Ikem leaned against the cashew tree, waiting.
It was early evening; the sun had begun its slow descent into the horizon, creating long shadows against the heat-baked red soil underneath his feet. It hadn't rained for a few days, leaving a feeling in the air reminiscent of the harmattan, the dry and dusty season, though the period was still a few full moons away. A gentle breeze swirled around him, lifting the dried leaves from the ground, turning them into a mini-vortex before sending them falling gently back down to earth.
This was now a daily routine. Recently he'd taken to standing by this tree, watching his quarry as she walked along the footpath on her way back from the stream. She always carried her ite full of water balanced confidently on her head. So far he'd been unobserved. At least he thought she hadn't noticed. He'd not made himself known or said anything to her.
As if on cue, he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Pushing off the tree, he stood straight and waited. Anticipation thrummed in his blood. He flexed his shoulders, seeking to quell the adrenaline pumping through his veins.
Then she came into view, the vision that kept him awake several nights. His heart rammed into his rib cage with a heavy thud. Expectantly, he licked his dry lips. He was a grown man in his prime, one of the best wrestlers in the land, but the sight of this woman reduced his body to that of a boy who'd only recently discovered the pleasures of a maiden.
Nneka.
Petite, compared to his tall frame, her skin was dark and gleamed in the sunlight. The gentle lines of her face bore a hint of ethereal beauty. The rounded curves of her body were hidden beneath the loose, drab gray of her mourning clothes. Yet, this didn't diminish her beauty. It made him crave her even more, evidenced by his stirring manhood. He watched the gentle sway of her hips when she walked past. The need to touch her overtook him.
"Nneka," he called out from behind the tall, green grasses now covered in a layer of brown dust. He took a step forward so she could see him better.
With measured ease she turned around, looked left and right along the empty footpath before staring straight at him.
"Ikem, what are you doing here?"
The softness of her voice traveled through him, igniting his already sparking desire. His heart increased its pounding. The blood in his veins rushed downward, leaving him feeling light-headed. Such was her effect on him. Yet, he schooled his expression as he watched her.
Her hair was a mass of short, tight curls. As tradition dictated, her head had been shaved clean at the death of her husband. It drew his attention to her unadorned face, wide eyes, pert nose, and full lips. Her body didn't have any of the decorative uli marking other women wore; neither did she wear any beads or ornaments. Her appearance was designed to deter notice.
Except he noticed her. All of her.
He'd expected her to look puzzled, maybe even frightened, at seeing him standing there. She didn't. Instead she stared at him with boldness unbecoming a woman in a state of mourning. Her dark brown eyes held a brief twinkle of amusement. When he raised his brow in a silent query, she lowered her gaze to the ground.
"I want to talk to you. Come here." Though he spoke quietly, there was no mistaking the demand in his voice.
With haste, her gaze flicked back up to meet his. Her eyes had lost some of their sparkling amusement. Instead they held his stare with fiery defiance; she raised her chin a notch.
"I cannot be seen talking to you, Ikem. You know that." Her tone was self-assured as if she didn't care if she was found talking to him. Knowing the consequences of being seen with him in public, a woman in her position should have cowered and appeared appalled at his forwardness. Her confidence affected him at a most basic level. It challenged him and served to spur him on.
He wanted this woman regardless of the consequences.
