Episode 7

Demola let her go, his arms suddenly cold and empty. She'd felt so right there. So damned right. He could have held her all night. Just held her.

A ruthless laugh echoed through his head. Yeah, right. He could have kept her in his arms all night, no problem. But holding would have turned into something much more active before long. And that was a trait he couldn't go down. Not with Tomilola Daniels.

She already had enough complications in her life; she didn't need more. And sleeping with him was loaded with complications. So he let her go and promised himself he'd keep his comforting on a verbal level from now on. Safer for both of them. He watched her stride toward the sofa where he'd dumped her bag. She swiped at the tears wetting her cheeks. "I'm sorry, I don't know what got into me. Hysterical, crying female isn't usually my style." Her voice was soft, embarrassed.

He didn't want her to be embarrassed. Didn't want her to think she had to hide her emotions from him. "Don't be silly, you've had a trying twenty-four hours." She hung her hands on her hips, staring at the mess her outburst had created. "God, you must think am a meniac."

"I think you're tired and sad and angry."

She expelled a long, shaky breath. "Yeah, I am. And with that in mind - " She picked up her bag. "I think I'll head upstairs.. Those are the bedrooms up there, right?" She pointed to the doors lining the back balcony wall.

"Yep, take your pick."

She waved a hand toward the front door. "Come on I'll walk you out."

"Go on to bed, I'll stay and clean up the glass."

She shook her head. "I clean up my own messes, Demola. "I'll get it tomorrow morning. Now go on, I'm tired." She shooed him toward the door.

He strode across the marble floors, his boots echoing in the room He wasn't thrilled about the idea of leaving her alone all night. Not as upset as she was. But short of camping out on the living room sofa, something he was sure she'd be just tickled pink about, he didn't have much choice.

At the door's threshold he hesitated, looking back to her. "If you need anything, my number is one on the speed dial. Don't be afraid to call, any time of the night. I'm a light sleeper and I'm right across the road."
She nodded, a faint smile turning her lips. "Got it. Good night."

He closed the door behind him and strode toward the house he'd lived in for the last several years. The small log house that had been Wale's original home stead. Halfway there, he stopped and turned back to the big house. He imagined Tomilola in the bedroom, unpacking her bag, getting ready for bed.
She'd looked tired, beat, when she'd closed the door on him. Like she was holding on to her poise by the barest of threads. And he suspected she was. With good cause. She believed her father had not only abandoned her and her mother, but hung them out to dry during their most desperate hours.

It was a belief he was going to have to straighten out. But it wasn't going to be easy. Or fun. Showing Tomilola that the parent who'd raised her, the parent she'd obviously loved so dearly had been the one keeping them in poverty, the one who'd lied to her all these years, was going to take everything she believed to be true and shred it to pieces.

His gut clenched. He was good at shredding people's lives. But putting them back together? A cold sweat broke out on his palms. God knew, he hadn't been able to put his sister's life back together. He'd only taken a bad situation and made it worse. Far, far worse.

He clenched his fists and stared up at the stars appearing in the sky. "If there's a heaven up there, Mr. Adeyemi, and you're in it, you had better be paying attention." His voice echoed fiercely as dusk faded to night. "I don't save damsels in distress, dammit. If you want me to tear this girl's life up, I expect you to be around to help put it back together."



**************************************************************************

The next morning, Tomilola flipped off the water in the fancy, glass-brick enclosed shower. After the last day and a half of extreme sports, mad travel and emotional turmoil, she was drained. She'd hoped a hot shower would revive her. But she still felt physically exhausted and emotionally bruised.

She stepped out of the tile-and-glass cubicle, the house's air-conditioning bringing goose bumps to her skin. She grabbed the towel hanging on the brass rack and started to towel herself dry, shaking her head at the ridiculously thick folds of terry cloth. The obvious wealth surrounding her made her angry and uncomfortable. She wanted out of this house. The need to run from its opulence had pushed at her all night long. But she didn't know where to go.

A walk had seemed like a good idea around mid-night. But when she'd stepped out on the porch and discovered there were still a few men strolling between the corrals, she'd retreated back into the house. She hadn't been up to facing more men like Demola. Men who were loyal to her father. Nor did she want to see them this morning. She pulled on her panties and hooked her bra. She needed a day to regroup. A day to let the emotions swirling inside her settle before her head exploded and she did something she'd really regret. Like burn down this house and the rest of the estate with it. She headed out of the bathroom into the adjoining bedroom.

The sound of male voices drifted through her closed door. She stopped in her tracks, looking over toward the wooden portal. Was someone in the house? No. Surely not.\
But the voices certainly sounded like they were coming from downstairs. She quickly strode to the bed and pulled on the jeans and shirt she'd laid out. The tinkle of broken glass filtered through the door.

Oh, man. Someone was in the house.

Forgoing shoes, she padded out of the room to the narrow balcony that ran in front of the upstairs rooms and peered over the railing. Two guys were working diligently to clean up the mirror she'd shattered last night. One crouched low, holding a dust pan, while the other swept the broken glass in it. She didn't know the guy pushing the broom, but she recognized the broad back f the one holding the dustpan. "I thought I told you I clean up my own messes."

Both men looked up.

Demola straightened and turned to her, dustpan in hand. "And I would have let you, but then Charles showed up and he's never been able to let a mess sit."

She shifted her gaze to the man standing behind Demola. He had neither Demola's height nor mass, but there was a bearing to him, a quiet confidence, that required neither to make his presence known. His six-foot frame was broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped and lean. The face that went with it, finely chiseled and, except for a scar arcing through one brow, classically handsome. She imagined he'd turned more than one woman's head,

But she wasn't interested in his good looks. "And what were you doing in the house, Mr. Charles? Did my father have an open-house policy? Anyone could wander in at will?" Despite her intention to keep her voice even, a bit of challenge sneaked in.

The man's expression turned sheepish. "My apologies. It wasn't my intention to disturb you. Your dad did have an open-door policy for the men who had regular business with him or needed access to the estate's offices. I take care of the company's books." He waved a hand to the wall beneath the balcony. "I didn't stop to think you might want to change that policy." His accent wasn't as deep as Demola's; but he was obviously not a native. But he'd been here awhile. And she was no doubt stepping on his toes. She was the interloper here. The one who didn't belong. She plowed her fingers through her hair. "I won't be here long enough to change anything, Mr. Charles. Feel free to go about your business. But, please, leave the mirror where it is. I'll put on some shoes and clean it up."

"Forget the mirror for now," Demola said. "You can clean it up later. I thought you might like an early morning ride. A little fresh air to clear your head."

"I have no objections to that. Give me a minute to get dressed." Tomilola said, leaving the two men and returning almost immediately.

Charles put out his hand just as she was about to stride past. "I just wanted to say welcome to the estate, Miss Adeyemi. And offer my condolences for the loss of your father."

She tromped on the urge to tell the man she didn't need any condolences, but she wasn't up for that fight this morning. She shook his hand. "Thank you, Mr. Charles, I appreciate the sentiment. But it's Daniels. Tomilola Daniels." She followed Demola out the door, pulling it close behind her.

As she strode over to where Demola was standing, she glanced inside the house. Charles was standing where they'd left him, his gazed fixed on the broom leaning against the wall by the shattered mirror. She shook her head. "He's not going to leave that mirror for me to clean up, is he?"

Demola shrugged. "Probably not. Charles has this thing about order. But a little clean up won't kill him, so quit worrying about the mirror and pay attention.

As they got farther from the buildings, she began to relax and enjoy the view around her. And the scenery directly in front of her . . .

She smiled, studying Demola. His shirt pulled tight across his shoulders, accenting their broadness and defining the hard muscles of his arms and back. Was there anything more sexier than Demola?
Not on this planet. And with each step they took away from the estate, she became more aware of that insidious little fact. More aware of the man in front of her. His quiet strength and the sexual tension that crackled around him like heat lightening gathering for a storm. She shook her head. No doubt about it, the devil had his tempt-the-sex-starved-woman down to a fine, fine art.

She closed her eyes, struggling to block out the images of Demola streaming through her head. Images of those lean hips rocking against her. But it wasn't easy, and as they got farther and farther from the estate, closer and closer to the moment when they would slip around the base of the hill and find themselves alone, the thought got harder and harder to control. Maybe coming on this ride hadn't been such a good idea, after all.

She peeked over her shoulder, gazing back at the estate. The men working in and around the corrals were still visible. She looked over to her father's house, its giant glass windows glinting richly in the early morning rays, shouting money and power and brutal betrayal. Nothing but tortuous reminders for her there.
She gritted her teeth. It was going to be a long, long six months.


To read Tomilola and Demola's story. . .follow my blog http://www.lolatellsatale..com

I'm riqht behind u

Omolola1:

Yes dear, all is well!
Av just been really busy lately. . .

Alright. But try to be consistent with your promise.
D Lord is your MUSCLE!

Odinaka00:

Stop being silly nd stupid, yu need to grow up dude......lobotomized idiotic mo*ron

Odinaka na wetin? Who u be? Who be u?
U no dey look face b4 u misyarn.
What has he said to warrant d tantrums u're emitting?
Are u a learner? Abeg park well joor.

Larry, why didn't u report him to cuddlemii so she can ban his brain?

Larry-Sun:

Your words truly stink. I believe Lola understood what I meant. I don't want to derail this thread. Just zip that snout.

Respect they say is reciprocal. And it is earned.
And u Larry have earned our respect in this section.
Report his sorry bottom to cuddle, she'll knw how to handle him.

avicky:

Respect they say is reciprocal. And it is earned.
And u Larry have earned our respect in this section.
Report his sorry bottom to cuddle, she'll knw how to handle him.

avicky:
Alright. But try to be consistent with your promise.
D Lord is your MUSCLE!

I'll try, thanks dear

Episode 8 - THE TRUTH HURTS


Demola rode quietly beside Tomilola. They were in the open now. The morning was quickly warming up as the sun rose steadily above the horizon.

"I thought you'd like it here. It's one of my favourite spots. Was one of your dad's, too."

She grimaced. "Can we not talk about him today?"

His gut clenched. The pleasant ride was over. "Unfortunately, we need to talk about him. Him and your mom."

Her gaze snapped back to him, her lips pressed into a thin, hard line. "You jerk. You didn't bring me out here for fresh air. You brought me out here to ambush me."

"I brought you out here because I thought you might enjoy some fresh air while we talked." She snorted at his excuse.

He sighed. "Fine. I ambushed you. But, this is a mountain we have to get over. And it's been my experience that when you're facing something unpleasant, sooner is better than later."

"Not today it isn't."

"Running away won't make the problem disappear."

She shot him a black scowl. "No. But it might make you disappear." She turned to leave.

"An ambush is used when you want to take something from someone or hurt them. I don't want to do either. But we have some hard things to talk about, and I need you to stay around while we do. So yes, I stacked the deck in my favor. Shoot me."

"I told you yesterday I didn't want you trying to justify my father to me. I haven't changed my mind."

"I'm not going to justify anyone to you. I'm simply going to relate the story your father told me about what happened twenty-two years ago. What you want to do with that information is up to you."

"I already know what happened. On a dark, rainy night, my father kicked my mother and me out of his house and told her he never wanted to see us again."

"Correction, your father kicked your mother out, he never intended she should take you with her. And. . ."

"And you think that's okay? A man kicking his wife out of their house in the middle of the night with nothing but the clothes on her back?" Outrage sounded in her voice. Outrage she had every right to feel.

"No, I don't. It was a bad decision. One made in a drunken rage. One your father regretted every day of his life from that night forward."

"Oh, please. If the man regretted his actions, he had plenty of opportunity to make up for them. Do you have any idea how many times my mother called him, asking for help?"

This was the lie at the center of Tomilola's anger for her father. The misconception he had to break. The misconception that was going to send her world spinning. He braced himself for the fight and shook his head. "She never called, Tomilola. That's what I was trying to tell you in the truck yesterday when you cut me off. After your mother took you that night and left, your father never heard from her again."

"That's a lie. She called. Time and time again, asking for money. Asking for help. And Wale Adeyemi always told her to get lost."

"Were you ever in the room when she called? Did you over hear the calls? Or did she just tell you about them?"

"Of course I heard them." Righteous indignation sounded in her voice.

But he suspected she'd answered more out of anger and reflex than truth. "Are you sure? Think hard."

She sent him another fuming stare, but he could see the doubt sweeping into her thoughts.

He let her ponder a bit, praying her mother hadn't put on some charade where she'd talked into a phone with God knew whom or what on the other end, making her daughter think she was talking to her dad. It would be a harder lie to combat. Not that he couldn't combat it. But he'd like to use as small a hammer as possible.

He sat quietly, the sound of grass and the soft creak of leather wafting on the warming breeze. A hawk's lonely cry drifted down from the clear blue sky. He glanced up, spotting the majestic bird gliding playfully on the thermals overhead.

Tomilola followed his gaze, spotting the bird immediately. She smiled, a smile that momentarily erased the shadows from her eyes. The hawk suddenly dove toward the ground, his beak leading the way, his wings tucked tight against his body. Just before reaching the grass, he flared his wings and reached forward with his feet. A split second later he was winging toward the sky again, a mouse dangling helplessly from deadly claws.

Tomilola lowered her gaze to his, the shadows flitting back into her eyes. "It's never quite as idyllic as we want to believe, is it?"

He shook his head. "No."

She exhaled a long sigh. "I don't actually remember if I heard any of my mother's calls or not. But that doesn't mean I didn't. My mother died seven years ago, and we'd given up on my father coming to our aid a couple years before that. It was a long time ago. But what could possibly have been the point of her lying to me? She needed help. Desperately. We needed help. Why wouldn't she have called?"

"I don't know. But from what your dad told me your mom had issues. Ones your dad said kept her from thinking rationally sometimes."

Pain and anger slashed across her face. "She might have had 'issues.' And she might not have always thought 'rationally,' but she wasn't delusional, for pity's sake. She was together enough that she never turned back on her little girl. Unlike the man you're trying to paint as a bloody saint."

"I'm not trying to paint anyone as a saint Least of all your father. God knows, he'd turn over in his grave if he thought I was. I'm just trying to tell his side of the story."

"Then tell it. But don't expect me to believe every word out of your mouth."

"All I'm asking is that you listen with an open mind."

"Fine, my mind is open."

If the underlying anger in her words was any indication, her mind wasn't open. But since it was likely all he'd get, he'd best get to it. "Did your mother ever tell you why he threw her off the estate?"

Her lips twisted in disgust. "Said he found someone new. Someone younger, prettier. Someone without a toddler to take care of." Pain sounded in her words as she voiced her belief that her father didn't want her. He locked his gaze on hers. "Your father never considered you anything but the most wonderful of gifts, Tomilola. Never."

Tears gathered in her eyes. "How would you know? You weren't. . ."

"No. I wasn't there. But I know because I saw the pain and longing in your dad's eyes every time he spoke of you. Heard the pride in his voice when he'd tell one of the memories he had of you. Memories that were old and few, but more precious to him than anything in this world."

More moisture filled her eyes, but she didn't let the tears fall. She might want to believe her father had missed her. But the anger underneath those tears told him she didn't. Not yet. And it would take a lot more talking on Demola's part before she'd even consider opening her mind. "It wasn't your father who found someone new, Tomilola. It was your mother."

"Oh, come on, you can come up with something more original than just flipping the story around, can't you?"

"Yeah, I probably could if I was making it up. But I'm not making it up. I'm going to tell you exactly what your father told me. No embellishments to make your father sound more innocent. No assumptions about what I think anyone was thinking that night. You'll have to decide for yourself what you want to believe and what you don't."

"Fine. So my mother found someone new Who was that?" Pure sarcasm sounded in her voice.

"I don't know his name. He was one of your father's workers."

"That's convenient for the story."

He ignored the comment and pushed on. "It was a Saturday night and your father had let half the workers go early so they could enjoy themselves while he worked late with the other half. When he finally got home, he found you in your crib, Mariam, the housekeeper, watching you, and your mother gone. When he asked Mariam where your mother was, she said she'd headed to town with the first half of the workers. He wasn't worried at first, too worried, anyway. It wasn't the first time your mother had gotten impatient with him for being late and headed into town early to drink and dance with some of the workers."

Her lips pressed into a thin line.

Did that mean she recognized the behavior? And didn't approve? Wale had said Nike was a big party girl. That she craved attention. Especially male attention. There was no reason that would have changed after she left Wale. In fact, it very possibly could have gotten worse.

But speculating about what Tomilola was thinking wouldn't get him anywhere. "When he got to the bar, your mom wasn't there. Just a bunch of guys doing their best to avoid your dad. When he finally pinned one down, the man reluctantly told him your mom had left with one of the new workers. Supposedly just to check out a bar farther down the street, one that played disco instead of rock music.

Tomilola raised her chin in defense. "Maybe they did. My mom never did like rock music."

"No, your dad said she didn't. But as much as he wanted to believe the two had left simply for the music, he didn't. And he didn't think the other workers believed it, either. But, since your mom had told the hands she and the guy would be back after a quick dance or two, and since your dad didn't want anyone to know he doubted her, he sat down, pretended everything was fine - and started drinking."

She rolled her eyes. "Now there's the perfect solution. Why didn't he just go looking for her?"

"Eventually he did. But he didn't find them at the bar down the street. He found them at the hotel at the edge of town."

She closed her eyes, pain and sadness washing across her features. "Oh, Mom. What were you thinking?"

The words were whispered so softly he barely heard them. But he heard. Had her mother brought an endless string of men home? Had she left a young girl home alone while went man-hopping?
But however sad or dark the memories were, Tomilola didn't let them suck her down. With a determined shake of her head, she pulled her shoulders back and opened her eyes to meet his gaze. "Okay, so my mother made a mistake. A big one. But you're not going to convince me it was okay for dear ol' dad to throw her out on the street and tell her to get lost because of it. He wants to divorce her. Fine. But they had a kid together. He owed her child's support, dammit."

She shifted in the saddle. "Do you have any idea how my mother had to compromise her living standards because she had to support me all by herself? She didn't have any skills. How the hell did Dad think she was going to put a roof over our heads? Food in our stomach? And later, when she got sick. How did he think she was going to pay for her medical expenses when she had to feed and clothe me?"

Not only had Tomilola had to endure the hardships of poverty, but she blamed her very existence for putting her mother in that ugly situation. Dammit, dammit, dammit.
But he couldn't back down now. "No one knew better than your father that he made a mistake that night. Unfortunately, he didn't confront your mother at the hotel, when he was only half-drunk. At that point, maybe he would have been thinking clearly enough to make a better decision. But he drove home instead and proceeded to get rip-roaring drunk.

"By the time your mom wandered home, he was completely out of control. The second she walked through the door, he told her to pack her bags and get out. Told her he didn't ever want to see her again. Then he stormed into his study, locked the door and drank until he passed out."

Tomilola looked at him with disbelief and outrage, "And what? He expected her to go and leave her child behind? He thought a mother would walk away from her child because some drunken guy told her to leave?"

"I think it's fair to say with alcohol in his system, he probably wasn't thinking beyond his wounded pride or the pain he felt at your mother's betrayal, period."

Her lips thinned into a hard line. But she didn't say anything.

"When your dad came to the next morning, he realized that as mad as he was at your mum he didn't want her to leave. He'd known when he married her she'd had emotional issues. He'd wanted to work it out with her. But when he went looking for her, hoping she'd ignored his drunken tirade and stayed, he realized not only had she left, she'd taken you with her. Desperate to find you both, he raced to town hoping to track you down at one of the local hotels. Or at the bus stop."

"But we were already gone." Her words were whisper soft.

He nodded. "A man at the barber shop had seen your mother hitching a ride out of town with a couple who'd stopped at the petrol station. The man didn't know the car or the couple in it.. He thought it was probably a couple just passing through on their way to who knew where."

"Okay, so you have a story that suggests my mum was the one who played around on my dad instead of the other way around. That hardly proves my mum never called my dad after they split up. It doesn't prove he didn't refuse to take my mom's calls."

"No, it doesn't. But now that you know your dad's story, I think these will convince you." He brought out papers he'd put in there earlier and held them out to her.

"What are those?"

"Read them and find out,"

She looked at the papers as if they might turn into a stake and bite her. But then, determination straightening her spine, she snatched the papers from his hand and gave the top one quick read. "So, it's some private investigator's bill made out to my father. So what?"

"It's a private investigator's bill from the search your father started the day you and your mother left. A search to find you both."

She looked back at the bill, studying it more carefully. "Even if my father did look for my mother in the beginning, that doesn't mean he didn't change his mind later. My mother told me she didn't try to contact him until I was about five. By then, Daddy dear might have decided he had better things to spend his money on.. Like the estate," she said pointedly.

"Look at the dates, Tomilola."

Her gaze moved to the top of the page.
"You'll notice the top one is from twenty-two years ago. The month after you and your mother disappeared, to be exact. The second one is from five years later. The third five years after that. And the last one is from last month."

She flipped through the pages, verifying the dates. But when she looked up there was nothing but stubbornness on her face. "Four bills over twenty-two years doesn't constitute any great search. So his conscience kicked into gear now and then. That doesn't mean it was in working order when my mother called for help."

"God, you're tough."

"You bet I am. Watching my mum struggle to keep a roof over our heads and food in our bellies when I was young, and taking over those chores after my mum got sick, made me that way."

Yes, it would have. And while he admired the loyalty that made her cling to the belief that her mother had called, that her mother had done everything possible to provide for her daughter, he couldn't let her go on believing it. "I brought only four bills out this morning, but there's a stack of them a foot high in your father's office. Bills from every month for those twenty-two years. I'll show them to you when we get back if you need more proof."

"I don't want to see them," she snapped.

No, he didn't imagine she did. But. . . "Sooner or later, you're going to have to admit your mother wasn't telling you the whole truth. That your mother might have been responsible for keeping you in such poverty and misery."

Panic filled her expression. Panic and anger and. . .pain. Tears pooled in her eyes. "Why would she do that? What possible reason could she have to keep my father out of our lives, to withhold medical attention for herself?"

"I don't know. Like you've pointed out on several occasions. I didn't know your mum. But you did. Can you think of any reason why she wanted to keep your dad out of your lives? Because it seems pretty obvious to me that she did. Why else would she change her name from Adeyemi to Daniels if she wasn't trying to hide from him?"

"Oh, come on, the change of name doesn't prove anything. Women change their names when their marriages don't work out all the time."

"Back to their maiden names, yes. Or they marry again and take the name of their new spouse. Sometimes women will even take the name of an old spouse, but Daniels isn't any of those things."

A little more panic crawled into Tomilola's expression. "No, it isn't."

"Do you have another explanation for the name change?"

She shook her head, confusion and frustration taking over her face. "Until yesterday I would have told you my mother did it to protect me."

"Protect you from what?"

She grimaced. "Hearing from my own father's lips that he didn't want anything to do with us."

He gave her a questioning look.

"When I first found my mum's marriage certificate and my birth certificate after her death, discovered that my last name hadn't been Daniels, I thought she must have realized early on that eventually I'd get old enough to look up my father. So, she'd changed our name to make sure I never found him. That way she could control whether I contacted him or not. Control whether or not I hear him tell us he didn't want anything to do with us."

"And now what do you think?"

She looked into the distance her expression getting beaker by the moment. "Now, I don't know what to think."

Great, he'd taken a life he suspected had been difficult on the best of days and removed the one pin of stability from it. Now he had to see where the pieces fell.

And pray to God he could put them back together before she decided jumping out of another plane or some deadly stunt was a better way to spend her time. Because he suspected the Angels' penchant for extreme sports was as much about four troubled young women pushing back at an unfair world as it was about making money for those in need. And that was a dangerous path he didn't want Wale Adeyemi's daughter travelling down.

Bumper 2 Bumper

Ny2 one. Dnt keep us waiting gurl

Waiting for ur update for days nw...wats happening?

Larry-Sun:

I did click on that more times than you can imagine, I wanted to be the first to comment , but the blog hated me or so...maybe because I'm using Mobile.

when u get to the blog, click on "view web version" u'll see it by scrolling down d home page, then click on what you want to read and then click on comment to comment. I hope this helps

omolola come and update i dont like suspense oooo

This plagiarist girl again!

Episode 9

Tomilola sat outside her bedroom on the balcony that ran the length of the back of the house. She rocked gently in one of the rockers that were strewn around the balcony and drew in a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves as she leaned back, propped her feet up on the railing and watched the sun dip beneath the hill's top. The already waning twilight faded to night. Staring at the twinkling stars, she let the day's emotions take hold of her.

Fresh tears pooled in her eyes. Tears she'd been fighting all day. Tears of frustration and sadness and anger. After Demola's little bombshell on the trail, she'd come back to the estate and spent the day sifting through the bills in her father's office. It had made for a tumultuous afternoon.

Footsteps echoed in the dark.

She quickly swiped at the tears and glanced toward the edge of the house where the sound of crunching gravel reverberated through the night. Who was wandering back here? The sound of crunching gravel turned into that of someone climbing the stairs at the end of the balcony. Demola's head appeared as he made his way up the steps, the moonlight glinting off the sharp angles and planes of his face.

She looked heavenward, praying for strength. "Demola, I'm not sure I'm up for another one of your surprises. Seems like every time you appear on the horizon, my world gets a little shakier." He stepped onto the balcony and held up his hands, a bottle in one, two shot glasses in the other. "No surprises Just thought a good stiff drink would go down good about now."
"A little anesthetic for the havoc you created earlier?" He winced, striding over to her and setting the bottle and glasses on the rail. "Something like that." She drew a deep breath, feeling guilty for dumping her bad mood on him. "Sorry. I'm shooting the messenger, I know. But, unfortunately, the two people I want to be taking over the coals right now aren't here. And -"

"I am," He extracted a lime and small knife from his shirt pocket and set them on the railing. She nodded.
He removed a saltshaker from his front jeans pocket and put it next to the line. "That's okay. I can take it."
Yes, he seemed to have as much inner strength as outer strength. He absorbed all the anger she threw his way with the calm acceptance of a man who had a bone-deep understanding of the world around him and where he belonged in it. And because she had never known where she belonged in this world, it was a quality that made him just that much more appealing.

Too damned appealing. Squelching those thoughts, she concentrated on the bottle in his hand. Red Label. Of course. She curled her free hand into a soft fist and poured herself a glass.

She waited while he got his own drink ready, then held her glass up in toast. "To a quiet, uneventful day tomorrow."

"Hear! Hear!" He clinked his shot glass to hers. They both licked the salt from their hands, drowned their shots and bit into their limes. The liquor rocketed down her throat, hit her stomach and raced into her bloodstream. She rocked back, closing her eyes, letting the warmth slide through her. Letting the alcohol relax the muscles along the back of her neck, the tight knot in her stomach and chest.

Something clinked against the lip of her glass. She opened her eyes to find Demola pouring her another shot. "Easy, I'm not much of a drinker."

"Just sip at this one." He set the bottle down, she held her hand out. He proceeded to pour himself another shot and downed it without the salt and lime embellishments. She raised a brow. Had this day been as unpleasant for him as it had for her? Maybe. While she'd been certain from the moment she'd met him that he was determined to do whatever was required to fulfil his obligation to her father, including playing dirty, she didn't think he liked making her unhappy.

She touched the end of her tongue and took a tiny sip of the drink as he filled his shot glass again. He obviously planned to stay awhile. "You going to pull up a rocker or just tower over me while we drink?" He pulled one of the other rockers alongside hers, grabbed his drink, sat and propped his feet next to hers on the railing. "Pretty out here tonight."

She stared at the full moon hanging over the distant hills. "I will give dear Dad that. He picked a beautiful place to build his little empire." Demola winced but he didn't say anything. He just sat, quietly rocking, occasionally sipping at his drink, his shirt gently brushing her arm as his chair moved slowly back and forth, his heat seeping into her shoulder like a warm, tantalizing breeze.

Her traitorous gaze slid to his boots, ran up his long, denim-clad legs and settled at the masculine bulge at the top of those legs. Oh, man. She dragged her eyes off him and took another fortifying swallow of red label.

Demola took a sip of his own drink, then turned his gaze on her. "You want to talk about the estate? Or your dad? You must have a million questions." He was back to pushing again. She slanted him a look "What if I say no?"
"Then we'll just sit here, watch the moon climb up the sky."
She laughed. "And how long do you think you'll be able to do that before you break down and bring the subject up again?"
He smiled, rocking gently in his chair "Maybe a minute or two."
"If I'm lucky." Her thoughts slid back to the troubling questions that had plagued her all afternoon. "My mom was raised in group and foster homes, did you know that?"
He looked over at her, the moon's silvery light highlighting and shadowing his face. "I didn't know."
"Her parents were killed in an automobile accident when she was eight." She closed her eyes, thinking how tiny, how vulnerable a little girl of eight was. "Her father and mother didn't have any family that could take her in. So my mother became a ward of the state."
"And she was never adopted?"
"Nope. She used to dream of it. Said once she recovered from her parents' deaths, she'd lay awake nights and fantasize about a couple coming along and falling in love with her, adopting her and bringing her home. More than anything else in the world, she wanted a home and someone to love her."
"But it didn't happen?"
"No. And it left a hole in her, I think. Made her desperate for someone's love. Which is what I don't understand. If my father loved her, why'd she play around on him?"

He shrugged philosophically. "The Big W was a new estate then; your father was just starting to build it. If she was needy for attention, maybe he didn't have enough time for her. Maybe she felt neglected,"

She thought of all the men who'd come and gone in her mother's life. "Maybe, God knows, when Mom was with a man she wanted all his attention. Needed all his attention. She even hated it when they went to work. I think its why most of the guys left. They knew whatever they gave would never be enough."
"So you're at least entertaining the thought your mother might have contributed to what happened all those years ago."
"I'm entertaining the idea. But I still have reservations."

He watched her, his gaze concerned and sympathetic. "What's bothering you the most?"
"If my mom never intended to ask for my dad's help, why did she pretend to call? Why tell me she was going to call?"
"I don't know. Maybe just to make your dad look bad. It wouldn't be the first time one spouse vilified another."
"Maybe." But that answer didn't ease the turmoil roiling inside her.
"Is it that she pretended to call that bothers you, or that she so obviously didn't want help from your dad?"
"The latter, I think. It just seems so...self-destructive." She thought back, the faces of several men flashing through her head. Men that had been involved with her mother, sometimes for months. She sighed, dropping her head back against the rocker. "But now that I think about it, self-destructive is a pretty good way to describe Mom's relationships. Most of the men she brought home were users. Takers. And once there was no more to take, they left."

"Did she ever see any of them again? After they left? Try to rekindle the relationship?"

Now there was a provoking bunch of questions. "No, she didn't. As much as my mother wanted to be loved. As much as she wanted a man to come into her life and stay, if things didn't work out, it was over. Completely over. Once they left our house or we left theirs, she never saw them again. Not to settle up on old bills or for a cup of coffee or for anything."

"She never saw them again?" Surprise sounded in his voice.

"Never." She stared up at the stars, trying to make sense out of that quirk. Trying to understand why her mother hadn't ever called her father. And why she'd gone to such lengths to make sure Tomilola never did, either. "Maybe she felt like too much of a loser after a relationship failed and she just wanted to put it behind her, pretend it never happened. Or maybe, after being tossed from one foster family to the next as a kid, she thought further contact was futile. Whatever the reason, I never saw any of them again. In fact, we usually moved to a different town after a breakup. Although that could just as well have had to do with her trying to make sure my father never found us."

"You've been thinking about the name change thing?"

She nodded. "When you put all the pieces together, it certainly looks like she was making sure he didn't find us. Maybe she was afraid he'd take me away. Maybe. . . I don't know." Her brain was too numb to think anymore. "You have to realize that with her gone, you may never understand her motivations for everything she did."
Sadness washed through her, "I know."

"It sounds like you moved around a lot. Did you like it? Seeing new places?" Having forced her to face some of the hard truths of her past, he changed the subject, steering her on to easier ground. And she was glad for it. "I hated it. Mom wasn't the only one who dreamed about having a house. A home. Before she got sick, even after sometimes, Mom and I used to talk about having our own house."

She smiled thinking of those times. "We'd plan it all out, you know? First, we'd decide what kind it was. A one-story ranch or a two-story contemporary or just a little grandma house on a quiet corner. Then we'd decorate it. Plan what kind of curtains we'd have in the kitchen. And where we'd put the garden. We always planned a garden."
"Garden?"
She nodded, laughing.
"You wanted roses."
"Yes. Red roses, mind you. They had to be red." She smiled, remembering. "It was fun, planning. Dreaming." "But you never had a house of your own?"
"Are you kidding? There were times when we couldn't even afford a cheap hotel. There was one time, though, when Mom was dating this guy with money. Not money like this." She waved her hand, indicating the Big W. "But enough money he could help pay the rent and have a little left over for a few fun things. A night out at the galleria, an afternoon at the beach. Anyway, Mom and I bought some material and hand stitched some kitchen curtains for the tiny apartment we were renting at the time. That was cool."

"Sounds...cool."

She shot him a sideways glance. "You don't think it sounds cool. You think it sounds pitiful."

"Not pitiful. But...hard."

She shrugged. "It was sometimes. But I had my mom. I always knew she loved me."

"Your father loved you, too." He locked his gaze on hers. "And he was looking for you, Tomi. He - was - looking."

A million emotions pounded through her. Pain, frustration, loss. "Yes, it looks like he was. And I'm softeniing toward him. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel guilty about it."

"That's understandable, if not exactly fair. You've thought negatively about your father for twenty-two years; that isn't going to change overnight. Particularly since your father's version of what happened that night isn't any prettier than your mother's."

"No, it's not," Her voice was as weary as she felt. "But...I would suggest you think very hard abut cutting your dad out of your life just because your mom did. You need to find a way to let them both into your heart." He stood, pulled a small envelope from his back pocket and handed it to her. "Your dad left this for you. I don't know what's in there. But maybe it will help." He stood and headed for the end of the balcony.
She stared at the envelope, then at his retreating back. The need to call him back danced on her tongue. She didn't want to be alone. It seemed as if she'd faced every scary moment of her life alone. She didn't want to face this one that way, too.

Unfortunately, she was afraid to think where her current vulnerability coupled with the sexual tension between them might lead if her father's missive upset her and Demola decided to hold her again. Demola might have the wherewithal to keep things in check, to keep things at a comforting level, but she was pretty sure she didn't. So she clamped her mouth shut and watched him walk away.

Just before he headed down the stairs, he stopped and turned to her. "You said you've always wanted a home. This could be your home, Tomi. It's a beautiful place. A good place."

Old longing rushed in, but only for a moment. She shook her head. "I don't think so, Demola. My mother's memory aside, this place is too rich for my taste. I could never own anything this lavish. There are too many people out there doing without."

He shrugged. "So downsize. Or make the place work for you. Your dad plowed the money the estate made back into the place so he'd have something grand to bring you and your mom back to if he found you. But you don't have to do the same. Stop growing the place and use the money for your charity. Or whatever else you'd like to use it for."

The idea slid through her, sneaking underneath her confusion and pain to tease her, tempt her. She liked the idea of having a steady income to use for her charity. But....could she make enough peace with the past to make this her home?

"Just something to think about," he pointed out.

She shot him a wry smile. "Like I need more of that."

He returned the smile. "I"ll see you tomorrow."

Without another word, he disappeared down the stairs. She looked at the envelope clutched in her hand.

A card.
From her father.
Mouth dry, heart pounding, she broke the seal and pulled the card out with shaking fingers. Opening it, she angled her body so the small amount of light coming from her bedroom fell on the card, highlighting the boldly scrawled words. Holding her breath, she read.

Tomilola,

I've composed a dozen notes. All of them from my heart, but most of them were long-winded and did more to appease my conscience than anything else. Now I've decided to say only the things that matter.
I've missed you. . .more than I can ever tell.
I love you. . .more than you will ever know.
I'll be watching from above, or perhaps below, doing what I couldn't in life. . .taking care of you.
Love,
Dad.[b][/b]


She closed her eyes against the words. Words she would have sold her soul as a child to hear. Words that would have made so many dark, scary nights so much more bearable. Words that pierced her heart like a thousand knives, because they'd come so, so late.

Tears sprang to her eyes.

And this time she let them fall.

Nice one dear,but try 2 always update on
Tym. Couldn't remember how many tyms i
Visited both ur blog and nairaland just
4 ur update

You're good...kip it up

good storyline

finally good and i hope you will not delay long before u update

u r a good writer keep it up

Episode 10

Demola gulped a quick cup of coffee. Standing in his kitchen, he stared at the big house. He'd been out all morning, making sure everything was in order. He'd hoped Tomilola might make a foray onto the estate over the last two days, but not only had he not seen her since the night of their drinking, the helps working in the big house hadn't, either. She'd obviously never left the house.

He thought she was making progress toward lightening up about her dad. About the estate. At least she hadn't thrown his suggestion to keep the place and use it to help support her charity back in his face. A good sign. And he'd hoped the note from her father would soften her up even more. At least he'd hoped it would make her feel less like an outsider. Make her feel like a beloved daughter and therefore someone who belonged here on her father's estate.

Of course, he didn't know what Wole had written in that card. But if the man hadn't told his long lost daughter he loved her, he'd be really surprised. Then again, did he really expect one "I love you," to fix everything? He sighed, taking another sip of coffee. As a matter of fact, he had. He ran a hand down his face. What the hell had he been thinking? The kind of bond he'd been thinking about, the kind of bond that would make Tomilola feel as if she belonged on the Big W, was not created overnight. The bond between a father and daughter grew over time. The love and trust developing as first steps were taken, first bicycles ridden, first cars driven.

All Tomilola had was Demola's word that her father loved her and a single card. Enough, perhaps, for a bond to begin to grow, but hardly enough to create any real sense of kinship. Any real sense of love. And if he was ever going to get her out of that house, that's what he needed to create. He needed to find a way to make her feel Wole's love. Not an easy task with Wole in absentia.

He took another swallow of coffee, thinking of ways to create that end. Only one came to mind. Decision made, he drained the cup with a giant gulp and headed over to the big house.

He stepped onto the porch and knocked. It seemed odd, knocking on a door he'd just walked through for the past ten years, but Wole was gone. The house was Tomilola's now. She had every right to expect her privacy.

"I'll get it." Tomilola's voice echoed inside.

Charles must be there, working. He couldn't imagine who else she'd be talking to. He heard the tread of footsteps on the stairs and a few seconds later, the door opened.

Tomilola stood there, a smile curving her lips. "Hey, Dem." She was wearing a tight pair of faded jeans, hip-huggers, and a tank top that stopped just above her navel. Heat shot through him, his gaze locked on her belly button. And the smooth expanse of skin below it. He wanted to touch her there. See if she was as soft and warm as she looked. Swallowing hard, he pulled his gaze up, made himself concentrate on her face,

She chuckled softly. "Come on in. Looks a little warm out there."

He stepped into the house's air-conditioning, glad for whatever cooling effect he could find, and attacked the problem at hand. "Thought maybe I'd see you out on the estate one of these days."

She shrugged, closing the door. "I've been exploring dad's office, seeing what I could learn about him."

"Then I've come just in time."

She cocked a brow in question.

"I came over to show you some things your dad left you."

"Really?" Curiosity sparkled in her eyes.

"Yep, come on." He took her elbow and guided her to the stairs, ignoring the electricity that jumped between them the second he touched her, ignoring the fact that while he was heading her upstairs for a totally innocent reason, his body seemed only to note that they were headed toward the bedrooms. She hesitated halfway up the steps. "Where exactly are we going, Dem?" It obviously hadn't escaped her notice that there was nothing upstairs but bedrooms.

"Relax, I'm not dragging you away to seduce you. What I want to show you is in one of your dad's closets."

"Whew, I was afraid I was going to have to pull a Jackie Chan, send you sprawling down the stairs."

He chuckled wryly. "So much for my charm, huh?"

"Oh, it's there, Dem. And we're both adult enough to know it But now's not a good time for me to be distracted." A wry smile of her own twisted her lips. "No matter how entertaining I think that distraction might be."

More heat shot through him, his body only hearing the admission that she was as interested as he was and totally ignoring the part about this not being the time. Totally ignoring the fact that Wole's daughter was completely off-limits, period. But if his body didn't know it, his conscience did. Reluctantly, he let go of her and picked up his pace so he was a step ahead.

"So what did my father leave for me?"

"And ruin the surprise?" He shook his head. At the landing, he made his way into her father's room. She stopped in the doorway, looking nervous and lost as she stared in. "So this was his room."

"Yep. Now quit hovering in the doorway and come in."

"I'm not hovering." Lifting her chin and squaring her shoulders, she strode in,

He hid a smile.

She wandered aimlessly for a few steps, her gaze both voracious and anxious as she drank in every detail. Spying the big eight-by-ten photograph sitting on the nightstand next to the bed, she strode over and picked it up. Even from here he could see Wole standing in the picture with his arms around Nike's shoulders. See Nike holding a brand-new baby girl - a tiny, bald-headed Tomilola - wrapped carefully in a pink blanket.

Tomilola studied the photo, her expression intense. Finally, she topped it toward him. "This was him? My father?" Her voice was whisper soft.

Surprise shot through him. "You've never see him before?"

She shook her head. "Mom didn't have any pictures of him. Even after she died and I went through her things, there was nothing."

During all these years, she'd never had a face to put her emotions to? What the hell had Nike been thinking? Not even letting her child know what her father looked like.

Yes, from everything Wole had said, he knew the woman had had problems. And from what Tomilola had told him about Nike's childhood, he could understand why she had them. But right now, he didn't care about poor Nike's problems, he just wanted to strangle her. But he managed to keep his expression neutral as he said. "That's him."

She traced the figure of her father with a shaky finger, her expression bittersweet. "He was handsome."

He chuckled. "I wouldn't know. But he was a good man. A very good man."

She didn't comment, she just continued to study the picture intently. As if she might find the answers she so needed there. "They look happy."

"I think they were when your dad wasn't busy on the estate. But beyond what he looked like, you're not going to learn much about your dad from that picture." He strode over and took it from her, setting it back in its place. "If you want to know who your dad was, how he felt about you, the answers are in here."

He strode to one of the doors leading off the room, pushed it open and stepped inside the walk-in closet.

Tomilola followed, once again pausing at the doorway and peering in. She took in the closet's contents in one quick sweep. "Presents?"

He nodded. "Yours. And your mother's."

She stared at the packages. "Oh, God, please tell me he didn't go out to buy all these after he found out he was dying as some sort of wish-I'd-known-you kind of thing."

"No. Your father was a lot of things, but a fool wasn't one of them. These are the presents he bought for you and your mother over the years. Presents bought with joy and the hope he'd find you and be able to give them to you. Yours are all birthday presents."

The shadows turned to surprise. "You're kidding. Birthday presents?"

"He always said any father worth his salt didn't miss his child's birthday."

Tears misted her eyes. "So he thought of me on my birthday. I always wondered."

Demola's heart squeezed. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to wonder if one of your parents even thought about you on your birthday. It had to be one of the loneliest feelings in the world. And loneliness, he understood. "Wonder no more. He thought of you. And not just on your birthday. All the time. Now get in here and see what he bought you."

She stepped into the closet, her gaze skating over the gifts sitting on the shelves.

The space suddenly seemed smaller, warmer, much more...intimate. He thought about bolting, leaving her to open the presents by herself. But, there were stories behind a lot of these gifts. Stories he knew. Stories she should know. So he kept his feet rooted to the floor.

Standing in front of the gifts, she touched one with a shaky finger. "This paper's old."

"It would be. It would have been wrapped the year he got it for you. Let's see . . ." He reached around her - trying not to notice how close they were - and opened the little card that was taped on top and read it. "Happy seventh, sweetie."

"He wrapped this eighteen years ago?" Disbelief and something else, something tender, sounded in her voice.

"You bet." He stepped back to a safer distance.

"Amazing." She opened a few other tags, reading the inscriptions. Then she turned to one of the big presents on the floor. She angled her head, first one way and then the other, a smile playing over her lips.

"Do you think this is what it looks like?"

He chuckled, looking at the way the old paper with pink teddy bears and blue balloons defined the curved bottom of the object. "I'm sure it's exactly what it looks like. Your dad told me. . .with great pride, I might add - how he made it himself."

contd. . .

"He made it?"

"Yep."

Her gaze softened, and she nudged the gift's highest point, sending it rocking.

He touched her shoulder. "Open it."

Uncertainty shadowed her expression as she stood, making no move toward the gift. He hated to see hesitancy, her doubt in her father's love. Hated more that he couldn't pull her into his arms and comfort her. But this wasn't about him. It was about her. And her relationship with Wale. "It's your present, Tomi. Your father always meant for you to open it. So open it already."

A smile crept across her lips and she gave her head a resolute nod. "All tight then."

She opened the small card taped to the top. "Ride them, darling. Happy third. Love, Dad." Her voice cracked as she read and swiped at her eyes,

Happy tears this time. Good.

She knelt beside the present and went to work on the wrapping, removing it one sheet at a time from the hodgepodge of pieces taped together to cover the big, oddly shaped object. The process was slow and careful, as if she were unwrapping something of utmost fragility or great value. But finally, the wooden rocking horse was uncovered. "Look at it," she breathed, sitting back on her heels, staring at the handcrafted gift.

He was looking. He clamped his lips on the laugh that climbed up his throat. Wole Adenuga had been the most talented businessman he'd ever known. But he'd been a sad excuse for a woodworker.

He stared at the poor wooden horse. The rockers were good; Wole must have used a pattern for those. But the rest of the horse. . .He stifled another laugh. Any horse whose legs were that crooked had best be a rocking horse, 'cause he sure as blazes wasn't walking anywhere. Which, considering the position of the animal's eyes, one almost two inches lower than the other, was probably just as well. The poor beast had to be seeing double. And there was a giant gouge in one haunch, as if Wole's carving tool had slipped. He swallowed another laugh. The poor, poor beast.

"It's beautiful." The words were filled with quiet reverence as Tomilola reached out to touch the polished surface.

This time, he couldn't stop the laugh. It bubbled out like water from a spring. "Are you blind?"

She reached behind her and slapped at his leg. "Stop it. He is beautiful."

He laughed harder. "For crying out loud, the animal looks like something Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer would have found on the island of misfits. And undoubtedly left there."

She smiled with him now. "Maybe, but that's what makes him beautiful. If he was perfect, how would I know for sure my dad made him? But look. . ." she ran her hand over the dimple in the horse's butt - "there's no mistaking it."

No there wasn't.

She ran her fingers over the tooled leather pad that had been fixed to the horse's back with brass upholstery tacks. "Look at this. He must have spent hours." Awe sounded in her voice.

Demola marveled at the depth of tenderness with which she touched the horse. Considering the hardships she'd endured because of her father's mistake, considering she'd spent years thinking of the man as the bad guy, she could easily have looked at the poorly crafted horse and wondered why her father hadn't spent a little cash and bought his daughter a rocking horse without a dimple in its butt.

But it wasn't the gift itself she was appreciating. It was the time her father had spent making it for her. The effort he had put into it that meant something to her. The distinction told him a great deal about the woman kneeling in front of him. Told him that she knew what was important in life and what wasn't. Told him that she had a big capacity for forgiveness, because of all he had to do was look at the expression on her face to know she'd let go of the anger she'd had had for her father. Not such an easy thing when one considered the hardships she'd lived through. Many of them that could be laid directly at Wole's feet.

She was a hell of a woman. Beautiful. Tough. Forgiving.

Desire shot through him, hot and hard and greedy. Desire that went much deeper than the biting lust he'd felt before.

He closed his eyes against it. He might once have dreamed of having a woman like Tomilola at his side. Dreamed of building a family with a strong, loving woman. But those days, those dreams were behind him. He'd thrown them away the day he'd taken the law into his own hands. And he couldn't get them back.

Ruthlessly ignoring the need pounding through him, he forced his thoughts back to the moment. "Actually, according to your father, he spent weeks putting this guy together."

"Weeks." She glanced over her shoulder, a telltale sheen of moisture in her eyes. "You could have shown me all these gifts the first day I came."

He shook his head. "I wanted you to be able to appreciate them. Enjoy them. And I was pretty sure that's not how you would have looked at them that first day."

"No, I wouldn't have." She touched the end of the horse's nose, then looked back at him. "Thanks."

"No problem." He held his hand down to her. "Come on, let's open some more."

"Yeah, let's." Smiling from ear to ear, she grabbed his hand and pulled herself up. She surveyed the shelves, homing in on a rectangular box about eighteen inches high. After a quick check of the tag she pulled it off the shelf. "Let's try this one. He bought this the year I was ten."

He smiled. She looked about ten now, her eyes glistening with anticipation as she ripped the paper from the box.

She pulled the last of the paper away. "Yeah, baby." She turned the box so he could see. "Barbie."

He stared at the big-busted, tiny-waisted figure. "Yep, she looks like her." He'd never understood the love affair the entire female population under the age of twelve seemed to have with the doll, but he'd known enough little girls in his life to know it was real.

She turned the box around and ran her finger over the clear plastic, studying the doll. "I can't believe it. A new Barbie. Look, her hair is perfect. And so is her dress. Not a single tear or stain."

"I take it there weren't a lot of new Barbies in your childhood."

She shook her head. "Toys and clothes always came from garage sales or Goodwill. Which, on the whole, is fine. You can get some pretty neat stuff at garage sales. But I tell you, finding a Barbie in halfway decent shape was tough. The hair and clothes were always a mess. But this one. . ." She ran her fingers over the plastic again, her gaze almost beatific as she stared at the doll.

"So open her up. Take her out."

Her fingers moved to the top of the box, but at the last second they stilled and she shook her head, "I think I'll keep her just the way she is - all shiny and new in her pink box. Maybe I'll give her to my little girl. That would be cool, a Barbie bought by her grand-dad."

Her little girl. He pictured her holding a tiny baby with black hair and eyes. Pictured himself making that baby with her, a fresh wave of need pounding through him. He gritted his teeth against it. And fisted his hands against the thought of someone else making that baby with her. Fisted them harder as he realized sooner or later someone else would. Because while Tomilola deserved a fairy-tale ending, complete with Prince Charming and a couple of kids, he didn't belong anywhere in that picture. No one would mistake him for Prince Charming.

He forced the images of making love to Tomilola out of his head and concentrated on the moment at hand. Tomilola set the Barbie carefully back on the shelf and did a quick read of a few tags before picking up the next present and turning it to him. "Shall we see what's in this one? It says Sweet Sixteen, Sweetie."

Though short, the messages on the tiny cards obviously meant as much to her as the gifts. "Open away."

She tore the wrapping away, revealing a square, thin, white velvet box.

He smiled. "Looks like jewelry to me."

Her eyes sparkling, she opened the box. "Oh, my God." She tipped the box back so he could see.

A single strand of white pearls glistened in the closet's light.

"Very pretty. But they'll be prettier on."

"You think?" Hesitancy sounded in her voice, as if she couldn't quite believe they were hers.

He nodded. "Definitely."

She lifted the pearls from their velvet bed with unsteady fingers. Setting the box down, she opened the clasp on the pearls and fit it around her neck. But her fingers weren't steady enough to connect the clasp.

He shouldn't help. The last thing he needed was to be close enough to touch her. But before he knew it, his feet were moving across the closet floor, and he was saying, "Here, let me get that."

Stupid, Stupid, Stupid, Stupid. But his hands were already taking the tiny gold clasp from hers. His fingers drinking in her warmth, reveling in the soft silkiness of her nape. He steeled himself against the desire racing through him. Told himself he was only offering a helping hand. But the tightening of his jeans belied that reasoning. He wanted to touch her. Wanted to feel her.

Foolish.

And dangerous.

He promised himself he'd step away as soon as he had the necklace hooked. But he had the clasp locked in seconds. And his feet didn't move. Nor did his hands move from her neck. Instead, they settled on her shoulders, moulding to her soft curves, his fingers stretching to the delicate line of her collarbone. And his feet took another half step closer, his body touching hers, measuring her curves, reveling in her softness.

She stilled, the air around them becoming super-charged, crackling with electricity and latent desire. He prayed for her to move away. Because, damn his soul, he couldn't. He couldn't make his feet move. Couldn't make his hands let go any more than a dying man could make himself forgo that last sip of sweet air.

With his own bleak future stretching before him, he wanted to taste her generous spirit. Wanted to taste her incredible strength. He didn't want to think of the cold, lonely years ahead of him. Didn't want to think about how solitary his current existence was.

She didn't move away. And when she looked over her shoulder at him, she didn't look the least bit inclined to move. Her eyes were slightly dilated. Her lips parted. Her breathing short and fast. God help him, she looked like a woman ready to be kissed.

A loud ringing chime peeled through the house,

They both started, the sound breaking the spell.

She sprang out of his hands as if she'd been burned, her cheeks coloring a becoming shade of pink. "That's the, um. . ."

He dropped his hands and stepped back with a wry smile. "The doorbell. Go on, answer it. I'll be right behind you."

She dashed out of the closet.

He followed at a more sedate pace, giving his body time to cool, telling himself the interruption was for the best. He had no business touching Tomilola Daniels. No matter how much he wanted to.

He found her at the door, holding a simple green vase with a dozen red roses in it and talking to the flower deliveryman - or boy. The pimply-faced kid couldn't be more than eighteen.

She handed the teenager a five-hundred naira tip, said thanks, and closed the door as he disappeared down the stairs. Turning to Demola, she held the flowers up. "Will you look at these?" She struck her nose into the blooms and took a deep breath, her eyes closing as she inhaled the scent. "Beautiful. But who on earth is sending me roses?"

He knew, and wished he hadn't been here for their arrival.

But before he could leave, she pulled the card from the clear plastic holder and opened it. "Just a little nudge to get you thinking about planting those red roses." She looked up, shaking her head. "Not fair, dem boy."

As if he needed any reminders at the moment of how unfair life could be. Ruthlessly ignoring the need still throbbing inside him, he stopped at the door and locked his gaze on hers. "Life doesn't give second chances often, Tomilola. But you're being offered one now. A chance to get to know your dad. A chance to make a good future for yourself. Don't throw it away." Without another word he brushed by her and headed back to his house.

His quiet, empty house.


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wonderful... Keep it up

Episode 11

Early the next morning Tomilola stood next to the table where she'd set Demola's roses, her nose buried in the burgundy blooms. They smelled so good. Bold, sweet...heady.

Much like the man who'd sent them.

Smiling ruefilly, she took another deep whiff and straightened, trying not to let her mind wander, once again, back to the thoughts that had kept her awake most of the nights. Thoughts of Demola Adenuga.

But it was impossible.

She couldn't get the man out of her head. Couldn't get the heat of him standing behind her, his hard body brushing hers, out of her mind. He'd almost kissed her last night. And she'd almost let him.

Not good.

She needed a clear head for the decision ahead of her - whether she was going to make the Big W her home. And she needed that decision to be unbiased and well-grounded. She couldn't let herself decide to stay on the ranch just because Demola made her heart pound and her palms sweat. Even if he did seem to have a depth to him, a tenderness she'd never seen in a man before.

If she was going to stay on the Big W, make it her home, it had to be because it was right for her. With the issues about her father cleared up, it certainly had potential. But if she decided to stay, it had to be be because of the estate - not the man.

Of course, if she decided the Big W was the place for her in a totally unbiased and well-grounded manner, Demola would be fair game. Right?

Lord, she was hopeless. She walked over to the big window behind the table and stared out at the open vista behind the house. The day was just starting, the pink rays of dawn glinting off the h ills. God, it was beautiful here. The thought of staying, making it her home, planting those roses pulled sweetly at her. The thought of finally, finally, having a real home was an intoxicating elixir. One she;d have to be careful of.

Because the reality was she didn't know anything about this estate, except she liked the scenery and her father had once owned it. She'd have to know a lot more than that before she made any real decision about staying.

And as long as you're standing around twindling your thumbs, girl, you're not going to know anything. Get outta here and go see what this place has to offer. She pivoted away from the window and headed for the kitchen. After the sleepless night she'd had, she was in dire need of a little caffeine.

Five minutes later, full mug in hand, she headed onto the porch. The early morning air sent goose bumps dancing over her skin. Pulling the door shut behind her, she took a sip of coffee and peered out over the estate. It had been quieter the last few days at the corrals here by the house.

Across the way, the door to Demola's house opened and he strode out.

"Hey, Dem." Without the usual hustle and bustle, she barely had to raise her voice for the words to carry across the road.

He swung his gaze to the big house, spotting her immediately. He froze midstride, the corners of his mouth tipping down and his brows scrunching together.

She wondered if he was thinking of yesterday's almost-kiss, too. Wondered if he regretted the interruption or was glad for it.

But before she could discern any real idea of his thoughts from his expression, he smoothed his face into an inscrutable mask. "You're up early."

"Actually, I never went to sleep." So he was going to pretend the almost-kiss hadn't happened.

Okay with her. While she didn't understand why he was as reserved about the attraction growing between them as she was, his reservation certainly made life easier. The man was hard enough to resist as it was. If he was actually trying to pursue her...she'd be sunk. So she'd let him get away with pretending nothing had happened yesterday. For now, anyway.

He strode across the dirt road and joined her on her father's porch. "Another sleepless night?"

She held up her mug. "Thank God for caffeine."

He chuckled, raising his hands. "Amen to that."

She tried desperately not to notice the spicy scent of his aftershave, the sensuous line of his lips. "Where are you heading?"

"Sight seeing. Do you mind?"

"Sure."

As the car moved over the dirt roads that seemed to wind throughout the estate, she sipped at her coffee and stole an occasional glance at Demola. She couldn't stop staring at those lips. Couldn't stop wondering what they would have felt like on hers if only the delivery boy hadn't shown up. Couldn't stop wondering about the man himself.

She forced herself to turn her head and look out the side window. She was not going to think about that kiss. She was not going to wonder if Demola had been born around here, if he had a family nearby, or a girlfriend. Those things were none of her business.

Except. . .

He was the executor of this estate. If she stayed, shouldn't she know something about the men who worked for her?

Of course she should.

In fact, it was her responsibility to know the men. She turned back to Demola. "So, tell me about yourself, Demola. Tell me about your family, your mom and dad. Do they live nearby?"

He stilled, tension filling his frame.

Odd. He was so dedicated to her father she would have thought he'd be close to his own family. But if the current silence meant anything, such wasn't the case.

Finally, he said, "They live a couple towns over from here." There was a tightness in his voice that clearly indicated there wasn't anything casual about the subject for him.

She briefly debated changing the subject, but he certainly hadn't been shy about pushing her to look at unpleasant events in her past. "How close is a couple towns over? Do you get to see them much?"

A muscle in his jaw ticked. A beat of silence. Then. . . "The Big W keeps me pretty busy, not much time for visiting."

"I see. What about brothers and sisters? Have any?"

He looked away, but not quickly enough to hide his frown. "No."

She cocked her head, studying him. What could possibly be so upsetting about being an only child?

She was formulating just the right question when Demola pointed out the window, relief in his voice. "Here we are."

She gave up.

She looked out the window, they were in a garden.

Tomilola turned to him, her eyes shining. "I'm going to stay, Demola. And I'm not going to sell the estate."

Triumph surged through him. "Not a problem. We'll work it out."

"Yeah, we will." She gave him an enthusiastic hug. But what started as innocent excitement quickly changed to something else.

The air around them heated.

Her eyelids dropped to half-mast. Her breathing quickened. Her smile turned seductive. "And now that I have that little detail taken care of. . . Let's move on to other things, shall we?"

His heart tripped.

She looked up at him with those sultry eyes and ran a finger down his jaw. "Kiss me, Demola."

Oh, God. Every nerve in his body exploded. He needed to get out of here. Before things spiraled out of control. He'd done his job. He'd convinced her to stay. Now he needed to run.

But his feet didn't move.

Her knees bumped his. The soft plumpness of her breasts pressed against his chest. Her hand, soft and warm, cupped his face.

God help him. He wanted to kiss her. Wanted to taste the excitement shimmering through her. Wanted to pretend, if only for a moment, that he was a normal man with a mundane past and a bright future stretching before him.

But that wasn't the case. And pretending wouldn't be fair.

He closed his eyes and clenched his hands at his sides, resisting the urge to touch her by sheer force of will. He needed her to let go. Back off. Quit pressing her sweet little body against his. "Tomi. .."

"Shh." She placed her fingers over his lips. "Stop thinking about whatever lies beyond this moment, Demola. I'm not asking for a profession of love or any big commitment or your firstborn child. I'm just asking for a kiss. One. . ." She leaned closer, her breath whispering over his cheeks. "Single. . ." Her arms slid around his neck. "Kiss." Her lips whispered over his.

His will snapped.

Hmmmmmm

Episode 12

His lips closed over hers.
Hot.
Hard.
Greedy.
Tomilola drank him in, drawing in a long, deep breath of his spicy aftershave. Running her hands over his strong, broad shoulders. Reveling in his kiss.

Breaking her moratorium on men the second she'd made the decision to stay on the Big W was maybe rushing things a bit. But. . .

He deepened the kiss, pulling her closer, slipping his tongue past her lips to taste and explore and claim. Maybe it wasn't. No kiss had ever felt this hot or this urgent or this damned. . .erotic. The intensity with which he kissed her was frightening.
Exciting.
Intoxicating.
It was as if he wanted to devour her very soul. Something that should have scared her to death. But it didn't. Beneath his hard core of determination was a gentle, caring heart. One that brought a bottle of red label to soothe the turmoil of a difficult day. One that waited to show her a closet full of gifts until she could appreciate them. One that sent her roses as a gentle reminder of her dreams.

She wanted to know that heart better. Wanted to be closer to it. Closer to the man who owned it. She opened her mouth, letting his tongue in deeper, tasting his heart, his need. His hands moved down her back, pulling her hips to his.
Yes, Electric tingles shot through her. He was so big and so strong and so damned hard. . .everywhere. With a soft groan, she pressed closer, reveling in the feel of him, reveling in the knowledge that he wanted her as much as she wanted him. An answering groan vibrated from his lips, and the next thing she knew she was backed up against the rough wooden planks of the stall, one of his hands plowing through her hair, the other lifting her leg alongside his hips, opening her to him.

Oh, yeah. She rocked her hips forward, hot need slicing through her. She'd been attracted to him from the moment she'd first seen him. Had wondered more than once what it would be like between them. But she'd never imagined anything like this.

This was explosive. Like throwing gasoline on a fire. She cursed the material separating them. She wanted to feel those supple muscles beneath her fingers. Wanted to feel his skin against hers. Wanted to feel him, long and hard, inside her.
Now.
She slid her hands up his torso, loving every inch as she made her way to his collarbone. There, she grabbed hold of both sides of his shirt and pulled. The pearl-buttoned snaps gave way with one soft pop after the other.
His lips jerked away from hers. His whole body tensed. "Oh, God. What am I doing?"

No, No, No, No. She wasn't going to let him have some attack of conscience - or whatever the heck this was - now. She grabbed his shirt and held on tight. "You're kissing me. And I'm enjoying every second of it. Don't you dare stop."

He shook his head, his breathing hard and ragged. "We can't do this. I can't do this."
"But you were doing it. Really well, I might add." She didn't even try to keep the whine from her voice. He let go of her leg, untangled her hands from his shirt and stepped back. "You're going to make a good home for yourself here, Tomilola. A good life. But beyond my role as executor to this estate, I don't belong in that picture."

"What the heck do you mean, you don't belong in the picture? For pity's sake, if you hadn't been around to hold me up the last few days, I would have fallen apart by now."
"No, you wouldn't have. You're too strong for that. And supporting you through a tough time isn't the same thing as taking you to bed. Which is where that kiss was heading." He took another step back. "You need help with the estate, I'm your man. You need anything else, you need to look elsewhere." He turned on his heel and started down the aisle.

She ran after him, grabbed his arm and pulled him back around. "Wait a minute. You can't kiss me like that and then just walk away."

He looked down at her, something cold and bleak and. . .immeasurably lonely filling his expression. "It's the only thing I can do." He pulled from her grasp and headed out of the barn, his boots ringing hollowly on the hard cement. She watched him go, her lips throbbing, her body aching, her heart squeezing. "This isn't over, Demola." He looked back at her as he pulled the big wooden door open and stepped into the night. "Yes, it is." He closed the door between them. She narrowed her eyes on the long, marred planks. "Oh, no, it's not."


******************************************************************************

A few nights later, Demola pulled up to his house and got out of his truck. Every muscle and bone ached up his fatigue. It had been a long brutal day. Tomorrow, which would be rolling in another couple of short hours, would be another. Thank God. He needed the work. Needed the exhaustion to keep the images of Tomilola at bay.

Tomilola looking at him with heat and need in her eyes. Tomilola in his arms, stretching toward him, rocking her hips into his.

Tomilola. . .

"Hey, Demola."

He startled as he stepped onto his porch. Was he hearing her voice now? Great.

But when he peered into the shadows he spotted her sitting in his rocker, rocking. At least he wasn't crazy. But he was alone with her, here in the middle of the night. And every nerve and cell in his body knew it. "What are you doing up so late?" He kept the question short and curt.

"Waiting for you." Her voice was as warm and sultry as the night air. "You've been avoiding me."

Hell, yes. And he had every intention of continuing to do so until this attraction between them died out. Considering the way that kiss had gone, a year - or ten - ought to do it. He resisted the urge to reach out and touch her. Resisted the urge to pull her into his arms and pick up where he'd cut things off the other night. "I've not been avoiding you, I've just been really busy with the accounts."

She peered up at him through thick lashes. "Did the kiss scare you that much?"

It had scared the living daylights out of him. But having her here, obviously pursuing the matter, pursuing him, scared him more. He'd already proved he had no resistance where she was concerned. And the desire pounding him now only understood that truth.

He needed her to keep her distance, not come knocking at his door. "The kiss was a mistake. One I don't intend to repeat. Now, is there anything concerning the estate I can help you with? If not, I'd like to get some sleep. I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow."

"Oh no, you are not going to shut me out that easily. We're going to talk about this. You're going to explain why you walked out on me."

He tightened his fist around his keys. If he told her, he wouldn't have to worry about keeping any distance between them. She'd be the one keeping it. But she might well decide to keep it by firing him. And he couldn't risk that. Not yet.

He'd convinced her to stay the other night. But he wasn't a fool - at least not about some things. He'd obviously been out of his mind when he'd kissed her, but he was clearheaded about this. She'd decided to stay, yes, but, considering her past records with jobs, that decision would be fragile at this stage of the game. He needed to stay around long enough to solidify it. Then, if she found out who he was, what he was and sent him packing. . .

In the meantime, he needed to shut this discussion down. "I'll take that as no, you don't have any questions about the estate. In which case, good night." He slipped inside before she could stop him, bolted the door shut and walked away from it.

As far away from it as he could get. Far enough, he hoped, to keep him from jerking it open and pulling her in with him.

He made his way into the kitchen. If he drank himself into oblivion, maybe he wouldn't spend the night hot and agitated and miserable. He snatched an unopened bottle of red label from the cabinet and broke the seal.

He could hope.

Hnstly urr killin me. I luv ur work...rily do.
More power to your elbow.

Hmmmmnn...gettin more interestin!

Luv the story, good work omololy


please update regularly dont kill us with suspense

abdulmaliq: Hnstly urr killin me. I luv ur work...rily do.
More power to your elbow.

Thanks dear

bola-dex:
Luv the story, good work omololy


please update regularly dont kill us with suspense

Its not intentional
I'd try

Omolola.... Whats going on? Have always been vigilant if there will be any update but nothing. *crying* plzzzz update nah.

abdulmaliq: Omolola.... Whats going on? Have always been vigilant if there will be any update but nothing. *crying* plzzzz update nah.

Tomorrow *i promise*