Ghana’s Most Forbidden Seduction - Chapter 8
“Wait…my sister.”
He flicked a glance at the couple wrapped in a tight clinch on the dance floor, oblivious to anything and anyone but themselves. “Do you think they’ll notice?”
Feeling a bite of something closely resembling jealously laced with concern—because despite the couple’s outwards exhibition of extreme besotting, she couldn’t help her instinctual warning that something was wrong—Amelie shook her head. “No, they probably won’t.”
They emerged from the ambient temperature of the club into sultry night air, which did nothing to cool her down.
His fingers were still wrapped around her wrist and she had zero desire to free herself.
When he tugged her towards a sleek sports SUV with a distinct Italian logo parked near the entrance, she went willingly.
The interior of the car held traces of his scent, and she inhaled greedily as he rounded the hood and slid behind the wheel.
He didn’t turn on the ignition immediately, merely rested one wrist on the steering wheel as he stared at her. “I’m hungry.”
She’d been mourning the fact that now they’d left the club, she only had a few minutes with him since her home was ten minutes away.
That he might not even kiss her.
Now her senses rekindled to life again. “Me too,” she responded, her voice shamefully husky, throbbing with everything she felt.
Those devilish eyes gleamed darkly at her, a far-too-suave smile snatching at his lips before the brooding look returned. “You should refuse this. Reject anything to do with me,” he said with a dark edge that had her gripping her seat.
“No one is forcing you to do anything, Atu.”
He gave a low, arid laugh. “And yet, I find myself doing it anyway.”
She frowned. Opened her mouth to ask him to explain, but he was turning on the ignition, the expensive car roaring to throaty life.
And because she wasn’t ready for the night to end just yet, because she intended to keep ignoring the warnings firing at her, she pressed her lips shut.