Love and Hiplife
Page 8
“Name it.”
“Can you help me to learn French?”
Not what she’d been expecting. Their conversation on the mountain came back to her. “You said you wanted to use it in your next album. Haven’t you started to learn?”
He tugged at his ear, something she’d never noticed him do before.
“I have a tutor, but it’s not going very well. I thought I was good with languages, but French seems to be the exception. Those tenses are impossible to learn.”
“Wouldn’t my teaching you be the same as the tutor that you already have?”
“Not exactly.”
She had so much to do to get her dissertation written and ready to defend against a panel that would tear her apart if she didn’t complete the work well. She’d taken a one-year leave of absence from her job as an assistant lecturer at the university, but she didn’t want to squander her time by becoming a private tutor when she could be writing her research.
Yet, she owed him. Big time. Saying no would be rude, but she had to think of herself first. Didn’t she?
***
Lamisi’s excitement from only moments ago had decelerated when he’d presented his request.
The idea had bounced into his brain that he’d have a more enjoyable time learning the language if she were to teach him.
“What do you mean, not exactly?” she asked. “A tutor is a tutor. When you do the work, you get the results.”
The woman was tough. He needed that if he were to reach his goal.
“Believe me, I’ve been studying all the time, but something’s missing.” You. “I’ll be going into the studio to start recording in about six weeks, and so far, my lyrics are still all in English.”
Since he’d been having such a hard time with French, and Lamisi didn’t seem keen on helping him to learn, he needed to take a different tack. “How about rather than me trying to learn the language in that time, which would be impossible, you help me translate some of it?”
He’d thought about just doing a translation before, but knew that being fluent in the language would make him sound better while singing it. This way, as she translated the lyrics, he could learn the language from a more practical level.
She looked at him from the corner of her eye. “Why can’t your tutor interpret for you?”
When was the last time he’d faced so much resistance from someone? People tended to fall at his feet wanting to make him happy. He appreciated Lamisi’s style of staying true to herself. A respectable quality that mirrored him. How much more did they have in common?
“Let’s just say that Gospel is more his style of music. I don’t think he’s ever listened to a secular song. If I asked him, he’d probably clasp a hand against his chest, raise the other one while bowing his head, and exclaim, ‘Jesus take the wheel!’”
Her laughter held the same huskiness of her voice, pleasing his ears. He needed more.
“My tutor would exclaim it in French, and he’d add backward hops to emphasize his point.”
“Oh … my … goodness,” she said between her guffaws and smacking the table. “Stop it. I can totally see it.”
He chuckled. “I haven’t described him, so someone in your life must have left a strong impression.”
Her laughter ended with a sigh. “Definitely.”
“What he’s teaching me is practical for if I travel. When will I ever sing about asking where the toilet is? Can you see why he’s out of the running for lyrics translator?”
Getting her to agree was paramount, so he rushed on with his argument. “He may be technically knowledgeable about the language, but I don’t hear a flow in him.”
Her head dipped to the side as an indent formed in the middle of her forehead. “A flow?”
Blaise nodded and undulated his arm in a wave-like motion. “The tempo that will translate in the music so it doesn’t sound straight or stilted.”
“You’ve lost me.”
He rummaged for a term she’d relate to? “He’s monotonous.”
“No up or down rhythm in his speech.” Her head bobbed. “I get it now.”
Not everyone did. “You possess the flow, and it will help me to decide which lyrics should be sung in French and which should be in English. And …”
He paused to pique her interest.
Her eyes widened. “What?”
“Who would be better to help me create my first French/English album than my number one fan?”
She burst into laughter. “Damn, you’re good.”
He thought so. “Does that mean you’ll help me?”
“How long do you think it would take to do the translations?”
At least, it wasn’t a no. “It’s only for six songs. I can’t see it taking more than a couple of days.”
She rotated the empty glass which had contained her water while she thought.
“Please say you’ll help to make me the king of French/English hiplife.”
“Considering that hiplife is based in Ghana, it’s doubtful. You may need to go with the term they use in Francophone countries for similar music. Closer to zouglou, zouk, or Coupé-Décalé. Have you decided which style you’ll sing in?”
His jaw dropped. “You’re one impressive woman.”
She plucked at her shirt. “I sure am.”
He chuckled. “I’ve got the musical styling covered. We’ll discuss it if you decide to help me with the translation.”
“Since I owe you and it won’t take too much of my time. Okay.”
Blaise pumped a fist in the air.
“How about this weekend so we can get it out of the way?” she asked in a dry tone.
“Your enthusiasm is contagious,” he teased.
“Sorry, but I’m very busy,” she said with one side of her mouth quirked upward in a partial smile. “Working on albums that will expand the scope of music in Africa, maybe the world as we now know it, is not my main priority.”
His chest swelled with the confidence she had in him. “I see. I won’t take it personally then, Dr. Imoro-to-be.”
A full smile bloomed on her face, raising his spirits even higher.
He shifted closer to her as his gaze fell to her lips before rising to her eyes. “How about we seal the deal?”
Her mouth rounded. “Oh?”
He descended his head slowly to give her the opportunity to decline. Her lids hovering at the closing point encouraged him on.
The brush of their lips caused a shock to travel through him, just as it had on the mountain. He’d anticipated this moment since she’d stormed into the restaurant. No—since they’d last seen each other.
He moaned when she raised a hand to his jaw as their lips merged.
Drenched in her scent of sweet roses, his greatest desire was to deepen the kiss. He did the gentlemanly thing and backed away. They were in a public place, even though most of the lunchtime diners had cleared out.
He stared into her eyes with her hand still moulded against his cheek.
“Sealed with a kiss,” he said once his mind had cleared enough for words to form.
He knew without a doubt that he’d turn it into a song one day and dedicate it to her.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Three of the most incredible days of Lamisi’s life had gone by in a whirlwind of heart-racing excitement. How many times had she pinched herself when in the midst of such extraordinary Ghanaian musicians? They had all been gracious and generous with their time and answers. A few of them had even wanted her to contact them about the results of the research, which had elevated her exhilaration into the outer galaxies.
Other than receiving several calls from an unknown number with someone breathing on the other end of the line without speaking, it had been a perfect week.
She’d gotten Blaise’s interview out of the way first. After the ease of conversing with him about his music, she’d found the interactions with the others to be more of a comfortable chat than a strict interview.
She
smiled when Blaise answered his phone on Friday. For the past few days, she had called and gushed her gratitude for having set her up with the artists. They’d end up talking about their day, which she enjoyed. Talking to him was like conversing with a friend who had the ability to make her core pulse with a need that hadn’t been fulfilled in a very long time.
“Lamisi, if you thank me one more time, I’m going to turn each of the interviews you did into their own favour.”
The giggle tripped out of her. “Okay. Okay. No more. How was your day?”
“Stressful.”
She sat up in the seat at her desk, ready to take care of whatever had worried him. “Why? What happened?”
“My manager wants a few of the new songs ready by the VGMAs.”
Lamisi watched the most popular music awards held in Ghana every year. “When are they holding them?”
“In three weeks. They asked me to perform. As my manager pointed out, it would be the perfect platform to introduce the new sound.”
It certainly would since the ceremony was broadcast all over West Africa. “Can you have them ready by then?”
“Yes. The tunes and the lyrics are set. At least the English version. I just need my star translator to transition them into French. Are we still on for tomorrow?”
After having his voice in her ear all week, nothing could keep her from seeing him again. “Yes.”
“Great. I can pick you up and bring you to my place.”
A loud ‘no’ resonated in her head. She couldn’t be alone with him in his home. She’d kissed him in a restaurant and had longed for more. What would her traitorous body allow him to do if they were alone? They hadn’t known each other long enough. “Can’t we meet somewhere more public?”
“I have recording equipment in my home that we’ll be using.”
“Oh.”
“How about if you bring someone with you? As long as they don’t tell the world about my project, it’ll be fine.”
Had he read her mind, or had she been so conservative in her dealings with him that he’d guessed why she’d hesitated? A smile spread across her face at his ability to make her feel at ease.
Tomorrow being Saturday, she could ask any number of people to join her. Her youngest brother Amadu had completed his exams; he’d be perfect. Precious had a wedding to attend—otherwise, she’d have been her first choice. “Okay. What time?”
“I’m under a bit of pressure to get this completed. How about eight? We’ll get some work done, and then, I’ll feed you lunch.”
“Sounds like a deal. See you then. Can you send me the address?”
“Will do. Have a good night.”
“You, too.”
Just like every time she’d spoken to him, she hung up first. Lingering on the phone would be too telling of how much she liked him.
Whether anything would come of it, only time would tell.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Lamisi parked in front of Blaise’s estate house and got out of the car. Two doors clicked closed before hers. Amadu had jumped at the opportunity to meet Bizzy, and so had Precious when she’d mentioned it.
“I’m going with you. It’s only a wedding I’m missing out on,” Precious had said. “Besides, I barely speak to my colleague. She won’t even know I’m not there. I can’t miss an opportunity to experience musical history in the making.”
Lamisi hadn’t been able to talk her friend out of joining them. So instead of one guardian at her side, she was flanked by two, both much too excited about hanging out at Blaise’s place.
The front door opened before they reached it. He’d known they’d arrived in the estate complex when they’d needed his permission to clear security at the front gate.
Blaise stepped out of his home wearing a pair of well-worn jeans with a yellow T-shirt that outlined his muscular chest and arms. The strength of his body stayed imprinted on her own. The consistent memory of the gentle brush of his soft lips still stirred butterflies in her stomach.
Lamisi’s mouth went dry at the sight of him. His beard remained trimmed and his hair was the same low-cut style it had been when she’d last seen him a few days ago. Yet, his handsomeness had quadrupled. If such a thing could be tallied.
“Welcome.”
The moment he opened his arms out to her, she skipped forward to ensconce herself into them. The sun blazing down on them had nothing on the heat her body absorbed when she looped her arms around his waist and melted from chest to thigh into his solid strength.
She closed her eyes and clung tighter to his perfect form as her body buzzed with an awareness that curled her toes. Her senses overloaded with his presence as his unique smell wafted into her nose. A mix of … She took a deep whiff to discern the scent. Leather and citrus. She could get drunk from the combination.
He released her before she was anywhere near ready.
The hug with Precious wasn’t as intimate or long as the one they’d shared. Her insides danced at that.
“Hello, Precious. How have you been?”
“Hi, Blaise. Life’s been busy, but good. How’s the ankle?”
“Mostly healed. Every once in a while, I get a twinge of pain, but it’s manageable.”
Lamisi introduced the men.
A clap of hands introduced their handshake before their palms slid along each other, ending in a snap of their fingers.
Blaise’s lips rose with a smile. “Good to meet you, Amadu.”
Her protective little brother displayed a polite reserve which was unlike his bold personality. “You, too. I’m a big fan of your music.”
A huge understatement.
“So far, it sounds like I have a solid fan base in the Imoro family.”
“Not everyone, man.” Amadu’s honest nature came to the forefront, as usual. “My father won’t listen to anything but old school high life, and my eldest sister is Gospel all the way. The rest of us, even my mother, are more eclectic in our music tastes.”
Blaise glanced at her with a brow raised and a twinkle in his eyes. “Gospel, you say?”
Lamisi giggled at their inside joke.
“Nothing but,” Amadu responded with a curious look at Lamisi.
He led them into his home.
“Oh, my goodness,” Precious whispered with more than a touch of awe.
Lamisi whole-heartedly agreed as the air-conditioned atmosphere hit her. Dark brown leather couches and chairs cradling light yellow and orange throw pillows filled the perimeter of the living area. The tan and white rug below the coffee table met the edges of the seats. A plasma screen television took up a third of the opposite wall.
The rust colour of two walls gave the room a warm glow while the light grey in the dining area and the barrier which held the door they’d just entered appeared to expand it.
He’d given the space a Ghanaian feel with a few carved wood masks and vivid paintings of scenery of their homeland.
“Make yourselves at home,” Blaise said. “I’ll be right back.
They settled side by side onto the couch. Lamisi held back a groan as she ran a hand against the buttery soft material while being enveloped in a seat with the perfect amount of firmness and sinkability.
Amadu hadn’t stopped gawping at the flat screen. “This place is inspiration.”
“Is it just me, or is the house massive?” Lamisi asked.
“I wouldn’t have guessed how far it extended. And this is just the living and dining room.” Precious pointed towards the staircase. “Did either of you notice a second floor from the outside?”
“No. I thought it was a single story.” Then again, she’d been too busy basking in Blaise’s embrace to notice much of anything other than him.
Amadu twisted his upper body. “Is that a swimming pool in the back?”
They stood as if attached by a wire and looked out of the windows protected by an intricately designed metallic burglar-proofing system. A gleaming, crystal clear in-ground swimming pool met her gaze.
“It’s six plots,” Blaise announced as he came into the room with a tray of bottled water.
Never in seven lifetimes would she have guessed that he’d be the one to serve them. Didn’t he have a house help? He couldn’t maintain this incredible home by himself. Could he?
Out of habit, she stepped forward to take the tray from him.
“Please sit. You’re my guest.”
She sank into the seat, once again impressed by him.
They each plucked a bottle of water from the tray with a word of thanks.
Blaise sat in an armchair. “How about a tour of the grounds before we start work?”
“If it isn’t an inconvenience.” Lamisi kept her voice light instead of letting the eagerness come through.
“Not at all.”
They formed a queue behind him as if on a school excursion.
He swung right when they reached the dining room into a kitchen that made Lamisi’s knees weaken with envy.
Light brown wood cabinets broke the cream-coloured theme of the walls and marble-looking countertops.
He reached for one of the tall cabinet handles and opened it to reveal a full refrigerator. She’d only seen such a beautifully hidden panel on television shows.
Saliva filled her mouth at the eight-burner stainless steel range making up part of the centre island.
“Do you enjoy cooking?” Precious asked.
“Yes, but for the most part, I leave the task to my Aunt Vida who prepares my meals. She’s amazing.”
Lamisi raised a brow at Precious when Blaise turned his back. A man who knew how to cook and openly admitted it. Intriguing.
They walked to the far side of the home past the swimming pool, guest house, and a massive garden. A shelter housed two vehicles and a motorcycle.
Lamisi’s body thrummed with memories of rides that had left her invigorated. Her hands had gripped the handles as the motorcycle vibrated beneath her. The engine had revved with the hum of a lion as she’d taken to the road, owning it. It had been much too long since she’d controlled the kind of power that left her feeling free and uninhibited.