💃A man worth knowing🤔🤔

💋Chapter Six💋

The next day, Themba contacted her.
He didn’t call, as promised, but
sent her an email. It was the first
thing she saw when she fired up her
laptop at the studio in the morning.
The message contained contacts for
a great tax consultant, a highly rated
accountant, web developers and
event organisers, covering all the
points they’d touched on the night
before. The fact that he’d sent an
electronic correspondence stung, but
she sent a cool, professional
response, thanking him for his time
and effort.
She wasn’t going to let him get to
her. She was simply going to put him
out of her mind.
In the next week, Mandi threw
herself whole-heartedly into
rectifying the errors and oversights
Themba had picked up in his
ruthlessly analytical audit.
As the days progressed, things were
starting to look up. She might have
lost Themba for a second time, but
she’d managed to salvage her
boutique from the ashes of disaster.
She found comfort in
her strict business routine, in
working on her designs and poring
over the spreadsheets and balances
of her financial records.
Living on a few hours sleep a night,
she threw herself into the challenge
of turning her fortunes around –
meeting with a new accountant,
preparing documents for the tax
consultant and working with a
graphic designer to launch her
website. The figures and
spreadsheets still proved a
challenge, but she was learning about
the ‘numbers’ – as Themba called
it – and she was learning fast.
Before she knew it, the end of the
month was upon her. Her bank
account was looking a little bit
healthier and she was able to make
salary transfers at the last minute.
Relief at having kept the business
afloat for another month flooded in.
Euphoria filled her with a lightness
she hadn’t felt in ages. On the
other hand, maybe it was simply a
lack of sleep. Who knew? It was still
a good feeling.
She constantly thought of Themba.
Of the night of sharing pizza and
ideas. She thought of his incredible
energy, his good looks, the way he
kissed her. How could she forget she
owed all of this to him? She would
give him a call. Before she could lose
her nerve, she picked up her
cellphone and scrolled to find his
number in her contacts list.
It rang for a long time before going
to voicemail. Just listening to his
recorded message, hearing his voice
again, sent a shiver up her spine. She
didn’t leave a message. She didn’t
know what to say.
A few minutes later, her cell beeped
and blinked. She snatched it up,
hoping it was Themba calling back. It
wasn’t. It was Linda.
‘We’ve missed you at dance
class,’ her friend said. ‘Cole has
been asking after you.’
‘I’ve been busy,’ Mandi said.
‘That much is obvious,’ Linda
wise-cracked, ‘but you deserve a
break.’
‘I guess I do,’ Mandi said.
‘It’s been a long week.’
‘Why don’t you come out with us
tonight?’
She pursed her lips. ‘Us?’
‘Cole is taking a few us from class
to a hot new Cuban club in Rosebank
tonight,’ Linda said. ‘I’m going
to celebrate a month of not smoking.
It will be fun. You must come.’
‘Mmm.’ She paused ominously.
‘Are you trying to set me up with
our cute little American dance
instructor?’
Linda feigned innocence. ‘Me?
Never.’
‘I’ll think about it.’ Mandi
remained hesitant. ‘If I come, I’m
not flirting with Cole though.’
‘Of course not,’ agreed Linda.
‘There will be hundreds of other hot
guys to flirt with!’
Mandi laughed.
Linda’s voice took on a pleading
tone. ‘Please say you’ll come
tonight.’
‘I’ll text you later and let you
know.’
After she ended the call, her
cellphone flashed a message. One
new SMS. Perhaps this was from
Themba, she thought feverishly.
However, the text was just from
Nombi. Her sister was simply
confirming she’d be landing in
Johannesburg tomorrow night and
requested Mandi fetch her from OR
Tambo. Not requested, no, more like
demanded. Disappointment lay heavy
in Mandi’s heart. Oh, well, perhaps
having her sister around would cheer
her up. Not likely, she tagged on
silently. Nombi was a bit of a
nightmare to deal with.
She spent the rest of the afternoon
finishing some paper work. She let
Andrew and the girls go home early.
She’d just finished up for the day
and was preparing to lock when a
DHL courier arrived at Midnight Rose.
She signed for the small package and
watched him leave. Hurrying back to
her studio, she pulled at the paper
wrapping. Inside was a beautiful gift
box. She opened it and drew out its
contents with a gasp.
It was a bracelet.
Tiny black roses made of solid
pewter forming exquisite little links
on a silver chain.
Attached to the box was a small
card of black and silver. She could
just make out the scrawl inside.
Good luck – Themba.
Mandi was touched to the core of her
heart. No doubt, this bracelet cost
much less than the diamond one
he’d tried to give her years ago,
but this had so much more worth for
her. This one showed thought, care,
attention to her personality, and was
rich in symbolism. Tears stung her
eyes.
At that moment, Mandi’s cellphone
rang in the front shop. She dashed
over to answer. As she reached for it
lying on the sales counter, she
recognised the number. Smiling
through the tears forming warm
pools in her eyes, she snatched it up
and connected to the call.
‘Themba ...?’
‘Did you get my gift?’ His voice
was low, masculine, seductive.
She hadn’t realised how much
she’d missed his voice, she thought,
holding onto the sales counter to
support her suddenly hollow legs.
How much she’d missed him! She
held the phone closer to her ear, her
heart beating rapidly.
‘Oh, yes. It’s beautiful.’
‘I thought of you when I saw it.
Just knew it would suit you.’
‘Thank you.’ Mandi swallowed
down on her emotion, regained
control. ‘Not just for the bracelet,
but for everything. You don’t
realise how much you’ve done to
help me.’
‘You can thank me in person when
you see me,’ Themba replied. ‘We
can have dinner.’
‘Of course ...’
‘Good.’ His laugh was teasing,
warm, rich with hidden laughter.
At that moment, the doors of the
boutique opened. She looked up,
gasped. Themba strolled through, his
cellphone at his ear, a smile on his
handsome face.
‘I’m sorry I couldn’t return your
call earlier,’ he was saying. ‘I was
on a plane.’
‘You’re forgiven.’
Mandi watched as his long legs
removed the space between them.
‘I think we can end this
conversation,’ he said over the
cellphone connection. ‘Don’t
you?’
‘Hmm.’ She smiled at him. ‘I
believe we can continue it in
person.’
‘A much better option, I think.’
Both clicked off their cellphones at
the same moment; they stood looking
at each other in the hushed quiet of
the boutique. He embraced her
briefly, his face buried in her hair.
‘You smell great,’ he said.
‘It’s my papaya shower gel.’ A
pause. ‘I didn’t expect to see
you.’ Her heart was still thumping
with blood.
‘That much is clear,’ he drawled.
‘I didn’t expect to catch you here
at Midnight Rose, but I took a
chance. Are you working late?’
‘I was just locking up,’ she said.
‘Oh, Themba – what a week I’ve
had, but I made it happen. I
managed to pay the staff and set up
a plan for the next few months. We
made it.’
‘Did we?’ Themba’s mouth
curved enigmatically. ‘I seem to
remember we never really make it.’
Heat sparked through her cheeks.
‘You know what I mean.’
‘Of course I do, I just love teasing
you.’ His jammed his hands in his
the pockets of his jacket. ‘I believe
there’s cause for celebration. Grab
your bag. Let’s go.’
She gasped. ‘Go where?’
‘To dinner. I have reservations for
eight.’
Mandi didn’t know if she was ready
to have dinner with Themba. Sharing
pizza at her house was one thing, but
going out to a restaurant seemed to
suggest a real date.
And what would one date mean? That
he wanted to see her again? The
bracelet, the dinner invitation – did
it suggest he wanted to start seeing
her again? Could she risk allowing
him in to her life again?
Mandi stalled. ‘I don’t think I can.
I promised a friend I’d go out with
her tonight.’
‘Cancel.’ His handsome features
darkened. ‘I’m not taking no for
an answer.’
She licked her lips. ‘I–I don’t
have anything to wear.’
‘Are you kidding me?’ His chuckle
sent little shivers to the back of her
neck. ‘You’re in a boutique filled
with wonderful evening dresses.’
‘Themba, I’m not one of your
employees.’ Mild caution
reverberated in her words. ‘You
can’t order me around.’
‘Is that so?’
‘Yes.’
Before she knew what was happening,
his powerful body had pinned her
against the counter. His hands held
her arms at her side. His head bent
and he claimed her mouth. His kiss
was short, hard, dominating, but it
cancelled out any argument. Her
breath came out in tiny gasps
against his sensual, wet lips.
Themba didn’t smile, but his eyes
seemed to dance with hidden fire.
‘Another thing, Miss Mbatha.’
‘Yes?’
‘Don’t ever forbid me from kissing
you again.’
‘Why not?’ she challenged.
‘It’s impossible to be around you
and not want to kiss you,’ he
ground out. ‘I love they way your
lips taste like cherry.’
‘You do?’
A nod. ‘So in future, I’m not going
to listen to you. Is that clear?’
‘Don’t I have a say in the
matter?’
His jaw pulled. ‘Why must you be so
stubborn?’
‘I just want to say one thing.’
‘What?’
‘I don’t want you to ever stop
kissing me,’ she whispered. ‘Now
... are you going to help me choose an
outfit?’
‘Absolutely.’It took a half hour to peruse the
outfits on display, but finally she
decided on a dress that was one of
her favourites. It was long and black
detailed with a vivid and colourful
Venda print. She decided to team it
with red high heels with an ankle
strap and a small black clutch purse.
‘I just need to change into this,
freshen my make-up and then we can
be off.’
‘I’ll make a few calls in the
meantime.’
When she emerged from the studio
fifteen minutes later, he was waiting
for her. She knew she looked good
and her heart soared as his eyes
sparked when he saw her.
Themba took her hand. ‘One last
thing is missing.’
‘What?’
‘This.’ With gentle but precise
movements, he clasped the pewter
rose bracelet around her slender
arm.
The touch of his fingers sent rivulets
of fire coursing through her blood;
she could feel the pulse at her
temples.
She held it up to the light. ‘It’s
perfect.’
Themba’s warm lips printed a small
kiss on the inside of her wrist. ‘No,
you’re perfect.’
Her high heels gave her enough height
to tilt her head and kiss him on the
cheek.
‘We must be off.’ He held out his
arm for her to take.
Outside the shopping centre, a new
silver limousine idled at the curb. The
driver hopped out and held open the
back door for her. Themba slid in
beside her. Soon they were spirited
away into the night, watching the
lights of Rivonia Road pass by in a
blur of red and yellow.
Mandi was conscious of Themba’s
hard, muscled thigh pressed against
hers. She stiffened, moved closer to
the door. The back of the car was
huge. Why did he have to sit so close
to her?
‘Where are we going?’ She kept
her eyes on the passing billboards.
‘You’ll see.’
A few minutes later, the sleek vehicle
pulled up outside the Rivonia Cellar
Club. She’d heard about the
restaurant, but she’d never been
here before.
It wasn’t that cold out tonight;
just a faint nip in the air. Winter
would soon be over. As soon as
Themba wrapped his arm around her
shoulder, the chill disappeared. She
felt warm, protected, content.
Once a charming old farmhouse, the
Cellar Club was now something of an
iconic eatery in Johannesburg. Right
in the heart of leafy Rivonia, the
restaurant was renowned for its wine
and cheese cellar as well as for its
gorgeous private gardens. Mandi
breathed out as she and Themba
stood waiting for the maitre
d’hôtel. She was glad she’d
dressed up.
A well-dressed man appeared. ‘Mr
Dlane, we’ve been expecting you.’
‘Is our table ready?’
‘Of course,’ came the crisp reply.
‘This way please.’
The couple was shown to a table for
four in the elegant, airy dining area
alongside the patio.
‘I – I thought it would be just the
two of us,’ Mandi said.
‘We have a guest joining us for
dinner.’
She was disappointed, but kept her
composure. ‘Who?’
‘Oh, you’ll see.’
She smiled. ‘You’re full of secrets
tonight, aren’t you?’
He signalled the waiter to order a
bottle of wine. ‘Don’t look so
worried.’ One large warm hand
covered hers. ‘It’s just dinner.’
‘I don’t like surprises,’ she
answered stiffly.
The waiter had just poured a glass
of merlot when an older, elegant
woman approached the table. Up
close, Mandi could imagine she’d
been very beautiful when she’d
been younger. There was still
evidence of her beauty in her high
cheekbones, her proud forehead, her
well-maintained figure.
She wore a chic canary-yellow two-
piece business suit, her short,
greying hair arranged in a flattering
style. Mandi admired the cut of her
suit and her hair. Power dressing at
its best. However, Mandi noted the
hidden pain in her dark eyes.
As a sign of respect, Themba stood.
Due to the woman’s commanding
presence and the fact that it seemed
she would be joining them as their
mystery guest, Mandi stood too.
‘I’d like you to meet Gloria
Nosiswe Dlane,’ he said. ‘My
mother.’
His mother?
Mandi was shocked! Themba had
seldom mentioned his family, other
than the second cousin who’d
raised him. He’d certainly never
spoken about his mother; she’d
always thought the woman had been
absent from his life.
The woman’s handshake was cool,
firm, confident. ‘You must be
Mandisa.’
Mandi smiled her most gracious
smile, hoping it hid the nervous
tension knotting in her stomach.
‘So nice to meet you, my dear,’
the older woman said. ‘Now please,
let’s all sit. I must apologise for
not getting here earlier. My meeting
ran late and I couldn’t find a
decent taxi.’
Mandi blinked. She couldn’t imagine
this classy woman knocking around in
a Zola Budd; her idea of a taxi was
surely a chauffeur service.
Settled around the table, Themba
asked, ‘How did the meeting go?’
‘Great,’ Nosiswe answered. ‘The
committee approved the plans for
the new Cape Town theatre. I’ll tell
you about it later.’
Themba called for the waiter and the
group ordered starters; fresh
oysters for him; Mandi settled on
deviled lamb kidneys and Nosiswe
ordered a duck confit.
Over starters, Nosiswe turned to
Mandi. ‘I love the unique design of
your dress.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Mandisa designed it herself.’
Themba spoke with pride. ‘Can I
pour you more wine?’
‘No, thanks,’ Mandi said. ‘Maybe
just some sparkling water.’
She wanted to – no, needed to – keep
a clear head. She wasn’t sure what
Themba’s intention was in
introducing her to his mother. He’d
always been so private, so closed up
about his past – for her to be having
dinner with his mother totally threw
her off balance. She simply didn’t
know what to think!
Nosiswe’s voice interrupted her
thoughts. ‘Where is your
boutique?’‘In Sandton.’
Themba sipped at his wine.
‘Midnight Rose, it’s called.’
‘That’s a lovely name,’ his
mother smiled. ‘I’d love to visit it
sometime.’
‘You’re welcome to stop by
anytime,’ Mandi offered. ‘Do you
live in Jo’burg – or are you also
based in Cape Town?’
‘I have an apartment in Hyde
Park,’ Nosiswe answered. ‘When
I’m down in Cape Town, I stay with
Themba.’
‘That’s nice.’
Mandi was intrigued by the bond
between mother and son. When had
Nosiswe come back into Themba’s
life? She wondered how close the
pair had grown.
From the older woman’s classically
cut outfit, Mandi surmised Nosiswe
must be rich. That raised another
question. She knew Themba had
grown up desperately poor and it
had fuelled his ambition as a young
man. Where had Nosiswe’s wealth
come from?
Of course, she did not dare ask
these questions. Still, she was
curious about Themba and
Nosiswe’s relationship.
Over the main course – a prawn
curry for Themba, who still loved his
spicy food; salmon for Mandi; and a
mixed salad for Nosiswe – the
conversation turned to general
topics.
Mandi found herself relaxing,
enjoying the ambience and stimulated
by the company. Nosiswe was
knowledgeable on books, the arts and
music, and Mandi found her insights
fascinating as they discussed
favourite novels, movies and
performers.
None of them felt like dessert, so
coffee and cheese were selected
instead. Before the waiter could
bring their order, Themba’s
cellphone beeped.
‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll take
this call outside on the patio. I’ll
be right back.’
Nosiswe sipped at a cup of sugarless
black coffee. A habit, Mandi noted,
her son shared with her. Taking a sip,
she regarded Mandi with dark,
inscrutable eyes.
‘I’m so glad to have met you,
Mandisa,’ she said. ‘Themba has
never introduced me to any of the
young women in his life.’
Mandi gasped. ‘Never?’
Nosiswe nodded. ‘I believe you
must be special to him.’
She had no idea how to react to this
statement. Quickly, she took a sip of
coffee and scalded her tongue. It
burned and she quickly reached for a
glass of water.
‘Do I make you nervous, my
dear?’
Mandi swallowed, tried to smile.
‘No, not at all.’
‘Good. I’d like us to be friends,
Mandisa.’
Cautiously, Mandi took another sip of
coffee. ‘Themba has never once
mentioned you.’
‘Never?’
‘No.’
‘I’m afraid Themba has not had
what one would consider a ...
conventional upbringing.’
‘How so?’
‘I was living in exile abroad for a
long time. I’m afraid Themba was
brought up without his mother.’
Pain darkened the other woman’s
already dark eyes; Mandi felt a stab
of compassion for her so deep it
almost brought tears to her eyes.
‘That must have been hard.’
Nosiswe’s eyes flicked over to the
patio to make sure Themba was still
out of earshot before turning back to
Mandi.
‘Simon, his father, was involved in
the struggle; he was dead before
Themba was even born.’
‘I didn’t know that!’
The older woman lowered her voice.
‘Some might even say he was an
unrecognised hero during those
times.’
Mandi realised there was so much she
didn’t know about Themba’s
background.
‘Of course,’ Nosiswe continued,
‘Themba doesn’t like to mention it.
Please ... don’t tell him about
our conversation.’
Before she could answer, Themba’s
tall body was moving across the
restaurant floor, back to the table.
‘Are you ready for our next
stop?’ His rare smile caused
excitement to clench in Mandi’s
stomach.
‘You mean there’s more?
‘I told you,’ he said, leaning over
to whisper in her ear, ‘tonight is all
about surprises.’
That much was true, Mandi realised.
She was seeing a facet to Themba’s
personality that she’d never known
existed. It was as if she was seeing
another man emerge in front of her
eyes.
After finishing their coffee, Nosiswe
and Mandi made a quick visit to the
ladies’ room while
Themba settled the bill. Out in the
cool night, the silver limo whisked the
trio away into the city streets.
‘Where are we going?’
Themba cautioned his mother to be
quiet. ‘I want it to be a surprise.’
As the sleek car sailed over the
Nelson Mandela Bridge, Mandi
guessed that they were headed for
Newtown. When the long car
smoothly turned the corner into West
Street, she knew her guess had been
correct. Soon they were in the heart
of Newtown’s revamped cultural
precinct.
The Isiduko Theatre was housed in a
stunning new modern building,
combining modern ele-ments of steel
and glass with cultural motifs on the
wall. A stark sculpture of a group of
Xhosa dancers stood in frozen
magnificence in the bright, double-
domed foyer.
‘This place is wonderful,’ Mandi
said, awed.
‘Isn’t it?’ Nosiswe said. ‘I’m
sure you’ll enjoy the show. Since
I’ve been back in South Africa,
I’ve been devoting my time to
various charities and committees,
but theatre has always been my first
love. I’m a patron of the Isiduko.’
‘Mother wanted to be an actress
when she was younger.’ Themba
stood between the two women as
they sipped a champagne cocktail.
‘That’s why I wanted to start this
theatre,’ Nosiswe said. ‘I wanted
to restore Xhosa culture and bring it
to the people in a way that was
entertaining.’
‘You certainly enjoy your role as
benefactor to the arts,’ Themba
said.
‘Oh, my son, don’t forget you
played a part.’ Nosiswe waved her
glass at the wonderful art on the
wall. ‘You’re the one who got me
started on all this.’Curiosity sparked in Mandi. ‘What
do you mean?’
Themba took her arm. ‘I think we
should go in, the performance is
about to start.’
He ushered her and his mother into
the dark, sumptuous theatre. There
was a murmur among the audience
members as the stage turned dark
and the sound of soft drums filled
the auditorium. Mandi was breathless
with anticipation.The audience grew silent as a
spotlight found a young woman alone
in the middle of the stage. Her voice
was strong, clear and passionate as
she spoke aloud a poem of dreams
and fear, of grief and forgiveness.
The beauty of her words moved
Mandi to tears; she was grateful that
the dark auditorium hid the glistening
tracks on her cheeks.
She’d hate Themba to see her
emotional reaction to the
performance, but Nosiswe glanced at
her and smiled sympathetically.
She leaned over and whispered,
‘Don’t worry. I cried the first
time I heard this poem.’
Thunderous applause broke as the
next act came on the stage. Soon
Mandi was swept away by the
pounding rhythms of the talented
group of dancers and musicians. She
was awed by the women’s overtone
singing, by the low and complex
sounds. It raised goosebumps on her
bare arms.
The dancers were superb, moving
their shoulders in distinctive, co-
ordinated movements to the
traditional Xhosa music. The piece
made good use of the Xhosa bow
instruments, too. She loved theumrhubhe mouth instrument and the
wonderful sounds of the uhadi .
In the dark, Themba reached for her
hand and held it loosely in his cool
palm. Mandi felt a
melting warmth curl in her belly. She
felt comforted, alive, so alive in the
moment. It was so good to be here
with him, she knew it was a memory
she’d cherish no matter what
happened in the future.
The show was spectacular, a
celebration of Xhosa culture through
vivid colourful costumes, dance,
storytelling, poetry and music.
She was on her feet for the ovation
at the end.
‘Did you enjoy that?’ Nosiswe
asked.
‘Amazing, just amazing.’
Afterwards, Nosiswe invited her and
Themba to join the small cast party
backstage. Backstage was a cheerful
riot of people, noise, colour. The
show had been a success and the
cast was celebrating.
Mandi was introduced to the
director. ‘This is a young woman
you should talk to,’ Nosiswe said.
Mandi couldn’t hide her surprise.
‘Me?’
‘She’s a designer. We should
speak to her about designing for
us.’
At that moment, Themba was pulled
away from the group by two young
female dancers. ‘Themba, Themba –
you must come see our new moves.’
Themba allowed himself to be
dragged off with a lopsided smile. As
she listened to the director, Mandi
watched him from the corner of her
eye. He was obviously well known and
well loved by the cast and he looked
right at home as he chatted and
laughed with them.
A while later, Mandi found herself
with Nosiswe at the snacks table.
‘What part does Themba play in all
this?’ she asked.
‘Themba’s a good man,’ his
mother replied, pouring a glass of
punch. ‘He not only built this
theatre for us, he funds the whole
project, as well as donating his time
and money to many other charities.’
Mandi couldn’t hide the surprise in
her voice. ‘I didn’t know that.’
‘My son doesn’t like to make a big
deal about it,’ Nosiswe said, ‘but
he’s always given back to the
community. He’s committed to the
arts, although I’ve taken on most
of the responsibility of running this
theatre.’
‘I imagine he doesn’t have a lot of
free time to spend on his community
work,’ Mandi observed.
‘Oh, he makes time. Recently, he set
up a committee to oversee the
building of a similar theatre in Cape
Town. I had a meeting with them this
afternoon and everything was
approved.’
‘You must be proud of him.’
‘I am.’ Nosiswe was glowing with
admiration as she looked over at
Themba. ‘He’s come a long way
and he’s made it on his own. It
wasn’t easy for him but he was
determined to rise above his
circumstances.’
Themba is a good man.
Nosiswe’s words echoed in her
mind. She was starting to see his
mother was right. Themba is a good
man. He was a good man, a man who
cared about others, the arts, his
culture. Not just the ambitious
money-driven millionaire she’d so
unfairly accused him of being.
Mandi was definitely starting to see
him in a new light. The problem was,
she was falling in love with him all
over again. And she still had no idea
how he felt about her.
A half hour later, Themba swept her
out of the theatre. His mother had
decided to stay at the party; it was
just the two of them in the back of
the limo.
‘When do you go back to Cape
Town?’
‘Tomorrow morning,’ he said. In
the shadows, he looked tired but
relaxed.
‘Why didn’t you ever tell me about
your family, Themba?’ Mandi asked
softly.
He shrugged, dark eyes shutting out
any emotion. ‘It never seemed
important.’
‘I like your mother,’ she said. ‘I
can’t believe it took me so long to
meet her.’
‘I’m glad. I think she likes you
too.’
‘When did she get back to South
Africa?’
‘A few years ago,’ he answered in
guarded tones.
Cautiously, she asked, ‘And your
father?’
‘My father died a long time ago,
Mandi,’ he said, looking out the
darkened window of the car. ‘Why
do you always insist on raking up the
past? It’s dead. Gone. We can’t
change it. We have to move on.’
‘Can we?’ she asked. ‘Can we
move on from the past? You and
me?’
Without turning his head, his eyes
found hers, his mouth firmed.
‘Mandi ...’
Softly Mandi bit her lip. ‘How can
the past be forgotten, Themba, if
it’s not forgiven?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘I think you do.’ She reached to
touch his hard jaw line. ‘I don’t
have all the pieces to the jigsaw, but
I know your past made you who you
are today.’
He cursed. ‘You don’t know
anything.’
‘You need to let it go.’
‘I have,’ he said tightly. ‘I live
for today. I live for tomorrow.’
‘Does that tomorrow include me?’
Themba caught her wrist in his long,
firm fingers, his lips brushing against
her palm, sending exquisite feathers
of sensation through her body.
‘You know it does,’ he whispered.
‘I want to do it right this time. I
want to get to know you again.’
She leaned over, kissed his cheek. ‘I
want that too.’ I want to get to
love you again , she thought, a small
ache in her chest.I want that more
than anything.
A few minutes later, the car was
pulling up out-side her house. ‘I’ll
see you to the door,’ Themba said.
‘Thank you.’
On the darkened porch, she turned to
him. ‘I’ve never had a night as
amazing as this one. I don’t want it
to end.’
He wrapped his arms around her
waist, pulled her to his hard body.
‘It doesn’t have to end, my pretty
one.’
She drank in the smell of his
wonderful aftershave, her head light,
her heart
Her eyes searched his. ‘I guess it
doesn’t.’
Themba’s lips brushed against her
mouth in warm, teasing strokes. ‘In
fact, this can be just the
beginning.’
Her voice was a tentative murmur.
‘Do you want to –?’
She was cut off by a sudden bright
light above, the sound of a key in the
lock and the door being wrenched
open. The intimate moment was
shattered as she jerked back from
Themba’s embrace.
With a gasp, Mandi turned to see a
familiar face appear in the
doorframe.