Page 5 of Craving a King

I shake my head and swallow the fact that the king found it worth his time to come and pick me up from the airport. Maybe all the nonsense Maya was saying about him being interested in more than my schools is true. If that’s the case, I need to turn around and grab a flight back to Atlanta. But I can’t. So instead I continue to walk toward 30 days of uncertainty. “Of course not. I appreciate him coming at all. I’m surprised he’d come all this way to escort me to my hotel.”

He stops his deliberate stride to look back and say, “Yes, it’s surprising indeed.” He readjusts my luggage on his shoulder and turns to continue out the doors into the parking lot. It’s so dark I don’t really want to keep following him as we get farther and farther away from the airport and all other cars. But I also do not want to be stranded at the airport. So, I begin following him into the night.

Before we get much farther, I reach out and touch his back, asking him to stop. He turns. “Umm, before we get to him, can you tell me a little more about him?” I start to absentmindedly fluff my Afro, a nervous habit I hate. “Like, is there anything I should know? How does he like to be addressed? Should I bow or something? Women curtsy, right?”

Even in the dark, I see a smile hint at the corners of his mouth. “Bow?!” Now he does laugh. “No, Ms. Jenkins, we don’t bow or curtsy. This is not the British monarchy. Just wait for him to address you, which he will. Then he will extend his hand and you will shake it. That’s it.”

I give a nervous laugh. I hate nervous laughter. “Yes, of course. I know I’m not in Britain. I just really want to make a good impression. This contract is very important. He wants to ensure all Ashanti children have a strong public school option, and I know we are the best organization to make that happen. I don’t want to offend him before I even get a chance to show him what I can do for him.”

Senya smirks. “I wouldn’t worry about your impression, Ms. Jenkins. I think he will be pleased.” He looks at me intently as he speaks. “Kofi is a good king. He can be very sharp in his speech and distant in his demeanor. You will need thick skin at the start. But, once you get past his façade, you will quickly realize how great the man inside is. Just don’t disrespect him. That will make him angry. That is never good.” I nod at his words, trying to make sense of them. I start to ask a probing question, but he interrupts and starts to walk again. “Now we must really get going. He also hates to be kept waiting.” I follow.

Finally, we approach a black Range Rover parked indiscreetly at the edge of the parking lot. It is so dark; I hardly make out the vehicle. I squint and see there are two other black SUVs parked in spots across from the Range Rover. As I approach, men exit the vehicles. Alarmed at their presence, I pause. Senya still leading me, looks back and motions for me to come. Once closer, I see King Kofi Ajyei leaning against the back passenger-side door. He holds his right hand up in a gesture that triggers the men return to their vehicles.

He possesses an unwavering stature. I willingly advance toward a jet-black God with evidenced divinity until we are face to face. His presence takes the air surrounding us. The contour of his body peeks through black jeans and a tightly fitted black T-shirt. What would be soft is hard. His smile radiates raw power. His dimples project perfection. His stare makes me pant. His mouth promises a directive. I stumble, knowing if commanded, I will worship his body right now on this hot asphalt. He extends his hand to me, which I grab, latching on, but I don’t shake his hand in return, as I’m completely enamored by this man. He looks down at my hand and grins. This king is used to being held onto. Covering my hand with his, he leans down, allowing his deep voice to kiss my ear.

“I’m Kofi. Welcome to Ghana.”

Chapter Four

Confusion

Kofi

“It is a pleasure to meet you, your majesty. I’m Ella.”

Her name and voice are music to my ears. Her high cheek bones, wild hair, deep-set hazel eyes, and flawless caramel complexion make her irresistible. Senya must have set a brisk pace from the airport, because her breathing is labored and there is perspiration at the top of her full cleavage. Her breasts slightly heave with her breathing. My body responds before my mind can register and enforce self-control. I want to take her in every way a man can take the female form. However, that is not wise, and kings, if nothing else, are expected to be wise. Conversely, I feel like a complete idiot for inviting her here. All she has said so far is her name, and my mind is already kissing those sweet full lips.

Get yourself together, Kofi! Shake it off.

This is ridiculous. I am rubbing the top of her hand like I have never seen a beautiful woman before.

I clear my throat. “Please join me.” I finally release her soft hand and guide her into the vehicle. I relish the opportunity to touch her again, even if it is just the small of her back and a skim of her waist. I close the door behind her and nod at Senya as he loads her luggage into the trunk of the car. He smiles knowingly and nods back. Once I enter and sit next to her on the back seat, I immediately toy with the idea of closing the small distance between us. I want to touch her again. Plus, she smells like a piece of citrus fruit. It is an aphrodisiac, hypnotizing me and inviting me in. Small talk is the best distraction.

“How was your flight?” I ask as Senya settles into the driver’s seat. He answers for her.

“The airport lost a very expensive piece of Ms. Jenkins’ luggage. I am certain losing it has dimmed her travel experience. I know it would wreck mine.” They share a knowing laugh before he continues. “I can take her tomorrow to replace the bag and whatever else she needs.” His words stir a foolish jealousy in me. First of all, why is he speaking for her? To add insult to injury, he knows of her needs before I do. This is why I wanted to pick her up personally. It was only onhisadvice that I did not, and now here they are sharing inside jokes.

“Oh no, that’s all right,” Ella protests. “I’m sure the hotel will have the basics I need until my luggage is found.”

Senya chuckles. “I wouldn’t be so sure.” A look of displeasure falls upon her face.

“Why? Are five-star Westin hotels in Accra not as accommodating as others across the world? I assure you, I’ve stayed in 52 Starwood hotels across 45 countries, and they are all pretty much the same.”

Senya can’t resist. “Ahh, but I bet none of those fine establishments were on this continent. This is your first time in Africa, is it not?” Ella tenses. It is clear she does not like being wrong or corrected.

“I assure you this Westin will be like none other you experienced.”

I exchange glances with Senya through the rearview mirror. He arches his eyebrows at me and subtly shrugs his shoulders. I glare back and shift in my seat as I fumble pensively with the gold tribal bracelet that has been passed down from one Asantehene to the other since time immemorial. I finally look over to her. She looks at me, waiting for an explanation of the disparities between hotel amenities in African and Western nations.

“Ella…”I must approach this topic lightly.“You are absolutely right. I once stayed at the Accra Westin, and it does have top-notch amenities.” Her face softens, looking relieved that she was correct in her assumption. “What Senya is trying to convey is that the Westin amenities will not matter, because you are not staying there. You’re staying at my personal home right outside of Kumasi. It is called Bonbiri. It is near the Tafo village and it is my favorite place in the world.” I pause, waiting for a reaction. It comes to her eyes first like fire and lightning.

“The hell I am!” she thunders. “I’m not staying in your home. What the hell is going on here?! You are completely crazy if you think I’m going home with you.” I suspected she might be concerned with the prospect and was prepared to make concessions to accommodate her, but this disrespect cannot be tolerated. I am a head of state! No one talks to me like this. Least of all some woman from America who I only barely know. I turn and face her full-on.

“Mind your tongue. This insolence will not be tolerated. Express your concerns with respect. I am the chief of the largest ethnic group in Ghana.” My hands clench into fists. I cannot help it. Nothing gets under my skin faster than disrespect.

If she is chased by my statement, she does not show it. Instead, she turns and jabs her finger directly in my face as she barks a response. “And who are you to demand my respect when you clearly don’t respect me at all?”

“Did I not just tell you I am the Asantehene?!” My statement is several decibels louder than I intended. I also hear my Ghanaian accent take over my speech. Without a doubt, I am beside myself with anger. “I am king of the Ashanti, and you, Ms. Jenkins, are treading on thin ice.”

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