by Kiru Taye
"Nobody has ever done that for me. I could get used to it."
"That’s the idea. Sit." He pulled up the tall stool for her and she climbed on it.
He went about preparing the food. To her surprise, he moved around the kitchen like someone used to preparing and cooking food, at odds with the image she had of him.
He took a gleaming pan from the brushed steel rack hanging over the central unit and lit a gas hob. Then he plucked fresh herbs from the selections in a clear display vase. Even the ease with which he chopped up the ingredients spoke of expertise.
"I thought you said you couldn’t cook."
"I told you I had a chef. I never said I couldn’t cook." He raised his brows.
He had her there. She’d made assumptions about him based on the wrong things. "Oh."
He dished out two plates of cheese and ham omelette served with a side of lettuce salad and placed one in front of her before pulling up another stool beside her.
"Would you like some wine, madam?" He presented her with a bottle of South African Stellenbosch Chenin Blanc.
Her eyes widened. That was an expensive bottle of wine for just a plate of omelette. But she nodded. He opened the bottle and poured out the wine into two glasses before he sat down.
"Cheers." They clicked glasses and started eating.
"This is lovely," she said after taking a bite. "You can cook for me any day."
"You can visit me any day," he replied.
They ate in silence for a while.
"I’m curious as to the reason you didn’t take a lover for so long," he finally asked.
His directness unsettled her sometimes. She welcomed his openness and honesty when it came to revealing things about him. But when he turned the focus on her, she became out of sorts. Her cheeks heated and she glared at him.
"How do you know it was a long time? I could’ve been with someone else last week."
"I doubt it. You were so tight; I’d wager a lot of money you haven’t been with a man in years, a long time before we met."
"Yeah, you’re right."
"Why, though? I’m sure it’s not for lack of attention."
She shrugged. "Casual sex never appealed to me before and I hadn't met a man I wanted to give my body to in a long time. The available men are either too intimidated by my ambition, or want me to give up everything to become their wife. The only ones who seem to want me for me are married, and there’s no way I’m touching another woman’s husband. That’s a no-go area for me."
"Well, it’s all good news for me." He flashed a set of white teeth like a Cheshire cat.
"As long as you’re not trying to chain me to the kitchen sink as your wife and you can handle the fact that one day, I might be taking over your business." She winked back at him playfully.
"Oh, you can try, sweetheart." He raised his glass. "Here’s to getting what we want."
Chapter Seven
The day after a night of raunchy sex, delicious soreness in her body bore witness. The alarm on her phone woke her at five o’clock the following morning. She rose to find Mark already in the bathroom and they finally put his theory of shower sex to practice.
Her clothes had been cleaned, dried, and ironed, ready for her in his room when she came out of the shower. Even the buttons that had popped had been sown back into to the silk. She dressed without her undies. Another first.
Outfitted in his trademark pinstripe suit—a grey one today—and looking as commanding and sexy as always, Mark’s comment of "knowing you left my house commando is going to keep me distracted for the rest of the day," bolstered her confidence. Perhaps she could play the sex kitten for Mark. Only Mark.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror in his closet, tugging at the straggly strands of her wet hair. Her underwear-less bum could easily be hidden beneath her knee-length linen skirt, but her messy head would be obvious to anyone who saw her. She couldn’t afford to have people at work wondering why she wasn’t looking her trademark sophisticated self, with no wish to be the topic of office gossip.
"What am I going to do about my hair?" she directed in dismay at Mark, busy knotting his navy blue tie. She would have to go home to get it sorted and that would mean being late for work. On a Monday! Not a good start to the week.
"Come with me." He took her hand.
She slipped her feet into her stilettos and followed him out of his room and down the corridor to another room, her heels tapping on the hard flooring. She loved this tactile Mark, always ready to touch her skin without prompting. He'd been this way at the beach and even the night in Johannesburg.
Warm and strong, his hands conveyed safety. Security. Was it just her mind playing tricks, conjuring illusions? Surely, she didn’t need the safety of a man. She was secure in her own self.
"Here you go," he said when he pushed open the door.
Light and feminine, pink pastels and frilly fabrics decorated the large room.
"Whose room is this?"
The words left her mouth before she could curb them. Did one night with Mark give her possession of him? Could she now enquire as to whatever went on in his home as if she had claim over him? He didn’t have a sister. And he’d told her his cook who doubled as a housekeeper was a man. Did he use to live with an ex?
She gave him a quick side glance, not budging as he tugged her to enter the room. She didn’t want to step into a space that had been used by one of his exes. He seemed to see the tumult of emotions in her eyes as he smiled and squeezed her hand gently.
"It’s Tari’s old room."
He said that confidently, as if he was expecting her to know who the person was
"Who?" She frowned, her stomach knotting tightly with unease.
"You should know Tari, my baby cousin. She was a bridesmaid at Felix’s wedding."
A brief image from the wedding of a light-skinned girl with a pretty face appeared in her mind.
"Oh, her." Faith glanced around the room. "She lives here?"
"No. She was staying here when she was at Law School because it was close." He lowered his voice conspiratorially, as if conveying a great secret.
Relief whooshed out of her body. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting to hear.
"Truth is, she was a bit of a wild child and her parents wanted me to keep an eye on her."
His smile added just the killer charm. Her insides melted.
"Anyway, she’s doing her Youth Service, so the room is empty."
"Okay," she replied, finally stepping into the room when he tugged her again.
"Check one of the drawers," he said, pointing in the direction of the small oak dresser with a gilded mirror on top. "I know she left a few things she didn’t need and that girl had several blow driers. So there should be one someplace. I’ll be in the kitchen making coffee."
Mark left her to it. She searched the dresser table drawers and found what she was looking for in the bottom right hand one, then she took out a small petroleum jelly jar from her bag. She never went anywhere without it. It came in handy both as a lip balm and hand cream.
A little dab with her fingers on her short-cropped hair and she blow-dried it into the style it’d been cut. Her reflection in the mirror confirmed she appeared ready for the day. No one would know she hadn’t slept in her own house. Unless they’d seen her yesterday at the Christening wearing the same clothes. But that was highly unlikely, she hoped.
In the kitchen, Mark was pouring black coffee from the machine into two bone china cups. He’d set a place for her at the breakfast bar with a stool next to his, just like the previous night. He looked so comfortable playing the doting lover.
Did he do this same routine with all the other women he slept with, on the morning after? Her stomach tightened with nausea, the idea that she was just going to be another notch on his bed sickening her. She gritted her teeth and pushed the thought to the back of her mind.
Sex. This was all about sex. Nothing more. She needed to keep that at the front
of her mind and stop forming any attachment to Mark. She needed to get away from him.
"I’m going to head off," she said in a casual voice to hide her apprehension as she stood at the threshold, knowing that if she walked into the kitchen, she would be pulled into the gravitational orbit that oozed around Mark. She hadn’t been able to keep her hands off him in the shower this morning. And seeing him standing in his kitchen reawakened her arousal.
No need carrying on with this charade. They were not living in domesticated bliss, an option not open to her. She couldn’t give another man license to ride roughshod over her mind. The one man who should’ve protected her—her father—only wanted her on his own terms. She couldn’t be an individual free to make her own choices. She wouldn’t allow another man to do that to her again. Mark only wanted sex. This was fine with her, for as long as she wanted it.
He turned around, a smile on his face.
"Not yet. Come and have some breakfast. I’ve got granola, fruit, and yoghurt." He gave an exaggerated sweeping wave at the table like a waiter.
She fought the smile that threatened to sneak out. She really couldn’t let him charm her so easily.
"I’m not really a breakfast person," she said, hoping that would be the end of it.
"Breakfast is the most important meal of the day," he countered.
She should’ve known he would have a comeback.
"It’s okay. I’ll have a coffee and fruit when I get to the office. There are things I need to do before the working day starts." She tapped her forefinger on the face of her wristwatch.
He flicked his arm up and glanced at his gold watch then strode across the slate tiles in her direction. "I promise you, we’ll be out of here by six thirty. Do we have a deal?"
She looked up into his midnight eyes. They sparkled, a smile playing on his lips. But she still knew he wouldn’t back down until he got what he wanted.
Perhaps if she agreed, she could get out of there sooner. She took a deep breath. "Okay. Breakfast, then."
He held onto her hand as if he still expected her to bolt as they walked over to the stools. Seeing the food all laid out made her mouth water. She settled for some grapefruit and then ate a little cereal with yoghurt.
"What spooked you?" he asked her as he raised a spoon laden with granola and banana slices to his lips.
Her gaze lingered on his sensuous lips and she remembered how those same lips had sucked her breasts in the shower this morning, not to talk about all the other places on her body he’d licked and nipped last night. On her sex, his mouth had been like a suction cup, causing havoc and eliciting a few screams of pleasure from her. Her orgasms had come one after the other like the reputed London buses.
After five years of no orgasm, she’d had a series and had lost count after the fifth one. Her nipples tightened in remembrance and wetness slicked the junction of her thighs.
"Faith?"
His amused voice drew her attention and she shook her head to clear the haze of lust. She really had to get a grip. She turned her gaze to her bowl of cereal. Safer than staring at Mark.
"Sorry," she mumbled to hide her embarrassment.
"No need to be." His amusement still rang evident in his voice. "I wanted to know why you were ready to run again."
"Run?" She still didn’t get him, and it seemed she was incapable of responding with more than one word at a time. Somebody slap me now.
"Something happened between when I left you in Tari’s room to when you came into the kitchen. You...we...were having a good morning until then."
What the—! Could she not hide anything from this man? Obviously not. She lowered her hands to her lap and clenched them in frustration.
"How do you know that?" Her irritation slipped through her voice.
He stared at her for a moment, as if reading her some more. She lifted her brow in an ‘answer-me’ look.
"You had that same look in your eyes the night I was in your kitchen," he finally replied. "It’s a mix of determination and fright. Every time I see it, I know something’s happened in that brain of yours—" he touched her forehead with the pad of his forefinger, "—and you’re about to bolt on me."
"Remind me never to play poker with you," she said in a sarcastic voice.
He shrugged. "Reading people is part of the reason I’ve been very successful. I can usually anticipate my opponents’ actions before they are carried out and they never see mine coming." His grin gleamed full of white teeth, like a shark’s. "So, tell me, what spooked you?"
"You did," she said, glad to see the smirk on his face disappear.
"Me? What did I do?" He drank the rest of his coffee.
"All of this." She waved her hands to encompass everything laid out on the table.
The gobsmacked expression on his face would’ve been comedic if she wasn’t being serious.
"Walking in here to find you busy sorting out breakfast scared the hell out of me," she said honestly, glad to get it out in the open. The sooner they clarified their positions, the better for both of them.
"You don’t like it?" He frowned, his disappointment obvious as he held her gaze.
For a moment, she thought she saw a shadow of hurt behind the glaze of his eyes. Her heart clenched. There it was. She didn’t want to hurt him. But better she said it now rather than later.
"No," she replied quickly, not wanting him to misinterpret her words. "I like it. A lot."
"So what’s the problem?" He still frowned.
"That’s the problem. I shouldn’t like it. I shouldn’t care about it. After all, we’re just having fun here, right? It’s just sex—"
"Great sex," he interrupted.
"Good sex." She winked. "It’s still just a casual thing, nonetheless. I was going to wake up, get dressed, and then head off to work and get on with my week." She paused, hand braced on the edge of the table. "And then you do this. This says it’s more. This is domesticated in a we-have-a-future-together kind of way. And it’s just not going to happen."
"So let me get this straight," he said, standing up to put his bowl and hers in the dishwasher. "Instead of kicking you out of my bed—"
"Correction. You can never kick me out. I’ll be the one walking out when I’ve had my fill of you," she retorted, crossing her arms over her chest in a defensive stance as she bristled.
His eyes hardened into marbles as he leaned against the counter. His pose appeared casual but she wasn’t fooled. She’d riled him.
"Right. So instead of letting you sneak out of my bed and my apartment like what we did was something to be ashamed of, I get up and pamper you with breakfast so that we can enjoy a little bit more time together before life gets in the way, and you don’t like it."
The dangerous coldness to his voice should’ve rattled her. In fact, it did. But if this was a battle with Mark, she couldn’t show any fear. She shrugged nonchalantly.
"Damn it, Faith. Would you rather I fuck you and send you home with money for the taxi fare? Is that the kind of relationship you want?"
His grip on the counter showed taut knuckles, his jaw clenched tight.
"You know damn well I don’t need your taxi fare."
His insult stung. She didn’t need his or any other man’s money. Snatching her bag from where she’d left it on the table, she walked towards the door, her emotions churning. She needed to get out of there before she said something she would regret.
His fingers wrapped around her arm. She stopped walking but didn’t turn around. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears. She heard the long whoosh of his breath before he walked around to face her. She looked up at his face but couldn’t read his expression on the blank battle face she’d seen him wear on many newspaper pages.
"What do you want from me?"
His voice came out hoarse, telling her he wasn’t as composed as he appeared.
"I want—" she squeaked and sucked in a deep breath to clear her head and voice before speaking more calmly. She tugged her arm and he let
her go, and she wrapped them around her ribcage to hide her body’s trembling.
"I don’t want you to treat me like this is special when it’s not," she said in a quiet voice, glad that she didn’t sound as upset as she truly was.
"How do you know what we have is not special?" he asked, his hands crossed over his chest.
"Really?" She stared him down, meeting his gaze and showing no fear. "This is just sex, Mark. It might feel special—" she curled her fingers in air quotes, "—because it took us over a year to get here. But we don’t have a future together. We’re not Ebony and Felix."
He heaved a sigh and let his hands fall to his sides.
"I don’t know what the future holds. Can we not just be in a relationship together, enjoying the here and now without worrying about the future?"
"I don’t know if I can, Mark," she said with a hint of resignation in her voice. "I’m a planner. I can’t get out of bed without having the whole day mapped out with back-up plans, too. I need to know what I’m doing... What we are doing."
"I can’t plan what’s going to happen with us," Mark said while raking his hand over his head in a frustrated gesture. "I’ve only just managed to get you here. All I know is that I want to be with you. I can’t tell you how long we will last or when it will end."
"Perhaps not," she said in agreement. "But we will know when it’s over, won’t we? We’re mature enough to be able to end it amicably, without drama, right?"
"Right," he said, and she noticed his jaw had clenched. He didn’t seem to be one hundred percent convinced. "We can end it without drama when the time is right."
"Right. That’s a plan I can live with." She nodded although the thought that they would break up one day didn’t seem to agree with her heart, which clenched sadly.
"So can you let go and enjoy our time together, no matter how spontaneous it gets?" He closed in on her, his spicy scent and heat surrounding her body.
"I can." She nodded and swallowed as her body’s awareness of his closeness ramped up.