Making Scandal (The Essien Trilogy, #2)

by Kiru Taye

  Turning around, she nearly bumped into Mark. Her breath caught in her throat. He stood so close to her, head and shoulders taller. Imposing and handsome, even with the tiredness lining his face. She stepped back, but he reached out and pulled her into the circle of his arms. His chest expanded as he took a deep breath, her head tucked under his chin.

  "God knows I’ve missed you," he whispered into her hair.

  Surprised and speechless, she hugged him tight, glad to just be in his arms, his hard strength and spice comforting.

  After a long moment, he loosened his arms. She took a step back and tilted her head back so she could see his face.

  "Can I get you a drink?" she asked as she walked up the stair to the living room.

  He followed behind her. "Yes, please. Something cool and refreshing."

  Tossing aside the scatter cushions and lowered his body onto one corner of the upholstered sofa and stretched out his legs.

  "You have a beautiful home," he said as he studied the room.

  The white walls, although bare, provided the canvass for the rest of the fixtures—beech wood furniture, mint-coloured settees, velvety coral-covered cushions.

  "Thank you." She smiled, warmth spreading inside her body at his compliment. She went into the kitchen, withdrew a bottle of fresh mango juice from the fridge, found a tall glass from one of the cherry oak wall cupboard and returned to the living room.

  Mark had his head back and eyes closed. He looked so relaxed she didn’t want to disturb him. Her heart warmed just seeing him like that. He was the first man she’d had in her house since she moved into it over a year ago. For some reason, she liked having him here now, and she could just stand there watching him.

  "I know you’re there."

  His deep, tired voice jolted her.

  Warmth spread across her chest. Smiling, she stepped forward and placed the items in her hands on a side table. "I was trying not to disturb you in case you were asleep."

  "I can smell you."

  "What?" She sniffed herself.

  "Not like that." His low, husky laughter filled her living room and he angled his head to stare at her face. "You smell of sunshine and lavender. I love your scent."

  Cool fingers coiled around her left lower arm and he tugged. She tumbled onto his firm lap.

  "Mark!" She giggled.

  "I can’t resist touching you."

  He released her and she shifted on the sofa to the other end.

  "You have to resist." She smiled at him. "You promised. Anyway, let me get you something to eat."

  "What I want to eat is right here." The corner of his lips curled in a devilish smile.

  Her insides contracted at his heated gaze. She needed to get away from him before they both did something they’d regret.

  "Well, tough. I’m offering you some jollof rice with chicken, instead," she said and ran off to the kitchen as his laughter reverberated around her house.

  Chapter Four

  The retreat into the kitchen didn’t last very long. At least, it didn’t seem that way to Faith. Her heart pounded as she warmed up the food she’d prepared already, the tension in her stomach increasing.

  Perhaps it hadn’t been a good idea inviting Mark over to her house. Her body’s reaction to his close proximity veered on crazy and she couldn’t seem to calm it down.

  Still, how could she have ignored the weariness that seemed to hang on his shoulders and the tension tightening his back muscles? They all seemed to have disappeared once he stepped into her place.

  No. She was glad he came here. She wanted to be the one to soothe his worries, to let him know there was someone here for him as support outside of his immediate family. She was family, too, Ebony being like a sister to her.

  Her home arrangement lay on split levels. The living room and dining room were on the first floor, the kitchen and guest bathroom on the lower floor, and bedrooms with en-suite bathrooms at the top level.

  Faith returned upstairs with the food on a tray and set it on the dining table.

  "Come on." She popped her head round the door of the living room to find Mark still sprawled on her sofa and scrolling through TV channels but not settling on any.

  No matter how exhausted he appeared, he moved with grace and lithe as he straightened and joined her at the door. His hand settled on her lower back, warm and light. Possessive, yet not suffocating.

  The gesture provided the option for her to move away from his touch. She didn't. Somehow, she liked his tactile nature, loved the contact even if she dreaded the implication. He made her feel as if he couldn’t help but hold onto her, as if she mattered to him.

  He pulled out a chair for her and waited until she sat down before moving to his own seat.

  "You know you didn’t have to go to all this trouble," he said when he sat down and she started dishing out rice onto his plate.

  "Of course I had to. You told me you hadn’t eaten anything today since breakfast."

  "But I’m fine. I would’ve picked up something on the way home if I needed."

  "Yes, you could’ve, but that would be more takeaway. A home-cooked meal is much better."

  "Yes, you’re right. This is delicious. Although I have to confess, I have a cook at home, so I don’t always eat out."

  "You have a cook?" She crinkled her face in a frown. "Why?"

  "I do have to eat, and as you said, home-cooked food is sometimes best."

  "Why don’t you cook yourself? Don’t tell me you can’t cook."

  "I run a multi-billion dollar business. My time is much better spent on other things than cooking."

  Her spine stiffened and his frown deepened.

  "So when you get married, do you expect your wife to do the cooking?"

  "Of course. She’ll be home more often than I’ll be, taking care of our children. So it’s expected."

  "Hmmm." Faith grunted. Her nostrils flared and she glared at him. So angry, she didn’t speak. Couldn’t speak.

  "What?" he asked as if he didn't understand why she would be upset.

  She shook her head and lifted her glass of water to take a sip.

  "I mean, women are known to be much better at cooking." He shrugged.

  "Some of the best chefs in the world are men," she retorted. "Have you thought of that?"

  "Yes, but in those cases, they do it for business. When they come home, I’m sure each one of them would still like to eat food cooked by their wives."

  "Oh," she fumed. "You can be so arrogant and chauvinistic sometimes."

  She put her cutlery down and crossed her arms over her chest.

  "You’re mad at me because I said I want to eat food cooked by my wife."

  "No. Don’t pretend you don’t know the subliminal message your words deliver. Women should be at home while men go out to work."

  "If that’s what you think I mean, then why am I here with you? You’re hardly housewife material."

  "I’d like to know, too." She pushed back her chair and stood, ready to walk away from the dining table.

  Firm fingers grabbed her wrist, held her still.

  "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that." He sighed, the tired sound hanging in the air. "I guess this whole thing with Felix is making me lose my sense of humour."

  She puffed out a breath and turned around. "I’m sorry, too. I brought you here to help soothe you, not rile you up. I really need to pipe down on the whole feminist propaganda, don’t I?"

  She lowered her body into the seat, took another deep breath and changed the topic. "How are you coping with everything?"

  "It hasn’t been easy. Trying to run my business and oversee Felix’s, as well, and worrying about my parents. My dad isn’t dealing very well with Felix being in hospital. He has a special fondness for my older brother, and I’m worried if Felix doesn’t make it through—"

  "Don’t even think it. Felix will get through this. He’s a fit young man. Of course he’ll wake up."

  "I hope so. We all hope so. E
ven Tony, who we never see, has been volunteering to help out."

  "Oh yeah, your younger brother. I saw him at the wedding. Doesn’t he work for one of your businesses?"

  "No. He’s an ‘artist’." Mark drew invisible quotes in the air with both hands and chuckled. "Tony fancies himself as a movie mogul."

  Faith leaned back, the derisive words hitting home. It reminded Faith of how her father had laughed when she'd said she wanted to run businesses instead of getting married.

  "A woman's place is in the home not in an office."

  Faith shivered at the remembered words.

  "If making movies is what he wants to do, you should let him," Faith said in a serious tone. She knew what if felt like to be told she couldn’t be what she wanted to be because of other people’s expectations.

  "We’re letting him do what he wants. I would simply like one of his ventures to actually make some money instead of him coming to ask for more investments."

  "I’m sure he’ll surprise you one of these days."

  "I look forward to that day." He lifted his glass of mango juice in a toast. "Thank you for a lovely meal."

  "You’re welcome." She started clearing the table.

  "Let me do it." Standing, he grabbed her hand and stopped her. "Go and put your feet up."

  "It’s okay. I don’t mind. You’re my guest."

  "Look, I’m hardly a guest. Moreover, you were the one berating me earlier. So let me help."

  "Okay, we’ll both do it."

  She took the tray and he carried the glasses down after her. In the kitchen, she washed up and he dried the dishes, then she showed him where to put them. Seeing him in her kitchen reinforced the growing feelings she had for him. Something about him there, his sleeves rolled up his arms, the two of them relaxed, laughing and chatting in domestic bliss.

  Would it be really wrong to have this daily? To see him like this, to spend the time with him without complications? She shook her head and wiped down the work surface as Mark put the last dishes away.

  "Can I taste you now?" he whispered in a low gruff voice, the warm air from his breath lifting the hairs on the back of her head.

  His chest pressed against her shoulders, his erection hot and hard and burning into her back.

  "Mark." His name came out like a soft prayer on her lips, her core contracting in expectation.

  Was she saying yes or no? She wasn’t sure anymore. The only certainty she could rely on was how her body responded to his request. Aroused.

  Soft lips brushed the edge of her ear lobe and a wet, rough tongue licked a fiery path on the inside. Panting, she puffed air in and out of her open mouth as her body trembled uncontrollably.

  Fight this... Why?

  Rational thinking flew out of the open window of the kitchen as his mouth continued its devastating trail down her neck.

  One second she was trying to collect her thoughts; the next, she was staring into his eyes and suddenly wishing she hadn’t. His need burned bright in his dark irises, a blazing star of craving in the midnight sky. She got sucked right into orbit, pulled into his soul.

  When his lips met hers, his hunger fuelled hers, flame to gasoline. Erupting into a bundle of sensation encased within his shell of hot, hard, arousing muscles, she lost all sense of herself.

  His lips sucked and pulled, his teeth nipped and grazed.

  Fisting her hands in the soft fabric of his shirt, she clung on, wanting to feel him inside as well as outside. Everywhere. All at once.

  Before she was fully aware of her actions, she’d climbed his sturdy legs, wrapping hers around his hips. A guttural sound registered in her lust-riddled mind as the ridge of his erection lined up with her damp knickers, her skirt now riding up her thighs.

  Had the groan come from her or Mark?

  With one hand on her hip, he lifted her until she sat on the worktop and he stood between her legs. She churned her hips, grinding her sex against the hard bulge of his arousal. He pulled the hem of her blouse out of her skirt and pushed it up over her torso. Her nipples, already taut, strained in her satin bra, her breasts heavy and sensitive.

  "My...you’re beautiful."

  His voice came out filled with awe and a deep sexiness that vibrated in her core. He took a nipple into his warm, wet mouth, sucking deeply.

  She cried out in a long moan, her body writhing beneath his as she bowed off the surface. She hovered so close to a climax. And he seemed to know it. He repeated the action on her other breast.

  "Mark!" She screamed out his name as her orgasm hit her, heavy, drenching, and devastating, her whole body rocking for seconds on end.

  He wrapped his hands around her and held her to him, nuzzling her neck until she calmed and reality hit her.

  What did they just do? What did she just do?

  She stiffened in his arms. He must have sensed her tension. He leaned back, looking at her face, but she couldn’t meet his gaze.

  "Faith—"

  "Mark, don’t." She lifted her hand to stop him. Too embarrassed to listen to his words. What else was there to say apart that it shouldn’t have happened? She pushed herself up and slid away from him, rolling down her skirt and blouse to a semblance of decency. "It’s been a long day and we are both tired."

  "I’ll take it that’s not an invitation to finish what we just started."

  "I’m sorry, Mark. I shouldn’t have let it get this far."

  Gosh! She’d even climaxed, and they both still had their clothes on. All he’d done was kiss her and suck on her nipples and she’d disintegrated like a virginal teenager.

  "The hell it shouldn’t have happened." He took a step towards her, eyes blazing with passion. "You want me as much as I want you. The sooner you admit it, the better for both of us."

  Then he swivelled and departed from the kitchen, walking up the stairs.

  She gripped the table, sucking in gulps of air, trying to calm her trembling body. Who was she kidding? She’d wanted him. Still wanted him. If he came back and touched her the way he had, she would fall apart again. She would let him take her any way he wanted. It all showed the kind of effect he had on her body.

  His keys jingled in their bunch as he came downstairs. With still trembling legs, she walked out to meet him in the hallway. He had his jacket over his left arm and his car keys in his right hand.

  "Sweetheart, I care about you enough to give you time to wrap your head around what just happened between us." Heated black eyes stared at her, making her heart stutter. "But be assured that next time, I won’t be walking away."

  He opened her front door and stepped out.

  From that day onwards, she avoided Mark. A cowardly thing to do, but the only way she knew she could resist him. If she ever stood in the same room as him again, she wouldn’t be able to say no to him.

  Fortunately, Felix woke from the coma and in a few days, returned home so she had no reason to visit the hospital again. Mark made no special effort to seek her out. He didn’t call or visit her at the office or at home.

  Truthfully, his absence niggled at her. She missed his company and his humour.

  Later that year, Ebony gave birth to a baby boy and Faith was named godmother. She dreaded the day of the christening because Mark had been named the godfather, along with his brother, Tony.

  However, she shouldn’t have been worried. Mark barely gave her more than a perfunctory glance and a quick hello. She didn’t realise how much she’d missed him until she stood next to him in the chapel aisle without getting his usual smile directed at her.

  After the blessing at the church, they went back to Felix and Ebony’s house, an invitation just for the close family. Ebony dragged Faith to the upstairs lounge and left Felix and Mark with their parents and her mum who were fussing over the baby for a while.

  "You look great for a new mum," Faith said when she sat down in the sofa, glad to be away from having to stare at Mark. "All glowing and lovely."

  "Thank you," Ebony said, pouring out the d
rinks that Bisi, their housekeeper, had left on the coffee table. "I didn’t know I’d love being a parent so much but it’s fantastic."

  "Alex is so gorgeous and well-behaved, too. I can’t believe he didn’t cry once throughout the christening."

  "He is adorable, isn’t he?" Ebony smiled as she took a sip of her drink. "I didn’t know I could love anyone the way I love him."

  "I’m so happy for you. I’m glad you and Felix finally sorted everything out."

  Ebony nodded. "Yes, this brings me to what I wanted to talk to you about." She paused. "What is going on between you and Mark?"

  "Why. What has he said?" Faith asked defensively as she cupped her glass in both hands.

  "He hasn’t said anything, and that’s my point. He is being closed off. Did something happen between the two of you?"

  Faith shrugged but didn’t say anything.

  "Come on, talk to me. You know, as godmother to Alex, you’re not allowed to keep secrets from me."

  "Okay. I’ll talk." She took a deep breath. "Something happened—well, almost happened...has been happening. Oh, I don’t know."

  She lifted her hands up in frustration. This whole thing with Mark drove her insane.

  "We can’t be together," she said at last.

  "Why not?" Ebony asked.

  "Because...because of my job." Right now, that reason didn’t sound so foolproof.

  "Your job? I don’t get it."

  "He works—runs a rival firm. I’m director of Strategy at City. Getting involved with him amounts to a conflict of interest."

  "Oh, come on. The two of you are adults. You’re hardly going to be sharing confidential corporate information with each other."

  "I—"

  "Moreover, you’ve been doing great things at City and they should know you’d never do anything that would mess up the business."

  "I know. But think about the scandal that will ensue if it gets into the press. It could be damaging to City."

  "Faith, you worry too much," Ebony said. "If you like him like I think you do, I’m sure the two of you would find a way around any problems that arise."