath, so..."

"Okay, Kema. It's just that your father's dead and I don't want any more deaths in the family, that's all."

"Mom, dad died years ago in an auto accident on the Asaba-Onitsha road. That could have happened to anybody. We could all die any day, any time."

Her mother sighed and then in a sharper tone, she said, "Don't be so cavalier. Kema, you know the only reason why your brothers and I worry about you is because we love you, you're the baby of the family."

"I know, mom. But I've got to go."

"Alright, my daughter. Until next time, bye."

"Bye, mother."
Chapter Twenty-Six

"Don't get too worked up about Dan and Mom," Adaeze murmured as she pulled open an overhead drawer and set down first, one large aluminum pot and then a much smaller one.

Beside her, in the medium-sized kitchen, Kema threw plastic bowl after bowl into a bottom cabinet. The bowls clattered and danced across the wood, falling haphazardly into different corners.

Adaeze winced. "They care about you."

"Well, they should learn to care a little less."

Adaeze grinned at her sister. "You don't really mean that."

Kema snorted. Puckering her mouth, she shoved a gas cylinder to the wall and then yanked a piece of tubing from the tabletop cooker toward the cylinder.

She cut her eyes to Kema. "Is that the only reason you're tense and angry?"

Slamming the head at the end of the tubing onto the cylinder pin, she hissed.

Adaeze lifted one eyebrow.

Kema tapped the fingers of her right hand on the enamel countertop by the left wall. "Oliver and I, we had a disagreement..."

"I hope it's wasn't too serious."

She shook her head. "It's only that he did something I never expected him to do in a million years."

"Well, you don't know a lot about him, do you?"

Her eyes flashed to her sister. "You're beginning to sound like Dan and Ejike."

She flung her hands up in the air and brought them down again. "Don't attack me, please. It was just an observation. I know you love him, but how long will it last? Sooner or later, he'll leave Nigeria. But, of course, it's your life. You do what you will. I'll support you, whatever."

Folding her arms over her chest, Kema said, "I sent Oliver a text two hours ago, the instant I got in here... and he hasn't replied. Which he's never done before. He always responds within five minutes, no matter what he's doing."

Adaeze patted her younger sister's arm. "I'm sure he has a very good reason."

She wrenched open another set of polished wood overhead cabinets. Glaring sightlessly inside, she muttered, "Mom always takes Dan's side."

"No, Kema. She's just... used to avoiding arguments and quarrels, after years of living with Dad. Now, don't narrow your eyes at me—" Adaeze said, eying her younger sister. "Dad loved being right. And he didn't like it when anyone disagreed with him. Maybe that's why she learned to speak softly."

"I disagreed with him a lot."

Shrugging, Adaeze said, "You were his favorite."

"And you and Dan are Mom's."

Adaeze smiled. "Dad and Mom loved all of us, and that's what important."

Kema stared down at the pink loafers on her feet. "Yes, guess so. I miss Wumi. There are so many things I'd love to talk about with her."

"She's still not answering your calls?" Crouching down over a box of glass plates, Adaeze glanced up at Kema.

"No, not yet. I don't know why she won't forgive me."

"I've told you to give her time. She'll come around. You girls are best friends."

***

Seven in the evening and no reply yet from Oliver. She had spent the rest of the afternoon after Adaeze's departure, opening boxes and suitcases, hanging up clothes in the closet, setting shoes on the racks, folding bras, panties and socks and putting them into drawers and eventually, making up the bed.

Whew! Now, she was exhausted and hungry and there was no food in the house. Weeks of eating Oliver's and his housekeeper's cooking had spoiled her. Back to fending for herself. Ugh. But why, why, why had Oliver not responded to her text?

She would take a stroll out for a takeaway dinner and when she returned, she would call him.

Kema tugged an off-shoulder dark blue top over her blue jeans and abandoned the empty house. Her path from Ligali Ayorinde took her over an uneven road that branched out to Ajose Adeogun, a major thoroughfare. There, car horns blared into the night air, competing with the strobing of headlights. Commercial motorcyclists zipped on and off the road. The pavements on both sides of the road were flooded with workers rushing home.

Digging her hands into the pockets of her trousers, she marched down the road. Her eyes were trained on the road and the people in front of her while her stomach growled and her heart stung. Nine minutes later, she slipped in through the doors of Mama Cass, one of the many restaurants on this busy road.

It took less than ten minutes for her order of fried chicken, rice and coleslaw to be ready and packaged, and another nine or so minutes back to her flat, paper bag in hand.

She started to climb the one flight of steps that led to her door and then stopped. Her heart swelled, soared and performed a cartwheel in the air.

He was here! Sitting on the topmost step, in front of her door.

Gazing at him as he sat there, in a light pink shirt over black trousers, his head in his hands, Kema forgot what he had done the night before.

"Oliver!"

His head rose, his eyes stared down at her.

She flew up to meet him, bending to toss her arms around his neck. "You're here."

He smiled, staring into her face. "I'm sorry I didn't answer your text..."

Kema said, rubbing her cheek against his, "I'm sorry I moved out while you were at work."

"No, no, it was my fault. The way I behaved was... abominable."

"It's okay, I forgive you. That's not in your nature, Oliver."

His dark green eyes suddenly shone. In a brusque tone, he said, "You don't know me very well, Kema."

She straightened, forehead wrinkling. "I know enough."

Oliver's eyelashes flapped down to cover his eyes. He bit his bottom lip and then said, "I've been on the phone almost all afternoon."

Her eyes widened. She dropped to perch beside him, throwing her right arm around his shoulders, and with the left, dumping the paper bag on the stair. "What happened?"

Now, she could see the tension in the planes of his face and that portions of his black hair stood in spikes. His shirt was uncharacteristically rumpled. Her stomach roiled. Oh no.

His eyes shot up to hers. "I got a call soon after I arrived at work. My mother fell yesterday morning and broke her hip. She was taken to the hospital immediately."

"Oliver, that's terrible."

"Kema, I've booked a flight to Miami, via New York. I'll go home to see my mom in Miami and on my way back, I'll stop off at the Olympus Security offices in New York. Two weeks tops."

He was leaving! No, no. She gulped. But she had to support him. He had to go. This had nothing to do with her. She threaded her hand through his hair. "I agree, baby. When's your flight?"

He sighed. "This night."

Her heart sank deeper into its cavity. "Of course."

He smiled at her, warmth and gratitude bathing his face.

She said, "I'll come to the airport with you."

***

In the departure lounge of Murtala Mohammed International Airport, Kema and Oliver stood facing each other, a separation of a few inches between them, so close she could revel in his spicy, dark chocolate cologne.

An old woman wearing a multicolored caftan over a white turtleneck sweater shuffled by them, lugging a suitcase. In navy-blue uniforms with gold buttons in the front and gold piping on the sleeves, a smart pilot marched through the swarm of intending passengers and their loved ones, trailed by three equally smart flight attendants.

Breathing in deep, Kema glanced up at Oliver. Once again the announcement came over the public address system. Her shoulders stiffened. Nine P.M. The time had come for him to enter the boarding area.

"I have to go," he murmured, driving fingers through his thick hair.

"I know..."

"Keep an eye on Lisa for me. I know Steven and the housekeeper are watching out for her but I'll feel better if you are too."

"You don't have to ask, baby. What do you say to Lisa spending a few nights with my sis and her children? I mean, it'll be easier since she and Bibi are in the same school... they can go to school together."

"Great idea, baby. Thanks."

"And I'll spend tonight at your place, just to keep her calm."

He smiled down at her. He couldn't understand why he had ever fought so hard to stay away from her. Now, he couldn't imagine life without her, ever. And it helped that Lisa thought she was marvelous. "Two weeks only. Be back before you notice it. Will you miss me?"

In answer, she flung her arms around his neck. Tears lurked in her eyes. He needed to leave. She was prepared for this, wasn't she? And anyway, he would be coming back. Wouldn't he?

"Is that all I get?" Oliver drawled, gazing at her small, cute features and oval face. Before she could say anything, he grasped her face in his big hands and pressed his lips on hers.

She squirmed in his hold. Gosh, in public. She could bet all eyes were staring at them.

Enjoying her discomfort, his mouth remained on her warm, brown ones until she stopped squirming. Then he let her go and burst out laughing at her bemused expression.

"Oliver!" She smacked his right steel-hard bicep. Sweeping the hall with her gaze, she winced. Yes, people were staring.

He grinned, took a step back, flicking his eyes to the boarding area behind him. Glancing back at her, he said, "I'll miss you, Kema. I'll call the minute we land."

"Please do. And I'll miss you too, very much."

He waved and began to turn away. Then halted to mouth the words, "I love you," before spinning around and strutting off.

Leaving Kema staring after him, whispering, "I love you, Oliver."

***

Two weeks had passed and her greatest fear appeared to be realized.

Oliver had called her nearly every day since he had left the country but just yesterday, he had given her the bad news. Yes, his mom was out of surgery and back home, on physical therapy but he had decided to stay a bit longer with them, from four days to two weeks. And he still had to stopover in New York. Now, he was hinting at a month total in the States.

Kema tore the vanilla cake sitting on the ceramic plate on the table in front of her into two chunks. Picking up one of the bits between her thumb and first two fingers, she systematically began to crumple it to dust. The glass full of orange juice beside her plate rested, untouched.

Her eyes stared at the cake, blankly, unseeing. From far, far away, it seemed, she heard the chatter of mixed groups of male and female Olympus Security employees all around her. But no-one came close. They had been pleasant enough from Day One of the Orientation till today, the last day. But she had sensed a strain of deference hidden beneath the pleasantness and friendliness. Obviously, the fact that she was their boss's girlfriend had become common knowledge.

She welcomed the distance. She wasn't in the mood for chit-chat. At least, her new job had kept her busy. For almost a fortnight, she had been present in one of the conference rooms on the second floor of the office building from nine in the morning to four in the evening, Monday to Friday, receiving lessons from various heads of departments. Hours and hours of information poured down her throat. So much to learn.

She shared an office with one of the Chief Investigators, a man in his forties named Obi. On the third floor, one floor below Oliver's and Steven's offices. Within a week of starting her new employment, her company ID card, two packs of business cards bearing her name and new title, Investigation Specialist, a company email account, an iPad, mobile phone and SIM card were ready for her use.

On her first day, Steven had come into the conference room to wish her luck, his entrance causing all the women in the room, both single and married, to erupt into excited girlish giggles. She had rolled her eyes at them. Behaving like they didn't get to see him almost every day... Annoying women... about as annoying as her family, and even Oliver himself, harping on and on about the fact that she knew only a few bits and pieces about his past. And yet, she had been very well acquainted with Ikenna's history, his hometown, where he had studied and worked. She had even met his parents. Didn't stop his brutish behavior, did it?
Chapter Twenty-Seven

Oliver had not intended to linger in Miami, at the most five days, but the sight of his mother lying in the hospital bed, looking helpless, filled his heart with dread and he had immediately amended his ticket. Now, this was his second week and he still had to stop by New York. Well, he had tried his best to explain the delay to his daughter and girlfriend. That didn't stop Lisa, though, from asking him every day when he would come back.

His mother had returned home. The surgery had gone very well. She would only have to undergo thrice weekly physical therapy sessions with a physical therapist for a couple of months.

He stared across the dining table at her, sitting directly opposite. Now, she looked much better, much stronger. Apart from the few added lines to her face and the faded grey of her once-bright eyes, she was just as he remembered her from his last visit eight months ago. Her thick, black hair was piled back in a neat bun and a dark maroon gown covered her slim frame. She traded a warm, intense smile with her husband, his father, her face luminous.

His glance shifted to his father, sitting on his left, at the head of the table. Pete Constantino. Former cop and now successful restaurateur. His father wore a pale yellow shirt, buttoned to the neck, the cuffs secured with plain gold cufflinks. The mass of brown hair on his head, above his lips and on his chin, was heavily streaked with gray. Oliver had inherited his wide shoulders and bulky torso, although his father's waist had thickened with age and a more sedate lifestyle.

It had been a longstanding practice in the Constantino household to dress up, as much as possible, for dinner, especially when they had guests. And tonight, they had a guest. One his father had invited. Someone his mother couldn't stand. Someone he thought he would never see again.

Amy.

She sat beside him, on his right, cutting into the roast beef on her plate with her knife and fork.

He kept his face forward, although from the corner of his eyes, he could see her, her dark hair—so much like Lisa's—lying in a long plait down her back.

His eyes narrowed. Who did she think she was? She'd deserted her child, deserted him and now here she was, planning to wheedle her way back into his life. Did she think he would welcome her with arms wide open? If it was up to him, he would have ordered her to stay away from them. He wouldn't have invited her to dinner.

For about three months, she had been pestering his father, begging for news of him, weeping and apologizing for all she had done. His mother had steadfastly refused to allow any contact between Amy and Oliver. It had been inconceivable to her that a mother would dump her child and run off with another man. But his father had a different opinion. To him, Amy was Lisa's mother and for that reason, she deserved at least one more chance to build a relationship with her daughter. Lisa needed her mother.

Oliver didn't agree. He knew Amy well. She was selfish and manipulative. He could bet a thousand dollars that she didn't care a whit about Lisa, she only wanted him back.

Amy chewed and swallowed, then beamed at Leila Constantino. "The food is really good."

Oliver's mother's mouth twitched. She snapped, "I had nothing to do with it." She inclined her head to her husband, "Thank Pete and Oliver. They took care of dinner."

Amy transferred her smile to Oliver's father. Oliver's gaze remained on his potatoes. "It's delicious."

"Thank you, dear," Pete said, ignoring his wife's stern expression.

Silence took over. Leila took a sip of wine, glaring at Amy. Oliver concentrated on his meal, pretending not to notice Amy's longing glances.

Pete dabbed his mouth with a napkin and then placed it back beside his plate. His green eyes pointed at Amy. He said, "Oliver's been showing us photos of his life in Nigeria. There's a lot of Lisa. She looks amazing, beautiful—"

"She's a perfect little girl, healthy, happy." Leila interrupted and then she glanced at her son, a wide smile spreading over her mouth, "Oliver has done a marvelous job with her... singlehandedly."

Amy flinched. Oliver grinned. Pete cleared his throat loudly.

"I-I hope I c-can make up for—" Amy muttered.

"Doubtful," Oliver's mom cut in.

"Anyway..." Pete said, "You can take a look at the photos on Oliver's iPad later, if you want."

"I'd like that," Amy murmured.

Leila smiled into her husband's eyes. "We enjoyed the pictures, didn't we, Pete?"

Pete wagged his head. Leila continued, "He's done well, in Nigeria. I'm proud of you, Oliver."

"Thanks, mom," Oliver said, smiling.

"We saw pictures of his best friend, Steven, and of his girlfriend, Kema. She's pretty. She looks like she has spirit. Does she, son?"

"Yes, definitely, she does." Dammit, he wished _she_ was here, sitting next to him. Not Amy. He missed her more, far more than he thought he would.

Amy wilted. Leila's eyes glinted in triumph. Pete's eyes rose to the ceiling.

***

Nearly two hours after dinner, Oliver perched on the edge of a blue suede armchair in the large sitting-room, his mouth set in a thin line.

Amy lolled, all alone, on the massive couch. Her brown eyes were fixed on Oliver.

He was pissed. With his father. Why would he invite her to spend the night? And why would she accept? Damn! He had nothing to discuss with her. He would never ever let her back into their lives.

He pushed the iPad across the table in Amy's direction, muttering, "The pictures are in there, in a folder named Lisa."

She picked the pad, holding it in her fingers. Her gaze stayed on Oliver. "So... you have a girlfriend."

"Yes, Amy, I have a girlfriend. What happened to your boyfriend? The one you left your child for?"

Her mouth puckered. Her reply came in a hurt voice, "We split up, Oliver."

He eyed her. "You mean, he broke up with you."

"Oliver, why do you hate me this much? I'm sorry, I made a mistake. I was young, Oliver, only twenty-four. I should never have abandoned you, or Lisa. People make mistakes."

He scowled at her. "You've had over nine years to make up for turning your back on your child. You've done nothing."

"I'm here now. Please give me another chance. I want us—you, me, Lisa—to be a family."

"It's not that easy, Amy. Lisa's happy. I'm in love with Kema."

"You can't be serious about that Nigerian girl," Amy exploded, brown eyes flaring.

Oliver aimed cold eyes at her. Brow rumpling, he growled, "Why the hell not? I want even more, something permanent, with her." He hadn't planned to say that. He was as surprised as Amy as the words danced in the air between them.

"You mean... _marriage?_ " Amy croaked.

He shrugged. Did he want to marry Kema? What he was absolutely sure of was that he wanted her in his life—always.

"Oliver, I love you. I've always loved you."

He glared at the widescreen TV on the wall. "I don't love you, Amy. And you should be more concerned about your daughter. Someone you carried in your womb. Amy, I don't get you. Lisa's been living without a mother for all these years and while you were with your boyfriend, living the high life, you never once thought of your child. Do you know that I had to lie to her? When she asked me about her mother, I had to lie to her. I couldn't tell her that her own mother didn't want her. How could I? I spun her a convoluted tale about how you and I had separated before you'd gotten pregnant and I didn't know about the baby. You were too young, a student, with no means to take care of a child, and you had to give her up for adoption because you loved her very much and wanted her to have a better life. Then, I found out later about the child and took her from the adoption agency to live with me. I told Lisa that I'd searched for you for a long time but couldn't find you. What do you expect me to tell her now?"

"I have a right to see my daughter."

"Right? What right? You gave up all rights to Lisa."

Amy clutched at his knee. He shook her hand off. "Please, Oliver... I'd like to see her."

"I can't take the chance you would abandon her once more."

"I promise, I won't. Please, Oliver."

He stared at her through contracted eyes. At her clear, pale skin, small pink mouth and her slight, shapely body. He had been crazy about her once. The sex between them had been wonderful. But that had been a long time ago.

Oliver said, "Amy, I have to think about it."

***

In black Polo briefs and nothing else, he fell into the bed in his bedroom on the first floor of his parents' six-bedroom house. Two of those bedrooms were on the ground floor, one of which his parents occupied. The remaining four stood on the first floor. Oliver's room and three guest rooms.

He yawned. It had been a busy day, running errands for his mother, stopping by one of his family's restaurants in town, the awful dinner with Amy and everything after. And in all the craziness, he hadn't remembered to call Lisa and Kema. He would do that tomorrow.

His eyes closed.

It was bright afternoon. The sky shone blue. Suddenly, it split open. Something descended from the clouds. No, someone. Kema, completely naked except for a pair of gossamer wings sticking out of her back. She drifted down with a big smile on her face.

He groaned. My, she looked yummy. Her face reached his. Those soft cocoa lips touched his. He whimpered, craving to consume her mouth. Her wings draped over his face, tickling his skin. He opened his mouth to taste her.

And tasted someone else.

His eyes shot open to make out Amy's face above his, her long hair falling from her head onto his face and neck.

"Are you insane?" he roared, shoving her off him. She crashed into the carpet, arms flailing.

Stumbling to her feet, she said, "I love you, Oliver. And I know you can love me again." She came forward, breasts and vagina exposed to him.

He sprung out of the bed, staring at her. Felt only disgust. "Get the hell out of my room."

"Oliver, baby. We were good in bed, weren't we? Baby, I want you so bad," she crooned.

"Amy, are you deaf?" he snapped, striding to the door.

She followed him to throw her arms around his neck and push her lips on his.

"I said: GET THE FUCK OUT." He pried her arms off him; capturing both of them in one big hand and using his other hand to wrest open the door.

With a mighty heave, he tossed her out of the room, slamming and locking it behind her.
Chapter Twenty-Eight

"Ikenna is the biggest fool on earth."

"Ada..."

"Are you still making excuses for him after all those horrible things he's been saying about you on Twitter?"

Kema sighed. Glancing at her sister parked next to her on a cane chair, she said, "I'm not. But I don't want to waste even a second thinking about that waste of space."

Adaeze hooted, clapping her hands. One eye was on her sister and the other on the three children playing a few yards away on the grass. Above them all, the sun glowed, mild and comforting. "I admire how you've stayed above the fray, declining to respond to his rants. I don't know how you do it, because if it was me, I would be sending him unprintable replies every hour."

Across the grass, sounds drifted from the children. Yah! YA-AAH! AH-YAH!

She lobbed a smile at Adaeze. "You're doing that now."

Adaeze scowled. "Of course! He's basically calling you a whore and a liar—TIMI, DON'T YOU DARE USE THAT KARATE CHOP ON LISA—saying that you slept with Oliver to get a job, that you inserted yourself into the investigation to become famous, that you and Oliver fabricated the story of the attack."

"I know." Kema lifted and lowered one slim shoulder. In the distance, she could see Bibi and Lisa jumping just out of reach of Timi's hands. Her gaze returned to her sister, as composed and elegant as ever, even in a strapless top over cream baggy shorts. "You're doing all the fighting for me."

"Not just me—LISA, DO YOU WANT TO GIVE ME A HEART ATTACK? —Wumi's entered the ring."

She jacked up an eyebrow. "Really? I didn't know."

"Yes, she has. This morning. Wait... I'll check Twitter now." She grabbed her phone off the cane side-table by her right. Tapping the screen and scrolling through, she added, "Wumi's generally quiet but when she talks... watch out! Where is... oh yeah, here we are... I'll read it out. 'Ikenna Nnadozie is a dirty rat and gold-digger. He dumped Kema, broke her heart and only came running back when she became a star'. And another one..." Adaeze's eyes strayed to the children, "BIBI, DON'T MAKE ME COME OVER THERE BECAUSE YOU KNOW WHAT'LL HAPPEN IF I DO—Umm, yes, where was I? 'Ikenna's a jealous hypocrite. Men like him can't stand seeing their exes happy. But he gets to bonk every other woman within a five-mile radius.'"

Kema flung her head back, laughing. "She didn't write those."

"Oh yes, she did."

Unbidden, her eyes watered. Faithful, dependable Wumi Osoba. Her best friend.

Adaeze glanced into her sister's face. Stretching her arm out, she patted her small right hand. "Have you tried calling her recently?"

She shook her head, throat closing.

"Well, I think if you call her now, she'll be willing to hear from you."

Blowing out air, she thrust her hand through her hair. "I'll definitely try her today."

"Good, trust me. She's ready to listen." Adaeze's gaze traveled again to the children. "Lisa's the same age as my Bibi, but she's smaller and when she runs with those tiny legs, I almost want to clutch my heart."

Kema's gaze trailed Adaeze to the group of kids on the grass. "You know she keeps asking me if I'm going to be her new mommy."

"What? Wow, what do you tell her?"

"I don't know... I just tell her that I don't know yet, that her father and I haven't planned anything like that..."

"Aww, she likes you. I wonder how her own mother could think to desert that cute, little creature. Some women..." She shook her head, chin jutting out.

"I agree. She's adorable. Oliver did a great job with her."

"And how's Mr. Perfect? When's he coming back?"

"Come on, Adaeze. No-one's perfect. He's been gone nearly three weeks. Yesterday he flew into JFK. Still has some work to do in New York."

"How's his mom?"

"She's much, much better. So he said."

"Don't worry, Kema. He'll be back before you know it."

"Uh-huh."

Adaeze glanced down again at her phone and then up at her sister. "Do you know that on social media, you and Oliver are tagged as OliKem? The comments that people make on hashtag OliKem are hilarious."

Kema guffawed, shaking her head. "OliKem? Sounds like a drug."

***

All it took was a day at the spa. Mani-Pedi, body massage, facials. Totally worth the cost. She was happy, happier than she had been in weeks. Adaeze had been right.

Face smeared in a pinkish mask, Kema grinned at Wumi, lying on the lounge chair on her left.

Wumi smiled back, her long hair piled on top of her head, a similar mask covering her face. Two girls in their early twenties sat at their feet, prodding, scrubbing, massaging.

"So does this mean you forgive me?" she asked, nudging Wumi.

"Oh, I forgave you long ago. I was only trying to prove a point."

"Ah! Don't worry, I've got it. I won't keep anything from you again."

"You've learnt your lesson." Wumi giggled and then added, "Thanks for this, Kema." She fluttered her hand at the girl ministering to her feet. "It's been a while since I have been able to do this. I've been so busy."

"What's up?"

"I bought a house!"

"You did?" Kema stared. "My goodness. Where is it?"

"It's a two-storey in Lekki, after the third roundabout. I'm moving in next week."

"Wonderful! But tell me... how did your dad take it?"

She shrugged and smiled. "It took a lot of screaming, loads of tears and some surprising support from my stepmom, Her Elegance, but he finally agreed to—em— _permit_ me to move out. I even told him that the only way he could stop me was to chain me in a room—"

"—a little dramatic, Wumi."

"I know but I was desperate. After he agreed, though, he blamed it on you. Said you were a BAD INFLUENCE."

Kema chuckled. "Every bad thing's always been my fault."

Wumi waved her hand in the air. "Ah, don't mind him. He can't stop me from being friends with you."

"He would if he could."

"Jasper took one look at my new house and now he wants to get something bigger, to rent, though. He's so cheap. He'll rather spend his money on cars, trips and women. He's thinking of getting his best friend to be his roomie."

"He has a best friend?"

Wumi giggled. "Yes, he does. It's Reverend DaSilva's son. The last time I saw that boy was more than ten years ago. I didn't even know he and Jasper were still friendly."

"We have been friends for that long too. Remember the day we met?"

"Please don't remind me," Wumi said, rolling her eyes.

Kema grinned. "Anyway, your moving is good news. I'll come help you. Just let me know when."

"Of course, did you think I would be doing it alone? I'm sorry I wasn't there when you moved into your new place."

"It's okay. Adaeze was there. But you can visit anytime."

"I'll pop in tomorrow." Wumi leaned back and breathed out air. "This is the life."

"I know..."

"So... Oliver's trip. How are you coping?"

"He's in New York now, conducting interviews, having lunch meetings with potential clients. Doesn't know exactly when he'll be home. But he sent Lisa and I some stuff, cute outfits for her, Prada and Chanel suits for me."

Wumi pointed a finger at Kema. "See ... that's one of the reasons I like Oliver. He's good to you, not like that rat, Ikenna."

"I have a feeling Ikenna's a little afraid of you. You're about as tall as he is and fiercer when you're mad."

"Especially when you mess with people I care about."

Kema sighed, shaking her head. "I really missed you, Wumi, very much."

Wumi fired a glance at her best friend. Bringing her head closer, she whispered, "Hey, Kema... what's wrong?"

She whispered, "I expected my period to start the same week Oliver left but I haven't seen it, not yet."

Wumi's mouth opened into an O. "Are you... could you..."

"I don't know."

Peering at her friend, she asked, "Do you use birth control pills?"

"Sometimes. Don't really like them."

"Okay, does Oliver use condoms?"

"No."

"Kema! Are you angling to get pregnant?"

"I'm not, really."

Wumi hissed, "So have you checked... tried a pregnancy test?"

"No, not yet."

"Then when? When he returns? Kema!"

"Stop saying my name in that voice."

"Do you want to have his child?"

"I don't know, Wumi. I love him so much and of course, I want to be everything to him. Having his child would be awesome. He's a great father. But now, with him being away, I'm afraid. And it's the same fear. Will he leave Nigeria, leave me and never come back? And if he does, would I be able to live without him? But also, I don't want to use a baby to force him to marry me... so, Wumi, I'm very confused."

"Well..." She paused, bit her lip and then continued, "The best thing you can do now is to first do a test. Then we can figure it out from there. Just know that whatever happens, I'm here."

Kema smiled. "I know you are."
Chapter Twenty-Nine

"He's coming back today! He's coming back today!"

She couldn't stop saying it to herself. Oliver had called last night to inform her that he would be arriving in Nigeria this afternoon and, from the moment the call ended; she had been enveloped in a bubble of delirious happiness.

On the way to the airport, she had envied the birds soaring in the light blue sky. If she had wings of her own, she would be doing the same thing, flying and partying in the air. She had gulped in air pouring in through the car side window and it had seemed that even the air smelt a little fresher.

This morning, she had run out of the house to a boutique in the nearby Palms Mall and had bought new underwear. A lacy bra in size thirty-two B and panties, both cherry-red and dainty. And on her return, she had put them on, underneath a beige V-neck dress. She had even worn heels, not as high as those Wumi would wear, but high enough. Two inches.

_He's coming in today._ It rang in her mind as she coated her eyelashes with mascara, in addition to her usual eyeliner and as she painted her lips with a peach gloss. She had then sprayed Viva La Juicy inside her wrists, behind her ears and in her cleavage.

For most of the drive to Murtala Mohammed International Airport, Lisa had chanted, "Daddy's coming home... Daddy's coming home... Daddy's coming home..."

Kema had smiled down at the little girl, as adorable as ever in a tangerine dress, with apple-green ribbons in her hair. "Yes, he is." She had replied. She hadn't been able to tell who was more excited, she or Lisa.

In the Arrivals Lounge, she stood, head up, eyes trained on the exit doors. Gripping Lisa's soft left hand with her right, she waited, heart beating fast. They had been waiting for about twenty or so minutes but the plane had landed only a few minutes before they had reached the lounge so, maybe, any moment from now, passengers would start trouping out.

"Where's daddy?" Lisa whispered, hopping from one foot to the other.

"He'll be here soon," she responded. And then her eyes caught movement.

A huge-bosomed woman pushing a trolley packed to the ceiling with suitcases and surrounded by three young boys, lumbered forward. Behind her, a young Asian girl dragging a mid-sized bag squeezed past. Spewing out from the other room was the sound of stamping feet and of voices lifting in greeting.

Positioned on Kema's left, Samuel, the Olympus Security driver who had driven them to the airport, said, "They're coming out."

Her eyes scanned the crowd. She couldn't see him. Come on, come on, Oliver.

"I can see Daddy!" Lisa shrieked, breaking away from Kema and sprinting toward the crowd.

"Lisa!" she called out, her gaze following the girl.

Throwing her arms wide, Lisa flung herself at a tall, wide-shouldered man in a short-sleeved T-shirt over blue jeans. He grabbed at her and then bent forward to take her in his arms.

Kema stared. He raised his head to gaze forward, his sea-green eyes zooming in on her.

Her eyes widened. He had grown a smattering of dark hair over his top lip and down to his chin. It made him look just a tiny bit older but a whole lot sexier.

Oliver smiled, flashing those white teeth.

And suddenly, she was hurtling forward and hurling her arms around his neck. He released his daughter and slipped his arms around Kema's small waist.

Glad she was wearing heels, she brought her mouth to his. The hair caressed her lips. Breathing in his scent, a hint of the familiar mixed with a new perfume. Mmm, grapefruit, vanilla, delicious, Kema whispered, "I've missed you."

"And I you... very, very much," he drawled.

She kissed his mouth, her eyelashes fluttering over her eyes, her pulse roaring. He was here. He had come back. And he smelt like ice-cream and fruit.

"Do you like the—um—facial hair?" he asked, gazing down into her coffee-brown eyes.

She grinned and nodded.

He whispered against her mouth, "I hope you like it even more, between your legs, when I eat you later..."

"Oliver," she chided, heat rising up under her skin.

Below them, Lisa chirped, "Dad, is Auntie K going to be my new mommy?"

Kema's eyes opened up. She extricated herself from Oliver's grasp, flicking a glance out the large glass windows on their left. Gosh, children! She didn't know where to look.

He chuckled, ruffling his daughter's hair. Tipping forward to gaze at her, he said, "Moppet, can we talk about that later, hmm? I've really missed you and I can't wait to hear all you've been doing while I was gone."

She beamed, grey eyes gleaming. "Dad, there's so-o-o much to tell..."

"Let's head to the car. You can tell me all on the journey."

***

For most of the day in Oliver's house, Kema found it impossible to look away. Her eyes were glued to him. Her gaze worshipped him. That brilliant, hearty laugh, those strong hands and neatly manicured fingernails, those pink lips surrounded by fine black hair... But five lengthy hours to bedtime. Lisa's bedtime. It's okay, she could wait until she and her man could be alone.

Lisa had magnetized herself to her father's side, chattering about the butter pancakes the housekeeper, Mrs. Henshaw, had prepared for breakfast this morning, about Bibi's brother who had started Karate lessons...

Just before dinner, Steven sauntered in, grinning. And then he and Oliver had spent over two hours discussing the New York office over dinner.

After eating, they all moved back to the sitting room. Lisa huddled close to her father on his left-hand side on one of the long sofas; Kema and Steven sat side by side on the other wide couch.

Then Oliver produced his iPad with photos of his parents, their home and restaurants in Miami. Kema moved over to sit by his right, to flip through the photos. Her thigh pressed against his, the contact singeing her flesh through the dress. She held onto the device and exchanged a hungry glance with him. Oh, wow, he was as starved for her as she was for him.

She stared at pictures of Oliver's dad. So this was probably how Oliver would look at age sixty-eight. Not bad. He had inherited his father's build, the broad shoulders and the sturdy torso. She turned to his mother's pictures. Gosh, she was pretty. Her grey eyes smiled at the camera. Lisa looked a lot like her grandmother. Kema's gaze strayed to Leila's black hair. Oliver's was as thick and as full.

Eventually, Steven departed. Oliver left the room to put his daughter to bed and Kema got up from the sofa and entered his bedroom. She needed to remove her makeup and then brush her teeth.

***

Shrugging off her dress and heels, she strolled into the bathroom. There, she rinsed the toothpaste out of her mouth and into the sink and stuck her hands under the cool water running from the tap.

"Damn! Are those new?"

She swiveled around. Oliver lounged in the doorway, completely naked, his right hand carrying his impressive erection. He jerked his chin at her bra and panties.

Her eyes traveled from his face to his penis and back to his face. Damp heat gathered between her thighs. "Uh, yes, yes, they are," she replied.

His eyes darkened. His voice roughened. "You look ... amazing. Kema, do you see the effect you have on me?" His thumb caressed his huge dick.

She licked her lips. Wow. "You, Oliver, make me lose my senses."

He stepped forward.

Raising her hand, palm out to him, she whispered, "Wait for me in bed. I'll be there in a second."

He lifted one eyebrow but obeyed, going back into the bedroom. She turned off the tap, dried her hands and went to join him.

He was sprawled on the bed, magnificent, more god than man. Warm tingles pulsed through her body. His dark green stare bored into her as she approached the bed and then clambered on.

Bypassing his shuddering penis, she crawled upward, over his hard, muscled body. Kema's mouth lowered, onto his neck. Her tongue licking, tasting. Slithering down to his chest and to his nipples. She laved each hardened nipple with her tongue, her teeth nipping.

His eyes closed as his head tossed from one side to the other. He could feel his cock growing bigger.

Slowly, she descended, tracing a path of sensual madness from his nipples to his flat belly, his navel and to the short curly black hair in his groin.

He held his breath for a second as that warm mouth explored his pubic hair and then it latched onto the tip of his cock. He moaned.

She sucked hard at the velvet knob of his penis and then took her mouth off to murmur, "I'm going to suck you dry."

Oliver's eyes ripped open. Oh, my.

And she did. Using her mouth, tongue and hand, she brought him to the edge and at last, he detonated into orgasm, waves of hot, salty semen gushing into her mouth.

For the first time, she swallowed every drop of his semen. Yum. She had been desperate for this; to relish every inch of his body and to taste all of him. Four weeks and three days without him had been excruciating.

Eating him had been fantastic but now... Kema yanked her panties off and mounted his still-erect penis. It slid into her soaking wet vagina and her inner muscles seized him, exulting at his return.

He grunted, his eyes shutting yet again and as her hips undulated, he gripped her thighs, his head falling back.

"Baby, baby, baby..." Oliver muttered as she swayed back and forth and then pistoned up and down, her bum smacking against his groin. His fingers dug into her heated flesh. Wow. She was riding him hard, showing him how much she had missed him.

"Baby, baby..." The words were wrenched out of his throat. He raised his hips, to shove his organ up once more into her and as he did so, his sperm shot out, racing through the length of his penis and emptying into her vagina.

It was like her muscles had liquefied. She trembled as a body-shattering orgasm wafted out of her groin and into her entire body. Throwing her head back, she gasped.

"Baby, that was... wow." He opened his eyes to watch her. Could he ever get enough of this woman? Never. He had been without her for weeks. More. He wanted more.

As she climbed off him, he bounded up from the bed to wrap his arms around her waist.

"Oliver..." she murmured, eyes wide.

He was so fast. In seconds, he had hauled her off him, rotated her body, and positioned her so that she was lying on her front and her back was to him.

He growled in her ear, the warmth from his mouth already setting off alarms between her legs. His erection prodded her back. Gosh, he was hard again. And incredibly, moisture was rising in her vagina. She whimpered.

"Baby..." he muttered as his big hands carried her up from the bed, maneuvering her into a kneeling position. "I love you so much." His deft hands tore at the hooks of her bra, releasing her breasts from the bra's confines.

"I can't get enough of you. Can you see?" His voice was tight, strained. Spreading her smooth butt cheeks with his hands, he jammed his dick into her pussy.

She moaned. His strokes were deep, intense.

"Baby..." he whispered, teasing a nipple on one of her breasts with one hand while the other hand played with her clitoris.

"Oliverrrr..." Kema screamed as one after the other, orgasms coursed through her body, from her clit, her breast, her vagina. She gyrated against his penis. "Baby, baby, baby... yes, yes."

He flexed his hips and pumped faster.

She moved in unison.

Sweat settled on his forehead, chest, back. And also between her breasts and all over her body.

No more words. Just grunts, groans and whimpers.

And then Oliver found his release, holding her close to his body as the raging fire spent its force through his belly, his limbs, his skin.
Chapter Thirty

Breathing raggedly, Oliver collapsed on his back on the bed.

Kema followed, sinking beside him. Her heart thudded, chest rising and falling.

"Wow," he said, voice cracked.

She smiled, still struggling to calm her breathing. Finally, she agreed, "Yes, wow. Fantastic."

Flicking a glance at her from the corner of his eye, he said, "We're not done."

Her eyes opened wide. "What? You need sleep, you know."

"I'll sleep, don't worry. But I plan to carry on fucking you after I wake."

"I can't wait." She rolled onto her side to smile at him. Her gaze caressed his strong profile, his sweat-dampened hair and his bulky chest. Her man. With her left hand, she stroked his wet chest. Was she pregnant with his child? And if she was, what then? She hadn't yet done the test. She was still afraid of the result.

He cleared his throat and said, "I—er—saw Amy, my ex, in Miami."

Her hand stilled on his chest. "What?"

"Baby, I mean, she came to dinner at my parents'."

"Why?" Her lips curled.

"She wants a reunion with me and a second chance with Lisa. My dad thinks I should let her in because of Lisa—"

"What?"

"—but my mom doesn't want anything to do with her."

"And you?" Kema's voice was like ice.

Oliver shifted to face her. His index finger glided from her hairline to her lips. "Baby, you don't have to ask. I'm yours. One hundred percent. I don't want to keep anything from you. My dad asked her to spend the night there after dinner and she did. Later, she snuck into my room... nude. Tried to get me to make love to her."

"Then what happened?"

"Baby, I didn't."

"So she threw her naked body at you and you rejected her?"

He flicked his thumb over Kema's pursed lips. He chuckled. "Yes, I did. Don't you believe me?"

"Okay, fine. I do."

He heaved a sigh. "I was a bit rough with her. I manhandled her and then threw her out."

"I'm sure she's okay. Why would she think you would even consider going back to her after she dumped you and Lisa?"

"That's something I can't figure out. But that's Amy. Selfish. Silly. Greedy."

"Stupid idiot."

He stared at her and then burst out laughing. "I think Amy better pray that she never crosses paths with you."

His fingers fell from her face and switched to tracing the sweat between her breasts. In a husky tone, he asked, "How have you been? In my absence."

She shrugged. Okay, now's the time to spill all. "I haven't had my period."

His mouth dropped open. It took him some seconds to form the words. "For how long?"

"Since you left."

"About a month." He paused, licked his lips, "Are you... pregnant?"

"I don't know. I haven't done the test."

He breathed out, a warm green glint in his eyes. "Do it. Tomorrow. I hope you are."

What? She stared at him. "Did you say...?"

"Yes, Kema. I love you and you love me. I want you to bear my children. You'll be a great mother. Lisa likes you. Who wouldn't?" he said and suddenly those thoughts he had had in Miami crystallized into a clear decision.

Oliver added, "I don't want us to stop at dating. I want to be your husband, Kema and I want you to be my wife. I want to meet your mother and brothers. And I want you to meet my folks. You're the lover of my soul. You're my everything. I want you to have our children, a brother and a sister for Lisa."

Her heart pounded. Oh God. Was she hearing things? Was she dreaming? Oh God, he wanted to marry her. Tears crept into her eyes. But she couldn't let loose, not yet. First, she had to be sure.

Locking eyes with him, she asked, "Oliver... please... Are you saying these things because you think I might be pregnant?"

His brow creased. "No, no, Kema. Pregnant or not, I want to marry you." He knew that with Kema he would have what his father had with his mother. A love for all time. A happy marriage. And just as his father had once advised him to do to the woman who would become his wife, he would keep nothing from her. That meant he would have to tell her about South Africa and about the wrong he had committed there. He would do that tomorrow. If they were to be husband and wife, she would have to know everything. He would confess all... tomorrow.

And trust in the love they shared. Trust that she would still love him, no matter what.

***

Kema awoke to the grumbling of her stomach and the stickiness between her thighs. After Oliver's sudden marriage declaration, he had encircled her in his arms and kissed her forehead as she shut her eyes and relaxed in his arms. Within minutes, they had both fallen asleep.

Now, pale early morning sunlight beckoned through the windows. She reached between her thighs, felt something wet and tacky.

Kema brought her finger back up, stared. No, no, no. Oh God, no.

Blood. On her fingers. Between her legs. Her period. No, no, no.

The tears broke, seeping out of her eyes and down her face. She cried silently, not wanting to wake him. She wasn't pregnant. She wasn't carrying Oliver's baby. Her stupid menses had only been delayed. Stupid menses.

A light sleeper, Oliver's eyes sprang open. "Kema, baby... what?"

"Nothing. Go back to sleep."

He yawned, rubbed his face with a hand and then draped his torso over her. "Why the tears?"

"I'm not pregnant, Oliver." She flapped her bloodied fingers in his face.

"You're not?" he muttered, eyes fully awake now. His gaze descended to between her thighs, to the drying splash of blood on the sheets. "Hey, hey..." Grasping her face in his hands, he smiled and whispered, "You don't have to cry about that. We'll have more than enough time to work on putting a baby in you, my sweetheart. It's okay, my love."

"I didn't really know until this moment how much I wanted it." She pouted. "And I stained the sheets."

"So? Sheets can be laundered. And we'll keep trying for the baby." Oliver grinned mischievously. "Now is a good time."

Eyes constricted, she said, "I'm bleeding."

"That doesn't have to stop the fun," he said, laughing. Without warning, he pushed her thighs apart.

Kema squirmed. "Oliver, it's gross. The blood..."

"Shh... just relax, baby." He loomed between her thighs, balancing his weight on both his arms. The head of his swollen penis danced at the entrance to her pussy.

"Oh yes..." he mumbled as he thrust into her. Shallow, soft strokes alternating with deep, hard thrusts. Pounding into her blood-slicked vagina.

She stretched out to touch his face.

His teeth were gritted; his eyes shut and his forceful black hair flopped over his forehead.

Her breasts rose and fell in time to his rhythmic hammering.

Dark red blood soiled the hilt of his dick. She shut her eyes at the sight. Gross. But wow, her body didn't seem to care. The muscular spasms had taken over, branching out into every nerve in her body.

She moaned, low in her throat as he flexed and circled his hips, his hard shaft leaving no spot on her inner wall untouched.

She began to quake. "Oliver... baby, baby..."

And like two armed bombs, they exploded together.

***

They had showered together and while Oliver left the room to greet his daughter, Kema stripped the bed of the sheets and dumped them into machine. It had taken her nearly half an hour to finish the laundry and on the spur of the moment, she tugged off the grey top she had brought to wear over faded blue skinny jeans, replacing it with one of Oliver's casual shirts snatched from his wardrobe, a sky-blue cotton one. It was much bigger than her small frame, as if she was swimming in it, even after she had rolled up the sleeves but it smelled of him. Fresh. And of shower gel and cologne.

Breezing past the parlor from the bedroom to the kitchen, she barely registered Oliver sitting on a sofa, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled. She grabbed a bottle of orange juice from the stainless steel fridge and re-entered the sitting-room.

"Hey there..." She smiled at her boyfriend.

"Don't you want breakfast?" he asked, a sober smile circling his lips.

She shrugged. Lifted the juice bottle. "This is fine for me. Did you have something to eat?"

"Yes. Mrs. Henshaw prepared pancakes for me and Lisa. How are you feeling? You know... the bleeding..."

"I'm good." Kema glanced around. "Where's Lisa?"

He grinned. "She's going to bake a welcome cake for me... with Mrs. Henshaw's help, of course. They've gone to the supermarket to get supplies."

"That's sweet," she said, stretching out a hand to stroke Oliver's soot-black hair. He glanced up at her, eyes guarded, a faint smile on his lips. And an alarm went off in her mind. Something was off.

Her eyebrows drew closer to each other. Her mouth opened to ask him what was up.

"Kema, sit." He patted the space next to him. "There's something I need to tell you."

An unnamed fear crawled up her spine. Something bad was coming. She dropped on the seat next to him, placing her hand on his left thigh. "What is it, baby?"

God help him. Oliver sucked in air and blew it out. He said, training his gaze on his fingers, "You know that Steven and I were both in the US Marines..."

She nodded. Yes.

"Well, at twenty-five, I had become a father. Lisa's mother had just run off. I had a one-year old daughter to care for and I was looking for a more stable, safer job. I had heard of a private security firm in South Africa, hiring good men. So I applied. Steven followed me. He too needed a change. We moved to South Africa, to the main office in Johannesburg. The man in charge of Pandrax, the security company, was a former British soldier. Clive Blackwell. He took us in. A decent guy. He liked me and Steven and would invite us and a few others to regular dinners in his mansion. There, I met his daughter, his first child. Diana. She was nineteen... beautiful, sweet... good." He paused.

Her hand on his lap froze. She held her breath.

Oliver continued, "We fell in love. She and I. I was her first..."

Kema gulped. Remained silent.

"Then, she... em... went to a party with a friend of hers. In Durban, another city. I was at work. The party had been organized by Jonas Mohapi, the son of real-estate businessman, Desmond Mohapi. This Desmond is heavily involved in government contracts, bridges, offices, roads, schools. He has politicians and police officers on his payroll. Anyway... at the party, she got separated from her friend. And somehow, Jonas and his friend seized her, took her to an empty room and... and... r-raped her for hours..."

"Oh my God." Kema's mouth fell open. No.

Oliver's body shook. But he kept going. "She came back a different person. I didn't know what happened. None of us knew. She stayed away from me, didn't let me touch her. I kept asking her what was wrong b-but she said nothing. Told me nothing..." His voice broke.

She stared at him, eyes wet. It scared her. Seeing him like this. Why had he never told her all this?

"And then, one morning... she didn't come down for breakfast. Her father had to break open her door. She was on the bed... s-she had k-killed herself... pills..."

"Lord!"

He turned red, tear-drenched eyes to her. His chest moved. "Kema... she c-committed suicide..."

"Oh, baby," she muttered, rubbing his rigid back. A tear ran down her face and onto her lips. Horrible. Please, God, let this be where this story ends.

"After her death, her friend spoke out. Told us everything. At the party, she had searched for Diana for hours, banging on every door in the house. Couldn't find her. Until the boys decided they had had enough fun and released her."

"But why didn't this friend tell you all this when she returned with Diana to Johannesburg?"

He shook his head. "Diana swore her to secrecy."

"Oh my goodness."

"We buried her and on the day of her funeral, Jonas was at another party."

"So he was just going to get away with it?"

Oliver sniffed. He said in a dead voice, "No proof. Diana was dead. Nothing could be done. But I couldn't let that stand, I couldn't. She deserved justice. So I had Jonas and his friend trailed. And after three weeks, I got the news I was waiting for. Jonas and his friend were spending the night in a hotel with some whores. I took Steven with me to the hotel. We infiltrated the hotel, extracted the two young men and conveyed them to a secure location..."

Kema's eyebrows lifted. He was talking in a clipped tone. Using law enforcement-speak. Her voice sharpened. "What did you two do to the boys?"

His head dipped. It came out in a mumble. "We beat them up... That was the plan, baby. I only wanted them to suffer just a little of what Diana had gone through. I wanted them to feel my pain. I wanted them to show remorse... I swear; that was my intention... b-but then the little monster laughed. Oh God, he laughed. Saying th-that Diana had s-s-screamed in joy as h-he and his friend... he was saying she was a whore. And I... I emptied my gun into him."
Chapter Thirty-One

"Oh God!" Kema shrieked and then slapped her hand over her mouth. Instinctively, she slid away from him, her side ramming into the armrest of the couch. What? She knew, of course, that he would have killed people in the Marines but this... this was... different. Murder.

She turned her head from him, her body quivering.

Oliver forked his hands through his hair. "It wasn't planned, baby, believe me."

"And what h-happened to Jonas's friend?"

"Steven took him out... to protect me, to protect us—"

"Oh my—"

"After that, Clive smuggled us out of South Africa, insisted to anyone who asked that he and his employees had nothing to do with the murders. So, Steven came up with the idea for us to start our own company. In Nigeria."

She couldn't breathe. And couldn't look at him. Was he the same Oliver she had known for almost eight months? He had kept this secret all this time. Telling her he loved her, saying he wanted to be her husband... and all the while, he nursed this in his heart. And she had never even discovered that he had been in South Africa before coming here. He had never mentioned anything about Diana. There were so many things she did not know about him. Her brothers and sister were right.

She jumped up from the couch. "You told me once that you hadn't been in a relationship with anyone after Amy. You lied."

"No, I didn't. Kema, I didn't. I said I hadn't been in a long-term relationship. Diana and I were only together a couple of months."

Kema shrieked, "And yet you killed for her!"

"Baby, please—"

She spit the words out. "Stop! I don't want to hear any more lies."

Oliver raised his eyes, streaming with tears, to her face.

But she wasn't looking at him. Her arms were wrapped around her body and her eyes stared at the floor.

And at that moment, he knew. He had lost her.

No, no. He wouldn't accept that. They loved each other. She wouldn't leave him. She wouldn't. "Kema, baby... I'm sorry."

She only moved her head from side to side, her arms still folded across her breasts. Her eyes stayed on the carpet.

"Kema, please... I love you. Look at me."

She bit her lip, shook her head again. Her voice was small. "I-I can't."

His stomach flipped over. "Baby, you love me. We love each other." He got to his feet, stepping closer to her.

Hands up, in front of her face, she shouted, "No!"

He froze mid-step. His face crumpled. "Kema... please, understand..."

"You kept this from me for months, Oliver." She glared at his shoes.

"Baby... I was afraid you would leave me. Please... don't leave me. I can't exist without you."

"I don't know you, Oliver."

He extended a hand to her.

She stumbled backward. And her eyes finally flew to his face for a second.

And what he read in them brought him to knees.

Kema's heart was bleeding, torn into pieces. She croaked, "I need time to process this... this is too much..." and her feet were moving, carrying her out of the room and toward the stairs.

"Kema, don't go," he whispered, his hands rising to tug at his hair.

Kema didn't hear. She had disappeared.

***

The young man's milky-white orbs glowed. He sat up from the grave, hands extended in front of him, toward Oliver. He smiled a dead smile.

And Oliver shot him, twice in the chest and once in the head but Jonas couldn't be stopped.

He shot him again. Bang. Bang. Bang. But Jonas only smiled and now his hands were on Oliver's shoulders. No! Oliver, run!

But Oliver only grinned, vowing to kill Jonas and then finish off his father, mother, sisters and girlfriend. Then, he aimed his gun once more and it went BANG.

Kema's head leapt up from the desk. She sat still for a moment in the chair, waiting for her thumping heart to slow. Shutting her eyes, she drew in a deep breath. Oh, thank God. It had only been a dream.

BANG. She jumped. The door. Someone was at the door.

Wiping her sweaty face with her hand, she darted to the door and eased it open, peering out.

Steven pitched a stiff smile.

"Hey, Steven. What are you doing here?" She glanced behind his back at the bright sunlit stairs. Wow, was it afternoon already?

"You didn't come into work today," he said, his gaze sweeping from her head to her torso covered with Oliver's shirt.

"Oh. I'm sick," she muttered. _Sick with despair._

Steven arched a brow. In a dry voice, he said, "Kema. I know. He told you about Jonas Mohapi and his friend. Let me in. We need to talk."

She hesitated. _Steven took him out._ Best friends. Partners in crime.

He rolled his eyes. "Come on, let me in. Kema, it's me. Are you now afraid of me?"

"No." She sighed and pulled the door wider.

He strutted in and paused, watching her as she closed the door.

She scurried past him to stand by the desk in the centre of the room. Head high, she glowered at him. "So, what do you want?"

"I'm here to explain what happened. Oliver's a very passionate person... yes, he has a reserved, put-together exterior but inside, he's all heat. He's moved by emotion. It was an accident. Those boys caused the death of a wonderful young woman and they weren't even sorry, for goodness' sake! We didn't plan to kill them. It just happened." He massaged the back of his neck and added, "Look, I'm not sorry for what I did. They were animals and they deserved to be put down. But Oliver has been tortured by this incident for many years. He's a good man."

Her voice was clipped. "And you're not?"

"Kema, I'm here for Oliver's sake. I'm asking you to talk to him. He needs you. He's devastated."

She twisted uncomfortably. "I asked him for time."

"And he's given you time."

She scowled at him and planted her hands on her hips. "Twenty-four hours! That's not enough."

"So how much time do you need?"

"Steven, I don't know..." She fanned her fingers through her Mohawk. Her head jack-hammered. She hadn't been able to sleep. Thinking of Oliver, of his confession. How much he had kept from her.

"Okay, okay. I'll go." He stamped to the door and then halted. "One more thing," he said, pivoting to stare at her with stern gold-flecked eyes. "Don't breathe a word to anyone about what Oliver told you. Desmond Mohapi is still searching for his son's killer and if he discovers it's us, you would have signed our death warrant. Do you want Oliver dead?"

Kema clasped one hand to her chest. "No, of course not."

"Then tell no-one, not even Wumi."

"Yes, yes, sure."

He yanked the door open, almost walking into Wumi. "Sorry, didn't see you." He grinned, exposing white, even teeth.

She smiled faintly. "Hi."

"How are you?" His hand touched her wrist.

She slithered away. "I'm okay," she said, entering the flat.

"Good. Till next time."

"Yes."

"Bye, Kema."

"Steven," Kema muttered, eye on the door closing behind him. She swallowed air into her lungs.

Wumi rushed forward. "You look terrible!" She sniffed the air around her friend. "You smell of sweat. Have you bathed today?"

"No." Her mouth curled. "I slept late."

"Kema, it's two in the afternoon. Are you okay?" Wumi bent over Kema, pressing the back of her hand against her friend's wet forehead.

Kema licked her dry lips. "I started my menstrual period yesterday."

"Oh, Kema, I'm so sorry... I know you hoped you would be pregnant with Oliver's baby. You must be miserable."

"I'm okay, getting better now." She lodged her bum against the wooden desk. She wished Wumi would leave. She wanted to sleep. To do nothing but sleep and forget.

Wumi crinkled her nose as she edged behind Kema to sit on the chair in front of the desk. "But you need to shower. That's like, vital."

"I will, Wumi. So what are you doing here? How did you know I'll be home?"

She shrugged. "Oliver called me. Said you were off work today."

"I see." Kema's fingers curled.

"What did Steven want?"

"Came to check up on me."

"That's nice of him."

"Umhmm."

Wumi's hands seized the mouse attached to the laptop on the top of the desk. The screen sprang to life.

Kema swerved on her friend, eyes flaming. "Wumi! That's private!"

But Wumi's eyes were already staring, wide. At a website boasting pictures of a dark-haired girl with dark brown eyes and a shy smile. And on the same page, photos of the girl in an ornate coffin, surrounded by a bald-headed soldierly-looking man in his fifties holding up a blonde, middle-aged woman.

She turned to stare at her friend.

Kema scratched her head. "It's research for work. The girl was raped by two guys. She killed herself."

"That's horrible. What was her name?"

"Um, Diana Blackwell. She was nineteen."

"Nineteen! Ah, shame. Did they ever catch the rapists?"

In answer, she grabbed the mouse from Wumi and clicked on another page.

Wumi gasped. These two photos were ghastly. They dominated the page, displaying two bodies in body bags lying side by side in an empty warehouse. Their blood-splattered heads and shoulders were uncovered.

"The rapists," Kema explained.

"Really? Who did this to them?"

She shrugged. "No-one knows." Ugh, she was lying to her best friend. Again.

Wumi leaned back, wagging her head. "Well, it's horrible but they kind of deserved it."

"Wumi! How can you say that? We don't get to be judge and jury."

"Yes, but I'm just saying that some people need to taste the medicine they dish out to others."

"But she chose to commit suicide."

"Because they raped her. So, in effect, they killed her."

Kema frowned. "They didn't deserve this." She glared at the screen.

She glanced up at her friend. She said, "Kema, if those men who broke into your former flat and attacked you had ended up killing you, I don't know what I would have done... probably paid Steven to take them out."

"Wumi!"

"I'm serious, Kema. We can't predict how anyone of us will behave when someone we love is murdered. Think about it; if someone killed Oliver or Adaeze or Timi, Bibi or me and you knew who it was and had the means to exact justice, would you?"

She stared down at her best friend, unable to reply.
Chapter Thirty-Two

First day back at work after two days off sick. Kema sprinted out of her office, heading to the copying room. She and Obi had a teleconference with some clients in Port Harcourt in ten minutes. Sneaking a glance at her watch, she didn't notice someone coming toward her until she collided with a firm body.

Electric current surged in through her skin. She looked up.

Oliver. In a navy-blue jacket over a black shirt, he towered over her, underneath his eyes were painted dark shadows.

"Kema..." he breathed her name as if she was a glass of ice-cold water on a blinding-hot day.

Adrenaline coursed through her blood. She had been hoping not to run into him. Her emotions were still wound in a thorny knot. It was too painful to separate each one. She needed more time. And here he stood, his gaze engulfing her.

"Oliver," she murmured, her glance whizzing around her. A group of men walked past, pretending not to notice them.

"Kema... I've missed you. Please, let's talk."

"Oliver, I-1—"

"Baby," he whispered, placing one hand on her left cheek.

And without thinking, she flinched.

His green eyes expanded. Filled with shock. He staggered back.

At the expression in his eyes, her shoulders sagged. She didn't mean it. She started to say exactly that but he rushed past her, through the bull-pen and into the elevator.

***

Hours later, Oliver swung the glass back and forth in his hand, watching the dark brown contents swirl. The sun had vanished, giving up its place to a clear moon-free evening.

From the lounge chair beside him, Steven murmured, "I hope you don't intend to waste the brandy. If you're not going to drink it..."

"I'll drink, Steven." But he couldn't bring the glass to his lips. The effort was too great.

Steven sighed. "Bro, she'll come around."

He laughed bitterly. "I don't know. You didn't see the way she looked at me."

"She's in shock. I'm sure it wasn't intentional." Steven's gaze switched to the shining water in the pool a few yards away. Under his breath, he muttered, "That's why I'm never falling in love. Men become zombies."

Oliver's head flew up. "I heard that."

Steven's lips curved in a grin. "Oops."

"She's destroyed me, Steven. I'm destroyed. How can I cope?"

Steven peered at his friend's stricken face and slightly unfocused green eyes. He firmed his tone. "You're not destroyed. Don't say that. I've never heard you speak like this in the past. Oliver, come on, you've been in love before."

He glowered, baring white teeth. "This is different. What I feel for Kema is unlike anything I've ever felt for any woman. Are you saying I should get over her?"

Backing down, Steven muttered, "No, of course not. I just hate to see you like this."

"She was going to be my wife, my soul... Steven, she's broken me."

He squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. "It'll be okay, Oliver. You love each other. She wouldn't just throw away her feelings for you that easily. She needs time to process this. Our life, what we've done, what we do... it takes some getting used to."

"Steven, the way she recoiled from me. I thought I would have a heart attack."

He frowned. "Oliver. Give her time." Wagging his head, he put his glass to his mouth and gulped down most of it. His gaze strayed to his Breitling watch. He had a date later this night with twin sisters, one of whom was an ex-Most Beautiful Girl in Nigeria.

The brandy in Oliver's glass churned. But all he could see were Kema's panicked eyes, staring at him like he was a stranger. Maybe he shouldn't have gotten involved with her in the first place. And then he wouldn't have fallen so hopelessly in love. But, no. He didn't regret one moment with her. He had been very, very happy. He whispered to the brandy, "I need her now."

"Oliver, she's not ready."

His lips trembled. "I can't work with her. I can't see her and not be with her, I can't."

Steven jacked up an eyebrow. "Do you want me to fire her?"

Oliver's head swiveled to face him. "What? _No!_ "

He shrugged a shoulder. "Well, if firing her is not an option, then, probably, you'll have to transfer to New York. At least now you have no reason to postpone it anymore. And in a couple of months, you can return for a break, try to make it up with her."

Oliver glanced up at the dark blue sky. New York. That could be the answer. He would be able to give her space to make up her mind. And also, he would be able to function, do some work without imagining her sitting in her office one floor down. He burned to kiss her, to sink himself into her lush delights but she didn't want anything to do with him.

"That's a good idea, bro," he muttered, eventually bringing the glass to his lips. He sipped, feeling the rush of heat zipping down his gullet. "This is the best time to go to NYC. Maybe, for one year."

"And you can fly into Lagos as often as you like."

He nodded. "Yes. I only have to arrange Lisa's transfer to a school in New York."

"Exactly. And if you need any help, any help at all, call on me."

"Thanks, Steven."

They bumped fists.

***

Fingers tapping on the mahogany desk, Kema moped at the screen of her laptop, using one hand to manipulate the mouse. Scrolling down, reading what she had written and what others had written in response. Her blog. On the desk, her black desktop computer rested, forgotten.

She was at work... or at least, she was supposed to be working. Her gaze skipped to the timestamp on the bottom of the screen. Twelve minutes to eleven.

She sighed. She had a fifty-five-page report to read and an eight-page presentation to prepare. But all she could do was to read and re-read her blog and the accompanying comments.

She scrolled back up, beginning once again to read what she had written.

That's What Kema Thinks

W e d n e s d a y, March 16, 2 0 1 4

Vengeance or Forgiveness? You Choose

Recently, I've begun to wonder... What if those men who attacked me had succeeding in raping me? And what if, by some stroke of fate, they were at my mercy and I had a loaded gun in my hand, pointing straight at them... would I pull the trigger? I would, off the top of my head, say that I wouldn't, I would let them go. But to tell the truth, I don't know. I wasn't raped, I've never been raped and I don't know how a rape victim would feel about her abusers. So I'm asking you: what would you do if you had a chance to aim a gun at someone who's hurt you or someone you love? Would you pull the trigger?

Her head shifted from side to side, once. She scrolled down, faster this time, scanning the comments. Three hundred and twenty-four comments. A few mentioned that the right thing to do was to forgive. There were quite a large number in favor of shooting the dogs dead, as one over-zealous writer put it. But overwhelmingly, most of them agreed with her. They didn't know if they would pull the trigger.

She sighed again. Her eyes left the monitor and fell to the charcoal-black pinstriped fitted jacket over wide-leg trousers covering her body. This was one of the suits Oliver had purchased for her. Oliver.

She leaned back in her leather seat, mouth widening in a smile. Her mind hurtled to the day, nearly nine months ago in Sheila's house, when she'd turned round to sight Oliver, gaping at her, like he'd forgotten where he was, like his eyes were super-glued to hers. Crazy!

And then, a lump formed deep in her throat. Oliver, hair wet, coming to her rescue after her hare-brained chase of the Crestamead School van... Oliver, wiping vomit stains off her clothes in front of Unhinged...

She breathed in air, heart thrumming. Her first time... with him, in his hotel room in Port Harcourt... Mind-blowing, blood-igniting, earth-vibrating... from that moment, she was lost. And every moment since, every delicious intimate moment.

And—oh—that day at the airport, as he sauntered out of the Arrivals lounge, fit, sexy as hell, with the knees-weakening facial hair he'd grown and that core-melting glint in his green eyes. Oh my!

She shifted in her seat. And ten days ago... before... in bed with him. Oliver, finally saying all those wonderful things she had hoped in the depths of her heart that he would, one day, say. He wanted to be her husband. He wanted them to make a family. He'd dissolved all those fears she had kept locked away... that he would leave her, leave Nigeria and go back to the States, never to return.

He had trusted her enough to reveal his deepest, darkest, bloodiest secret. And what had she done? Run from him, that's what!

No more running.

She vaulted off the chair and charged out of her office, into the elevators, heartbeat doubling. She was headed one floor up.

The minute the doors slid open, she darted out, past the bull-pen, to the corridor on the left. And stopped.

Oliver's door was shut— _weird_ —and the open cubicle in front which normally housed his personal assistant was empty.

Kema's forehead scrunched up. She went up to Oliver's door. Knocked. No answer.

She depressed the handle, pushed. It was locked.

She bit her lip, frown deepening and then rushed next door to Steven's. No luck. His door was also locked and his PA was also missing.

Where were they?

Her stomach tossed. _Oliver, where are you?_ She remained in between the two shut offices, ignoring everyone around her.

Her phone, in the side-pocket of her trousers, tinkled. Her eyes cleared, sharpened. Wresting the phone from her pocket and onto her ear, she answered, "Yes?"

Adaeze's tone was brusque. "Kema, it's me. Since when did you start answering the phone rudely?"

Kema sighed. She wasn't in the mood for this. "I didn't look at the caller ID. Didn't know it was you."

"Even so."

Her nostrils flared. "Adaeze, I can't talk now—"

"Anyway... I called because Bibi's upset. She's been crying all morning. Lisa's leaving Nigeria for a year. I can't understand why you didn't mention this."

She swayed on her feet, suddenly faint. Adaeze's voice had faded into the background. All she could hear was her hammering heart. No, no, no.

"Kema! Kema!"

She swallowed back saliva. Her head hurt. She managed to mumble, "Ada, I-I need to go, r-right now."

Cutting the line, she checked her phone for a number, one she had called often. Oliver's.

But dialing his number didn't help. His phone was switched off.

She sighed. Was it any use trying Steven's? Probably not, but she did it anyway. Yep, it too was off. Argh!

She rotated toward the right. Walking fast, almost sprinting until she got to an open door. She dashed inside.

Margaret glanced up, smiled. "Hey, Kema."

She attempted a smile. "Margaret... um, do you know where Oliver and Steven are?"

"They are keynote speakers at a conference organized by a consortium of oil companies."

Fists clenched, she mumbled, "Where?"

"Sheraton Hotel, Ikeja."

"Thanks." She swerved around, about to leave.

Margaret grinned. "I'm sure for the next year we're not going to be seeing a lot of you around here."

"Why?"

"You'll be visiting Oliver in the US, of course."

"Y-Yes." Kema fled from the room to keep Margaret from noticing the tears welling up in her eyes.

She stopped off in her office only to snatch up her wallet and stuff it in the other side-pocket of her trousers. Next, she took the lift down, to the lobby.

In four minutes, she was in the car-park, standing by her car, under the intense sunlight, teeth bared. Another car was parked behind hers, making it impossible for her to drive out. Argh!

She veered away, toward the section allocated to the unassigned company cars. One of the cars, a black Nissan Jeep, was occupied by a driver napping in the front seat.

She tapped on the window glass.

The man started. Wiping his face, he glanced out. "Oh, good afternoon, ma'am."

"Afternoon. I need to go to Ikeja ASAP."

"Where in Ikeja, ma'am?"

"Sheraton Hotel. Are you free?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Okay, let's go."

She climbed into the front passenger seat, eying the driver as he ignited the engine and pulled out of the compound and onto the road.

It took them twenty-five minutes to get from the Island to Mobolaji Bank Anthony Road and she began to relax. They would get to the hotel shortly.

But she had exhaled too soon.

The car slowed and then paused.

She sighed, grimacing at the four lanes packed with cars stretching into the distance as far as her eyes could see. Damn.

She subsided into her seat, glowering at the cars jamming them in, front, back and at the sides.

Damn.
Chapter Thirty-Three

Forty-two minutes later, they had moved only about two yards. The sky had darkened and rain drizzled onto the hot concrete and splattered the windows of the car.

Kema peered at her watch. She didn't know how long the conference would last and she had forgotten to find out when exactly Oliver would be flying out. What she did know was that she needed to speak to him, now. She was tired of sitting in this unmoving car.

Pushing down the button by her right hand, she unlocked her door. She glanced at the driver. "I'm getting out."

The man gaped at her. "Ma'am... we haven't arrived at—"

"Yes, I know. I'll take an _okada._ "

He looked aghast. "Ma'am, it's raining..."

"Find a junction where you can turn back. Go back to the office."

"But, ma'am—"

"Go." She opened the door and dismounted. Pebbles of warm rain smacked at her neck, cheek and arms.

She slammed the door after her, ignoring the driver's worried expression.

Edging away from the car, her eyes swept the road. Motorcycles zoomed by, bearing human and animal cargo. There... a sole commercial motorcyclist.

She hailed him. He halted. She skirted through the maze of cars to the pavement where the cyclist waited.

"Sheraton," she told him.

"Okay, madam." He mentioned the price.

"Just go, don't worry. It's okay." She scaled the bike onto the backseat.

Then, they were off, zipping in and out of the press of cars. The drizzle wet her cheeks, seeped into her hair. The wind whistled in her ears and tugged at her trousers.

***

Finally she was here, in the hotel. Whew!

Striding to the entrance doors, bypassing a white-clothed welcome table manned by three striking young women in shirts and pencil skirts, she grinned.

It had taken only six minutes to get here, although she had had to abandon her ride at the hotel gates and run the rest of the way in light rain to the particular hall where the conference was taking place. Now, her suit, hair and face were spotted with rain-water.

But, thank God, she was here, panting lightly, her heart still thundering from the run.

She rested her hand on the doors.

"Excuse me, madam," one of the women called. "You're not allowed in. It's by invitation-only."

Kema threw her a smile. "I'm a staff of Olympus Security and I have an urgent message for my bosses." Drawing out her ID from her wallet, she flashed it at them.

"Yes, but madam—"

She didn't wait to hear the end of the sentence. She shoved the doors open and entered into the air-conditioned hall.

The room was crammed with smooth-cheeked, suit-clad men and women. All the seats were taken.

Ahead, on a dais, she spotted Oliver and Steven. Behind them glowed a vast projected screen displaying a photo of a pipeline above two lines of text.

Oliver was speaking, bright smile on, black hair perfect.

Hugging the wall, she moved forward, eyes skimming the seats. And, there, in the front row, she spied the two twenty-something women sitting side by side, Oliver and Steven's PAs. Bending over at the waist, she approached them.

"Hi... Kema!" Oliver's personal assistant, a round-faced, pink-lipped young woman, gazed at Kema, eyes wide. "What are you doing here?"

"I have an urgent message for Oliver."

The girl glanced up at the stage. "He's busy, Kema."

"I know... it's just that... it's a matter of life and death," Kema lied. Well, it was to her.

Oliver's PA scowled.

"Give me a bit of paper and pen, Esther, quickly," Kema urged.

The girl tore off a sheet from her notepad and handed it to her with a monogrammed Olympus Security pen.

She scribbled a few short lines, folded the paper and handed it to the girl. "Please, pass it to him. It's vital."

Above, Oliver was stating, "... we are already training and deploying a thirteen thousand strong team of security officers for the purpose of guarding over two hundred of our clients' oil sites..."

The young woman nodded, began to rise to her feet.

Kema withdrew to a corner by the wall. She watched as Esther mounted the dais, waited until Oliver paused, then whispered in his ear and finally handed over the note.

She descended, returning to her seat. Kema lobbed her a grateful smile, then switched her attention to the love of her life on the podium.

"I'm sorry, ladies and gents..." he murmured and then opened the note, scanning it. His head jerked up, astonished green eyes searching the room until they alighted on Kema.

He stared down at her.

Her stomach churned.

People fidgeted in their chairs.

Steven's eyes latched onto Oliver, tracking his gaze down to Kema.

Steven stepped forward, to the microphone, nudging his friend discreetly to the side. He grinned, dimpled cheeks winking. "Ladies and gentlemen, sorry for the interruption. I'll pick up where my colleague stopped." He scratched his brown curls. "Now... where were we?"

The women in the audience tittered.

Oliver hung back. Kema. Here... What was she doing here? Her note, did it mean what he thought it meant? 'You're a good man, Oliver. And you're mine. As I am yours.'

He gazed down at her, that golden skin, that groin-aching figure... It had been almost two weeks since she walked out of his house. He'd thought he would travel back to the States without ever setting eyes on her again.

He unfroze, dismounted from the stage and marched over to her.

Eyes skipping from her face to the wall and then to the podium, he whispered, "What are you doing here, Kema?"

She raised one eyebrow. "Didn't you read my note?"

He rubbed his temple. "I did. I'm a good man?"

She grinned up at him. "Yes, you are. That's what I came to tell you."

"You left me, Kema..." His whisper was almost a croak. The way she'd looked at him in the office...

She gripped his lower right arm. He shrugged her off.

She breathed in air, brushing away the tendrils of despair. "I just needed to process what you told me. I didn't leave you. I can't leave you, Oliver."

He shook his head. "I haven't heard from you in ten days, Kema. In the office, you flinched when I tried to touch you. I-I don't know what—"

"So you decided to run to New York and leave me?" she whispered, eyes sparking.

He sighed, crossed his arms over his chest. His gaze was flinty-green. "Did I have a choice?"

"Yes! You could have talked it over with me... or at least, sent me a text message: 'Oh, BTW, Kema, I'm going to the US for one year.'"

His lips twisted. What could he say? That he deserved to be alone? He didn't deserve to be with her. He had executed a young man.

As if she could read his mind, she murmured, "You're a good man, Oliver."

He snorted. "I killed Jonas Mohapi in cold blood."

"No. Not in cold blood. You were grieving, angry—"

"Dammit, Kema, don't make any excuses for me."

"I'm not. It's the truth and you'd better get over it. Gosh, you were a US Marine; you must have killed people before."

"It's not the same—"

"—really?"

Damn, he had forgotten how stubborn she could be. Pig-headed. Annoying. Beautiful. Thrilling. He compressed his lips, fighting to stop himself from breaking down and asking her to put her arms around him.

"When are you and Lisa traveling?" she asked, watching his eyelashes sweep over his eyes, watching those pink lips merge into one.

"This Saturday."

"Wow, Oliver, so soon."

"Yes..." He stared down at the tips of his black Italian leather shoes.

Kema bit her bottom lip and sucked in air. "Well, I plan on visiting, whether you like it or not. I don't care. As I said in my note..."

Oliver's eyes whizzed up to her face. His heart banged within his chest cavity. He growled, "You're mine. I'm yours."

"I just have one question for you."

"Okay..." His breath was ragged. His world was righting itself back up again after ten dreadful, wretched days.

She stepped closer, gripping his right upper arm. Her voice was firm and gentle, belying the hard lump of fear stuck in her gullet. "Oliver Constantino, will you marry me?"

His jaw plummeted. His eyes blinked furiously, repeatedly.

In the silence, she added, "I don't have a ring, of course, that's your job. But, I warn you; if you don't say yes, I'll go down on one knee in front of all these people and won't get up until you say yes."

His mouth moved. Nothing came out.

Taking her hand off his arm, she began to slide downward.

He gasped. Grabbed her waist. "Yes, you crazy woman, yes," he said, green eyes moistening. "I will marry you."

"Oh, Oliver, Oliver, I love you," she murmured, voice trembling. To be his wife was her deepest heart's desire. To be forever his and to make him hers forever, what could be better than that?

Oliver stared down into her face, thrilling in the feel of her slim waist beneath his hands. From the very first, he had known she was special. That she would change his life.

"I love you, Kema. With all my heart."

###

Thank you for reading _Unhinged by his White Heat_ , Book 1 in The Unhinged Romance Series. I hope you enjoyed it! If you loved this book, a review would be appreciated. Feel free to leave a review at your favorite retailer.

More Unhinged Romance by Sable Rose

Did you enjoy Kema and Oliver's story?

Read Wumi's story in: Unhinged by his Dark Fire, Book Two

Read Steven's story in: Unhinged by his Fiery Touch, Book Three

Keep turning for a sneak peek of _Unhinged by his Dark Fire_

Chapter One

"You did a great job."

"Wonderful!"

"I can see that you're used to being in front of the camera."

Wumi Jackie Osoba surveyed the faces of the three all-male associate producers crowding over her. She squirmed in the uncomfortable office chair, and gulped in a deep breath—a little freaked out by the forty-minute interview that had just ended.

She did okay... at least, she hoped so. She should be used to being in front of the cameras by now—she had been a runway model for over ten years.

Tell that to the giant butterflies in her stomach.

Well, at least it was over. Until the next one. Whew. Promoting a new business was hard work. That was the reason she had come here—to promote Jackie's Models.

"Over fifteen people called and they all said something positive about your new company." One of the associate producers, a coal-black complexioned man with off-white teeth beamed down at her.

"You'll get lots of new business contacts from this program," said the man who had been the anchor of the show and who was now leering at her breasts.

She squeezed the straps of her magenta Miu Miu bag. She should be grateful. She was fortunate to have loads of influential contacts in the entertainment industry that could give her business a much-needed boost. Her younger brother, Jasper had also been supportive. He was responsible for engineering this TV interview with Glow Force Media. His best friend and new flat mate was a senior producer in this company.

Someone she barely remembered... her memories of Jasper's best friend was a dark boy that followed Jasper around like a shadow... oh, and he had a good singing voice. That much she could remember. He had been in their church choir. His father had been the reverend. Unfortunately, this Jasper's friend had been out of the office during her visit but at least, he was kind enough to get one of his associate producers to organize her phone-in interview.

She eyed her wristwatch. She had less than two hours to drive through crazy Lagos traffic to the cinema where she would be catching a girly movie with her best friend, Kema.

She jumped to her feet. With her five feet, nine inches height elevated even more by her three-inch magenta heels, she was taller than all the men in this office.

"You're welcome to come back anytime—" one of them was saying.

"Thank you," she said, smiling only with her lips as she backed out the door.

"Hey, watch it."

Warm, strong hands grasped her naked upper arms. Heat pulsed through her skin and into her belly. She attempted to face this newcomer but tripped over her feet. Yikes!

She pitched forward. Straight into his chest.

My word, despite her heels, he was at least three inches taller...

She glanced upward and sighted deep chocolate eyes and a shaven head. Instinctively, she breathed in his scent... something alluring and masculine. He smelt fresh despite the fact that he had just come in from outside—where the harsh sunrays had the ability to penetrate every pore in the skin and squeeze out every last drop of sweat.

Automatically, her eyes swept over his trim frame in a grey, V-necked T-shirt and fitted black jacket.

She gulped.

"Wumi... careful," he said.

That woke her from the spell. How did he know her name? Who was he?

She spoke out loud, "Who are you?"

He laughed softly and replied, "Don't you remember me? I'm Dare... Jasper's friend."

Her eyes swelled. "What? You're.... Dare?"

"Have I changed that much?"

Yes, she wanted to scream, I don't remember you being this hot!

Dare was shaken to his core. The woman who had been the subject of many of his wet dreams ever since he was fourteen years old, stood before him. Wumi Osoba... She must be twenty-eight years old now, at the most. His friend, Jasper was three years younger.

Her mocha skin glowed. Her erect, full breasts perked through her pink short-sleeved T-shirt and her long, long legs were encased in white jeans. Legs that could wrap themselves easily around his waist...

He cleared his throat and murmured, "I'm sorry I couldn't be here for the taping of your interview. I had an emergency meeting with my bosses."

She pulled away from him, struggling to control herself. "It's okay. They took care of me."

"That's good. Come, let me escort you out." He waved her forward.

She stepped outside, through the door.

He led her out, placing his right hand, palm out, on her back. Warmth sizzled through the material of her top into her bones.

In the car park, she swung to face him. She clutched her handbag to her breasts. She had seen him checking her out. Maybe she should do the same to him. God knows she hungered to. She already noticed some things... stuff like his gently bowed legs, the way he walked with his head thrust forward, his feet apart... and she definitely noticed that he filled out his black jeans pretty well.

What was happening to her?

He was her baby brother's friend—and room-mate. What a recipe for a gargantuan mess. Anyway, she preferred older men. Didn't she?

"It's been a while."

"Yes... about eleven years."

She smiled. "You've been in contact with Jasper the whole time?"

"Yes." And then, his gaze drifted to the side. He ran his left hand over his head. "Y-you've been on my mind."

A jolt of pleasure rushed up her spine. "I have?"

"You may not know this... but for years, I had a huge..." He spread his hands wide, indicating the size, "... crush on you."

She trembled. She gaped at him, unable to form any words.

His eyes met hers... probing...

Then he grinned. He had seen something in there. She was attracted to him.

He drawled, "May I have your phone number?"

Was there any use pretending to think about it? She thought not. She gave him the number.

"I have a meeting with my associate producers in the next five minutes so I'll have to leave you. Are you heading home?"

"No," she replied, "I am heading to see a movie with my best friend, Kema."

"Okay then, take care. I will call you."

"Great."

He grinned again and then swerved around and headed back into the office.

***

Wumi folded her arms and mock-glared at Kema who was zipping towards her, dodging between cars driving in and out of The Palms Mall Car Park.

Kema reached Wumi and threw her arms around her.

She said, "You're late... as usual..."

"Not really..."

"Yes, really. I've been here for like ten minutes."

Thankfully, the sun was winding down. The air blowing through Wumi's hair had lost its warm bite.

Kema pulled away from her friend. She glanced up and asked, "When is our movie?"

"In the next thirty minutes or so. Let's head inside."

They strolled side-by-side toward the massive complex. Passing cars zipped by. Horns blared. A few of the male drivers threw admiring glances at the two women.

Kema slid a glance up at her friend. "Why do you constantly tower over everyone?"

"You mean, tower over you..." She ruffled her friend's Mohawk. "That's because you love wearing only flats—and black. What's with that?"

Kema jerked her head away. "I'm comfortable in flats... and..." She tugged at her dark-blue top, "... this isn't black."

"It's dark."

"Yeah, whatever. Oliver doesn't mind."

"True. He allows you to be yourself. I love that. You're lucky."

Kema beamed. Even the mere mention of her husband's name was enough to evoke wide, glowing smiles.

As they approached the entrance, she exclaimed, "You forgot to tell me when your interview will air."

"Tomorrow, four P.M."

"Super. I'll keep my eyes peeled."

Now that they were on the subject of the interview, Wumi cleared her throat and then muttered, "I-I met someone."

Kema screeched to a stop. She eyed her friend. Something was up. She could hear excitement and desire in her best friend's voice.

"Who? Tell me all."

"You remember Jasper's friend?"

"Yeah... so?"

"Kema, he's hot... very hot. He had a strange effect on me... I can't explain it fully. You know me... everything must happen in order, no spur-of-the-moment actions for me... and yet, when I saw him, I wanted to be with him. I wanted—"

Kema raised her hands, palms outward. "Stop, stop... Wumi, we are talking about your brother's friend—and flat mate. How feasible is that? Think of this: you and him hanging out at his place, just chilling... until Jasper walks in."

"I'm not saying I want to date him."

"You wanted to shag him."

"Kema!" she exclaimed. Kema could be a little abrupt.

"You just met him today, Wumi. I don't understand why you're thinking of being with him."

She shook her head. "I know. I can't explain it." Kema was wrong. She didn't just want to shag him. Yes, the instant attraction she felt for him seared her insides but was it all about sex? She had ever only had sex with one other person in her life—Idris—and they had dated for three years. She didn't engage in casual affairs. "I don't—"

Kema put her hands on her hips, and gazed at Wumi through narrowed eyes. "And anyway, you have Barrister Gbenga who you might end up marrying."

"If my dad has anything to do with it..."
Chapter Two

"Have you and Gbenga set a date yet?"

Wumi's spoonful of cream chowder froze on its way to her mouth. She glared over the table at her father, Tunji Osoba.

Noticing her expression, his grey-tinged brows merged in a frown. His eyes narrowed over the gold rims of his glasses.

Wumi slammed the spoon back into her bowl, spilling cream chowder on the formerly pristine ruby-lined bright-yellow tablecloth.

Next to her father, her stepmother, Lola kept her eyes down and picked at her grilled fish like it was suddenly disgorging golden eggs. Her Elegance clearly did not wish to be involved in this conversation.

"Daddy..." Wumi mumbled, her fingers tracing the rim of the bowl of soup... round and round and round...

"Has he proposed?" her father insisted.

She hissed through her teeth. Her eyes flailed around the restaurant, scarcely noticing the medium-sized watercolors that dotted the beige walls, and the steady, almost indiscernible hum of the air-conditioners that simulated an almost arctic atmosphere inside which contrasted sharply with the middle afternoon scorching heat outside.

"Yes..." she finally managed.

"And you said yes, I assume?"

Lola decided it was time to say something. "Sweetheart, I'm sure she appreciates that Gbenga is a great catch."

She flicked a glance at Lola. Her Elegance wore her sleek, full hair in a ponytail and her slim figure was covered by a lace and African Print outfit. As usual, she had very little makeup on.

Hmmm. Gbenga, a great catch? I suppose one could say so... He was older...like seven years older and rich... quite good-looking too... although a bit robust in his cheeks and belly but what did that matter?

So why hadn't she yet accepted his proposal? And why was she in such an awful mood today? Maybe it had to do with this family lunch date she was mandated to attend every Saturday afternoon.

Or maybe it had to do with the fact that it had been two whole days and Dare had not called.

No-ooo... of course not... what did she care? She definitely didn't care if he already had a girlfriend.

Her stomach growled. She eyed her bowl of creamy soup that was admittedly delicious but to the bottomless pit of her stomach, was like tiny drops of water. But she needed to keep any extra weight off her bum and her already gigantic boobs. So... no to...

She cut her eyes to her younger brother, Jasper, stout-chested, mustached and smooth-faced, stuffing his face with chicken, fried rice and oh-my-goodness golden-brown plump yummy-looking fried plantains.

But her father was still grumbling, "I don't know why you're not eager to get married. Your mates are married, with kids..."

"Daddy, please."

Tunji sank back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the table. "Gbenga is a good man. Any woman with half a brain would want him." He shook his head. "I don't understand you these days. You depleted your fund to get a house—"

"—I didn't deplete my fund," she snapped. Jasper snickered.

Her father plodded on, "—you moved out and now you're starting a new business. It's that girl, your friend..." He waved his hand as if pushing something away. "... Kema, she's a bad influence."

"Daddy! It's not Kema. You're always going off on her! I want this life. I want to do this. It's my dream."

Jasper echoed, "It's my d-r-eam."

"Shut up," she yelled.

"You, keep quiet." Tunji whipped his head to his left to stare down his son. "At least she's doing something with her life. You just waste money on your many girlfriends and flashy toys."

Jasper muttered, "I just have one girlfriend."

But his father was no longer listening. He was struggling to slice through his chunk of steak. "This is a little tough. I don't want it to soil my white shirt."

With a swiftness born of years of catering to him, Lola patted his hand. He put down the cutlery. She picked them up and proceeded to effortlessly chop his meat into bite-sized pieces.

Wumi rolled her eyes. Her stepmother had been her father's PA for many years, even while he was still married to their mom. Her father liked to boast to everyone that he had waited five long, long years after their mother died to marry Lola. Whether he had waited to have sex with her was another matter. Eeuuww. Gross.

"Daddy, don't worry. I'm meeting Gbenga this evening. I'm sure we'll revisit the marriage thing again." She wanted an end to this conversation.

Her father sniffed.

She enjoyed being with Gbenga. He was easy to be with. He was... nice. And only two days ago, she had been planning to spend the rest of her life with him.

Until she met Dare.

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Chapter One

"My children loved you," Joe murmured and then lowered his head to kiss Tari Johnson's flat belly, the heat of his mouth penetrating through the black chiffon material of her nightie to her skin.

They were in his wide bed in his bedroom in his pied-a-terre in Lagos, on a quiet Saturday morning.

"Did they?" Tari asked. Her stomach clenched. Was it because of the feel of his hot mouth or because of what he'd just said? Or because of both? His children loved her... No, please no.

He said, raising his eyes to her face, "They asked me if you were going to be their second mummy."

She flinched. What the hell? Not this again.

His mouth twisted. "Tari, I don't understand why you keep saying no to my marriage proposals. I love you and I want you to be my wife."

"We've talked about this, Joe. I thought you understood that this... between us... won't end in marriage." She pulled away from his mouth and hands and sat up.

She forked her hands through her thick mass of curls on her head. Why did he have to ruin this moment?

Resting on his elbows and arms, he stared up at her. "Why not?"

She sighed, crossing her arms across her breasts. Gosh, how many times could she say the same thing? Why did all the men in her life want more than what she was prepared to give?

She muttered, "We've discussed this. I'm not interested in getting married or in having children. You know all this."

"Yes, but I'm not pressuring you into bearing children for me yet. My two are okay for now. And as I said before... they loved you."

"They're very cute but I'm not ready for any children, mine or yours. Don't you get it? Please, Joe, drop this."

He bounded up to sit on his bum, his knees bent under him.

She glanced into his face, her eyes whizzing over his deep-set eyes, neatly-trimmed beard and moustache. At forty-eight, Joseph Etim was still a good-looking man.

"I can't. I need you... more of you. Is it because I'm a pastor? You know that as my wife you don't have to be active in my church, if you don't want to," Joe said.

She stared at him. His eyes were liquid pools of adoration and need, but the wrinkle on his forehead exposed his inner tension.

She groaned, "Yes, that's part of it. But I'm not eager to be any man's wife... not now."

"Then when? How long do I have to wait?"

Ruffling her curls once more, she muttered, "Don't put me on the spot, Joseph."

He flashed a smile. "You only call me Joseph when you're angry with me."

"Yes, because I am. You always do this."

"Ughh..." he rubbed his face with his hands. "I'm crazy about you, Tari. I can't help it. I need more."

She averted her gaze, glancing out of the window. The sun was still hiding behind the clouds, debating whether the time had come for it to reveal itself. She would have to leave soon. She had an appointment with Dare at Ice-cream Factory in about two hours and she didn't want to be late. They had much to talk about.

Sliding out of the bed, she stood, ignoring the desperate gleam in his eyes. "I have to meet up with my friend."

"Is it that doctor, the other man you told me about?"

Rolling her eyes, she replied, "That's Dubem. This is my best friend, Dare. You've met him once."

He nodded. "Yes, okay. But are you still seeing the other one... Dubem?"

She sighed again. "Yes but I'm not sleeping with him. One man at a time. But, Joseph, you know all this. Look, I need to take a bath. I don't want to be late."

She hustled into the bathroom to put an end to this maddening conversation, then shut the door and yanked off her nightgown. Gosh, why did he keep going on and on about this? And in the beginning, he had agreed to them simply having fun together. He had claimed he wasn't ready to commit to another woman so soon after this divorce. He had been married to his ex for eight years and she had borne him two boys, one seven years old, the other five.

It took forty-five minutes for her to get ready, pull a sapphire-blue wrap dress over her body and slip her feet into nude-colored wedges. She left her full dark-brown curls free to encircle her small head.

"So you're leaving?" His face was set in a scowl, his arms were folded.

"Yes, Joe. I'll be back soon." Men shied away from commitment all the time. Why was it such a big deal when women did it?

She eyed her watch. She had about an hour to get to the ice-cream place. "Can I use one of your cars?"

"Three of my cars are outside and so are my two drivers. Take whatever you need," he mumbled.

"Thanks, Joe." She blew him a kiss and escaped before he could say another word.

***

Tari entered the ice-cream shop an hour later, her gaze sweeping over the interior.

At the table in the center of the room, a mother inspected the menu. Her two sullen teenage daughters glared at nothing in particular. In the corner, a man and woman huddled together, gazing into each other's eyes.

Moving further inside the air-conditioned room, her glance met those of a man in his late twenties with a shaven head and dark chocolate eyes, sitting opposite an empty chair by the window.

He grinned.

Rising to his feet, his lean torso covered in a pale yellow Polo T-shirt and his lightly-bowed legs in black jeans, he said, "Hello beautiful."

She smiled. "Hello Hot Chocolate."

He laughed and then wrapped his arms around her in a hug. Despite the fact that they both worked in the same media company, Glow Force Media, it had been almost a month since they had last set eyes on each other, although they spoke on average two times a week on the phone. She was based in the Abuja office, and he in Lagos.

"Mmm, you smell as great as ever," Dare DaSilva said, his face in her curls.

"Thanks, but don't ever let that paranoid fiancée of yours catch you smelling my hair. She's unhinged."

"Come on, Tari... Wumi's the kindest person I know." He stepped out of Tari's arms to draw the second chair out. "Sit, sit. I've missed you."

"And I you." She slid into the chair, looking up into his face. "You're the perfect gentleman, as always."

He returned to his seat. Inclining his head toward the service people at the counter, he said, "I try. I've ordered for us. For you, Red Velvet Cheesecake... and for me, Coffee Addiction. It'll be here soon."

"Ah, you remembered that I love cheesecake."

"Of course."

She sank into the plush leather seat, shutting her eyes briefly. "It's so easy with you. Why isn't it this easy with Joe or even with Dubem?"

"Because we are just friends but Joe is your... what do I call him ... your lover? And Dubem is... one of your numerous suitors."

"Gosh, Dare, Joe was talking about marriage again. Very annoying."

He shrugged. "You can't blame him. Look at you... you're one of the most beautiful women on this planet." He cleared his throat, his glance flying around the room. "Of course my Wumi is also on that list."

She rolled her eyes. "Of course she is. You never know she may have bugged you and could be listening to our conversation at this very moment. I'm sure she still thinks that you and I are having an affair."

"No, she doesn't. She knows nothing happened between us."

"Not for lack of you trying," she quipped, lifting an eyebrow.

He grinned, his glance darting away to the waiter approaching their table with a tray.

The waiter, a dark man in his early twenties, smiled at Tari, his smile lingering for long seconds before he turned to Dare. "Good day to you both. Here's our Red Velvet Cheesecake for the pretty lady..."

She struggled to keep her eyes from rolling.

He continued, "... it's a vanilla bean cheesecake sandwiched between layers of rich moist red velvet cake, topped with our signature cream cheese frosting and white chocolate shavings..."

Her mouth salivated. Gosh, it looked as delicious as it sounded.

"... and a Coffee Addiction for the gentleman."

"Thanks," he said.

The server nodded and departed.

Wielding her spoon, she said, "You notice he didn't say much about yours."

He said, "I noticed. So how was Friday lunch with Senior Pastor Joseph Etim and his ex-wife?"

"Mhhmmm... this is phenomenal," she murmured, through a mouth of cheesecake. After swallowing, she said, "The ex barely said a word to me. She stared at me like I was the snake in the Garden of Eden. But the children more than made up for her unfriendliness. They were great. But this morning, after sex, Joe launched into his marriage sermon for the umpteenth time. Can't he get that I don't want to marry him or anyone?"

He licked the ice-cream off his spoon. "We men usually want what we can't have. But Tari, you know you can't keep playing Joe and Dubem against each other," he said.

"I'm not sleeping with Dubem, only Joe. For now," she muttered darkly.

"Well... one day you're going to meet the guy who'll melt that heart of yours."

She scoffed, "It'll never happen. Anyway, I'm done talking about me. What's the latest between you and your former model-slash-superstar fiancée?"

"We're fine. As usual."

"And she isn't sending assassins to off your ex-girlfriend from Canada... Emem, is it?... who returned last year to woo you and is now your friend? I'm surprised and impressed."

He glared at Tari. "Why should she? Wumi knows I love her and only her. Emem and I just hang out."

"The girl that nearly broke you when she left to travel to Canada... that's the one you're hanging out with? Dare, she's not your friend."

Polishing off half of his Coffee Addiction, he didn't meet her gaze. A minute later, he muttered, "We're friends."

"No. You and I are friends. You can't be friends with a woman you've slept with, who you were in love with. I can't imagine that Wumi is okay with this."

He breathed in air, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "I—I haven't told Wumi about that yet. But I will."

"Dare, you better leave Emem alone."

"Yes mother."

"Gosh, I hate it when you say that."

"I know."

"I'm only six years older than you. And I'm not your mama."

"Thank God."

Their eyes met and they both laughed.

He put down his spoon. His eyes narrowed. "How's your campaign against Onyeka for the top job in the Abuja office progressing?"

"I think we're neck and neck."

"I hate that guy," he blurted out, frown lines marring his smooth forehead.

"I hate him too."

"He had me demoted and transferred from Lagos to Abuja."

"Yes, but there's a silver lining... because of your transfer, we met."

He grinned at her. Stretching a hand across the tabletop, he grasped her right hand. "For that, I no longer hate him that much." Releasing her hand, he pushed his face closer. "I heard that he's probably going to be the one picked for the job."

It was her turn to frown. "Really? Where did you hear that?"

"From here and there. I've been keeping my ears open and that's what I heard. He has friends in high places. One of the owners of Glow Force Media. You need a bold, strong move to put you over the edge."

"I know." She nodded. But what could she do though? Onyeka was a greasy SOB but he had a lot of connections within the company. He had transferred from the Lagos branch office to Abuja late last year in preparation for his campaign for the job. Yes, he had built up a strong network of supporters. But she wanted the COO Job. Heck, she deserved it. She had worked hard for that position and nobody would take it from her. She would be the first female head in the history of Glow Force Media, Nigeria.

"One of the owners, Onyeka's supporter, our boss, Fela... I heard he's not in favor of women holding top jobs," he muttered.

"Really?" Her eyebrows lifted.

"Yes. Ever since his divorce from his wife, who heads a major conglomerate herself, by the way, he's become tougher on women. I heard he wasn't pleased with your application but couldn't deny that you had the right credentials."

"And it helps that the other owner, Remi, is on my side."

He grinned. "Yes, that helps too."

She sneered, "Fela's just bitter because of his divorce. The rumor going around is that he dates only women fifteen to twenty years younger than him."

"Yes, I've heard that too." He shrugged. "I also heard about the attack."

"Yes, five of our foreign visitors were assaulted by armed robbers on their way to a club last week in Abuja. The robbers stole three of Glow Force Media's brand-new jeeps and killed nearly all the mobile policemen in the convoy. Management is frothing at the mouth about this incident."

Eyes glinting, Dare said, "This could be it. The bold move you need. You could do a presentation as a motivation to hire better security people."

She stared at him, the cheesecake forgotten. "That's brilliant, Dare. But one problem; I have no clue about anything security-related."

"Have you heard of Kema Constantino?"

"Yes. Everyone has heard of her. She's the first female private investigator in Nigeria, probably in Africa."

He looked very pleased with himself. "She's married to one of the owners of an elite private security firm, Olympus Security. Oh—and she's Wumi's best friend. I know today is a Saturday and you'll be returning to Abuja on Monday but if anyone can get an appointment with her today, my fiancée can. Hold on, I'll call Wumi now and ask her."
Chapter Two

It had taken a tiny bit of cajoling on Dare's part but eventually Wumi had agreed to help. She had sent him a text a few minutes later saying that Kema had consented to see Tari today at the Olympus Security main office in Victoria Island. Tari had up till one P.M. to arrive there.

After promising to handle the bill, he had urged Tari to leave for the office immediately to be able to catch up with Kema.

They had embraced and she had rushed out and into Pastor Joseph's silver Toyota jeep.

Now, at twelve-fifteen, the driver pulled the car up to massive, forbidding steel-gray gates, at the address Wumi had sent.

She peered up through the window at the glass and concrete structure. The gates were high; she could see only three floors and the roofs. On either side of the gates, two cameras glared down at the car.

From the guardhouse built flush into the left wall by the gates, a young man in a white and dark purple uniform stepped out and approached them.

She wound down her window. He came up to her, all cold eyes and polite smiles.

"Good afternoon, ma'am. May I help you?"

"I'm Tari Johnson. I have an appointment with Kema Constantino."

"Tari Johnson for Kema," he called out to another guard inside the small house and then turned back to her.

"It'll just take a minute. Meanwhile, may I search your vehicle?"

_Like I have a choice._ She nodded.

Quickly and efficiently, he scanned under the jeep and then looked through the back.

A second after he had completed his task, the gates drew apart, revealing a long driveway made of interlocking stones.

Flashing another polite smile, the guard said, "Go straight. To the end. Have a good day, ma'am."

"You too," Tari muttered as the driver started the car and drove in and up the road, flanked on either side by narrow, grass-lined pavements.

In the distance, on the right, two bungalows stood side by side. On the left of the road were rows and rows of parked black SUVs.

They moved on to the top of the road.

Another guard in white and purple waited there, positioned in front of a tall building. He waved at the driver.

The car stopped.

Another polite smile. "Please come down, ma'am." He pulled her door open. Tari climbed down.

"Go inside, ma'am."

As she mounted the short flight of stairs leading to a set of glass double doors, she heard the jeep drive off, probably to park somewhere in this vast compound.

Her wedges hit the mat in front of the doors and they slid open. A rush of almost freezing air welcomed Tari into the foyer. On the left, one guard perched behind a long desk and in front of some monitors. Directly opposite the doors was a group of security turnstiles and beyond them, a bank of elevators.

Another guard met her. "Sign in, please." He gestured to an open notebook on the desk with a pen lying beside it. She wrote down her name, her address, her phone number, the reason for her visit—personal—and the time. He passed her a temporary ID.

"She'll be here shortly," he said.

She nodded, moving to a collection of silver-grey metal chairs on the right of the glass doors. Sinking down onto one of them, she straightened the hem of her dress over her knees.

The chime of an elevator bell. Someone came out; a small woman in black. Using a security card, she passed through a turnstile and came forward.

Tari stared up at her. This was Kema. She had seen photos of her but—gosh—in the flesh; she was tiny, maybe five-two or three, a UK size eight—and young. Probably early thirties.

Kema wore a fitted black silk shirt over her small torso and black jeans over very wide hips. On her feet were black ankle boots. Her hair was cut Mohawk-style and dyed honey-blond. Three diamond studs per ear, a Pierre Cardin watch plus a solitaire diamond ring above a platinum wedding band on the third finger on her left hand made up her jewelry.

The men stiffened, murmuring, "Ma'am."

Kema nodded at them and stuck out a hand to Tari. With eyes as cold as the guards, and a smile almost as polite, she said, "Tari Johnson."

"Yes." She rose. What's it with this place? The cold eyes; the fake smiles. Arghh.

Gripping the proffered hand, she shook it.

"You're Dare's best friend, right? Nothing more?"

_What the hell?_ Her eyes constricted but she replied, "We're just friends. I have never had anything more with Dare and I never will."

For a moment longer, the two women stood there, hands clasped, staring into each other's eyes.

Suddenly, Kema grinned. A grin that reached her eyes and warmed her up.

"That's wonderful. His fiancée, Wumi Osoba is my best friend and I get a little over-protective sometimes. Welcome to Olympus Security."

Tari dropped her hand. Wow. What a change.

Kema smiled again and said, "Wumi explained to me what you need. I'll be happy to help. But, I'm flying out to New York tonight to join my husband, Oliver... he's one of the owners of the company... and I won't be around to follow up with you. But not to worry, I reached out to the other owner, Steven. He'll be here in a minute."

A dull roar reached Tari's ears through the glass doors. She glanced outside.

The roar appeared to have come from a fancy motorbike parking in front of the building.

A cherry-red and white Ducati. Hmm, impressive. The man astride it had a red helmet with a black visor on his head. He clambered off the bike with a fluid grace.

She raised her head, eyes glued to him. Who was he?

He was tall, broad-shouldered, slim-waisted, wearing a light blue shirt, the arms rolled up to his elbows over blue jeans, with chestnut-brown suede ankle desert boots on his feet.

"Ah, Steven's here," Kema murmured.

That's one of the owners? She stared.

He dragged his helmet off and handed it to the guard outside and then glided into the lobby like a sleek panther.

Up close, he was beautiful, more beautiful than any man should be. He was mixed-race, with brown, almost reddish curly hair, tawny eyes flecked with gold and lips that were pink and ripe.

He beamed at Kema and dimples creased his cheeks and white, white teeth gleamed.

The guards inside straightened even more. Almost simultaneously, they called out, "Good afternoon, sir."

"Good afternoon," he responded, nodding at each man, one after the other.

Gazing at him, Tari's pulse began to skip. What? What was happening to her? He was handsome, yes, but she had known lots of handsome men.

Her eyes zoomed in on his fingers. Only one ring, a gold band with an emerald stone, on his right hand. Not a wedding ring. Not that she cared whether he was married or not, of course.

"Kema, darling." He bent down to kiss Kema's cheek.

"Steven, thanks for coming in. This is Tari Johnson. I told you about her."

Those eyes glanced at her, cool and blank. "Welcome, Tari." And then, he returned to Kema.

_What?_ Tari couldn't believe it. For most of her life, men meeting her for the first time stared at her, eyes wide or they did a double-take. But this, this blank one-second glance was... was _galling._ It was like he had sucker-punched her ego. Who the hell did he think he was?

"Tari, meet Steven Braithwaite, CEO of Olympus Security."

She nodded. He made no effort to catch her eyes. Grrr.

Kema glanced at Tari. "Did you sign in?"

"Yes."

"Okay, we can go up."

Steven led the way, followed by Kema and Tari, through the turnstiles, into the elevator to the third floor.

Pushing open a wooden door adjacent to the elevator, he stepped into a mid-sized room containing wine-red chairs and couches and a chocolate-brown coffee table.

Waving Tari to an armchair, Kema settled into the couch opposite. Steven sat beside her, legs splayed, one hand on his thigh and the other on the seat.

Tari tried to keep her eyes from training on the spot between his legs. She sank into the chair, focusing with all her might on Kema.

"Do you want something to drink? There's juice, wine, tea, coffee, water..."

"No thanks, Kema. I'm fine."

"Do you have your business card?"

"Yes." Tari dug into her nude-colored bag and extricated one card. Only for Kema.

Kema took it, scanned it and then passed it over to Steven.

Come on, she groaned inwardly.

He didn't glance at it. Pulling out his phone from his jeans pocket with the other hand, he eyed his Breitling watch.

Who the hell did he think he was? There was nothing special about him. Yes, he was rich, powerful, and overwhelmingly good-looking but everything about him screamed BAD BOY, including his occupation. The owner of a security company. Didn't that mean he was dangerous? No, no, no. Not her type.

"The way I think we should play it is that we send you information about us, about what we do to your email address and then you can compile the data and make your presentation to your bosses. And then, maybe next week..." Kema paused to glance at Steven, "He'll come to your office and talk to them and answer any questions."

He was coming to Abuja! No, why him?

Raising his head from his iPhone, he whispered to Kema, "You know how busy we are. Are you sure we should handle this?"

"Yes. For Dare."

"That kid? Come on, Kema."

Tari couldn't help herself. "Excuse me?"

Kema smiled at her. "Don't mind us." She whispered to Steven, "We're doing it."

Facing Tari, Kema continued, "I'm sorry but I have to leave now. I haven't packed and there are lots I need to finish before my flight. Steven will take care of you."

She jumped up. Steven automatically did the same.

Rising to her feet, Tari bit her lip trying to hide a grin. This bad boy was a gentleman.

Kema and Tari shook hands once more. "Thank you, Kema," Tari said.

"No big deal. Take care, Tari." She ambled toward the door, muttering to Steven, "Be good now."

Leaving him alone with her. Arghh. Tari's palms moistened.

For the first time since she had met him, Steven stared down at her, straight in her face.

And then he smiled. His dimples flashed, his tawny-gold eyes softened.

In her core, she felt an answering tug.

Body, behave yourself. This one's not for you.

Replacing his phone in his front pocket and the card in the back, he said, "I'll send you the email on Monday and then after you can get back to me on when you need me in Abuja. But for now, let's have lunch."

What? Frowning, she muttered, "Lunch? To discuss my presentation?"

He grinned. "No."

"As... a date?"

He laughed. "Not quite. You're here via Kema so I've got to be on my best behavior and also... you are a potential client."

She shouldn't ask this but she just had to know. He had been ignoring her for the past half-hour. "So... if I wasn't a client... and if I didn't come here through Kema..."

His smile disappeared but his eyes glowed. Inching closer, he whispered, "I would have taken you to dinner and after, we would go to my place and fuck."

Her eyes rounded. Did he just say what she heard? She glowered into his face. He was trying to shock her. She could see the beginnings of laughter on those perfect pink lips. Living up to his bad boy image. Well, she wouldn't play into his hands. After all they were both adults.

Shrugging, she murmured, "Well, unfortunately for you, we won't fuck. I'm a client. I'm returning to Abuja in a day or two. And I have a boyfriend."

His gaze on her lips, he whispered, "I like how you mentioned your boyfriend last."

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Keep turning for a sneak peek of _Unhinged by Him_ , the Sequel.

Chapter One

Tari Johnson leaned back into the soft cream leather car seat and cut her gaze to her boyfriend and the father of her son, Steven Braithwaite, sitting beside her.

For the moment, his gaze was on the passing Abuja landscape beyond his window and she snatched the opportunity to stare at him yet again. Adoring him with her eyes was something she never tired of doing even though it had been almost a year since they had become a couple.

As usual, he was impeccably dressed in an Italian suit, black this time, with a matching black shirt, the top two buttons undone, revealing a hint of hairless, smooth toffee-colored skin. His muscles flexed beneath the shirt as he tapped his fingers on his broad thighs.

Her eyes travelled up to his strong profile and the close-cropped dark brown, almost reddish curls on his head.

Just this morning, sprawled on her back in bed, unable to do anything but whimper senselessly, she had run her hands through those curls, surrendering to the assault of his mouth and tongue going on between her legs.

She bit her lips as her pulse quickened. Wow, how did he always manage to affect her this way? She still couldn't believe that she was now in a committed relationship after years of saying no to other men desperate to have her, even men offering marriage. She had fled from such men but after meeting Steven, she found herself running toward him, wanting—no— _needing_ more for the first time in her life.

Smoothing her yellow jersey wrap dress over her knee, she shook her head. Unbelievable. Her life as she had known it changed almost in an instant eleven months ago when Steven Braithwaite climbed off his Ducati and sauntered up to her.

And now, she had a son with him. Unbelievable! She had sworn to never have kids.

Big mistake because now, she couldn't imagine life without her infant son, Korede Alexander Braithwaite. Wow, those tiny limbs, lips pinker and smaller than his father's, and that pure, adorable baby smell. From the minute they had left him in her house, under her mother's care, she had begun counting the seconds until she could return to hold that tiny body tight in her arms again.

Steven turned back to her, focusing those tawny-gold eyes on her face, grinning. The dimples in his cheeks shone like the sun. "I love coming here, to Abuja."

It was her turn to glance out of the car window. It was the end of January and the dry, harsh Harmattan season had returned with full force, with a cold desert wind and arms full of sand, bathing the trees, grasses, and the entire landscape with dust.

Pulling her gaze back into the car and on her boyfriend, she murmured, "And yet, you're not here that often." Seeing him every other weekend wasn't enough. In the past seven months, it seemed like she and baby Korede had spent almost every weekend, public holiday and even a few week days in his house in Lagos. If she was able to get a transfer from her office in Glow Force Media Abuja to the Lagos office, she would. But it hadn't yet worked out.

"Come on, babe..." he said, taking her left hand and placing it on his thigh. "You know I try. I try to come here to be with you and Korede as much as I can, as much as my work allows."

"Yes." She shrugged. "But Olympus Security comes first." Steven part-owned the company. He could work wherever he wanted to.

His eyes widened. "No, babe. How can you say that? You're my heart, my life. But you know that. And you know I adore my son."

She sucked in a deep breath. She knew he loved her and she absolutely knew he loved Korede. She knew all that. It was just that whenever he was away, she missed him with every part of her being.

She said, glancing down at her small hand gripped in his big one on his lap, "I don't doubt your feelings for me, Steven. And of course, I know you worship your son. You're a good father. I only miss you. I want to be with you every day of every week."

"I want the same thing, Tari." Pushing his other hand through his brown curls, he continued, "I understand, babe. And once we're done with this business, I promise, I'll make it up to you. The office here is growing rapidly, and I plan to mainly work from here and only visit Lagos for like three or four months in a year."

Tari stared at him. "Really?"

Steven grinned. "Yes, really. I've missed you too and I want to be with Korede as much as possible. And after the fashion show, after Oliver, Kema and I catch these terrorists; I'll remain here, with you and him for two weeks. Okay?"

"More than okay," she said, squeezing his hand. She stared into his gold-flecked eyes and smiled. Having him in her house here in Abuja for all that time... bliss.

His gaze slid from her face to her slim, delightfully shapely, bronze-skinned body draped with a yellow Grecian-style dress. Her skin glowed even more, highlighted by the yellow, flawless and perfect.

How did he get so lucky? He had known many, many, many beautiful women but Tari was something... otherworldly. With a flick of her tongue over her lips, or the batting of her lashes, he was reduced to a ball of raw need. Brought to his knees before her.

He would do anything for her. He shut his eyes briefly, remembering... She had nearly lost her life at the hands of a brutal and vengeful businessman all because of what he and Oliver had done those years ago in South Africa.

She could have been murdered. And it would have been his fault. He had very nearly lost the only woman he had ever loved who was also the mother of his son. Oh God.

But amazingly, she had forgiven him. She had seen the dark regions within his heart and yet, she had stayed. How many women would have done that? He only knew of two; his Tari and his best friend's wife, Kema.

"Tari Johnson..." he murmured, releasing her hand to sweep his hand over the mass of loose curls framing her heart-shaped face.

Bending over, he pressed his lips on her silky-smooth forehead, at the same time, inhaling her perfume. Mmmm... Jasmine and orange blossom. The smell jumped from his nose to his organ between his legs. It stirred.

"Tari... you drive me crazy..." he whispered. "I can't get enough of you."

She glanced at his pink, full lips. Her heart thudded. "Same for me."

Darting a glance forward to the burly, bald headed driver at the wheel, she breathed in deep, fighting to bring her body under control.

They were on their way to the International Conference Centre to meet with their friends, Dare, Oliver and Kema at a fashion show, mostly to support the star of the runway, Dare's fiancée, Wumi.

His tongue traced a path from her forehead to her left ear. Alternately licking and kissing behind her ear, he felt her body tremble.

Her hand gripped his thigh, kneading.

"Steven..." she murmured, flicking a glance at the driver, "We're in a car."

"I know," he drawled and then sucked on her earlobe.

Unable to stop herself, she moaned. Her body hungered for his touch. Her pulse skyrocketed.

His right hand grasped her knee. Then he tore his mouth away from her ear to glare at the driver through the rearview mirror. "Akin, keep your eyes on the road."

"Yes sir. Of course, sir," Akin replied, face impassive, eyes focused on the road. He was not just an Olympus Security driver, but also a trained bodyguard, wholly loyal to Steven.

Returning his mouth to her ear, Steven whispered, "Don't worry about Akin." He pushed her dress up to the middle of her thigh. "Did you wear panties?"

Her eyes opened. "Yes... Steven... Don't."

Chuckling, he nudged her legs apart slightly. His hot breath on her neck and ear sent fiery tingles down her spine. His hand slipped in between her thighs, reached her silk panties.

Her fingers dug into his lap. Her breathing accelerated.

She groaned. "Steven... no."

"Tari, yes," he whispered huskily, digging his hot tongue into her ear as his fingers shoved aside her panties, entered her core and captured her clitoris.

"Steven... oh yes..." she whispered, closing her eyes, abandoning herself to his touch.

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Unhinged Romance Character Profiles

Oliver Constantino: Suave, dapper, 6 ft 4 inches, black hair, green eyes. Built like a nightclub bouncer. Mild-mannered, with a dangerous streak. American with Italian roots. An ex-US Marine. Partnered with his best friend, Steven Braithwaite to found a security company, Olympus Security in Nigeria. Has a daughter with an ex-girlfriend. He moved with his daughter to live in Nigeria. Has a secret, a dark past. He's an only child. His parents live in Miami in the US.

Kema Ekwueme: Unconventional. Stubborn. Speaks her mind. A virgin. 5ft 2 inches. Hair cut in a Mohawk-style and dyed honey-blond. Wears mostly black clothing, and flat shoes. A tomboy. From the eastern part of Nigeria. Fourth child and last born in her family. Father's dead. Her mother's alive and living with her eldest brother in Atlanta, US. Studied web design but is interested in the security business. Wumi Osoba is her best friend. They've been friends for over 10 years.

Wumi Osoba: Ex-model. Mocha-skinned, big-breasted. 5 ft 9 inches. The first-born child of billionaire businessman, Chief Tunji Osoba. Started her own model agency, Jackie's Models. Loves lipstick and heels. Best friends with Kema Ekwueme. Soft-spoken. Used to getting her own way. Daddy's girl. From Western Nigeria.

Dare DaSilva: Friend and flat mate of Jasper Osoba, Wumi's younger brother. 6 ft 3 inches. Shaven head. Intense chocolate eyes. Gently bowed legs. Has a good singing voice. From a state in the North-West of Nigeria. Takes to drink sometimes when things don't go his way. He's second-born and first boy in his family. Father's a Reverend in the Anglican Church. Works as a Senior Producer in a media conglomerate, Glow Force Media. Plays football (soccer) as a hobby on Saturdays. Colleague and new best friend is Tari Johnson.

Tari Johnson: 5 ft. 6 inches. Ambitious. Wants to be Chief Operating Officer of Glow Force Media. Heart-shaped face, curly hair. Doesn't know who her father is. Her mother's Nigerian, from the South-East. An only child. Doesn't want commitment with men. Not crazy about having children, either. Her best friend she met through work is Dare DaSilva.

Steven Braithwaite: Bad boy. Rides motorbikes. 6 ft 2 inches. Reckless. Tawny eyes. Brown, close-cropped curly hair. Dimples in both cheeks. A little unstable. Mixed Heritage, white mother. Has a big family. His father married two women. Best friends with Oliver Constantino. From the West of Nigeria (Father's side). Born and schooled in the US. Former US Marine. Returned to Nigeria with Oliver to start Olympus Security. Wants to have children of his someday. Not very big on marriage, though.

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_Captivating Angel Jonas_ Excerpt

Jonas Dije ambled into the living-room of Tomi Sawyer's upstairs apartment, trailing her. He shut the door behind them and glanced around.

Three large windows opened into a wide space bordered by cedar-brown walls and furnished with cedar-brown couches and armchairs, an eight-sided coffee table and a red shag carpet.

He raised his eyebrows. "Your place is cool."

She turned to face him, shrugging. "Thanks. I think it's too big, though. Three bedrooms... what am I doing with three bedrooms?"

"You could have gotten something smaller..."

"Yes, but my ex got me a sweet deal on this place and he was here most of the time so..."

_Her ex, Sanusi._ "A sweet deal?"

Tomi smiled. "I pay rent monthly."

Jonas whistled. "I didn't know that was even possible in this part of the world... wow, you're lucky. For everyone else, it's twice or thrice-yearly rent payments."

"I know. I guess it's because the landlord is my ex's friend."

"And he's still okay with you paying every month even though you're no longer dating your ex?"

"He hasn't complained. Yet. Um..." She funneled a hand through her hair. "I feel sticky. My whole body must smell of cum. I wonder whose fault is that."

A smile tweaked his lips. "Yours? For being too appealing."

"I see." She returned his smile. "Anyway, I need to shower." _Say you'll join me._

"Shower, eh?" Jonas's eyes lit up. This would be a wonderful chance to search her flat. "Good idea."

She licked her lower lip. "Um... do you want to shower too?"

"You go first. I'll take one after you're done."

Her lips pursed. She swerved away from him and aimed a finger at an arch straight ahead. "My bedroom, and the shower, is through there."

"Okay." He nodded.

"Right." She marched off.

The instant she disappeared, he lodged his hands on his hips, eyes zipping around the space. Where is the manna? Hmm.

His gaze snagged an average-sized refrigerator standing to the left of the living-room, in the dining area.

He went toward it, dragged it open. The light came on, revealing eggs, milk, butter and—ah yes!—a few plastic bottles of a frothy, creamy liquid. He snatched one of the bottles, opened it and sniffed.

Manna. Watered down. Probably for her personal consumption. Where was her stash? The stuff she sold to her weak human clients? The kitchen! People liked to hide stuff in their kitchen.

He returned the bottle to the fridge and slammed it shut. Her kitchen... Through a doorway to the left, he caught sight of cupboards and a cooker. Yes.

He veered into the room. Dark wood cupboards hung above and sat below, separated by marble walls. Quickly, quickly. He yanked open the overhead cupboards. Packets of cornflakes, noodles, tins of coffee... Argh, no.

Jonas moved down. Bowls, a bag of rice, a large bottle of vegetable oil... and underneath the sink, two dustbins. Two dustbins? Shit, who needed two dustbins at the same time? Unless...

He opened the first one. His nose wrinkled at the smell. Yes, this had rubbish in it. He tried the second one. Bingo!

He heaved the fifteen-liter white jerry can out of the bin. He unscrewed the top. It contained less than half-full of an off-white powder. He decanted a bit of it in his left palm. It looked like manna.

He licked it off his palm. Smacked his lips.

Yes. Definitely manna. The potent, undiluted one.

He'd found her stash. _Great work, Jonas._

***

Tomi switched off the water and stepped out of the shower cubicle. "I'm done!" she yelled, seizing one of the towels hanging on a rail and wrapping it around her wet body.

"Hey, Jonas! I'm through!" she yelled again, directing her face toward the open bathroom door.

_Can't he hear me?_ She tugged the shower cap off her hair, replaced it on a hook and strolled into her bedroom.

It was empty. What was he still doing in the sitting-room?

Clasping the towel closer to her breasts, she headed toward the living-room.

"Hey, watch it!"

He appeared in the doorway, holding up both his hands.

She stopped, smiled. "I thought you wanted to take a shower."

"I do. You're done?"

"Yes."

"Great. Just give me a few minutes."

He undressed, abandoning his clothes, shoes and watch on one of the two armchairs in her bedroom. Two teddy bears took up a small region of her queen-sized bed. One was beige and five foot long; the other was a tiny white one wearing a pink bowtie. _Teddy bears, really?_ On the bedside table by the right of the bed, a pile of Cosmo magazines rested. Women and magazines.

He shook his head and walked into the bathroom.

By the time he re-entered the bedroom, a towel around his waist, she was in a bathrobe, standing by an opened jar of cold cream on the bedside table.

She glanced at him.

He clocked her gaze crawling from his face to his torso. No more of that. He had to know more about the manna he'd found.

She dipped her fingers into the cream and slathered it on her arms and neck.

His nose captured the yummy scent of cocoa-butter. He shook his head. _Stay on point, Jonas._ "Hey, can we talk for a moment?"

"Sure." She yanked the robe off her body. It sank to the carpet.

He swallowed saliva. Shit!

Her hands massaged cocoa-butter into round, full fat-nippled breasts. She gazed up at him. "What do you want to talk about?"

His penis nudged the towel, coming to attention at the sight. Oh, man... the words had fled from his mind. _What did I want to say?_

She pinched one nipple. It stiffened, swelled. "What is it, Jonas?"

Jonas could only shake his head. His eyes were riveted on her hand.

"Did I tell you my ex left me about three months ago?"

His head shifted from one side to the other. Her hand was palming her right nipple. His turgid cock spanked the towel.

She giggled, eyes on his face. "I hate being alone."

"Do you?" At last, words. From his lips.

"Yes, I hate it. I have needs." She laughed. "My body needs loving."

"So what do you do when there's no man at hand?"

"I touch myself."

"Do you?" He eyed her hands. They were now kneading her flat belly. "Show me."

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Hot New Books by Sable

ADORING ANGELS CHRONICLES

A group of angels are trapped on earth, unable to return to heaven, hiding from their many enemies.

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Pleasing Xavier

What happens when a young woman gets a new job as an executive assistant to a handsome, wolf-eyed and enigmatic CEO who happens to be an angel, passing as a man, hiding in plain sight?

Soft-spoken Tamara Abbey is unemployed, single and living in a world where humans and Nephilim, beings born of the mating of angels with human females, try to exist side by side. She's one of the many people who believe that all the angels have left the earth, never to return.

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THREE KINGDOMS ROMANCE SERIES

Who else wants a romance novel that will keep you hooked till the last page? Go for the panty-wetting _Tutoring the Queen_ , an erotic interracial romance fantasy.

Book 1, _Tutoring the Queen_

In a kingdom where repression is celebrated, a sexually inexperienced queen meets a handsome slave who happens to be skilled in the art of delivering sensual pleasures...

Queen Atania is a woman torn in two directions: on one hand, she strives to follow the example of her late mother, the bottled-up former queen, by enforcing Divine Law in the kingdom over which she rules. Divine Law demands that anyone worshipping any other god but the state-sanctioned one must be punished.

On the other hand, there's a part of her that's more like her progressive father. In secret, she enjoys reading erotic poems and banned material that would surely land her on the wrong side of Divine Law.

Having grown up under a law that promotes sexual repression, Atania's sexual experience is limited. Although, there's that part of her that hungers for more. When she receives the gift of a slave taken from a neighboring kingdom named Roka, the absolutely most delicious-looking man she's ever seen, Atania realizes that it's her chance to explore the depths of that deep inner hunger.

Unimpressed by her royal status, Roka sets about teaching her the joys of sexual liberation. Atania is swept away in an avalanche of desire by his kisses, touch and taste. But then, Roka challenges her to take a stand: to choose him. What to do?

But before she can make a decision, something calamitous happens.

Having learnt that she has broken Divine Law, a faction of nobles seeks to depose her. Queen Atania is facing a desperate situation; one she's never encountered before...

One that could lead to the loss of her throne, her liberty and her man...

Visit Sable's Romance Book List for your copy today at only $2.99!
About Sable Rose

Sable Rose is Africa's No. 1 Romance Writer. She writes M/F erotic contemporary romances about dreamy, swoon-worthy heroes and sexy independent women, filled with plenty of thigh-clenching moments.

She's the author of the popular four-book _Unhinged Romance Series_. She also writes erotic paranormal action adventures in the _Adoring Angels Chronicles_ about scorching-hot, super-desirable and well-endowed angels and the strong sassy heroines that fall for them. These books will make your heart beat with anticipation and will definitely take you on a wild and naughty ride.

She revels in being different. Her passion is writing and she writes only what her characters tell her to write. She writes morning, afternoon, night. Who needs sleep?

She adores traveling and has visited over 15 countries. She uses these experiences to craft her stories.

Sable Rose lives in Lagos, Nigeria. No dogs yet. Definitely, no cats.
Contact Sable Rose

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Dedication

To women everywhere, in love with their men
