Unhinged by his White Heat (Unhinged Erotic Romance Series, Book 1)

Chapter 3

Oliver slipped the brush through Lisa's dark waves, marveling at how similar her hair was to her mother's. Amy was a brunette. It was amazing that the intensity of the love they had felt for each other fizzled out after only two years. He and Amy had both been twenty-two—that was eleven years ago. Wow, those years had practically zipped by. He remembered being overjoyed when Amy got pregnant in the second year of their relationship—he was going to be a father! But he also remembered being miserable; the panic seizing his chest at the thought of proposing to her.

He did another sweep with the brush. Lisa sat cross-legged on her bed. He knelt behind her.

"...Bibi's getting two cakes. Two cakes, daddy! I want two cakes for my birthday too..."

Oliver smiled, half-listening to the stream of excited chatter pouring from his daughter's lips.

He came here six years ago; to Nigeria to start a new life with his daughter after Amy had upped out of their lives, abandoning Lisa to be with her attorney boyfriend who apparently couldn't stand children. He came here to forget about what he had done in South Africa. He came here to take up Steven's mouth-watering offer. He absolutely did not come to Nigeria to start another committed relationship. No, absolutely not.

So why did he let her affect him? A girl he had just met. How come he couldn't stop picturing her face in his mind? How come her voice danced in and out of his thoughts?

"...We don't want Remi to come. He's icky. Bibi said..."

He sighed, dropped the brush on the bed. What was unique about her? The next day, after he had probably scared her away with his freaky staring in Sheila's house, he had re-read the letter, highlighted her phone number and then inserted it into his phone. And rang her. She had been short with him, ending the call and refusing to lunch with him. But now... should he try again? Call her now?

"Daddy!" Lisa screamed.

Oliver blinked and focused on her face, her pink skin, hair the color of rich wine and grey eyes. Grey eyes that were glowering at him. Cute lips pursed.

"You're not listening."

Oliver said, "No, moppet, I am."

"You're not! I was telling you all about Bibi's birthday—"

Oliver nodded. "I got it. Bibi's birthday. That's... em... "

"Next month! Dad, you weren't listening." She scowled at him, and jumped off the bed.

Oliver stood up. "Moppet! I'm sorry."

In answer, she raised her chin and flounced out of the room.

He began to go after her but then his phone trilled.

***

Kema wrenched the steering wheel of her car to the left, squeezing her white Kia Rio into the narrow space between a Mitsubishi jeep and a black Toyota saloon car. The black Toyota's horn blared.

Rolling her eyes, she pushed down on the accelerator and her car sprang forward. The next few minutes, she was zipping onto another lane, again taking another car by surprise and—of course—earning more horn blasts.

She had to make Nike talk. No more silences. If she had to face Nike's bulldog of a mother again, she would do it. This issue was boiling over, about to explode. It was time for the truth.

She twisted the steering wheel, zooming onto another lane on Third Mainland Bridge. Her destination was Victoria Island.

Some girls of Crestamead had started a war on Facebook and Twitter, accusing Francis of getting Rachel pregnant and then dumping her. They claimed that it was because she felt cornered... like she had no choice but to abort the baby. In effect, they alleged he had caused her death.