Bukolaberry:
yes o you can sit with me, thanks for the update.

are you Scarlett? Is Scarlett you? You is Scarlett? Scarlett you is?

Leave our handsome gospel singer for us o

Rosemary33:
are you Scarlett? Is Scarlett you? You is Scarlett? Scarlett you is?

Leave our handsome gospel singer for us o

No the handsome gospel singer is mine,

Six
Paul

Calling the lady beautiful was a joke. A Nubian goddess suit her better. She had on her a dress made with African print. The rich blond curls she wore yesterday was gone.

Today, she had her kinky hair wrapped with the same African print material.

“Can I sit with you?” He said for the second time, restraining himself from dipping his fingers into her rich hair. “Please?”

“It’s a pub, isn’t it.” She looked uncomfortable, her gaze shifting from the half-empty beer before her to her handbag. If he didn’t meet her last night, he would have concluded that he him seated close to her was making her nervous, but the idea that a woman like her would be nervous was amusing.

“My name is...”

“I know who you are.”

“Oh,” was all he could say in response to her retort. “And you shouldn’t be here.” She lifted head and stared out of the window. “With me... You shouldn’t be seen with me.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Turning her head towards him, her eyes, like a polished amber in first rays of dawn met his. “Trust me, pretty boy, I am everything you don’t want to hang around with.” He didn’t know if it was the beauty of her lips or the subtle husk in her voice that sent the urge to take her face and kiss her into his head. Whichever was the case, he knew it was wrong. The sudden awakening of lust inside him as he stared her luscious lips was wrong.

Thank God he looked normal! God, he hoped he looked normal.

Running his fingers through his hair as though to shake of every immoral thought, he blamed his sudden sinful desire on his not being able to pray before leaving his hotel room that morning. Forgive me, God. His mission on this lady was win her, Not lust after her.

“The lady that just left,” Her eyes widened in shock, mouth agape. “I’m sorry...” he quickly added, sure that he'd triggered something. “It’s just that... the way she... you weren’t looking so good when she left.” He didn’t notice it was her seated a few tables away from theirs. Then he heard voices and recognized hers from— the subtle husk now coated with sadness. He couldn’t help but turn his head. Though he wasn't too sure it was her until she and their gaze met.

“It’s none of your business,” she blurted.

He could swear there’s an imperceptible fear in her voice, reminding him of what he saw in her eyes when he collided with her last night.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” She was struggling with tears? Oh, holy spirit. If those tears clouding in her eyes roll down, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself as he’d love to pulled her into his arms but it didn’t seem like she would welcome that. The tightening of her face, the anger and pain waring in her eyes... she’s a scared tigress that would rather claw to death a rescuer instead of allowing herself to be rescued.

“I can help you...”

“Leave me the hell alone!”

Maybe it was her eyes which were saying something different from what her lips were letting out, or the refreshing scents of jasmine, heliotropes and roses emanating from her.

But Paul realized he didn’t want to leave her alone.
Maybe you like her.

Yes, God Yes! He liked her and that was weird. He'd only picked interest in three women throughout his life; Florenci, his childhood crush, now married to the son of the Mayor of Armstrong. Sugar, a lady he met in high school— his mother never like her. And Matilda, one of his backup singers, it simply didn’t work out between them.

“Go, please,” she pleaded, her eyes softened now.

Yes, he should get up and leave. But why was he feeling he would be leaving a part of him in darkness and gloom if he does that? What was it about this wild lady that intrigued him to the point of wanting to stay with her even when everything about her screamed danger?
If anyone had told him yesterday, that every nerve in him would be screaming for this strange woman, he would have laughed it off.
The old man at the elevator told you.
And he had laughed at him.

“Hey, Paul!” George called. “Come over here, boy.”

Running his hand through his hair again, he turned to the lady to excused himself but his words caught in his throat as he stared directly into her eyes. There was something in them. Something that wasn’t there before.

“I watched you last night,” For no tangible reason, his gazed paced from her eyes to her lips. Lingering on the succulent pair, causing him to swallow hard. “I saw what you did with your voice. ” Shaking her head, she looked away. “Trust me, pretty boy, you and I are in two different worlds.” Picking a napkin, she began to fumble with it. “Up that stage, with lights all over you. Your voice enchanting… hypnotizing… calling on people to see your God the way you see him.” She ran her tongue across her lips while discarding the napkin to pick her half-filled glass of beer.

“Did I enchant you?” He asked as she sipped her drink.

“Mh?” Swallowing the liquor in a rush, almost choking on it, she turned to gaze at him, her eyes watery either from the harshness of the drink on her throat or the pain that seared her heart. “What?”

“When you watched me, we’re you enchanted?”

She continued starting at him. For a moment, he though she would get up, pick her bag and left, but then... “What do you want from me?”
He wished he knew. “I want to see you again,” She shook her head. “Please, let me see you again.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I am not…” She swallowed hard. “You can’t…”
“Come over hear, Paul!” George was getting impatient now.

Getting up, he made to leave and then remembered. Slipping his hand inside the pocket of his shirt, he came out with the rosary, walked back to her and took her hand.

“What are you…” The rest of her protest sank back into her stomach as he flipped her hand over and placed the beads on her palm.

Gasping, she looked from the object to my face, “You… You…”

“I didn’t know I kept it. I'm really sorry.” Then he started walking away.

“Paul.” Her voice stopped him mid-stride. “Scarlett. My name is Scarlett.”

Oh, George you have to wait for a few more minutes

Turning back, with his heart swelling with an emotion he was yet to understand, and a smile.

“Scarlett, ” he said. “I want to see you again.”

“Where?” A rushed of excitement must have sent color to his cheeks as a slow smile worked it’s way across her face, and into her eyes. “You are blushing.”

And George must be fuming fire and brimstone.

“I’ll be singing at the St Patrick’s Basilica tonight,” he said. Every words was rushed. “Please, come.”

He didn’t know what this was, but he hoped he wouldn’t get burned.

****
Scarlett

You are a LovePeddler, undeserving of men like this one..
I advice you let this one go, he looks too decent for you…

Don’t shed a tear, Scarlett. Crying is for weak women and you are not weak. But the tears were rolling down and she hated it. Hated that her heart was aching not just because the pretty singer made her feel low, and dirty and… unworthy. But also because she had felt her heart melting like a snow cone in Phoenix the moment she set her eyes on him. Jealousy had gnawed the pit of her stomach as she watched women leer at him, and she knew she wasn’t supposed to be jealous over any man.

Unfolding her palm, she stared at the rosary he placed there while her inside shivered as she thought of his hand against her skin. His fingers, tender and warm had stroked her palm, stoking fire inside her.

Damn, she should forget him. Not just to save herself but to also protect him from getting hurt.

She knew he would fall in love with her if she allow him. It had happened before, Adam had lost his head after spending a night with her, he had wanted to marry her. But she'd left him after four months because she couldn’t bear living the lie anymore.

Falling in love was for Cinderellas, and she was not one.

But this one seemed to have captured her every sense. His face, invading her thoughts since last night…

A hearty laughter filtered into her ears from behind her. Though she promised herself that she wasn’t going to look over his table, she wiped her face roughly and turned.

The sound was from him. A laughter so free and pure, so childish despite his adult years. It came to her ears as a tickle and bounce, forcing her lips to stretch in a smile.

Then, as if he felt her eyes in him, he turned. That impeccable smile on his lips, his eyes didn’t falter as they held hers and this time she didn’t want to break the gaze.

He was reluctant to look away either.
Finally deciding it would be seen as outright flirting if she continued to stare at him that way, she turned back her head, suddenly realizing it wasn’t him she needed to protect but herself.

She seemed to like him… a lot.

For goodness sake Scarlett, you shouldn’t like him.

He's too decent for you.

Downing the remainder of her beer, she grabbed her bag and stood up to leave.

can't wait to see you again my handsome guy, Rosemary don't be jealous.

Thanks for the update ma’am

A beautiful piece ma'am. thank you for the update and more grace

It is good to be back... I really missed you, Rose...

Rosemary please!!!!!!!!!!!!!

We dey miss you (maybe we don't miss you that much we just miss your update)

Don't mind me

I miss you seriously
Where you dey na?

Kudos to you @rosemary
Keep it up
_More update please_

Hi, all. I took a short break to finish editing and rewriting Michael and Martha's story. I want to officially publish it on or before my birthday 1st May.


Please forgive me for staying away for this long.

I will be back by Sunday.

I really miss all of you.

We miss you more my favorite �

We miss you more

And in massive advance �

Rosemary today is Sunday o

Finally I caught up with you guys. God bless your ministry Rose. Cus to me this is more than novel writing, it is gospel.

Chapter 3

Gradually, as she killed the engine of her car, it dawned on Scarlett that the only reason she’d turn up for this event, looking like a sister to Mary the mother of Jesus was to see the ginger-Orange haired singer again.

Unfortunately, she was late. The church auditorium was already packed when she stepped in. It was as though the whole the Ottawa were squeezed together in one small space. She could barely see the altar where she assumed he would be using as his stage.

Pulling the shawl over her head forward, to cover the mass of hair that had stubbornly refused to remain hidden, she fished out her eyeglasses from her hand bag, wore it and began heading toward the upper gallery. If she was lucky, she would get a seat on the front pew there and would see him while he sings.

Does it matter if he sees you?

No, it doesn’t.

But she would love that he would.

Then what?

“Excuse me,” she muttered as she walked through the second pew by the left— couldn’t get the front, acknowledging two men and a mother with her two daughters— she guessed and a fussy baby that were already seated while taking the remaining space there.

The baby lost interest in his mother’s large loop-earring, turning over to grab Scarlett’s strayed hair, pulling the mass so hard that she almost let out a whimper.

“I’m so sorry,” the over-burdened mother muttered, trying hard to dislodge the hair from the little monster's grip. “I’m really sorry,” the woman said again, now embarrassment.

Mother and her little monster tugged on the hair. mother won at last but not without little monster dragging Scarlett's shawl along.

“Please forgive...”

“It’s okay.” Accepting the shawl back for the mother, She, remove her glasses, put it inside her bag and casted my gaze down the altar while throwing the shawl over my head, crossing the two ends on my neck.

“He’s about to come up!” A high-pitched sing-song voice squirmed behind me.

“I still don’t understand why you should be this excited about a mere singer...”

“Oh, he’s not a mere singer. He is... is... you’ll see.”

The conversation amused and sent a slash of jealousy across her heart all at once. It made her wonder how the singer delt with female fans like the one gushing like a Hot bitch behind her.

Did he fight them at all? Or he glories in them? Probably compensate himself with a willing and ready to please girl every now and then?

“He is so cute!” The enthusiastic girl added as someone began to play a soft thrilling sound from the keyboard somewhere by the altar.

“He’s not even here yet,” the other girl said, her voice high with anticipation too.

“Just get ready Mandy. You'll fall in love with him instantly.”

“I bet I would.”

“Of course, you will. I did the first time I saw him sin in that concert.”

Pity Mr. Pretty was into gospel, such talent, such beauty... Scarlett pulled on her shawl and stood up with the others, clapping as the man took the stage.

“Shit!” He looked even more... what word would better describe this ‘I’m not trying to impress you with my look’ guy. Who managed to grab the hearts of Montrealers in just one night.

And yours.

Not yet.

Then why are you here?

Because I promised. He found my rosary and this... shit, who was she kidding?

But she wouldn’t allow it. The soft looking singer was better off without a sinner like her. He may even not be interested in her like she’d thought earlier. Would he even recognize her today?

His casually walking into the altar with a guitar hanging across his shoulder paused the train of thoughts going on in her mind and she was surprised and embarrassed that her heart had skipped a bit and she was craning her neck past the person in from of her to get a better look of the singer.

“Oh my god! He is super cute!” One of the girls behind her squirmed.

Yes, he is.

“I feel like I can’t breathe!”

She too. It was as though he walked into that altar to take breaths away— deliberately.

With hair so ruffled like one who just woke up from bed and didn’t bother to run a comb on his hair, the stubble around his face looked feather-soft, and transparent in the light, same as his eyelashes. He was decently frolicking with hearts.

And hers was not spared.

She knew that under his white sport shirt, his body wasn’t rippled, he didn’t look like one that would possess a torso as strong as a plank, yet she realized she’d never seen a man so good looking, too good looking...

“Please, can you hold Noah for me?” The woman beside her was already pushing the little monster to her, “His sisters need to pee.”

“Huh?” She swallowed her rejection as the little thing flashed her a toothless smile, stretching his plump hands while making those googoo-gaagaa baby talks.

“Okay.” Balancing the heavy baby in her arms while his mother hurried out with the girl, Scarlet returned her eyes to the altar where the guy was now perching on a long stool, his fingers romancing the strings of his guitar, eyes closed and a lopsided grin on his almost girlish lips.

Then he started singing.

His voice soft at first, then it gained strength and that power she’d felt the day she watched him on tv. It was as though the louder he went, the harder he struck the strings of his guitar, the more enchanted the people became.

Even the little monster in her arms was caught up in the magic of the moment.

She knew the song he was doing; My world needs you right now by Kirk Franklin. Done in solidarity to the victims of Haiti earthquake. Though she didn’t know what this mini concert was about, she was beginning to feel that it had something to do with charity and what better man to drive it than this man with the most angelic voice.

Sow me your face...

Fill up this space...

My world needs you right now,

My world needs you right now...

Suddenly, for no reason, she felt excitement grip her as her lips parted and she began to mouth the words.

I can't escape...

Being afraid...

Fill me with you right now,

My world needs you right now...

It was about the world. People suffering. But why was she feeling a sense of ... As though she needed that song, those words to live?

It was such an unusual feeling; she didn’t understand it. Yet, she wanted to close her eyes and hang on, it was a good feeling, and in spite of the life she’s living, she felt those worlds... prayers, weren’t strange to her.

“Thank you so much,” The mother to the little monster sighed, took the baby from her. “Hope we didn’t miss much?”

Too emotional to speak, she shook her head.

“Are you Okay?” She didn’t know she had tears in her eyes until the woman pointed at her face. “You... you are...”

“I’m fine,” she stuttered and looked away.

But she was not. Her inside was clutching, her heart heavy and light at the same time. It was the pretty singer. No, it was the song.

Returning his eyes to the altar she saw he’s stoop up from the stool and had reduced his voice to almost a breathy sound. Christ! She could feel goosebumps all over her as she stood up with the rest of the people, more tears sipping from her eyes.

“Thank you,” he said. The smile had returned to his lips as his gaze ran over the auditorium.

It’s over, she thought. If this concert was for what she had in mind, fundraising would follow now. It was time to go, would drop a cheque on her way out— if this was a charity event. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t know she was there, that she’d listened to him and has shed tears to his heart felt voice.

Picking her bag from the chair, she turned to leave but not without a brief glance at the man at the altar. He was now shaking hands with the organi...

He just looked straight into her eyes and... Jesus! Her heart was pounding hard.

Turning quickly away, she began to make her way through the pew and down the gallery.

“The women and children in Pakistan need our help...” It’s a fundraising even after all. She would have to get to her car to get her cheque book.

Out now and heading towards the parking lot, she retrieved her phone from her bag and was about to dial a number when she heard a hurrying footstep behind her. She turned and... it was him. John.

“You’re just going to leave?”

“No... Yes... I was about getting,” What was happening to her? Why was she still shaken to her innermost self. “I need to get my cheque book.”

“I saw you up there,” he said as though that was supposed to ease the tension, she could feel around them. “I thought you wouldn’t come.”

“Well, I came and...” She shrugged, chuckling nervously. “I love...” Careful now, Scarlett. “It’s a powerful performance.”

“Thank you.” he began to walk closer. Setting off an alarm in her head.

“I think you should go back in now,” Goodness, she was exuding uneasiness. “They may want you to sing any moment.

“I want to walk you back in,” He stubbornly said. “You are still going in, aren't you?”

“Yes. I, uhm...” She could feel warmth invading my neck. “Let me get my cheque book.”

I'm really sorry, you guys. I couldn't finish working on the Michael and Martha story. but I just sent it to a professional editor yesterday and is a little bit free for now. (Though I started writing the Soldier's story book 2 same yesterday, but will be doing that alongside this one.)

if you are lost in this chapter 3, please go back to previous chapters to catch up.

Thank you once again for your patience.

Thanks for the update ma’am

Thanks for the update
There are a few typos though

Rosemary33:
I'm really sorry, you guys. I couldn't finish working on the Michael and Martha story. but I just sent it to a professional editor yesterday and is a little bit free for now. (Though I started writing the Soldier's story book 2 same yesterday, but will be doing that alongside this one.)

if you are lost in this chapter 3, please go back to previous chapters to catch up.

Thank you once again for your patience.

The soldier's story, the one about the fat girl?
Will it be available on NL?

May the Lord forgive me if read this wonderful story and never comment. Rose your stories inspires me alot. More grace to your elbow.

favch:


The soldier's story, the one about the fat girl?
Will it be available on NL?

The book One is in NL already. Working on book 2

But I rewrote that book 1, added more scenes, removed some. Added interesting characters and these characters are becoming main characters in book 2. Like I gave Ebube Two Amazing friends, Felix and Abdul. Felix is getting his own love story and adventure in Book 2.

As for being in NL? I will think about that. But if you haven't read the latest edition of book 1 you may have to struggle to understand book 2.

That edition is in Bambooks and Okadabooks.

mekonglobal:
May the Lord forgive me if read this wonderful story and never comment. Rose your stories inspires me alot. More grace to your elbow.

Thank you so much

Eight
Paul

He watched her bend down to pick one of her earrings that fell off her ear, clipping it back in place. She looked radiantly pretty as usual, with her glowing black skin, fluff of kinky curls— she had no shawl over her head now.

Tonight, she was wearing a simple long dress, sparkling with deep purple sequins. And he knew it must have cost a fortune because he had followed his mother to the mall where she bought a dress as simple as this but costed a worker’s one week salary.

“The night is still young, Scarlett,” he said, loving the way she turned her face to look at him and the slow smile that walked up her face. “We can grab some coffee and toasts.”

“Paul,” That would be the first time she’s addressing him by his name. “I have to go.”

“Have someone waiting for you?” Her hesitation made his heart skip. “I understand if there’s someone and you don’t...” he took a step forward and with slow deliberation, looked her up and down.

“Why... you just stopped talking and started looking at me like...” His inspection seemed to make her flush and that had his heart rushing.

“You are beautiful.” He didn’t mean to be direct about that but he couldn’t help it.

Couldn’t help how he was feeling standing beside this black princess. If she was a wine, he would love to drink her all up and enjoyed the feeling of being tipsy for the first time in his life.

“Stop, please.” He was sure her voice quivered.

“There’s somebody.”

“No." Relief brought smile to his lips.

“Then have coffee with me tonight.”

“Is that all you want?”

He wished he could say yes, but that would be deceiving himself. He liked her, a lot. And would want to see her again.

“For now,” he said. “For tonight.” That made her coughed out a single laughter. Covering her mouth with her hand, she threw her face away from him for a second, then fixed her gaze back on him.

“You don’t know me...”

“Tell me who you are over a cup of coffee.” Let me know why God is pulling me towards you and why It’s difficult to resist. Not being able to resist, he knew wasn’t just because the Lord wants him to gain her but because just staring at her stirred a buried desire… hunger that he was afraid to admit was in him. It was as though her eyes ignite amber, the warmth she radiated fanning the coal inside him. “I beg you in the name of God.” Beg? Paul Clurkin had never begged for friendship, not when he was a fat kid in school and everyone must have thought he did be bullied and would recoil in his shells, not even when as a young church boy amidst many unbelieving friends.

And heaven knew he had never sought the friendship of a woman so much that he had to beg. Woman came to him— it wasn’t pride but that’s how it had always been. Paul had always been the one tactfully dismissing women. But this one…

“God.” She scuffed. “What if I tell you I’m not as religious as you?”

“I’m not religious either.” He saw her eyes widened for a moment, then her surprised was gone. “I love the Lord.”

“Oh,” she said. “For a moment I thought…” she shook her head. “Never mind.”

“Please, Scarlett. Just this night is what I’m asking. You will decide if you like me enough to keep me as a friend as long as you can…” Friendship… they would start with that.

****
Scarlett

Tell me who you are over a cup of coffee...

No, she wouldn’t do that now. What would he think of her?

Sipping on the Expresso coffee, while smiling at what he was saying, her eyes stayed on him.

He had asked her a question but her eyes was rather on his lips that had grow a deeper shade of pink, drawn to them so much she was that she didn’t hear him, and her thought on how much she’d missed being kissed by a man— not just any kiss, but a slow, perfect kiss of someone who cared. She’d have that with Adam and never after that. She’s never offered her lips to any of those men nor asked to take theirs. But now… here… staring at this lighter than the moon church boy, she felt her lips parting and wished… “You’re not saying anything,” he added.

“Mm?” It would be a huge shame to ask him to repeat what he said earlier but she had to. “I’m sorry I wasn’t listening.”

“Am I a boring company?”

“Oh Goodness, no!” He was funny, in his rather decent way. And intriguing, not the upright, too righteous, Pharisee-like Christians she’d tried to avoid. And he was so easy to talk to… it took all the control in her not to spill the whole of her gut to him. “I’m umh…” what was she going to say? “I like you.”

Picking her hand, he smiles at her and ticked the fingers with his own. “Can I?” He asked and she nodded even when she didn’t know what he was asking permission for. Then he raised her hand to his lips. “I know I shouldn’t do that but… it’s… it’s…me showing you how much I cherish,” he paused. A man careful of the words he says to a woman, he was? “ I cherish this friendship.” He kisses her hand again.

She felt it. The kiss, not just on her hand, not just beneath his lips, but dangerously, treacherously in other places, other places she had not explored in years. Soft, secret places in the depth of her, stirring, starting into life.

Taking a short, almost fearful breath— he might have heard it and it scares him… it scares his so much that he let go of her hand.
Careful beautiful man. Careful not to arouse sin in her heart. But she’s love this sin… only that she would be sorry later. When he realized that…

“So, tell me, where you born here?”

“No.” She did wished to say yes. Because this has been the home she had now come to accept as hers. “I am originally Nigerian.”

“Oh! Tell me about Nigeria.” There was nothing to tell. Or she didn’t want to remember the happy-sad memories. A father that had died quite early than he was supposed to… he shouldn’t have died even, but poverty had killed him— broke his back and his palms first, then stopped his heart. And a mother who felt that given her away to a brother who had promised her a better life for her in the Whiteman’s country was the best she could do. No, she wouldn’t talk about Nigeria.

“I have no memory of that place.”

“You were brought here as a toddler then?”

“Ye… yes,” she lied.

Later than night, as he walked her back to her car, stopping to sign autographs on the shirts of two young fellow— a man and a woman, probably lovers, who’s recognized him from yesterday’s concert and tonight’s fund raising, she wondered if he’s found her… uhm… interesting. Or even a little bit… no, she wouldn’t think that. He was pure, innocent. And if he ever become attracted to her in this unholy way that she subtly wanted, she would do everything to stop him.

“You’re not worries that you are being seen with a woman…” like me, she wanted to add. “You are a celebrated gospel singer, people will take pictures,” she had asked when more than five passers-by recognized him, took selfies… the ladies offering him extra, extra smiles.

“I’m not doing anything wrong with you.” Yet. She was scared he would soon. And that would be the destruction of him.

She had said goodbye to him as quickly as she decently could at the seating inside her car and had drove off. Feeling shocked and physically shaken. To be so— well, so taken with this pretty singer of whose kind she never wanted to have anything to do with. She had always imagined deep and devoted Christian men like him cold, disagreeable, not— well, not hugely attractive, and interesting and… and sexy. But he was without doubt the sexiest man she had ever seen. His not so toned body subtle chubby cheeks and blue eyes.

“Tell me your address,” he had called after her as she drove out, fleeing from him, but she pretended not to hear. He had her number and that was enough. Though she wishes he wouldn’t call.

Maybe he should, just once.

Fifteen minutes later, she was home, not out of her car because she saw her lights on and knew Melody her domestic staff would be in. Calming herself, trying to appear more or less normal so the woman wouldn’t notice the change in her. Knowing she couldn’t tell anyone about this shocking feeling welling inside her lest it ends and she would become miserable.

It would end…

I advice you remove your mind from this one… he’s not your type… too innocent for you.

She quite agree. She wasn’t supposed to feel anything for any man. It’s a sign of weakness and in her business, feelings means loss.

Removing her shoes at the foyer, she bent to pick them so she could walk into her room and lay on the bed to tremble, half with excitement and half with distress. She sensed someone in the sitting room and made her way there.

“Hello, Baby doll…” A man… red faced, big, unsmiling, dangerously looking. “We finally met. I don’t know why it took this long.” The cigar in his lips bopped up and down as he spoke.

“I swear I didn’t allow him in…” Melody came trotting down the stairs.

“I let myself into any where I want.” The man said with a smirk on his face.

One word trouble!

More strength Roseline

Well done Ma’am

mekonglobal:
One word trouble!

double Wahala for dead body

gal10:
More strength Roseline

thank you so much

Ann2012:
Well done Ma’am

My madam, thank you so much.

Nine
Scarlett.

“Who are you?”

The man, she observed had a three days stubble around his chin and jaw. A neatly pressed suit, the kind one only sees in highly-priced lawyers or gangsters. Narrowing her gaze she tried to identify anything that could help her remember where she’d met him before.

Baby doll, he’d called her.

Baby doll… only a few people would call her that on a normal day. Special clients who’d have her with her mask off.

“Who are you?” She asked again.

The man took in the room with a single sweep of his eyes, nodding as he settled his gaze back on her. “You broke my heart, you know,” the man said, moving closer. Lifted his hand. For a moment she thought he was going to strike her, but his tightened face relaxed and a crooked smile broke out of his lips as she cocked her head backwards.

“Come on. I wasn’t going to harm you.” Grabbing her face now, he brought his closer and stared deep into her eyes. Squinting as though he wanted to search out something from her eyes. “I only want to take a good look at your face.” His finger— gangly, cold, began to stroke her cheek. “And stare into the eyes of that who’s that managed to slip off my grasp.” His face began to tighten again. “Sweet little thing… with a lot of nerves.”

She should run now, escape, hide. But it’s her house and she wasn’t supposed to do any of that. Whoever this man was should be the person running. “Get your hands off me,” she said, wishing her voice was firmer than it sounded. “I said get your hands off me!” slapping the man’s hands away, she took some steps backwards. “Get out now.” She was regaining some of her boldness.
“You don’t mean that.”

“I mean every word.” The man stared hard into her eyes and she stared back. His orbs were nothing like the singer’s serene globes. These reminded her of death. Glassy, steel. Darker than nothingness. “I’ll call the cops on you if you don’t get out now.”

“I… I can call them now, ma’am.” Melody began racing up the stairs but stopped at the man’s sudden laughter outburst.

“You don’t want her to do that, Baby doll… Mr P will be mad…” Another laughter erupted from the man’s throat on seeing the shock on her face. “And you know what happens when Mr P gets mad.”

Scarlett felt real panic arriving. A cold pulse of it began in her stomach and radiated out. To her core and knees, to her chest and brain.
The man saw it too and let out yet another laughter, stepping away from her. “How long do you think you could enjoy your…” bringing his thumb and index finger together, mashing the tips for emphasis purpose, “little freedom?”

It couldn’t be… this white man, with his face as chiselled as a stoned sculpture, his frame lean— almost skeletal, he couldn’t be Mr P? The horror from her past, the dread of every girl under madame Charlotte…

“I enjoyed our little game, watching you glory in your win. I must say you are the best of all the pawns.” He turned to face her. “I almost decided to let you go but… on a second thought, I reasoned you could be of great importance to me.”

“Ma’am…” she heard Melody’s voice, but it sounded as though it was in her head.

“Ma’am… you want me to get the cops?”

“You… you are…”

“Mr P?” The man finished for her. “I’m disappointed that it took you this long to figure it out.” The man moved to sit on one of the sofas, his fingers stroking the leathers. “Fine taste,” he muttered before looking at her again. “Now sit your stupid ass down if you want me to remain civil.”

She did.

“And make that Hippo there disappear or I’ll slit her throat.”

“What do you want?”

“I don’t say what I want, girl. You should know by now. I take what I want and I want you.”

She is in trouble. Real deep trouble.

****
Paul

The nostalgia of those times with her was like a dream that kept returning to kiss greater excitement into his soul. Stepping into his hotel room, he smiled as if he could still till hear her laughter.

If anyone moment ever anchored his soul, creating a tether to his plane of reality, it was that single moment she took his hand across the coffee table and murmured her gratitude.

“Thank you for being here with me,” she had said. Her smile was the most real thing he’d ever seen. He realized that restricting his feeling for her to just mere friendship would be a sin. He was taken by her the first time they met, though he was too disgusted with how she was dressed to give the attraction he felt a thought. Then he met the old man and…

His phone rang. Arghhhh George!

“Where have you been?” He asked, trapping his phone to his ear with his shoulder, he proceeded to remove his wristwatch and sat on the bed to kick his shoes off.

“You disappeared last night, and you are asking where have I been?” The man said accusingly. “You’re something, boy.”

“Hey, listen George. I need a favour.” Bending to pick up the shoes, he walked through the room to the wardrobe.

“No, I need an explanation as to why you will jet off last night without letting me know your way about.”

“I didn’t know I was supposed to seek your permission before going anywhere.”

“I am your manager.”

“Not my father.”

“Quit the pissy attitude, boy. I had more labels interested in you after last night.” Why wasn’t he surprised, it’s all about business for the big man? “Who was the girl you left the church with by the way?”

“I didn’t know you saw me with a girl.”

“Yes, I did. Saw you talking with her in the parking lot. You walked her to her car and left with her.”

“Christ! Old man, you have a chip on me?”

“Told you I have my eyes and ears on you. You are my biggest investment,” the man said. “So, who’s she?”

“Just a…” not a friend. Calling her that would be so unfair to what he felt for her. “She’s a special someone.”

“You’re not kidding me.”

“Have never done that.” Dropping the shoes, he rubbed on his nose, picked pyjamas and began walking back to the bed. “I want to find her and you would help me do that.”

“Uh… excuse me,” the man said. “You left with a girl and I’m supposed to help you find her? Do you realize this is not your home? And I am not your call boy?”

“Hey, you should be happy that for the very first time, I’m picking interest in a girl… after a very long that that is.”

“Of course, I am so happy that I can kill you right now. How could you toss opportunities away just because of a black girl you just met? Weren’t you supposed to be by my side, waving and smiling like a damn celebrity?”

“Gimme a break, George,” he groaned. Losing his belt and pulled his pants off. “I’m tired of this self-marketing already.”

“If you need a sleek body to get your mind back to business, I can get you some gorgeous girls— don’t bother about the guilt, most gospel singers do it when on a musical tour.”

“Sure,” Paul said, now walking into the bathroom with his shirt on top of his boxer brief shorts. “That’s exactly what I need, a dysfunctional hook-up with some stones out girls, and the guilt that would follow after. Can’t wait!” He said sarcastically.

“Isn’t that why you left with this black girl? I can help you with a lot of them, just don’t go asking for their addresses after a one night fun.”

“Sorry, George.” Putting the phone on speaker and setting it down on the slab of the sink, he pulled his shirt off and dropped his briefs, picking up the phone again. “I’m not interested in fornicating. I just want to find a special… uh… friend.”

“Well, too bad.” He heard the man mutter something to someone in the background, then returned to him. “I’m only interested in getting you to meet another producer tomorrow morning.”

He should be excited, he’s becoming a sensation in Toronto. Every producer’s desire, every record label’s craving. Yet, he didn’t feel like it. “Good night George.” But he didn’t drop the phone.

“10 a.m. I will send a limo.”

“I don’t know…”

“Better get ready.”

“Hey…” he cut in, stopping the man from ending the call. “Find her for me. Name is Scarlett Brownson. Will send her phone number to you.”

“And if I don’t?” Nothing. He would do nothing. But George was his only chance of getting to see Scarlett Brownson again.

“Please. I have to see her.”

Done with the call, he stepped into the bath. Turning the shower on, he allow the warm water to kiss his skin, while his head was filled with the image of her.

Suddenly, he felt burgeoning arousal in his groin.

Jeez! He hadn’t felt this way in years. Talk about excited!

There was no doubt in his mind that he had to find her. Not because the Lord had directed him to her but because… well, he needed to find her fast before it was time to head back to Armstrong.

That night. He stayed awake longer than he should. Not praying. Not reading the word. But dialling her number. Wanted to hear her raspy voice again. To have her laugh at what he would tell her.

She didn’t answer…

She didn’t call back…

Hope Scarlet is okay?
Thanks for the update ma’am