The Officer’s Bride- an Excerpt

After receiving lots of positive feedback from several reviewers on the Youwriteon site and also from the remarkable ladies of Romance Writers of West Africa, I thought I’d share with you the opening chapter of my latest completed work, The Officer’s bride. Happy reading.

 (My muse for Zainab)

Rubukka Barracks. June 7, 1998

He believed he had died and gone to heaven.

The honeyed scent she wore was enough to cause such blissful imagination. He asked her about it. She shrugged and smiled mysteriously, causing his curiosity to swell even more.

“I can’t tell you,” she said in her native Hausa.

A knowing smile curled his usually grim lips. “You can’t or you won’t?”

She ignored his question and turned to lay on her side.

Eddy shrugged off his robe and proceeded to hold her lithe frame in his arms. She playfully leapt off the bed, and he pursued. She was nimble, too fast for his powerful body; her agility reminding him of the Sultan of Sokoto’s well bred horses.

“Come back here,” he called after her.

If she heard him, she didn’t show it. She closed the bathroom door swiftly and he could hear her giggles floating through the wooden door to where he stood.

His ache for her only intensified when he heard her laugh -tender, feminine laughter that made him wish for the brackish air of Lagos beaches, with the wind blowing over his smooth hairless scalp as he laid her on the sandy shore and possessed her for himself till day break.

“Come out,” he ordered. He was in no state of decency. He was hard all over, and the urge to mate with the woman who had started his current lunacy burned in him.

Just when he’d begun thinking of pummeling down the door, she opened it. Sturdy man that he was, he dropped to his knees in adoration. There were some things that all of his wealth couldn’t buy, and one of them was the natural beauty of this child-woman, polished in both her walk and talk. He was still on his knees when she bent her head to kiss him on the forehead.

“We don’t have much time,” she whispered to him, her throaty laugh doing strange things to his heartbeat.

He looked at the time and mentally agreed with her. Soon the bloodthirsty soldiers serving him would arrive, reminding him that a higher calling, much stronger than the love for a woman called.

They made love on the matrimonial bed that had been theirs for a day…he and his Zainab. Theirs was a lovemaking that was volatile, that understood the urgency of time. He plowed her, determined to sow his seed, just in case he had no more nights like this to spend with her. As the thought went through his mind, he sensed the beginning of his heart breaking, but he held off the dark emotions, determined to enjoy the woman beside him. Right here, right now, all that mattered was his Zainab…sweet, beautiful Zainab who had once experienced the effects of Abacha’s callousness.

When the antique grandfather clock gifted to him by the Sultan of Sokoto chimed, he got off the large bed to put on his uniform. He didn’t leave the bedroom until he had kissed his sleeping wife on the lips.

Stepping into the chilly air of mountainous Jos, a dark frown marred his determined face. His thoughts riveted back to Zainab and he swore softly. By God’s grace, he would come back for her tomorrow and he would love her until the cold hands of death seized him. For now, duty to country called. And Abacha’s head would be rolling down by morning!

Insha Allah!