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Feel Me...

Feel Me...

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5 Chapters
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From the Martin met Lydia, he was enthralled. She was fiery, independent, and utterly resistant to his persistent pursuit. But beneath her defiance, a quiet attraction simmered. After relentless attempts, Lydia finally let her guard down, and what began as a chase turned into a love that consumed them both. But even the strongest love can crack under the weight of betrayal. A single mistake-born of tangled emotions and forbidden temptation-tore them apart, leaving Martin shattered. And yet, against all odds, he chooses to forgive, offering Lydia a second chance at the love they once shared. But forgiveness isn't without its challenges. Old wounds refuse to heal, and long-buried secrets and oppositions threaten to surface, putting their fragile connection to the test. Will their rekindled love be strong enough to withstand the scars of the past, or will history repeat itself, tearing them apart for good?

Chapter 1 The Art of Dismissal

Martin looked up from the booklet containing the restaurant's menu to the chocolate skinned woman whose face held an impassive expression, dressed in the hotel's dress code for waitresses – a black LBD with the establishment's name engraved in thick gold thread on the left side of her chest. Her thick hair was pulled away from her face into a spongy bun on top of her head. Her dark eyes stared back with blank impatience at him.

"Your order, sir." came her accented voice again with a sliver of impatience like she had somewhere else to be.

He stared dumbly at the woman watching him flatly.

A hand snaked to his and gave a gentle shake meant to snap him out of his reverie. "Martin, your order?"

Martin blinked once, then snapped his gaze to the ivory skinned, slender woman sitting in front of him. Suddenly she paled in comparison to the impatient woman awaiting their order for the past ten minutes. He cleared his slightly dried throat, directing his gaze to the leather-bound booklet containing the restaurant's menu. "I'll have a medium rare steak – with the red wine sauce and a bottle of wine. This one's almost empty." He muttered before staring at his date, "What would you like, Genevieve?"

"The same with his – only I'd like mine with a side of salad tossed with lemon dressing." She replied, sipping her champagne.

Lydia gave a curt, understanding nod and asked politely, "Would you prefer yours like his, then. Medium rare?"

"No. God, no!" she cried, smiling a little. "I'd like mine rare. Thank you."

The waitress gave another nod and turned for the kitchen. Martin's eyes followed the woman's retreating figure; his gaze was still on her even as Genevieve cleared her throat to get his attention. Not that he heard – he was too absorbed with his thoughts.

The thin heel of Genevieve's stilettoes connected sharply with his shin with such force he doubled over with a muted groan and a lowly uttered expletive. He raised his head and pinned her a frigid glare, one she returned with a smile of her own.

"Good. That got your attention." She said sweetly. "You seemed to have been gone an awful long time, Martin. I was worried."

"Were you?" he asked with a sardonic raise of his brow, the pain she administered to his shin had faded to a dull, indistinct throb. "You can hardly blame me for admiring her. She appears to have qualities you greatly lack."

The sweet smile on Genevieve's pale pink lips vanished and her eyes narrowed at the insult, along with jealousy and irritated annoyance. "Really? What would those qualities be?"

Martin reclined heavily against his chair, a mild taunting smile brushed his lips, "For one thing, she's not a child in a woman's body throwing infantile tantrums highly irritating in nature."

Genevieve rose as gracefully as she could whilst pinning Martin an icy stare which he received with mild amusement. "She won't bat an eyelash your direction, Martin. All your efforts will be useless. That I can tell judging from her behaviour."

"Leaving already? Lunch is yet to be served." He commented easily with a raised brow. "I thought you'd be difficult to go out with. You know, after all that chasing and tiresome wooing. Yet here we are... you're leaving first without even taking a bite of what you ordered."

Genevieve leaned forward, her blue eyes hardened to glaciers of ice as she spat with calm venom, "Fuck you, Martin."

"Thank you."

She scoffed in disbelief.

Martin watched her fast-retreating figure thoughtfully. He honestly thought she'd be worth it although knowing her tendencies to behave foolishly most of the time. He wasn't going to chase after her, if that was what she was thinking. The sound of the food cart wheeling behind him drew his gaze to the waitress in black and against his will, Martin smiled slightly as she approached his table.

Lydia wheeled the cart to a stop, curiosity avid on her face as she asked, "Where's the lady?"

Martin reached for the bottle of wine and popped it with ease. "She left." He replied simply, setting the bottle gently in front of him.

"Why? If you don't mind me asking?" she inquired, plating the food with expertise.

"A disagreement ensued and we quarrelled. Prompting her to take her untimely leave." He watched her closely, "I was staring at you and she got jealous. Simple as that."

Lydia paused and snapped blank eyes to the man. "Ịnụkwa." She muttered under her breath, shaking her head slowly. "What do I do about her food? Shall I have it packaged for you?"

"How about you have the meal with me instead? I'd rather prefer your presence to hers." He invited.

Lydia gave him a polite look with a subtle hint of mockery in her accented voice, "Yet you took pains to invite her here. No, thank you. Unfortunately, sir, I prefer to have my food properly cooked before eating it. This doesn't qualify as cooked in any way. It's practically coated with spices and dripping with blood once sliced open. All in the name of "perfect texture and juiciness." If you understand where I'm coming from."

He laughed at her bluntness which lasted for a full minute and two seconds.

Lydia scowled slightly. There was nothing amusing in what she said. "Then if you will excuse me, sir. I'll have this packaged and brought to you shortly."

Martin stopped her with a hand over hers, partially engulfing it in a firm yet gentle clasp. "Please stay. I insist."

Lydia's gaze landed on the hand over hers then reached with her free hand to gently pry it off. "It is strictly against the rules for the staff to fraternize intimately with the customers, sir. Pardon me, but you'll have to eat that uncooked meat and salad all by yourself." She gave him a patronizing smile "Excuse me." With that she wheeled the cart back to the kitchen.

Martin stared back at his plate with a contemplative pause and after a while, a brief laugh left his lips. He liked her frankness.

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