Archive | October 2014

The Secret of good food is the company

Excerpt from my book coming out soon. To find out what Tony’s secret is ……watch this space!


What on earth was she doing in her boss’s flat at 9pm on a Friday night? How many women had he brought back to his house to wear the second terrycloth robe in the closet?

By the time she re-joined him in the kitchen she had collected her thoughts.

He faced her and she felt her heart beat faster at the broadness of his shoulders and the fact that he had rolled up his sleeves, revealing his strong arms.

“Do you like Chinese?”

She nodded trying to feign confidence.

He doesn’t have to know that the last time I had a Chinese meal was last year when my Head of Department celebrated her 50th birthday at a plush hotel and invited the team.


She watched in amazement as he brought out vegetables and a frozen bag of prawns and put it on the kitchen surface.

Don’t tell me this guy is expecting me to cook his dinner?

“I can rustle up some prawn fried rice, if you’d like” He suggested.

“Yes, that would be nice.” Then to her delight he brought out a chopping board and started dicing the vegetables. She watched his deft movements with the knife.

“Don’t look so surprised. Some of us men know how to cook as well, you know.”

She smiled guiltily, realising that he had just read her mind. A man who could cook, who loved books, was kind, had a great sense of humour, and was handsome and loaded. He must be too good to be true.

Maybe he was? Maybe any minute he was going to grow three heads and do something monstrous.

She sat down on one of the tall leather-backed stools in the dining area and watched as he washed some rice into a pot and began to lightly fry the prawns.

“I studied abroad. If I didn’t know how to cook – I would have starved.”

The smell of fried spices assailed her senses and she turned her attention back to him as he fried the rice, spices, prawns and vegetables in a large pan, adding some soy sauce, thyme, curry and stock cubes as he worked.

She watched him mesmerised, knowing that she could have sat there all night.

“Well done. You are a very good cook.”

“Thanks.” He got two plates and served them and instead of sitting in his large dining room they took the plates to the sitting room and sat on the big comfortable sofa to love jpg


New book out by Stella Eromonsere-Ajanaku

Fellow romance writer, Stella Eromonsere-Ajanaku,

(Creator/Author Flirty & Feisty Romance Novelshas a new novel out titled: Kiss My Lips!Check out the cover and please visit the sites below to find out more about it and follow Stella on Twitter too!

20141010.kiss my lips

Our promise…is to deliver an intensely emotional experience you will never forget.




Amazon Author Page:

Brown Eyes – excerpt from my work in progress

black-woman-thinkingHe seemed a bit self conscious as he brought out a piece of paper.

“I wrote a poem. Pardon me – its probably rubbish, but I will share it anyway. Its about this woman I’m interested in.” He took a breath and picked up a glass of water.

He took the mike and took his first step of faith into the unknown.

Brown eyes full of secrets.

Pain. Locked deep inside

Sweet lips that promise honey have tasted bitterness.

I don’t know who messed you up and tied you up inside, into little bits of fear and doubt.

Your heart is hard, a barren place.

I only want a chance to make you feel again, make you come alive.

Come out of the shadows

Give me a chance to know you

In my dreams I hold you in my arms

Hear you whisper my name

Telling me that you love me

Then I wake up and you push me away

Lola stared ahead, unmoved.

Nice words that’s all they were words. Empty words. Men were good at that.

Annabel was clapping away.

“Oooh….I wish I was this Brown eyes. Phew! ” She started fanning herself.

People got up and clapped.

Lewis stood up and bowed, looking slightly embarrassed and self conscious.

Despite her cynicism, Lola had heard the passion and feeling in his voice as he delivered the poetry and found herself wondering which the woman that had elicited such an outpouring of emotion from a man who never showed any emotion. Except when it came to work then he would be quick to let you know, that he did not tolerate anything but excellent work ethics.

Who was she?

What kind of a woman could pierce that ‘hard-man’ exterior he wore like a cloak.

Why did she even care?

She could see him making his way through the dimly lit room, pausing to shake some peoples hands. The women seemed to be really keen to show their appreciation. She felt it was so pathetic.

She pushed back her chair and got up before she said something extremely sarcastic and spoiled the mood. It was clear the women were all drooling over the poem, and him or maybe both and it was boring her out of her mind. If she left early enough she could get some marking out of the way.

“I’m going to go now. Got a terrible headache.” she lied.

Annabel looked worried. ” Oh. Are you sure you are ok to go by yourself?”

Lola nodded slipping her coat over her jeans and casual smart blouse. Her legs couldn’t carry her fast enough as she headed towards the door. Then she felt a hand on her shoulder and turned round.


Lewis didn’t exactly look pleased to see her.

His eyes narrowed and his lips tightened. Running a hand over his head, wondering what was going through her mind. He was relieved that she fixed him with a blank stare.

She didn’t have a clue. Didn’t know how he felt .

“Miss Adesoya?”

She shrugged. “Its my first time.”

He seemed to be digesting this.

“Hope you had a good time.”

She shrugged.

He looked at his watch. ” Well….see you at work.”

She nodded.

She manoeuvred her way through the crowd and left.


Lewis drove home, lost in his own thoughts.

It had been a bad idea. He should never had shared his thoughts in that poem. It had been stupid, thoughtless…presumptuous.

He was a creative person. He had started jotting his random thoughts down and paper and found out that he was writing poetry and people said it was good. He started testing his stuff out at performance poetry nights and no one laughed or said it was awful.

He had written the poem on the night he had dropped her off at home. That was the night he had spent thinking about her, wondering why she was so prickly and unapproachable. The night where every attempt he had made to try and get to know her better, had been met by a stony wall of resistance, even suspicion.

Seeing her in the club had really jolted him, but from her response he could see that she hadn’t realised that the poem had been written with her in mind.

It would have ruined any kind of chances he was hoping to have in the future.

His lips curved. Talk about presumptuous. What even made him think she would be interested in him anyway – let alone of standing a chance with her?

Well. A guy could hope.

He shook his head as he turned on Smooth Jazz FM and let the mellow music work on his anxious mind.