Fourteen hours earlier
Sean 'Seun Oluseyi is a man who gets noticed. He never consciously or unconsciously sought attention but always had it thrust rather rudely upon him. A number of factors were responsible for this attention, his lineage being the key one, the son of a former President and a one-time supermodel, his face has been in the papers from almost the moment he could crawl.
His good looks were another. At six foot four, his presence was imposing. He obviously took care of his body as evidenced in the way his clothes hug from his torso, and his muscular frame. His stomach was washboard flat and his gluts well defined. His face was chiseled, his chin square and strong, his nose straight and aristocratic, and his lips were full and unusually sensual…a gift from his mother, and when he smiled his dimples added a boyish charm to his appeal and toned down his blatantly sexual magnetism. His skin clear dark chocolate, making many a woman want to nibble on him. His hair is cut low in a no nonsense fashion and his only eccentricity being a tattoo on his left bicep, a souvenir from a drunken night with his fraternity brothers while in university in the States. He was the kind of man that made a woman either want to bed him, wed him or mother him.
Today he dressed for business. Looking lean and ready to take on the largest conglomerate, he looked debonair in a charcoal grey single breasted Armani suit and brilliant white Thomas Pink shirt. The suit jacket was open and his grey Gio Franco Ferre tie showed and his cufflinks winked when he moved to view his watch. The watch was expensive, as is everything about him.
He was currently seated at a corner table in the highly fashionable and very exclusive Sushi restaurant called Arigato. In a feat impossible for mere mortals, he sat on a cushion on the ground, legs crossed yogi-style, and managed to look commanding. Sipping a warm cup of saké, he was was engaged in a conversation on the phone and was giving instructions to someone with regards a meeting with a presidential advisor scheduled for the next morning. An interested observer would have noted that his voice was a pleasantly deep baritone, and betrayed traces of a Trans-Atlantic accent, evidence of his American education.
The shoji surrounding his table was left open allowing him an unobstructed view of the restaurant floor and he again glanced at his Rolex noting that Bims was late…as usual! Bims…Abimbola Akintola, his fiancée, love of his life and childhood sweetheart. International cover girl, face of Elle, Vogue and Harper's Bazaar, and budding entrepreneur with her own couture fashion line. She was the daughter of an Army General and a Bulgarian au pair. Beautiful wasn't a word that did Bims any justice, it was too bland an adjective. Mesmerizing, enchanting, alluring, goddess, all words that had been used to try and capture her essence, all words that fell pitifully below the mark.
Sean loved her to distraction but the issue of her tardiness was always a sore point between them. The years spent in a British boarding school hadn't cured her of the 'Nigerian time' syndrome. Many a time in a lighter mood he would tease her that she'd be late for her own funeral, at which she'd wrinkle her button nose and stick out her tongue at him, reducing him to laughter.
Suddenly a loud hush fills the room and Sean smiled. Bims had arrived. She general generated that kind of effect when she stepped into a room. Hushed awe! Men, women, children were always momentarily knocked back for six when she entered any venue. She practically glowed, making one mentally double back in wonder…as if in the presence of an ephemeral being…an angel. Today she didn't look like one of God's messengers but a cross between a Victoria's Secret angel and a Hell's angel.
Her five-eleven, size six frame was encased in a pair of sprayed on leather pants that left little or nothing to the imagination, a charcoal grey lace and satin camisole that kissed her braless breasts like a lover's lips. She wore no jewelry other than large gold Gypsy hoops, a thin gold necklace, a Ladies' Rolex (the twin of Sean's) and her engagement ring. On her feet she wore 4-inch dominatrix inspired, bespoke sling-backs made of the same fabric as her camisole, one of the designs from her label. The hair style throws Sean for a moment. Mims had long, wavy, brown almost chestnut hair that falls below her shoulders, but that wasn't the case today. Her hair was short, styled in a futuristic asymmetric bob, cut razor sharp accentuating her oval face, and dyed so black that under the soft Japanese lanterns it looked practically blue and further reinforced the dominatrix look. Her makeup was equally arresting, thick long lashes done up with blue mascara and eyes thickly lined to make her eyes bigger. Her eye shadow was a mix of black and grey and she completed the look with blue-grey contacts. She definitely had the sexy vamp look down pact and he rightly assumed she must have just left a photo shoot.
She sashayed across the floor towards him with the grace of a ballerina and all eyes followed her to Sean's table. She effortlessly flopped into a lotus, reached across and kissed him passionately totally disregarding of the watchful eyes around. He puts his hand against her nape and drew her closer as a Geisha hastily closed the shoji to give them a little more privacy. His other hand cupped her breast and she moaned against his mouth.
The kiss finally ended and her hair left slightly awry. Sean brushed away strands of stray hair from her face and gently stroked her cheek in a gesture both innocent and suggestive and she inhaled sharply. The smile on her face twinkled mischievously and her nose wrinkled in a manner that turned his heart in his chest and put knots in his stomach. He was actually torn between desire and laughter, the minxish look on her face, playful and light-hearted was in complete variance to her sex kitten attire. Laughter won the day, desire would have to wait till later, well at least till after lunch and his rich baritone could be heard from across the room mingled with her pixie laugh.
"Bims, love!" he asks when their shared laughter finally subsides, mild exasperation written on his face, "Why do you constantly do this? Hmmm?"
(TBC)
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