One More Night weaves the stories of three women as they search for love, second chances, forgiveness and self rediscovery.
Title: One More Night
Author: Rosemary Okafor
Genre: Women’s Fiction
Publisher: Love Africa Press
Publication Date: Aug 21, 2020
A night with Grace’s ex husband reignites old feelings she thought long buried and provides a second chance for her dead marriage. With a world of uncertainty between them, they must determine if the reasons that tore them apart in the first place will do so again.
Imelda has known one kind of love—hard, stressful and abusive. Then she crosses paths with Kolawole, a far cry from her usual taste in men. With an old debt to pay, forced loyalty and blackmail, can she walk away from an old relationship that threatens to tear her apart?
Chinyeaka’s life has not been easy. But she’s determined to get the future she deserves by any means necessary.
One More Night weaves the stories of these women as they search for love, second chances, forgiveness and self rediscovery.
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Kenneth Ojukwu opened the door on the second knock. He wasn’t expecting her, not today, not anytime soon. The last time she’d visited had been two months ago, and it had left him miserable.
“This is the last time I will come to your house.”
Now she stood there, drenched. Stray locks of hair curled across her forehead and her temples.
“Can I come in?” she asked.
What else could he say?
She walked past him into the sitting room. His gaze swept over her curves and rested on her backside. Thanks to the rain, her short gown which clung to her body left little or nothing from the eyes.
“Sorry to bother you by this time. My tire went bad, and I couldn’t get someone to help me out before it started raining.” She blew into her cupped hands and rubbed them. “By the time it was fixed, it was already late,” she said through chattering teeth. “You know how terrible I am when it comes to driving at night.” Her eyes followed his gaze over her body. “I don’t have an umbrella.” She shrugged and chuckled nervously. “But if you don’t want me, I can leave—”
“Oh, no, no … You don’t have to go anywhere,” he interrupted, rubbing his sweaty palm on his shirt. “It’s okay with me.” He scratched his jaw. “Please go to the bathroom and change into something dry. You can make do with any of my old shirts. I hope you can still find your way around?”
“Yes, that is if you have not changed a lot of things,” she said, flashing him a warm smile.
Desire smouldered in him as he watched her climb the stairs. Grace … Their marriage would have been seven years long if she hadn’t walked away. She was his pride—his friends used to tell him how lucky he was to marry such an enigma. Who could ever believe that they would not make it to their fourth wedding anniversary?
She turned and caught him staring. He quickly looked away.
“Ehm … I will go check if there is anything left in the kitchen,” he stuttered before she entered the guest room and closed the door behind her.
This was not the first time she was showing up on his doorstep after their separation. It was bliss the first year of marriage until their incompatibility became loud, and they realized they could not go on. She was a career-driven woman while he was a family guy.
They’d talked, dialogued, lost tempers, accused each other, had heated arguments about her preference for her job and how he wasn’t supportive, how they needed space to sort themselves out.
But she kept coming over to the house. Either to take a piece of clothing she’d left behind or to pick up a document that belonged to her firm. The last time, she’d said she wanted to check on him, and today, she had come to tempt him, with that thing she wore! After this long, his hormones still responded to the attractive woman that was once his wife.
“Can I help with the coffee?” came the sultry voice behind him.
His response caught in his throat as he turned. His old shirt hung loose on her body with nothing underneath, her nipples visible through the fabric.
“Uh … hope what I put on is okay with you?” she asked, following his gaze.
“Yes ... yes, don’t mind me. I have not seen you in those for a long time.” Desire washed through him, and he swallowed.
“So can I help with the coffee?” she asked again.
“Sure. Just come over here and help me with the coffee maker.”
She was too close for comfort; they kept brushing against each other. Having her in the kitchen was a mistake. He was about to get some eggs from the fridge when they collided.
“I am so sorry.” She chuckled. “The cold is making me clumsy.”
He wasn’t listening. With his hands around her waist and her breasts brushing against his chest, he burned with need.
They held each other’s gaze for a while, breaths coming faster, hearts throbbing, her lips parted, her eyes longing, her scent intoxicating.
He bent his head. Lips touched lips. Hers opened more, and he got lost in them. He took what she offered like a hungry man in need of food. As he drew her closer, his hands strayed a little here and there.
They were brought back from the world of ecstasy by the whistling of the kettle.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he said.
“We are supposed to be divorced,” she giggled and replied.
“Babe, we can still remarry. Just move in with me. Let’s stop this madness,” he pleaded.
“Kay …” She shut her eyes and shook her head. “You know how it is. We cannot work as a couple.”
And there it came … Ken gave her a hard stare, released his hold on her arms. “Let’s eat.”
Neither brought up the incident. Nonetheless, the memory hung over them as they ate.
Ken sat at the dining table, stock cards and invoices spread before him, his laptop on. Grace coming in to set his emotions on turmoil had kept him awake the night before, yet he couldn’t get his mind together to work this morning!
Last night was one of those when his eyes denied him sleep. Torture—that’s what she did to him.
Her beautiful hips, what she did with her waist while walking into the room, leaving him drooling—was that deliberate? Her sensual lips, her nipples taut and visible in the shirt, daring him to run his fingers on them, give then sensual bites, chastise her for all the nights he had dreamt of them, to make her scream in pleasure like she used to, and in pain for punishing him with her subtle bodily manipulation …
“Grace,” he muttered. “We would have made this work.”
“I did not know you had upgraded from manual stock-taking and accounting to digital.”
Her voice jolted him out of the nostalgia. She was already dressed, hair neatly packed up above her neck, and her lips glowed with red lipstick.
“And I didn’t know you now wear extensions and lipstick,” he said with a mixture of surprise and amusement.
“I grew up, matured, you old-fashioned Igbo man.” She laughed.
“Well, this old-fashioned Igbo man has also grown. I have learned how to use ‘pitch tree’ for my digital accounting,” he boasted.
Both of them burst into hearty laughter, followed by an awkward silence.
“Uh … I have to start going now … before, uh ... Mary notices that I am still here,” Grace stuttered, avoiding his eye.
“Won’t you have breakfast? I can fix you something quick.” He wanted her to stay little more.
“No, Kay, I don’t want the neighbours to see me here, especially Mary. She will start a gossip.”
He gave a bitter smile. She is still the same, alright, cares more about what others would say about her than how I feel.
“Okay, have a great day at the office,” he said.