Disappointment mingled with impatience inside her. “Why did you bring me here if you intended to turn around and take me home? You could’ve put me in a taxi. Or instructed one of them to drive me home.” She waved her hand at the two SUVs parked at a discreet distance.
Billionaires or their sons like Atu Quayson didn’t travel anywhere in the world without heavy guard.
His lips thinned. “Maybe I had an ulterior motive.”
Her pulse jumped, every nerve in her body straining to know what that motive was. “Which was?”
Again he stared at her with such ferocity she felt as if she was caught in a cyclone, in danger of being swept away any second.
That she wasn’t completely terrified was both foolish and entirely too exhilarating.
Then he laughed. A bitter, half mocking, half self-deprecating sound that ejected her from the decadent sensation coursing through her. “I’m not sure whether to be impressed by you or teach you a lesson for your daring.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean one of my beloved aunts would probably have a term for what is happening here.”
“I hate riddles. Speak plainly or don’t speak at all.”
“Believe me, Amelie, speaking is much better than what I want to do. At least if I’m talking, I’m safe from whatever spell you’re weaving.”
She gasped. “Surely, you’re not accusing me of casting some sort of spell on you?” she scoffed, not sure whether to be thrilled by his gruff confession or offended at the indictment. And while she was vacillating, he made up his mind.
He strode purposefully to the passenger door and pulled it open, his gaze fixed on the middle distance as he rasped, “Get in the car, Amelie. Let me take you home. Trust me, you’ll thank me for it in the morning.”
Twenty minutes later, they were parked in front of her home, the magic leached from the night.
She flung the door open before he could alight to open it for her.
Then turning, she lifted her chin, her gaze pinning his. “Just for the record, I won’t thank you in the morning. You seem to think you know me better than I know myself. You don’t.”
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