This week, I’ll be sharing the scene of the “first kiss” between Ogonna and Philip from The Governor’s Wife.
Although not really their #FirstKiss, this was the first one they shared when they accidentally met again seven years after a bitter separation.
I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing it.
A deep part of his subconscious rose up in protest. This was Ogonna, the woman who broke him by running off to marry someone else.
He shouldn’t want to have anything to do with her, let alone kiss her. He needed to bring this madness to an end, turn and walk away.But Philip remained rooted to the spot, deepening the pressure of his thumb instead, and then trailing it slowly across her full lower lip.
Her tongue darted out, flickering lightly. A bold move. Unexpected.
His eyes swept to hers and he froze. They were wide as saucers, as if startled by her own boldness. It would have been easier for him to let her go if even an iota of repulsion or uncertainty registered in their dark depths. Instead, something primal flashed in her pupils.
His breath trapped in his chest. Ogonna wanted him, too. The realisation sent a wave of need through him, weakening him.
Another soft moan came from her. His nostrils flared, and he let out a groan from deep within his throat. Almost roughly, he reached for her face, cradled it in both hands and brought his mouth down on hers.
It’s getting cold here on the Wirral peninsular where I live. For a little heat to cope with the daunting cold, I’ll be sharing the scene of Rita and Nosa’s first kiss from The Senator’s Daughter.
Here, Rita had just revealed a deep fear of hers to him. She was vulnerable, yet, she felt a sensual connection with Nosa.
She laughed, and he felt his chest expand, happy that he had thrown some humour into a horrible memory.
They stood that way, locked in each other’s arms, drawing comfort from each other.
Slowly, Rita rose to her tiptoes and brushed a soft kiss to his lips. Nosa froze.
His heart slammed into his chest. He could feel the sensual change in the atmosphere. His heart began to pound rapidly inside his rib-cage, but he remained still, immobilised by a mixture of need and dread—the intense desire to, and fear of getting, lost in her embrace.
“Kiss me, Nosa,” Rita spoke in a hoarse whisper.
“Rita…” he protested weakly. He didn’t want to take advantage of her grief, of her trust. He tried to pull away, but she was having none of it. She secured her arms around him and pulled him closer.
“Kiss me, Nosa,” she whispered again.
Nosa’s gaze dropped to her full lips. They were parted slightly, welcoming, and pleading. He would oblige her, kiss her and let her go. Just one kiss and he would let her go. He couldn’t deny her this request. How could he? When he also wanted a taste of her succulent lips.
Heart hammering, he lowered his lips to hers and kissed her gently. The soft throaty sound she made scrambled his resolve. With a deep groan, he sought her mouth again.
This time, his tongue probed her mouth, which she opened without hesitation, allowing his to tangle deliciously with hers. Her lips were soft, her mouth wet, sweet, enchanting.
I hope this warmed you up a bit. And if you’re already warm, I hope it stoked the fiery flames within.😉
This week, I’ll be sharing the first kiss between Onome and Nnamdi from my #romancenovel Starting Over Again.
In this scene, Nnamdi visited Onome to inform her about the outcome of an account they had been both worked on securing for their investment bank.
A strictly business visit. 🤔Or was it?
“Did we get the account?” Onome asked nervously, scrubbing her sweaty palms over her bright green cotton shorts.
He hesitated, his facial expression serious.
Onome’s heart sank. She had let him down, let the bank down. Her stomach knotted with trepidation. “We… we didn’t get it?” she mumbled hesitantly.
His lips twitched momentarily, then cracked into a disarming smile.
“Congrats, Onome, you have brought in your first account.”
“Oh my God!” Onome exclaimed, jumping in delight. “I have been so anxious, oh my God!”
He opened his arms, and without a thought, she ran into his outstretched arms, wrapping her arms around him. He lifted her, twirled her around briefly before gradually lowering her on her feet.
“I’m so proud of you, Onome.” His deep baritone resonated within her.
“Thank you for letting me do this. I have actually missed doing this, hustling for accounts.”
They stood that way, locked in each other’s arms as moments ticked by, neither of them making any move to break the connection. Slowly, the atmosphere between them shifted from elation to sensual awareness. Their eyes locked. His brown eyes, darkened now, dipped to her lips.
“I’m going to kiss you,” he murmured. He sounded as if he was warning her, giving her a chance to back away from him.
Onome had no such desire. She had dreamt of kissing him countless times, been consumed with the desire to feel his full lips glide over hers, spent nights wondering if he kissed softly and sweetly or if he plunged in, hard and rough, taking, demanding—
Before she could complete that train of thought, his mouth descended on hers. Onome parted her lips without hesitation, welcoming the intrusion of his tongue into her mouth
I hope you enjoyed reading this. Drop your comments below ⬇️
Strong arms engulfed her as she hit her head against a rigid wall. Okay, maybe it wasn’t a wall. It felt like firm chest muscles. The alluring aroma of maleness and cologne that filled her nostrils tightened her chest. She inhaled deeply. She had died and gone to heaven in the arms of Angel Michael. Rita buried her face in his chest, and she felt the pounding of his heart against her cheeks.
“Angel Michael,” Rita whispered, resting her face against his broad chest, feeling safe in the arms that carried her. This was heaven. “Thank you, Angel Michael.”
“Bloody hell! You scared the shit out of me! What the hell is wrong with you!” The voice that barked at her was gruff. Her eyes snapped open. That was definitely not the voice or words of an angel.
“Who are you? Let go of me!” Rita screamed, suddenly aware of her surroundings. She had not jumped off the bridge as she had intended, and a stranger held her in his arms, refusing to let her go.
“Let go of me!” she cried again, hitting the stranger on his back. He neither responded to her command nor flinched from the force of her blows. He simply turned, holding her firmly in his arms and began moving towards a vehicle.
“Let me go, please,” Rita pleaded, alarmed. Reality set in; she was being abducted by this man. “Please let me go. Who are you?” The man still did not respond. She began to panic, really panic. She was alone. No one knew where she was. She immediately regretted locking Tango back in the bungalow. If this man took her somewhere and killed her, nobody would even know where to find her.
“Do you know who I am?” Rita’s panic-stricken voice rang out again. “I am Senator Obaseki’s daughter. My father will have you killed.” Anger replaced her fear. “Let me go! Do you hear me? My father is very rich…”
He remained silent as he carried her to the black car parked at the other end of the bridge. Rita noticed the opened front door of the vehicle, but before she could say anything more, he slammed it shut with his foot.
The stranger yanked open the door to the backseat and dumped her inside. She tried to kick him away, but he held her legs together and pulled out a rope from the floor of the car. Keeping her legs bound with ease, he tied the rope around her ankles and knotted it. Rita’s arms flapped about, throwing punches at the man in a state of terror. She hit him anywhere she could find his flesh, but he didn’t duck or flinch.
He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small knife. Rita’s eyes widened. She held both hands above her head in surrender, temporarily immobilised by fear. “Please don’t kill me. I’ll give you money. Name your price. Whatever amount you want, I’ll give you.” His facial expression was indifferent, as if unimpressed by her declaration. Without even looking up at her, he used the knife to cut the rope and placed it back in his pocket.
After securing the rope on her ankles, he retrieved another rope from somewhere in the car and reached for her forearm. He captured one forearm in his large hand and aimed for her other hand. Rita didn’t make it easy for him, aimlessly flailing her free hand around, trying to elude his grasp.
“What do you want? Money? I can give you up to ten million Naira today if you let me go.” She searched his face anxiously for a sign that he heard what she’d just said. There was no emotion there. His focus was aiming for her hand. Fear gripped her insides. This was not about money. This man didn’t need her money. And that was frightening. What did he want? Was he a rapist? A ritualist?
“Give me your hand,” he muttered in a low voice. Rita continued to evade his attempt to gather her hands together. “I don’t want to hurt you. Just give me your hand.”
“Please, let me go, then. I have money. Loads of money I could give you today if you let me go.” Her voice became desperate. “Please…”
“Give me your hand now,” he said again. This time, there was an authoritative ring to his words that made her heart jump. Rita offered her other hand to him.
While he tied her wrists together, Rita studied him silently, trying to recall if she had met him before. His glossy skin was a deep mahogany hue that she would have found appealing under different circumstances. He had a long face with piercing large eyes below thick well-carved eyebrows. His nose was long with flared nostrils, and his full lips stood out amongst his precisely trimmed facial hair. Closely cropped smooth curls crowned his head, tapering to thin sideburns.
Her frantic mind search for previous encounters with this man came up empty. She hadn’t met him before, had she? Was this personal? He was a tall, muscular man with a commanding presence that she would not easily forget had their paths crossed. No, she hadn’t met him before. She was sure of that.
“Please let me go, I haven’t done anything to you, have I? I don’t know you, do I? Please let me go…please…I can give you money.”
He didn’t look up or even acknowledge her statement. He used the same knife from his pocket to cut the ends of the rope that secured her wrists before replacing it in his pocket.
Glancing up at her, he ran a thumb over her bound wrist.
“Does this hurt?” he asked in a tone that Rita would have described as compassionate were she not tied hands and feet in the back seat of his car. It took a moment for her to realise that he was referring to the rope on her wrists. Rita shook her head.
“Good…” He brushed his hand over his face. “Listen, Princess. I don’t want to hurt you. If you do exactly as I say, you will be fine,” he warned her. His intonation was a rich baritone that cracked at the end of his sentence.
“What do you want? Are you a ritualist? I can give you money if you are a ritualist… Name the amount…you don’t have to do anything to me. Please. I’ll pay double whatever they are offering you.”
He laughed in response. The sound of his laughter reverberated in the air. Not replying to her comment, he slammed the car door shut and walked over to the driver’s seat and sat down.
“You are a rapist, then. A big man like you… Do you have to resort to rape to have sex? So, you can’t manage to find a girl to convince to sleep with you? You should be ashamed of yourself!”
He remained silent. Rita’s fear intensified. Her throat tightened with tears. She was going to die. This man was going to rape her, kill her and leave her body somewhere nobody would ever find. And it was all her fault. Oh, God. Why did I lock Tango inside the bungalow?
“Where are you taking me? Please don’t hurt me…please…” Rita’s tone wavered. Tears fell down her eyes.
Her plea seemed to touch him, and she noticed him pause his movements. He glanced at the rare-view mirror and their gazes linked. “I promise I won’t hurt you, okay?” he said gently. Rita watched him open the glove compartment and pull out a small syringe. He took out a tiny needle from a box in there, tore away the packet, and attached it to the end of the syringe. “This is the only thing that will hurt. But just like a sharp sting, like a mosquito bite. Nothing dramatic.”
Rita could barely hear what he was saying. Her needle phobia kicked in. Blood drained from her head, causing her to feel dizzy. Wide eyes with dread and her gaze focused on the advancing needle, she remained paralysed, so scared that she didn’t even feel the sharp sting of the needle as it pierced the skin of her arm. All she could feel was the blood pounding in her ears.
“You will soon become light-headed,” the man continued in a deep voice. “And then slowly fall asleep. Don’t worry; it’s a low dose, so you will be fine when you wake up, Rita.”
Rita? He had called her by name. She was not a random victim. This man knew her name.
“How do you know my name? Why are you doing this? Who are you?” The man did not reply. He started the car, pulled out of the side road where they were, and drove towards the main road.
More questions formed in Rita’s head. But her brain became fuzzy, and slowly, just as the man had warned, her eyes grew heavy. The questions whirled around in her brain in disjointed circles until she could no longer keep her eyes open or her mind alert. Heaving a deep sigh, Rita gave in to the darkness that claimed her. But not before she noticed the flash of regret that touched the stranger’s sharp eyes.
I’m absolutely delighted to share the news that The Senator’s Daughter is a finalist at the Next Generation Indie Book Awards for the romance category! Yay!
This is my first international accolade and I’m so pleased.
When a stranger contacted me directly on Goodreads with so much praise for the novel, and even suggesting that I put it up for an award, I was sceptical about it. Not because I didn’t believe in the quality of my story, but because I’ve read a lot of books with award tags on them that didn’t hit the mark for me.
I always think there’s something else these judges look for that I don’t quite understand.
I ruminated on this suggestion for a few weeks and decided to go for it in December. After entry, I simply forgot about it, not really hoping for much.
To my uttermost delight, I received a congratulatory email and a certificate pronouncing me as a 2019 finalist.
This is an amazing news for me, and a huge encouragement. It makes me feel positive about the decision I made in 2016 to start this journey of sharing my stories with the world.
It’s never too late!
Even though I didn’t win, being a self-published finalist with other international romance writers is a massive victory for me.
Thanks to Jess for encouraging me to just go for it, to my family and friends who have my back and most of all, to all my readers. You all rock!
God is good.
Click the link below for a comprehensive list of finalists and winners.
Heartbroken after discovering her fiancé’s double life, Emem Akpan ends the relationship and moves into an apartment at the other end of Lagos, determined to get her life back on track with no more diversions.
However, a massive dose of distraction bumps into her in the form of Yomi, a sexy younger man who has set his sights on her and will stop at nothing to get her attention.
Yomi Oladipo has always harboured a crush on Sasha, the anchor of his favourite radio show …. who happens to be none other than Emem, his new downstairs neighbour. Enthralled, he wants to get to know her better, but just when she decides to give them a chance, a troubling secret about her shatters his heart.
After experiencing a savage betrayal by someone he once trusted, will Yomi be able to overcome Emem’s devastating revelation?
This week, I’m posting a snippet of the first time Chuma met Ifeoma from Thorns and Roses.
He’d been patronising her restaurant for months before actually meeting her. She’d been ogling him from behind the serving counter before they met.
This was one of my favourite first encounters between my main characters to write.
Feeling slightly irritated that a waiter hadn’t shown up yet, Chuma rose from his seat intending to find out why. However, before he could take a step forward, a slender light-skinned lady he’d never seen there before, rushed out from behind the partitioned serving counter.
“I’m sorry for keeping you waiting, sir,” she muttered. “We are short staffed today.” She appeared nervous and fidgety.
Chuma sat back down.
“What can I get you?” she asked, rubbing her hands on her apron. He couldn’t see her face clearly because of the way she had positioned her body while she talked to him. She appeared to be avoiding eye contact with him.
“Oha soup, please,” Chuma replied and then added, “some garri as well.”
She turned her face towards him abruptly as if his order had surprised her. A series of rapid emotions registered in her expressive eyes. First, surprise, then panic, and finally fear. She was afraid of him. He caught his breath, caught off guard by her reaction. He was sure that he had never met her before, so why was she frightened of him? Did she think he was upset about the delay in attending to him?
His need to assure her of his state of mind was immediate and unexplainable. He reached for her hand.
“I’m not upset—” he began, but she snatched her hand away swiftly.
The dim lighting in the room made it difficult for him to see her facial features distinctively, but she looked young. A colourful scarf covered her hair, and baggy clothes and a faded blue apron enveloped her slim frame.
“I’m sorry for the delay again, I’ll get your food now, sir,” she replied, scurrying away.
Chuma shook his head swiftly to clear his mind of that strange encounter, although he did wonder about that expression of fear that he had seen in her eyes. He searched the inner recesses of his memory trying to recollect if there was any possibility that he had met her before today, but he kept coming up empty. No, he had certainly not met her before.
Maybe she thought I was someone else, he concluded within himself.
But soon, wondering led to intrigue, and he waited with anticipation for her to return with his meal
I hope you enjoyed reading this. Please drop a comment.
Inspired by a post on Instagram by Romance Writers of West AFrica, I’ll be posting a series about first encounters between main characters in my novels.
In this scene from Melodies of Love, Ikenna is meeting up with Adaora again at his work place after 12 years of not seeing or hearing from her following a bitter breakup.
Although this isn’t the first encounter between them, it certainly felt like one.
Ikenna’s heart lurched in his chest. It had been twelve years since he’d last seen Adaora. She was still beautiful. His mind had not prepared him well enough for today even though he had planned this meeting for the past four months. He studied her as she stood across from him.
She was still petite, about five feet four inches, barely reaching his chest, but she was no longer thin. Her body had matured into lovely curves which suited her small frame. Her blue silk blouse with colourful embroidery at the top hugged her slender waist, and her black knee-length skirt fitted her round hips perfectly. She looked confident.
His eyes roamed to her feet which were perfectly tucked into a pair of blue four-inch heeled stilettos. It gave her some height, but it was still not enough to match his slightly-above-six-feet height. He had always towered above her. At one time, she had told him that it made her feel safe.
Ikenna stared at the face that had haunted him for the past twelve years. Her beautiful heart-shaped face, her dark luminous eyes which were large for her face, her small nose and full lips coated with pink lip gloss. Lips he had kissed countless times, twelve years ago, until they were swollen. Lips he had a sudden uncontrollable urge to kiss now.
Her hair was done in tiny braids which she had packed into a single bun. She had always liked braided hair. His Ada, the girl who had driven him to succeed because he never felt like he was good enough for her. The girl who made him feel insecure. The only girl who made him want to be better.
“Ikenna…” she whispered with a smile, jolting him out of his reverie. “I can see you are still never without your saxophone!”
The butt (ass) grab is a common scene in romance fiction novels.
Depending on how it’s written, it could be either sexy or sleazy.
In this week’s #LAPLovenotes i’m sharing a butt grabbing scene from The Senator’s Daughter
“I’m having such a lovely time, Nosa. Thank you,” Rita whispered, her eyes shining.
Unable to resist, Nosa lowered his head to her lips. He intended just a quick kiss, but when her tongue brushed over his lips, he needed more.
Capturing her mouth with his own, he drew her closer, roaming his hands over her delicate back, grabbing and squeezing her bottom through her dress. The taste of her was a drug, powerful and addictive—he wanted all of her and would always come back for more.
“Kissy-kissy people, get a room jor,” joked a group of teenage passersby.
Their loud laughter jerked Nosa to reality. He pulled back, cradling Rita in his arms. “We…” He cleared his throat. “We probably should go home now.”
Hope you enjoyed this snippet. What’s your verdict? Sexy or sleazy? Yay or nay? Please leave a comment.