Maggie Carpenter is ready for a change—and to leave her ordinary life in South Carolina behind. But when she accepts a scholarship to the International School in London, a university attended by the privileged offspring of diplomats and world leaders, Maggie might get more than she bargained for.

When Maggie meets Hugh, a twentysomething British guy, she finds herself living the life she has always wanted. Suddenly she’s riding around the city in a Ferrari, wearing borrowed designer clothes and going to the hottest clubs. The only problem? Another guy, the one she can’t seem to keep her hands off of.

Half French, half Lebanese and ridiculously wealthy, Samir Khouri has made it clear he doesn’t do relationships. He’s the opposite of everything Maggie thought she wanted…and he’s everything she can’t resist. Torn between her dream guy and the boy haunting her dreams, Maggie has to fight for her own happy ending. In a city like London, you never know where you stand, and everything can change in the blink of an eye.

This is a New Adult romance recommended for readers 17 and up.

I See London
Chanel Cleeton

www.miraink.co.uk

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

About the Author

Chapter 1

I couldn’t find my underwear.

Knickers, as the British called them.

It should have been easy; there wasn’t much to them. They were black, lacy…and shit, I was going to miss my flight home if I kept looking.

“Start by thinking of the last place you had them,” my grandmother would always tell me when I lost something. The bed seemed like the best place to start. Or had it been on top of the dresser? Or against the wall by the window?

I’d been a busy girl.

“You leaving?”

I stared down at the boy lying in bed. His voice was heavy with sleep, the sheets tangled around his naked body. The sight of all that skin sent a flash of heat through me.

I wasn’t ready to handle the morning after. Screw my underwear.

“Don’t worry about it.” I leaned down, pressing a swift kiss to his lips, barely resisting the urge to climb back into bed with him. “See you next year,” I whispered, grabbing my shoes and heading for the door.

I paused in the doorway, wondering how the hell I’d gone from spending my Friday nights studying to doing the walk of shame sans underwear.

I blamed the Harvard admissions committee.

Ten months earlier

I was going to die and I wasn’t even wearing my best underwear.

My Southern grandmother loved to tell me a girl should always look like a lady—even down to her “unmentionables,” as she liked to call them.

“But no one’s going to see them,” I would insist.

“It doesn’t matter. You could be in a car accident and then what? Would you want people to see you in those?” (Cotton, black, perfect for fat days.)

I wasn’t sure if the underwear rule applied to plane crashes. But if it did? I was about to die in the world’s ugliest pair of black cotton underwear.

“Are you okay, dear?”

I loosened my grip on the armrest, turning slightly to face the woman in the seat next to me. My head jerked.

“It’s just a little bit of turbulence. Perfectly normal.” She looked to be about my grandmother’s age; unlike my grandmother’s smooth Southern drawl, though, her voice had a clipped British accent. “Is this your first flight?”

I cleared the massive, boulder-sized knot of tension from my throat. “It’s been awhile.”

“It can be scary at times. But we’re only about an hour away.”

The plane hit another bump. I gripped the armrests, my knuckles turning nearly white.

“What takes you to London?”

“I’m starting college.”

“How exciting! Where?”

I loosened my grip on the armrest, struggling to focus on her questions rather than the plane plummeting from the sky. The irony of my fear of flying wasn’t lost on me.

“The International School. It’s an American university in London.”

According to the glossy brochure I’d conveniently received the day my dreaded thin-envelope rejection letter from Harvard arrived in our mailbox, the International School boasted a total of one thousand undergraduate students from all over the world.

“Do you know anyone in London?”

I shook my head.

“I’m surprised your parents let you move over there by yourself. You can’t be more than what, eighteen?”

“I’m nineteen.”

I was a little surprised, too. My dad hadn’t been a big fan of the whole London idea. He could travel the world, heading to exotic locations. I just couldn’t go with him. I’d heard all the reasons before. He couldn’t be a fighter pilot and a single parent. It was too difficult for him to predict when he would be sent away on another mission. If my mom were still around—It hung between us, the rest of the words unspoken.

I could fill in the blanks. If my mom were still around, we would be a family. But she wasn’t. When she left my dad, she took our family with her, dooming me to life in a small town in South Carolina, my dad’s elderly parents assuming the role of my legal guardians. I loved my grandparents and they tried the best they could.

But it wasn’t the same.

“You must be awfully brave to come to London by yourself. Especially at such a young age.”

Brave? I wasn’t sure if it had been bravery or desperation spurring my sole act of teenage rebellion. But ever since I’d received that rejection letter in the mail, my thoughts had been less than rational.

It was all I’d ever wanted—Harvard. It was the best. I’d imagined my dad beaming with pride at my high school graduation, the one he’d ended up missing anyway. Harvard had been my chance to change everything. It was the reason I didn’t date and skipped parties in favor of doing SAT prep on Friday nights, the motivation behind me joining every student organization known to man. In the end, none of it was enough.

She nudged me. “We’re nearly there.”

I turned toward the window, peering through the glass. Fog filled the sky, the air thick and heavy with it. I pulled back, disappointed.

“It’s hard to see anything.”

“Just wait for it. Keep looking.”

I turned back to the window, my eyes trained downward, waiting for the exact moment when—

Lights. Scattered throughout the fog were lights. Hundreds, thousands of lights. Like a Christmas tree. Beneath us was a carpet of lights.

“Welcome to London.”

* * *

I peered out the taxi window, watching as the city passed me by.

The ride from the airport took a little under an hour. As we drove, we crossed into more urban areas where the landscape of little houses disappeared, replaced by large blocks of multistory apartment buildings and small shops on street corners. Little by little the traffic increased, the driver laying on the horn several times and shouting out the window. BBC Radio blared through the car speakers. The announcers spoke of things like “cricket” and I felt the weight of being in a foreign land. At least I understood the language—for the most part.

The sidewalks were filled with people, their strides long and confident. Everyone looked as if they were in a hurry, as though wherever they were going was the most important place in the world. And it was noisy. Even over the radio, I heard the sounds of the city, so different from anything I’d ever experienced.

When the cab passed by the infamous Hyde Park and then Kensington Palace, only to turn onto what the cab driver referred to as Embassy Row, the reality of my new life began to sink in. We passed rows of expensive buildings—mansions, really. Some had guards stationed out front and flew flags of various countries, no doubt how Embassy Row got its name. Others were private residences, each one large and imposing. The taxi pulled through a set of enormous gates, traveling down a long gravel driveway. The driver let out a low whistle.

I stared out the window, barely resisting the urge to panic.

The school was huge. The grounds were perfectly manicured; large trees dotted the landscape. Security buzzed around as students gathered in small groups, greeting each other and joking around. Ridiculously expensive cars, the like of which I had only seen in movies, passed by.

Thank god for my scholarship.

I stepped out of the cab on shaky legs, offering a quick smile for the driver before sliding three crisp twenty-pound notes into his hands. I rolled my two black bags up the drive, ignoring the group of boys lounging in front of the school’s wooden doors.

“Yo, Samir, check out the new girl.”

I turned. I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t resist. I came face-to-face with a short boy dressed in a Gucci baseball cap, dark jeans, and a sweater. He flashed me a cocky smile.

“American. Not my type,” an accented voice, smooth and rich, called out behind me.

I stiffened, turning to face the speaker. And froze. For one spectacularly awkward moment, all rational thought fled my brain, save one—

They didn’t make boys like this in South Carolina.

A boy stared back at me, lounging against the railing leading up to the school steps like he owned the place. He was average height and lean, dressed casually in jeans and a black sweater. His hair was an inky black, curling at the ends, his skin a deep tan the likes of which I’d never seen before. His eyes were a rich chocolate color, his lashes full and thick—a girl’s dream. His lips were lush, his mouth curved in an ironic tilt.

I couldn’t tear my gaze away.

He was hot, but more than that, he carried himself differently than anyone I’d ever met. He looked comfortable in his skin, in a way I couldn’t help but envy.

The boy—Samir, I guessed—flicked a cigarette butt onto the ground, a fancy black loafer rubbing it into the concrete. His gaze did a once-over, starting at my long brown hair, drifting down my body, lingering on my boobs—my eyes narrowed—before coming back to rest on my face. There was something appraising in his gaze—a flicker of interest—followed by a smile that had my heartbeat ratcheting up a notch.

For a moment he just stared, his expression taunting me, his eyes searching.

Something sparked in the air between us. Something electric that sent a thrill running through my body.

All it had taken was one look. This one was pure lust and desire—sex on a stick, as my friend Jo would say.

He flashed me another cocky smile. That smile was lethal. “Sorry.”

He looked anything but.

I wanted to say something clever, wanted to say something. But like always, words failed me. I’d never been good with guys—in high school I was prone to what I not so lovingly referred to as deer-in-the-headlights syndrome. If a guy I liked showed any interest in me, I would freeze, standing there awkwardly, all clever thought evaporated. It was a spectacularly effective way to ensure I never had a boyfriend.

I wasn’t shy—I could talk to adults, other girls, no problem. I was even okay with guys. But guys I liked?

Epic fail.

I stood there, pinned by the weight of his hot gaze and all that swagger. I literally could not push the words out of my mouth. I looked away, painfully aware of how flushed I must be. Get me out of here, now.

His laughter, warm and smooth, filled the space behind me.

I walked into the school on shaky legs, cursing my rocky start. But as soon as I stepped into the entryway, nerves gave way to awe. The building was incredible. The walls and ceiling were wooden, symbols and characters carved in patterns on the ceiling. The floor was some sort of stone.

A woman at the front desk greeted me with a smile. “Welcome to the International School. We’re so glad to have you joining our family. Name, please.”

Her accent was difficult to place, not the traditional British accent I expected but something foreign and lyrical.

“Maggie Carpenter.”

“Nice to meet you, Maggie. I’m Mrs. Fox. I’m in charge of Residence Life. My staff and I will be responsible for your dorm room and for getting you settled into your new home here.” She thumbed through a stack of blue folders before pulling one out of the pile. “Here you go. The dorm rooms are split up by gender. Boys are in the east wing. Girls are in the west wing. The rooms are large enough to sleep three. You’ll find the code to get into your room in this folder along with your schedule. If you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to come to my office. It’s on the map.”

I took the folder from Mrs. Fox’s hands, struggling to keep the instructions straight through the haze of jet lag. I headed toward the stairs, moving through the crowd of students. At the end of the hallway, I stared up at the narrow staircase in front of me.

“Need some help?”

A cute, tall blond boy with a British accent smiled at me. He wore a blue polo shirt with the words Residence Life stitched on the front.

I hesitated. “No thanks. I can manage on my own.”

“Are you sure? Trust me, these steps are pretty intense.” He peered over at the sheet of paper in my hand. “And you’re on the third floor? That’s actually four floors up.”

“Huh?”

“Four floors. Not three. In London the main floor is considered the ground floor and the next floor up is the first floor. It’s different from how you do things in America.” He grinned. “Your accent sort of gave it away,” he offered by way of explanation. He reached out, grabbing the handles of my bags. “Come on. I’ll help you get to your room. I’m George.”

I followed him up the stairs. “Thanks. I’m Maggie.”

“Nice to meet you, Maggie. Where are you from?”

“South Carolina.”

His brow wrinkled for a moment. “Is that near New York? I’ve been there.”

I grinned. “Unfortunately it’s light years away from New York. It’s in the Southern part of the U.S. There’s not exactly a lot to do there.”

“I’m from Cornwall. Trust me, I get that.”

I followed George up another flight of stairs, struggling to keep up with him. I couldn’t stop gawking at my surroundings. I’d seen some pictures of the school online, but I’d figured those were the best shots. I hadn’t expected it to actually live up to the advertising. The place looked like a museum.

“So who are your roommates?”

I stared down at the piece of paper clutched in my hand, stumbling over the names. Apparently the school wasn’t joking when they advertised a diverse student body. “Umm, Noora Bader and Fleur Marceaux.”

George turned around, a strange expression on his face. His voice sounded like a strangled laugh. “Did you say Fleur Marceaux?”

I nodded.

This time he did laugh, the sound filling the narrow stairway. “Good luck with that one.”

Chapter 2

George dropped my bags off at the front of a long hallway marked by a number of heavy doors.

“This is as far as I go.”

“Do you turn into a pumpkin past this point or something?”

He laughed. “No. But your roommate is number one on Residence Life’s hit list.”

Oh, god. “She can’t be that bad. Please tell me she’s not that bad.”

“Oh, she’s worse. We were in the same class last year. Trust me, I know.”

I never considered they would put me with someone older. “Worse, how?”

George grinned. “We call her the Ice Queen.”

I groaned.

“Apparently she used to model before coming to school. She was in a French rap video or something. Thinks she’s better than everyone else and isn’t afraid to let them know it.”

“Awesome. What about Noora?”

“I don’t know her. She must be a freshman.”

“Why don’t they put all the sophomores together?”

“Because none of the sophomores would have Fleur as a roommate. She was supposed to have a single but something fell through. She’ll probably be even more pissed off now.”

Fabulous.

“Look, if you want to apply for a roommate change, come by our office. We’re on the ground floor.”

I smiled weakly, mentally already racing to the office. “Thanks.”

I walked down the hall, dread filling me as I searched for room 301. I stopped in front of a door with three name tags on it. I looked down at the room code on the piece of paper, struggling to punch in the numbers on the little metal keypad. I turned the knob. Nothing. I stared back at the numbers.

Three tries later I was in.

I swung open the door, dragging my first bag over the threshold, stopping short at the sight of the room that was to be my home for the next year. It was small. Ridiculously small. Everything was pretty basic, three small beds, three wardrobes, three desks…and two big windows. I walked over, peering out at the view of Hyde Park. The lush green trees, the expanse of grass, the heavy iron gates—the magic of it all—made up for everything else.

I spent the next hour unpacking my suitcases, hanging clothes up in the tiny wooden wardrobe the school provided. Thankfully I was the first one to arrive. I set a few things out—my favorite books, a few mementos from home, pictures with friends.

The sound of the door opening startled me.

“Hi.”

A girl stood in the doorway, bags on her shoulders. Her hair was covered by a gorgeous purple silk scarf.

“Please tell me this is the right place.”

“I’m Maggie. Are you Noora?”

She waved with her free hand. “Nice to meet you.”

I grinned. “Nice to meet you, too.”

She dropped her bags down on the empty bed. “Is this it?”

“Yeah. Hard to believe they mean for three of us to live here, isn’t it?”

“Have you met the other girl?”

“I haven’t. I heard she’s a sophomore, though.” I didn’t mention the rest.

“Are you a freshman?” Noora asked.

“Yep.”

“Me, too.”

“Nice. Where are you from?”

“Oman.”

Way more glamorous than South Carolina. We chatted for a few more minutes, talking about our backgrounds. I liked her immediately; she was so friendly and outgoing, it was impossible not to. If Fleur was the Ice Queen, Noora was her polar opposite. I spent an hour helping Noora unpack before she left the room to go visit with a friend from home. Still no sign of my third roommate. Maybe she wouldn’t ever show up.

A girl could dream.

As soon as Noora left, I called my grandmother. It was early morning in the U.S., but she’d always been an early riser.

“How are you settling in?”

A wave of homesickness rushed over me at the sound of her voice. I even missed the Southern accent I’d worked so hard to erase from my own. I leaned back against my bed, tucking my knees against my chest.

“It’s going. It’s still early, though.”

“Have you made any friends?”

“The people seem nice so far.” I didn’t mention Fleur. My grandmother worried enough as it was.

“Have you been getting enough to eat?” She was always trying to fatten me up.

I grinned. “I promise I’m going to go get lunch soon. Although I bet the food won’t be anywhere near as good as yours.”

Ever since my mom left, my grandparents had raised me. They were my parents more than my biological ones were. And still—

Not quite the same.

“Have you heard from Dad?”

“Sorry, honey. I haven’t.”

I pushed down the familiar hurt that rose in my throat, forcing the words out. “Do you know where he is now?”

“Somewhere in the Middle East, I think. You know how these things are, honey. He can’t say where.”

“When do you think he’ll be back?”

“Hopefully by Christmas. He said he might be able to come home this year. We could spend Christmas together again.”

I hadn’t spent a Christmas with my dad in at least three years. But I didn’t want to disappoint her. He did enough of that.

“That sounds great, Grandma.”

We talked for a few more minutes before I hung up the call, tears welling up in my eyes. We’d never been apart for more than a day or two. I wiped at my face, surprised by the emotion filling me.

For a moment I just sat there, wallowing. I felt disgusting. I’d been traveling for fifteen hours and jet lag was creeping up on me. I needed a shower. I grabbed a towel and my bath stuff, heading for the door. The school had communal bathrooms on each floor—thankfully divided by gender. It was one of the things I had been dreading about dorm life. I wasn’t exactly a get naked in front of everyone kind of girl.

The bathroom, like my dorm room, was a bit of a disappointment. Definitely keeping my flip-flops on for this one.

I settled into the shower just as the first tears began to fall.

* * *

It felt weird walking back to my room in just a towel, but the only places to change in the bathroom were fairly public. This seemed like the lesser of two evils. I clutched the top of the terry cloth with a tight fist. At least I felt a little more human after my shower.

Luckily the floor was still pretty empty as I padded down the hall. This was the first day students could move into the dorms but school didn’t start for a few days. I’d come early to get the lay of the land and learn my way around London. I stopped in front of my door, shifting my bath caddy to the other hand so I could punch in the code. This time I got in on the first try.

Shutting the door behind me, I set down my bath stuff and grabbed the clothes I’d left on the bed. Then I unwrapped the towel from my body, letting it drop to the floor.

“I was wrong. You’re definitely my type.”

I whirled around in shock at the sound of that voice, smooth and teasing, my gaze colliding with the boy from the steps—

And then his gaze traveled lower, and he wasn’t looking at my eyes anymore.

Chapter 3

For a moment I couldn’t move. I just stood there, gaping at him, convinced this was some sort of nightmare I would eventually wake from.

I blinked.

Still there.

Samir lay sprawled on the empty bed—Fleur’s bed—his hands behind his head, his ankles crossed. He looked perfectly comfortable, lazy even—except for his eyes. His eyes blazed as they explored my naked body—starting at my breasts, roaming lower…

His gaze lingered like a caress over my bare skin, leaving a flash of heat in its wake.

I shrieked.

Lunging to grab the towel from the floor, I wrapped it hastily around my body, as if its mere presence was enough to erase my nakedness from his memory. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He didn’t answer me. Instead his eyes lifted back to mine, slowly, his lips quirking.

“What is wrong with you?” I snapped. My cheeks reddened. Hell, I blushed everywhere. “Are you some kind of perv or something?”

He laughed, the sound rich, filling the dorm room. It should be illegal to laugh like that. “That’s one I haven’t been called before.”

“Well, maybe you should be. Why the hell are you spying on me?”

He grinned. “I wasn’t spying. I was waiting for someone. The show was just an added bonus. One I thoroughly enjoyed, by the way”

I crossed my arms over my chest. I wanted to die. More accurately, I wanted him to die.

Samir laughed again, the sound sending a flutter through my body.

I needed to put on clothes—sweatpants, preferably, and a parka.

“I’m pretty sure I’m going to be enjoying this little memory for a while.” He rose from the bed, his body uncoiling, the move graceful and unhurried. He had style, I’d give him that.

I expected him to walk out the door, but instead he moved toward me, each step bringing a new set of nerves and anticipation.

“What are you doing?” I stumbled over the words, my voice coming out as a squeak.

This had to be a dream.

His gaze never left mine. I wanted to look away, wanted to turn around. I wanted to bolt, but something kept me in place.

My feet were rooted to the floor.

“What are you doing?” I repeated when he stopped inches away from me, close enough that the scent of his cologne teased me. He was taller than I’d originally thought, forcing me to tilt my head up to meet his gaze.

He reached out, his finger grazing my collarbone. The touch of his hand against my bare skin sent a shiver through me. No one had ever touched me like this. I sighed, the sound filling the room. He froze, his finger hovering over my flesh. I opened my mouth to say something—to push him away—but I came up blank. All of my thoughts were focused on the point where his finger hovered over me, mesmerized by the sight of his skin against mine, of the possibility of that hand dipping lower…

“Samir!”

The voice broke me out of my stupor. I whirled around, staring at the door.

A girl stared back at me through narrowed eyes and a pissed-off expression. She was tall. Way taller than me. Her thin body was encased in an outfit that looked like it belonged in a magazine. Shiny brown hair and boxy bangs framed a slender face with high cheekbones. One perfectly shaped eyebrow arched at the sight of me. There was only one person it could be—

I’d never seen a French rap video, but I could definitely imagine her in one.

She brushed past me, her eyes only for Samir. He didn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed. They hugged in a tangle of limbs, my presence forgotten.

This time I did bolt. I grabbed my clothes, heading for the door. Hell, at this point changing in the middle of the hall was preferable to spending another minute in their presence.

My roommate’s boyfriend was the hottest guy I had ever seen.

And he’d just seen me naked.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later I was fully dressed but no less flustered. I hovered outside the room, hoping I’d given them enough time to go somewhere else. Anywhere else. I would have stayed out longer, but I was starving and my wallet was sitting on top of my desk. I punched in the code, my hand getting ready to turn the knob when the door swung open.

I stared up into Fleur’s perfect face.

“Let me guess, you’re one of my roommates.” Her voice had a heavy French accent; her hand fisted on her hip. The words escaped in a bored drawl, hinting at some irony in us being roommates.

“I’m Maggie. Maggie Carpenter.”

She turned her back to me.

“American. Of course.”

So much for a warm welcome. At least I’d been forewarned.

“The rooms suck,” Fleur called out. I could hear a note of satisfaction in her voice. “The American kids always have a hard time adjusting. Especially if they haven’t been to Europe before. They say everything in the U.S. is bigger.”

I stiffened, the insult unmistakable.

A burst of French came from the other side of the room.

He was still there.

“Don’t poke the new girl, Fleur.” Samir’s voice filled the room, speaking English now. He winked at me.

Of course they were a couple. They were both so beautiful and exotic-looking, like something out of a magazine. All I could do was stand there with my stupid deer-in-the-headlights expression, staring back at them.

It was official. I had the worst roommate ever.

* * *

For a school as expensive as the International School, the dining hall was a bit of a disappointment. Like the dorm rooms, it was small. One wall boasted a bunch of silver tubs full of food, heated under fluorescent lights. A stack of plastic trays sat in front of the line of food.

“Go with the curry. Trust me, it’s the only thing remotely edible.”

I turned to the girl next to me—a tall black girl with long black hair. Gorgeous blue beaded earrings hung from her ears, a matching silver-and-blue scarf wrapped around her neck.

“Thanks for the advice.”

“No problem. I’m Mya. Are you new?”

“I’m Maggie. I’m a freshman.”

“Welcome. American?”

I grimaced. It had to be the accent giving me away. “Yeah.” Or my outfit. I stared down at my jeans and flip-flops, wishing I’d put something more glamorous on.

“Don’t worry. There are lots of Americans here.” She gave me a friendly smile, one of the first genuine ones I’d received since I arrived. “This is probably a bit of a culture shock.”

“It’s different,” I hedged. “Where are you from?”

“Nigeria.”

Wow.

“That’s pretty cool.”

She shrugged. “It’s nice. London’s better, though. We spend most of the year here. My dad works at the Nigerian embassy.” She gestured toward one of the empty tables. “Do you want to sit together?”

I had been courting visions of having to sit by myself at lunch, with only a book for company. “That would be great, thanks.”

I followed Mya to one of the tables, sliding into the chair across from hers. “Have most students arrived yet? It seems kind of empty.”

“Most probably have, but there are always the ones who push it right up to the last minute. Not everyone lives on campus or eats in the dining hall, either. A lot of students have their own flats and do their own things. It kind of adds up to a weird mix. We’re a small school, but there are still a bunch of different cliques.”

Great, it was high school all over again.

From the other side of the partition, I heard the sound of French. I turned in my seat, a groan escaping my lips. Fleur walked in, Samir trailing behind her.

“Fabulous.”

Mya followed my gaze until she settled on Fleur. Her lips quirked. “Ahh, I see you’ve met the reigning queen.”

“She’s my roommate.” I skewered a piece of chicken with my fork. And her boyfriend knows what I look like without my clothes on.

Mya’s eyes widened. “You’re going to have your hands full.”

“Believe me, I’m starting to figure that out.”

I had to ask. I ducked my head, hoping I wasn’t turning bright red. “What’s the deal with that guy? Samir, right? He was in our room earlier.”

“You have had a busy morning. That’s Samir Khouri. He’s Lebanese. At least his dad is. He’s a politician back in Lebanon. His mom’s French or something.”

“He seems like an asshole,” I muttered.

She laughed. “Yeah, you’re not far off the mark with that one.”

“Hi, Mya.”

My head jerked up at the sound of Fleur’s voice.

“Hi.”

“Are you going to the party tomorrow night?” Fleur asked, completely ignoring me.

Mya grinned. “I never miss a boat party.”

Fleur tossed her light brown hair back over her shoulder. “A bunch of us are going out after if you want to come.”

“I might. Thanks.”

Fleur nodded, not even bothering to glance my way, her heels clipping on the wood floor as she walked away.

“Are you guys friends or something?”

Mya shrugged, tearing off a piece of bread from her plate. “Not really. I would call us acquaintances that occasionally hang out. We went to boarding school together in Switzerland for a few years.”

Of course they did.

“So about that party Fleur mentioned. You’re going, right?” Mya asked.

“I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it, really.”

“You have to go. The boat party is the start of the semester. Everyone will be there. The school rents a boat on the Thames. You can’t miss it—it’s a great way to get to know people and an excuse to look fabulous.”

“I don’t know. I don’t have anything to wear.” Not to mention the fact that I wasn’t exactly the party type. In high school I hadn’t been a big partier. Still—this was college and I was living in one of the most glamorous cities in the world.

“You’re coming. I can’t allow you to miss your first boat party. Besides, if you need an outfit, you definitely came to the right place. We’re going shopping.”

* * *

She hadn’t been kidding about the shopping. Thanks to Mya, I was now the proud owner of the world’s skimpiest dress. It was hot-pink and made of some sort of stretchy fabric. It barely covered my now highly enhanced boobs, courtesy of Mya’s padded bra suggestion. The hemline fell just below my butt. High heels completed the look.

I ran a brush through my long brown hair, wishing it did more than just lie flat and straight over my shoulders. I had wanted to wear my hair up, but Mya said the neckline of the dress looked better with it down. I figured her advice was worth following.

In high school, my clothes had been cute. My grandparents didn’t believe in spending a ton of money, but we had a decent selection at some of the discount stores. I had always been able to make do.

Here I was totally out of my element.

Tonight Fleur had left for the party dressed in a skintight white minidress I could have fit maybe one thigh in. The dress looked like something out of a magazine. So did Fleur, for that matter.

A knock sounded at the door.

I stumbled over in my high heels. Mya greeted me on the other side in a gorgeous red dress.

She whistled. “Girl, you look hot. My friend Michael’s going to give us a ride. You’ll like him. He’s American, too.”

Despite the school’s advertisement that a large part of the student body was from the U.S., I hadn’t actually met any other Americans. “Sounds good to me.”

I followed Mya out, stumbling slightly on the stairs. “Shit.”

“You okay?”

“It’s the heels.”

We walked out to the front of the building, where a guy leaning casually against a black SUV waved to Mya. He walked up to her, pressing a swift kiss on each cheek before turning to me.

“I’m Michael.”

“Maggie.”

He grinned. “Where are you from, Maggie?”

“South Carolina.”

“A Southern girl. Nice. I’m from Connecticut.”

He was cute—sandy blond hair and green eyes. He was dressed in a collared shirt and dark jeans. He was exactly the kind of guy I would have liked back home.

“You girls look great tonight.”

I fought off the blush. “Thanks.”

We followed him to the SUV.

Mya grabbed my arm before we slid into the backseat. “He’s gay,” she whispered. “I didn’t want you to get a crush on him or something. But he’s a great guy and I thought you guys might get along. You’ll learn early on, there are a lot of fake people here. Michael’s as real as they come.”

“Thanks for the heads-up.”

Inside the car was even nicer-looking, the interior a combination of leather and wood. Techno music played from the speakers.

I couldn’t help but feel like Cinderella on my way to the ball.

Chapter 4

The boat was packed, students crowding around the bar area and filling the dance floor. The DJ played some song I’d never heard before. The kids on the dance floor were going crazy, moving their bodies to the beat of the music. Tables lined the walls of the main part of the boat. In one corner a guy climbed on top of the table, spraying the dancing crowd with a bottle of champagne.

Mya nudged me. “Those are the guys from the Gulf.” I stared blankly back at her. “The Middle East,” she explained. “There are a ton of them here and they party like crazy. They drink Cristal and drive Ferraris and make little effort to go to class. Piece of advice? Avoid them like the plague. They come to London and screw around with girls they’ll never take seriously. They like to show off, and for the most part they aren’t bad guys—they just aren’t boyfriend material.”

I studied the kid spraying the champagne. Got it, no Arabs. They hardly seemed like my type anyway. Their cars probably cost more than the house I had grown up in.

“So who is datable here?”

Mya’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Good question. And a tough one to answer. Most of the guys at school you can rule out straightaway. At a school this small, everyone talks. Besides, with such a small dating pool things can get a bit incestuous.”

“Ladies, anyone care to join me for a drink?” Michael stood behind us, a bottle of champagne in hand.

Mya grinned. “You got the good stuff. Nice.” She turned to me. “Do you like champagne?”

I had no idea. Being able to drink legally as a college freshman had never seemed like an option. But here I was. “Sure.”

Michael handed the bottle off to one of the girls serving drinks at the tables. She wore black shorts so short I doubted she could bend over and a skimpy black tank top barely constraining her boobs. Compared to her I looked like I should be going to church.

Michael guided us over to a little table pushed up against the wall with a small reserved sign.

“Michael always buys tables,” Mya explained, sinking down next to me.

“What do you mean he buys tables?”

“See, this way we have bottle service and don’t have to go to the bar. Instead you can sit at the table all night if you want and the waitresses serve you from here.”

I nodded as though it made sense, even though I totally didn’t get it. What was such a big deal about having to walk over to the bar?

The waitress opened the bottle of champagne, filling up three glasses. The frothy golden liquid bubbled over the top.

“A toast!” Michael announced, grabbing the first glass and raising it high in the air. Mya and I followed suit. “To the start of another fabulous year!”

Our glasses clinked together. I took a sip of my drink, the bubbles exploding in my mouth. The DJ switched songs and loud hip-hop music came over the speakers.

“I love this song!” Mya grabbed my hand. “Come on, we have to go dance.”

I wanted to tell her no because the truth was, I wasn’t even sure I could dance. I had tried a few times at family weddings, but that kind of dancing looked nothing like this—bodies gyrating to the music in a seductive beat. I followed Mya out to the dance floor, looking around, trying to figure out what to do. Finally I began moving my hips, wishing desperately that I’d had more of a social life in high school to prepare me for all of this.

Mya jerked her head in my direction. “Your roommate’s here,” she yelled over the pumping beat.

I turned.

Fleur strolled into the party, a group of guys in tow. Samir walked next to her, the perfect counterpart to her beauty. She made her way through the crowd like Moses parting the proverbial Red Sea, all eyes on her. Well, except for mine.

Tonight he wore dark jeans, an expensive-looking black jacket and a gray collared shirt. I hadn’t thought it possible for him to look even better than the day on the steps.

I was wrong.

He exchanged handshakes with a few guys before heading over to the table next to Michael’s. He moved confidently, as if he owned the room. Suddenly Samir’s head turned, his gaze meeting mine. My heart began to pound.

His stare pierced me.

Was he imagining me naked right now?

I reddened instantly.

Samir’s eyes widened, his lips twitching. The look he gave me was long and languid, surprise flickering in his deep brown eyes. Surprise, followed by clear male appreciation. With each second that passed it felt as though he was stripping away my clothes, layer by layer, baring my body before him. I felt the full weight of his stare, each glance leaving a trail of heat in its wake. It was as if his hands were running over my skin—molding, shaping my curves, caressing my skin.

No one had ever looked at me like that before.

Fleur tugged on Samir’s arm. He ignored her. She tugged again—saying something to him now—and he turned his attention away from me.

“They’ll probably go out later if you want to come.”

I forced my gaze back to Mya. She shot me a curious look.

“That whole group is pretty big on the club scene,” she explained. “They’re going to this club called Babel tonight. It’s in Mayfair and it’s amazing.”

I struggled to calm the nerves exploding inside me. “Mayfair?”

“It’s one of the nicest neighborhoods in London.” She grinned. “In that dress you’ll fit right in.”

* * *

If not for the massive throng of people standing on the sidewalk, dressed in an assortment of skimpy dresses and expensive jackets, I would never have pegged this as one of London’s hottest nightclubs. Sure, it was just around the corner from the Ritz, a hotel so glitzy from the outside I was fairly sure it was for the superrich. But still, in comparison to the Ritz, which was lit up like a Christmas tree, the exterior of Babel was nothing like I expected.

You couldn’t even get into the club from the street. Instead, the street level led down a flight of concrete stairs that looked hazardous to my health, especially given my ridiculous high heels. A gray door remained firmly shut at the bottom of the stairs, while a burly guy in a black dress shirt and trousers stood guard in front. Another guy dressed in a similar black outfit and a skinny blonde girl with a clipboard in her hand stood at the top of the stairs. Thirty or so people stood in line behind a red velvet rope blocking the entry to the steps. The girl with the clipboard stood next to the rope.

“How long is it going to take to get in?”

Mya grinned. “Watch this.”

Samir brushed past us, walking to the front of our group.

There were ten of us. Best case, some people would get in before others. I didn’t have to guess where I would be in the line.

But instead of heading toward the back of the line, Samir walked up to the girl with the clipboard. He gave her the same air kiss on both cheeks everyone seemed to use in this city. She smiled back at him before reaching down and unclipping the velvet rope. Samir turned back, waving everyone through. One by one, we started filing behind him, descending the stairs without a second glance for the people standing on the pavement.

“What just happened?”

“Samir’s a member at all the best clubs in London. He can always get people in.” Mya nudged me forward. “That’s why everyone puts up with the fact that he’s also a bit of an ass.”

“But what about all those people? How long have they been waiting in line?”

Mya shrugged. “Probably an hour or so.”

“That doesn’t seem fair.” I shuffled forward, grabbing the metal railing as I made my way down the steps.

“Welcome to London.”

* * *

I felt as though I was entering a secret world—one open only to the wealthy and glamorous.

The club wasn’t big; the compact space was littered with tables, most already full. There wasn’t really a designated dance floor. Rather, people grouped together, dancing in any and all empty spaces. A DJ stood in the corner mixing while a giant video screen played strange patterns of swirling bright colors. I figured it was the kind of thing you enjoyed if you were on something. Otherwise it just looked strange. The main focal point, though, was the bar. It covered nearly the entire back wall, its surface lit up in crazy light patterns, matching the colors on the video screen. Girls danced on top of it.

I had felt out of place at the boat party. Here I felt as if I had walked into Oz.

Samir led the group over to a small table, everyone cramming in together. I slid in between Michael and Mya. Immediately, a waitress came over with the biggest bottle of champagne I’d ever seen. Things that looked like sparklers exploded from the top of the bottle. No one else seemed to think there was anything unusual about the pyrotechnics or the giant-size bottle of champagne.

Right. No big deal.

“I think I’m going to head to the bar for a second,” I whispered to Mya.

I got up from the table, wondering for the millionth time what I was doing with them. Everyone acted like Samir was footing the bill, but I couldn’t help but feel guilty that he barely knew me and yet he was buying me champagne. I figured the mini fireworks display, which no one else at the club had gotten, meant something special. And by special I meant expensive.

I pushed my way through the crowd of people, making my way up to the bar. I paused for a moment, trying to find the biggest gap of space between the dancing girls. Somehow the idea of ordering a drink with some girl’s butt in my face just felt wrong. The guys probably saw it as an added bonus.

I leaned across the bar top, struggling to catch the bartender’s attention. There were at least twelve other girls trying to do the same. My gaze caught with a guy standing next to me at the bar. His arm grazed mine, his hips bumping against me as the crowd pushed us together. He grinned.

“Hi.”

Hello.

He was tall, really tall, with a gorgeous head of dark, chocolate-brown hair. He was dressed in what was clearly the standard uniform of a pair of dark jeans and a suit jacket with a collared shirt underneath.

He wore it well. Really well.

He grinned at me. “Can I buy you a drink?”

There was no way I was ordering a soda now. For a moment I felt the familiar rush of nerves and fear filling me. But whether it was the dress or the champagne, this time I didn’t freeze. Instead I managed a nervous smile and prayed the club’s darkness masked any flush that might cover my cheeks. “Sure. Thanks.”

He signaled to the bartender. “What do you want?”

I hesitated for a beat. “Cosmopolitan.”

He ordered for me, his accent somewhere between Prince William and Hugh Grant.

The guy turned his attention back to me. “I’m Hugh.”

“Maggie.”

I took his outstretched hand, fitting my palm into his.

“You’re American. Nice.” His smile widened. “Welcome to London.” He released my hand, his fingers stroking the inside of my wrist. “Are you enjoying it?”

I grinned. “I am now.”

His smile stretched even further and my heartbeat sped up.

OMG, I was flirting and it was actually working.

“How long have you been here?”

“Just a few days.”

He flashed me a grin. “So you’re fresh off the boat,” he teased.

“You could say that.” There was a rhythm to this—the flirting. I was finally catching my stride.

“What brings you to London? Work?” He leaned against the bar, propping his arm against the frosted glass, his body dominating the space around him. Colors lit up beneath the bar top, alternately flashing pink and red.

This could not possibly be my life.

“I’m doing a master’s.” The lie flew out of my mouth before I could stop it. For some reason I didn’t want to tell this guy I was only nineteen.

The bartender handed me the Cosmo. I took a sip, the tart drink exploding in my mouth. Yum. I could definitely get used to this.

“So what do you do?” I asked, leaning my elbows against the bar top, letting my body do some of the talking. I may have been inexperienced, but I wasn’t dumb.

“I own a bar in Chelsea. Cobalt.” He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a business card. He handed it to me, our fingers grazing as he slipped the card into my hand. His fingers lingered on mine for a beat. He had really nice hands—his nails were trimmed neatly; his fingers long and tapered. He grinned again, two rows of perfect white teeth flashing back at me. Whoever said the British had terrible teeth definitely hadn’t met this guy. “You should come by sometime, bring some of your friends. I’d love to take care of you.”

I blushed, the flirtation behind his words unmistakable. “Thanks.” The grin slipped out before I realized it. “I think I’d like to be taken care of.”

His eyes widened slightly.

The alcohol was definitely running my mouth tonight.

He leaned in closer. His lips grazed my cheek, hovering near my ear. A shiver ran down my spine. He smelled good. Really, really good. Like citrus and pine and something smoky I couldn’t quite identify. He leaned back, that same smile still on his face. “I have to head out, I was just settling up my tab.” The bartender walked over, handing Hugh a platinum credit card. “It was nice to meet you, Maggie from America.”

I grinned, unable to keep the silly expression off of my face. “It was nice to meet you, too.”

“Come and see me sometime.”

When he was just a dot in the sea of dancers, I stared down at the card in my hand. Hugh Mitchell. Cobalt. Owner.

I turned back to the bartender, draining the last of my drink. “Can I have another?”

Chapter 5

I was drunk. Really, really drunk. I’d never been drunk before, but I still recognized it when I saw it.

And I was a hot mess.

“Are you sure you’re all right? You’re swaying.”

I struggled to focus on Mya. Her dress sparkled back at me. “I’m great.” At least that’s what I meant to say. The words came out a bit jumbled as I tripped over my tongue.

“I can’t find a waitress. Sit down and I’ll get you water from the bar.”

I sank down on one of the small leather stools, grateful for the break on my feet, tugging on the hem of my dress in a desperate attempt to pull it down.

Not so much.

We’d been here for a couple hours now and the group had scattered, leaving me alone in a sea of drunken dancers and couples practically having sex in public. This place was a couple steps away from an orgy.

“Nice dress.”

Speak of the devil…

Samir appeared seemingly out of thin air, sinking down next to me at the table. I groaned. He was hard enough to handle when I was sober. I looked straight ahead, ignoring him. At least I tried to. He shifted and our legs brushed against each other. For a moment neither one of us spoke. Suddenly the room started to sway again.

“Shit.”

Samir studied me for a moment. “Too much to drink?”

I uncrossed my legs, struggling to stand. It was just the two of us at the table. Last place I wanted to be. He reached out a hand to steady me. I batted it away. “Leave me alone.”

His smile widened. “You’re a little fiery when you drink.”

I glared at him. “Go away.”

“It’s my table,” he countered smoothly.

“Fine. Then I’ll go away.” I turned –and he snagged my wrist.

“Come dance with me.”

“I don’t feel like dancing.”

“You’re already swaying, you’re halfway there,” he teased.

“Not funny.”

“You smiled a bit,” he countered.

God, he had a beautiful mouth.

“I did not.”

“Yeah, you did. See, right there, that’s a smile.” His finger reached out, brushing against my lips as if to prove his point. He pressed down gently, tracing the shape of my bottom lip. His eyes darkened.

I wanted to lick his finger, to draw it into my mouth, to suck on it. I jerked back. Warmth flooded me. All over.

What the hell was wrong with me?

“It’s not a smile.”

“If you say so.” He winked.

My thoughts were a muddled, jumbled mess, confusion warring with desire. How could he hit on his girlfriend’s roommate? Was he an idiot? Although if I were Fleur, I would have been all over Samir in a club like this.

Literally as well as figuratively.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a giant pain in the ass?” I blurted out.

“All the time. Come on.” Samir held out his hand.

I swayed forward, teetering on the tiny heels. “Crap.” I grabbed Samir’s hand, more for balance than anything else.

“Dance with me.”

I lifted my chin a notch, meeting his gaze. I felt as though we were playing chess and he was five steps ahead of me. I could blame the alcohol but he was definitely a little drunk too. I still couldn’t keep up with him.

“Dance with me,” he repeated. His dark eyes sparked with amusement—and something else, something infinitely more dangerous. For a moment everything seemed to stand still. We stared at each other, our hands still joined. His palm moved over mine, his fingers curving, linking with mine.

My heart pounded furiously in my chest. I didn’t trust my voice; I merely nodded, letting him have his way. He wasn’t the kind of guy you said no to. Or maybe I just didn’t want to.

Samir made a gap in the crowd, pulling me along with him. A techno song blared from the speakers. He began moving to the music, surprisingly graceful. I struggled to follow his lead. The boy had moves. It wasn’t hard to imagine other places he could put those moves to good use.

“You can dance.”

Samir laughed. “Don’t look so surprised.” He leaned in closer to me, his lips brushing against my ear, his arm wrapping around my waist to pull me closer to his body. “My mother used to make me take dance lessons.”

I giggled despite myself. “I can’t see that at all.”

“I was pretty good.” He glanced down at me. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

His hand traveled downward, hovering just at the small of my back. Through the dress’s thin material the heat of his skin pressed against me. His hand stayed there for a moment, its presence both reassuring and discomfiting. He began stroking my lower back, his movements slow and lazy, his fingers tracing patterns on my body. Each touch lit a fire within me.

The beat changed to a hip-hop song, couples moving closer together. I let Samir pull me toward him, enjoying myself too much to stop. His body was lean, but judging by the hard muscles pressing against me, he knew what to do with it. He moved against me, and suddenly everything stilled again.

His muscles weren’t the only part of him that was hard—

My body rocked against his, relishing the feel of his body pressed against mine. His hand slipped just an inch lower, hovering well below the small of my back. I opened my mouth to protest—

His lips moved toward my ear, rubbing against the curve and down to my earlobe. His teeth grazed the lobe with a little nip. I shivered. Those lips roamed down, tracing the curve of my jaw. He pressed soft kisses there, setting off a whole new wave of emotions within me. I was hot and achy all over, his face buried in the curve of my neck, his lips doing all sorts of naughty things to me.

I’d never done anything like this before, never lost control like this. I was logical, cautious when it counted. This was something else entirely.

Samir’s lips drifted to my cheek. I froze, no longer dancing, hovering on the brink of what would happen next. We stood there together, our bodies pressed against each other, unmoving.

Somehow I knew he was going to kiss me. I don’t know how I knew it was coming, but some instinct in me just knew. I blamed the champagne for the fact that I didn’t move away. Or maybe it was just my own curiosity. Or maybe it was the desire I saw reflected in his eyes.

Samir’s lips brushed against mine, soft at first. Teasing. Then more insistent, his tongue brushing against mine, licking into my mouth, bolder now, his mouth opening wider, the kiss deepening. It wasn’t anything like I expected for my first kiss. It was hot and reckless and completely unexpected. It only took me a beat to catch up before my mouth moved against his. I had no idea what to do, if I was even doing it right, but none of that seemed to matter anymore. Instead I just felt, giving myself over to his lips, his hands, his body. My needs.

His body still pressing against me, he maneuvered me through the crowd, his hands in my hair, his lips devouring mine. We bumped into people, neither one of us bothering to break apart. He sucked on my bottom lip, drawing it into his mouth, giving me soft little bites, following the motion with the soothing sweep of his tongue.

I moaned against his mouth. I wanted more. More kissing, more touching. More.

This was unfuckingbelievable.

The wall pressed against my back. My eyes fluttered open. Samir had guided me into a dark corner, just off the dance floor. His body blocked out most of the crowd, his lips made the rest of the club disappear. His hands were everywhere, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. Parts of my body I never knew could be sensitive tingled—the curve of my neck, my collarbone, the little spot behind my earlobe. I had no idea what I was doing but somewhere along the way, between the dancing and this, I’d learned the moves. He was good. Very, very good. And I never wanted him to stop.

His hands played with the neckline of my dress, his fingers trailing along my skin, dipping underneath the fabric. They hovered dangerously close to my breast.

And then suddenly he wasn’t touching me at all.

Samir broke apart from the kiss first. My eyes widened, staring at him in breathless anticipation, frustration flooding my body. My gaze drifted to a point just over his shoulder. An enormous guy dressed in a black T-shirt stood in front of us, scowling, his beefy arms crossed in front of his chest. He looked like a bouncer. I didn’t hear what Samir said to the guy, but money changed hands. The bouncer disappeared.

Samir turned back to me, his expression hooded, those eyes that just minutes ago were drunk with lust, now unreadable. I stared at Samir; pretty sure my expression nearly mirrored his. He stared back at me, something that might have been shock flashing across his face. It was there for only an instant before his cocky smile slipped back into place.

“Sorry. Got carried away.”

I couldn’t speak. Could barely think. Music pumped through the club. The pounding sound mimicked the mad thumping in my heart. A girl bumped into me. I stumbled forward. Samir reached out, catching me. “Want to go sit down?”

I nodded, my brain still running in circles, my body a mass of confusion. As soon as he pulled away from me it was like a bucket of cold water had been thrown over me. What had I just done—what had I nearly let him do—in public? The worst part? As horrified as I was that we’d even started making out, part of me was just as upset we’d stopped.

What the fuck?

Samir walked me back to the table, his arm around me keeping me from stumbling. Just that touch was enough to send another wave of desire running through me. I tried not to lean into the curve of his body.

“Please don’t tell anyone,” I blurted out, struggling to not freak out. I was the new girl. The last thing I needed was for Fleur to hate me more than she already did.

Making out with her boyfriend was likely a hanging offense.

“Promise,” I repeated, my tone desperate.

For a second something flickered in Samir’s eyes. But as quickly as it appeared, it was gone. “Sure. Have it your way.” He hesitated for a beat, his gaze running over me. “I’m going to go say hi to some friends at another table.” He placed a swift kiss on my cheek. “Thanks for the dance.” He winked. “And everything else.”

I watched him walk away, my jaw hanging open in shock. I somehow still couldn’t wrap my mind around what had just happened. My first kiss wasn’t supposed to be like this. I’d had it all planned out. I was supposed to go to Harvard, meet the guy at Harvard. He would be my first kiss, the guy I would have sex with for the first time, the guy I would eventually marry. Maybe it sounded naive, but I didn’t care. I had it all planned out. This had definitely not been in my plans.

I ran my fingers over my lips. They felt soft, swollen. My breasts felt sensitive, my nipples tight. My body felt as if it belonged to someone else. No one had ever touched me like that before. I’d never wanted anyone to.

“Where’d you go?”

I jerked my hand away from my lips. Mya stood in front of me, a bottle of water in her hand.

“Bathroom,” I lied. “I just needed to get away from the loud music and everything.”

“I think we’re about ready to go soon. Michael is gathering the group.”

I took the water from her, taking a long swig from the bottle. Mya plopped down next to me on one of the stools.

“Do you know where everyone else is?”

I wasn’t going to fess up to knowing anything about Samir’s whereabouts. “No idea.”

Mya groaned. “Well, I’m leaving in fifteen minutes regardless of who is ready to go. I’m exhausted and my feet are killing me.”

“Same.”

“You ladies had enough for the night?” Michael appeared in front of us.

I nodded, beyond relieved to see him. “Yeah, I’m pretty tired.”

“Come on, then. We can make our exit. The rest of the group can find their own way home.”

My hand clutched in his, I followed Michael out of the club. Mya trailed behind us, her hand pressed against my back. I turned my head to the right, my gaze drifting across the room to the tables pushed up against the far wall.

I couldn’t help it.

Samir sat at one of the tables, two blonde girls flanking him, his arms wrapped around their lithe bodies. His head jerked up and he met my gaze across the crowded room. Heat flared between us. I tore my gaze away.

So much for my first kiss.

Chapter 6

Firsts. There was something about the first day of school. Today felt like the start of everything, not just the start of classes. Today was the day I would finally get to take the classes I wanted to take, to focus on subjects I actually cared about rather than having to sit through boring biology classes and the like.

My inner nerd hummed with excitement.

I stood in front of my small wardrobe, desperately trying to decide what to wear. When I packed for London, my clothes had seemed decent enough. But after Saturday’s party I began to realize fashion was a serious business at the International School. And I had no idea how to play the game. These were the moments when I wished I had a mom.

“That really doesn’t go together.”

I gritted my teeth, not bothering to turn around and look at Fleur. “Gee, thanks. I hadn’t realized.”

Her hand reached out, thrusting something orange and pink in my line of sight. “Try this. It’ll help the outfit out.” Fleur paused. “Without it you look a little sad.”

I grabbed the scarf out of her hand. I had ten minutes to get to my classroom building. I couldn’t imagine anything worse than being late on the first day.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, wrapping the scarf around my neck. I stood back, studying my appearance in the mirror. She was right—it was better.

When I turned around, Fleur was gone.

“You look great,” Noora called out from her side of the room. “I like the dress.”

“Thanks. Do you have class this morning?”

She shook her head, her silk hijab swinging with the motion. “I have my first class in the afternoon. I’m just going to spend the morning reading a bit. What class are you headed to?”

I had my schedule memorized, printed out, and tucked in my planner in case I forgot. Introduction to International Relations, British Literature, History of Mathematics (yep, they were actually going to give me math credit for that one), Introduction to Political Science and Creative Writing.

“Intro to International Relations with Graves.”

Noora wrinkled her nose. “Have fun with that. It sounds like the kind of class that makes me glad I’m an Art major.”

It was the class I was most looking forward to. At the International School you didn’t declare your major until sophomore year, but I’d known I wanted to study IR since my sophomore year of high school.

I rushed out of the room, hurrying through the hall and down the stairs, weaving my way through the groups of students standing in the lobby. I left the building, trying to settle the nerves in my stomach. I had to make a good impression today. The International School was small; it was likely I would have the same teachers throughout my four years here. Being late was not an option.

King’s House was the main residence hall at the International School. The building housed most of the dorms along with the cafeteria, several staff offices and a common room that contained several leather couches, a large flat-screen TV and a pool table. The other residence building, Queen’s Hall, was a few streets over. Our classes were all held one street away from the main residence hall.

I made the trip in seven minutes, barely walking through the classroom door in time for class to start. I sneaked into the back of the room. The room was small, but filled with students. I counted about forty in all. There was only one empty seat.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

Samir lounged in his chair, his legs crossed at the ankles, right next to the only open chair. He grinned. “Miss me?”

“Hardly.” I rolled my eyes, sliding into the seat next to him. “Are you even supposed to be in this class? Aren’t you a sophomore?”

“Junior.”

My eyes narrowed. “Why are you in an intro class? What’s your major?”

He beamed at me. “IR.”

“Bullshit.”

He laughed. “I speak the truth.”

“You’re a junior and you’re just now taking Intro to IR? How is that even possible?”

“It used to be at eight. I don’t do morning classes.”

“You don’t do morning classes?” I didn’t bother to keep the incredulity out of my voice.

“I like to keep my mornings open…for other activities.” He winked at me.

I shook my head in amazement. “I can’t deal with this right now.”

“You love it.”

I laughed. He was so ridiculous I couldn’t even stand it. “Does this whole persona you’ve got going normally work for you?”

“All day…and night long.”

I mock shuddered. “I feel like I need to take a shower.”

He tossed me a wolfish grin. “I might be able to help you with that. After all, I know what you look like without a towel on. All that creamy white skin…”

My cheeks flamed. Please tell me we didn’t have a seating chart. No way could I handle this proximity to him for the rest of the semester.

“Okay, it looks like it’s time to start.” My head jerked up at the sound of our teacher’s voice. He stood at the front of the room—somehow I had completely missed his presence. “If you’re in here, then you’re supposed to be enrolled in Introduction to International Relations.” The professor, Dr. Abbott, a tall man with a British accent, paused for a moment. No one got up and left. “Good. Let’s begin.”

I spent the hour furiously scribbling down everything he said. International Relations—as the professor explained it—studied the relationships between countries. He walked us through introductory concepts, handing out the syllabus and going over his expectations for the class. For an hour he talked about some of the world’s major conflicts; it all sounded like a giant soap opera to me. Even Samir’s presence couldn’t distract me.

I was hooked.

Few people spoke in the first class; instead the professor just lectured while we all took notes. Well, some of us took notes. It was easy to tell the students who were really into the subject and the ones who wished they were anywhere else.

Samir didn’t bother picking up his pen.

“Good class,” Samir commented as class came to an end.

I tossed him a skeptical look. “Were you even paying attention?”

He grinned. “Can I help it if I was distracted by the great pen shortage? The suspense of whether you would run out of ink was way more compelling than anything Abbott had to say.”

I stared down at my desk. Four pens stared back at me.

Was that unusual? It seemed prudent to have back-ups. For my back-ups to have back-ups.

“There’s nothing wrong with being prepared.”

He grinned at me, an almost goofy grin that seemed totally at odds with his cocky persona. I waited for him to say something, waited for a joke that never came. Instead he just stared at me. Not the stare that made me feel like he’d seen me naked, but another stare. One that made me feel like he saw through me, one that felt impossibly more intimate.

We hovered in the doorway for a moment. Out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of Fleur leaving one of the other rooms. Guilt and nerves filled me. Time to move on.

“See you around,” I offered lamely before heading toward my next class.

Samir stood in the doorway for a moment and then he turned and walked off with Fleur.

* * *

By Friday I had somewhat settled into academic life at the International School. My Intro to IR class did have a seating chart, so I ended up stuck sitting next to Samir. Surprisingly, after the first day, he wasn’t so bad. He backed off and I kept repeating the same mantra over and over in my head—

He’s your roommate’s boyfriend.

My class schedule was full—fifteen credit hours—but for the most part, the classes were interesting. My professors were nice enough. Just like the student body, the faculty was a diverse group. I had five professors total, each from a different country.

I also had a ton of reading to do for the weekend.

After classes got out on Friday afternoon, I took the Tube down to Westminster. I was still learning the way the complicated system worked, trying to feel like a real Londoner. Luckily the color-coded lines helped a bit. I took the green line down a few stops from High Street Ken. When I left the station, I turned my head, struggling to get my bearings. Then I saw it.

The Houses of Parliament were one of the most awe-inspiring things I’d ever seen. They dominated the landscape, proud and strong. I crossed the street, standing in a grassy square opposite the buildings. I basked in the moment. This was the epicenter of history and politics. Greatness happened here. And somehow I was a part of it.

I hadn’t totally chosen the International School on a whim. When I received that horrid letter from Harvard, I panicked. I didn’t have a backup plan—not a good one, anyway. I had no desire to stay in the same town where I’d lived my whole life, feeling like I never quite fit in. I wanted a chance to do something different. If I couldn’t make one of my dreams happen, I wanted a chance at another one.

Ever since I was a kid I’d been fascinated by England. I couldn’t say for sure when the love affair started. Maybe it was all the pomp and majesty that came with the monarchy, so different from my quiet life in South Carolina. Or maybe it was the history or my romanticism, the love of books filled with dukes and earls. Whatever it was, London had been a dream, one I promised I would indulge when I graduated university and made something of myself.

Now, standing in front of Parliament, I felt the sense of accomplishment that had eluded me since my Harvard rejection. I was living my dream now.

Chapter 7

“So how is it? Are you homesick?”

I leaned back against my pillow, shifting the phone in my hand. My roommates were out for the day and it was the first time I had really had any privacy to call home. I talked to my grandparents before calling my best friend, Jo.

“It’s amazing. Even better than I thought it would be.”

“I’m so jealous.”

I grinned. “Whatever. You’re probably hanging out with all the frat guys at Carolina.”

“Okay, yeah, maybe I’ve been to a few parties.”

Jo was my oldest and closest friend. We met in the fifth grade when her mom forgot to pack her a lunch and I shared my pretzels with her. From that lunch we hit it off, despite the fact that we were an odd pairing. While I spent most of high school studying and focusing on Harvard, Jo spent her high school years partying with the football team.

“So how are the guys? Any hot British guys?”

I grinned. Trust Jo to get to the good stuff. “I did meet one.”

“Spill.”

I filled Jo in on the Hugh story, not in the least surprised by her excited squeals.

“Are you going to go to his bar?”

I hadn’t really thought about it. After everything that happened that night, Hugh hadn’t exactly been at the forefront of my mind.

“I don’t know.”

“Have you met anyone else? Have you kissed anyone yet?”

I blushed, grateful she couldn’t see my face. “Sort of.”

Jo shrieked into the phone. “Oh, my god, Maggie. I can’t believe I missed your first kiss. I need details on these things.”

I laughed. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’ve been a bad friend. I should have called you instantly and filled you in.”

“Well, you can make it up to me now. Spill. Now.”

There was no way to tell the story and not come across looking like a bit of a ho.

“It’s not what you think. The guy is kind of an ass.”

“So why did you kiss him?”

“It just sort of happened. I don’t know. We were both drinking a lot, and then we were dancing, and we kissed. It was just a random, one-time thing.”

“Was it good?”

I hesitated. So good I couldn’t stop thinking about it. “Yeah, it was.”

“Are you going to do it again?”

Only in the strangely erotic dreams I couldn’t seem to shake.

“Nope.”

There was a pause on the end of the line.

I sighed. “Fine. What?”

“I’m not saying anything.”

“I know you aren’t. I’ve also known you long enough to know that means something. So spill.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way—”

I laughed. “Well, that’s an encouraging start.”

“I just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy.”

“You do realize that making out with a random guy is the first spontaneous thing I’ve probably ever seen you do.”

“That’s not fair,” I protested. “I came to London. What was that if not spontaneous?”

“Okay, fine. You’re right. You going to London was a little spontaneous. But you have to admit, you weren’t really going outside of your comfort zone. You’ve been talking about London since we were kids.”

“And drunkenly making out with a random guy is now your definition of spontaneity?”

“For you? Yes.”

Silence filled the line. I thought back to the dreams I’d been having since the night Samir and I kissed at Babel. This shit was way more complicated than I expected it to be. “I don’t know how to handle him. He’s way out of my league.”

“Try.”

“And he’s dating my roommate.”

“YOU KISSED YOUR ROOMMATE’S BOYFRIEND?”

I winced. “Thanks, Jo. I don’t think they heard you in Lithuania. He kissed me. But yeah, pretty much. And she’s an überbitch, so I’m just waiting for this to get out and her to kill me. Not to mention the fact that I’ve probably broken like fifty girl codes.”

Jo sighed. “Oh, Mags. When you go in, you go all in.”

“Tell me about it.”

* * *

“So what’s on the agenda for tonight?” Mya leaned back in her chair, pushing a half-eaten plate of food away.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Want to watch a movie or something? I should probably get started on homework.”

Mya frowned at me. “It’s Friday night. We just got through our first week of school. We’re not staying in and watching a movie. And homework is definitely out of the question. My brain needs a break.” Her eyes lit up. “Let’s go to Cobalt.”

Apparently filling her in on meetin Hugh had been a mistake. “Absolutely not. No way.”

“Why not? You said you liked the guy. The least you could do is check out his bar.”

The idea of seeing Hugh again sent a little thrill down my spine. And a wave of nausea in my stomach. Showing up at Hugh’s bar required balls I just didn’t have.

“I don’t have anything to wear,” I bluffed.

“You can wear one of my dresses.”

I shot her a dubious expression. Mya was five-nine and built like a gazelle. I was more of the pony variety. I pushed the food around my plate. “I don’t know what to say to him. I feel silly just showing up.”

She rolled her eyes. “He wouldn’t have invited you if he wasn’t interested.”

“I can’t just go to some bar. What if we don’t get in?”

“Get in where?”

I turned around, surprised by the sound of Fleur’s voice. She stood over the table, her long hair pulled back in a high ponytail. She was dressed in workout clothes—a hot-pink stretchy top and fitted black pants. Trust Fleur to make going to the gym a fashion show.

“To this bar in Chelsea,” Mya answered, ignoring my dirty looks. “Cobalt. Have you heard of it?”

She shrugged. “Yeah, it’s a decent place. Who is going?”

“Me and Maggie.”

“We haven’t decided yet,” I corrected. As much as I didn’t want to go to Cobalt, I really didn’t want to go to Cobalt with Fleur.

Fleur sat down in the chair opposite mine, not bothering to wait for an invitation to join us. “Why Cobalt?”

She posed the question to Mya, ignoring me.

I shot Mya a look.

“Maggie met a guy at Babel. He owns Cobalt and invited her to stop in to say hi.” Mya wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Fleur’s gaze shifted to me, lingering on my face. Her eyes narrowed for a moment—I had no idea what she saw there but I couldn’t help but feel I’d been judged and found wanting.

“What are you going to wear?” There was just a hint of scorn in her voice.

“She’s going to borrow one of my dresses,” Mya volunteered. Her eyes lit up. “Why don’t you do her hair and makeup?”

Fleur shrugged. “Why not? I don’t have any plans tonight anyway.” Her voice trailed off and a frown crossed her face.

A boy, the likes of which I had only seen in movies, strolled in with a stunning brunette tucked against his side. He had similar coloring to Fleur’s, his dark hair and eyes suggesting some Greek or Italian heritage. For a moment his gaze traveled over the table, before it stopped, lingering on Fleur.

She stiffened, ducking her gaze. She pushed back from the table.

What was that about?

“Fine, we’ll meet at nine.”

I blinked. Did Fleur actually just make a plan to hang out with me? Part of me wanted to go. Part of me was still scared. Hugh had been cute—and he’d seemed a little interested in me. I didn’t want to spend my college years single. Besides Jo had a point. I needed to be more spontaneous, needed to put myself out there more. I did not need to focus on a certain kiss I couldn’t get out of my mind.

“Fine. But no guys, okay?”

Fleur nodded, her voice sounding relieved. “It’ll be a girls’ night.”

She left, leaving me and Mya sitting alone at the table.

“What was that about?”

Mya shrugged. “She hasn’t been herself lately. I think she’s mellowing a bit.”

I gaped at her. “You mean this is Fleur, less bitchy?”

“Less high-strung, at least,” Mya said with a smile.

I jerked my head toward where the Italian/Greek guy sat with the bombshell. “What was the deal with that? Who is he?”

Mya frowned. “Fleur’s ex, Costa.”

“Was that the guy she dated before Samir?”

Mya laughed. “They’re not a couple.”

Everything stopped. “What do you mean they’re not a couple?”

“Fleur and Samir? Not even kind of.”

“But they’re always together,” I sputtered.

Now that I thought about it, I’d never seen them kiss or anything. And Samir didn’t really look at Fleur like that. But I’d just assumed…

“They’re friends. Besides, Samir’s kind of a player. I don’t think he does girlfriends. He kind of has bad idea written all over him.”

I’d noticed. Too bad my body hadn’t gotten the memo.

* * *

I waited for Fleur and Mya on the front steps. I was beyond nervous. I didn’t do things like this—chase after a guy. At least the old version of me didn’t. I wasn’t quite sure what to make of the new me. She seemed a little reckless.

“Hot date?”

My head jerked up as my stomach did a somersault. I knew that voice.

Samir stood in front of me, dressed in a collared dress shirt and jeans. A flush spread across my cheeks.

“Maggie?”

“Hi.” It came out as a squeak.

Was it my imagination or did his gaze sweep over my body, lingering on my boobs? I crossed my arms over my chest.

He grinned. “You look good.”

So do you.

“Thanks.”

“On your way out?”

“Girls’ night with Fleur and Mya.”

His smile widened. “So you and Fleur made peace?”

I laughed. “I wouldn’t say we made peace. That might be overly optimistic.”

“You’d be surprised. She’s not so bad. It just takes her awhile to warm up to people.”

That seemed like the understatement of the year, but I let it slide. I still couldn’t get past the fact that they weren’t dating.

Samir shoved his hands in his front jeans pockets, a flash of tan skin showing at the motion. My gaze was riveted to the spot. My fingers itched to reach out and touch him there. I fisted my hands on my hips.

“So are we going to talk about it?”

I jerked my head up. A knowing smile spread across Samir’s lips. An awkward tension filled the air between us. It was strange to think that on one hand we’d been more intimate than I’d ever been with anyone and yet he still felt like a total stranger.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I bluffed.

He quirked a brow at me, his head tilted to the side, his expression considering. “So that’s how you’re going to play it?”

“Pretty much.”

I knew I was the polar opposite of smooth, but I didn’t know what to say to him.

Samir grinned. “Fine. I have my memories to keep me company.” He winked at me. “And believe me, I have plenty of good memories.”

I reached out and shoved him, the move reflexive, my hand fisting the expensive fabric of his shirt. I froze mid-motion, my hand clutching the fabric, half-pulling him towards me, half-pushing him away.

Samir’s voice deepened, grew seductive. “Why won’t you admit you want me? It was pretty obvious when your body was wrapped around mine.”

I flushed. “My body was never wrapped around yours,” I snapped, releasing my hold on his shirt. “It was a one-time, stupid, drunken thing. It’ll never happen again.”

“Sure it won’t,” Samir mocked.

Another worry clicked into my brain. “You haven’t told anyone, have you?”

His dimple flashed at me. “Told anyone about what?”

He was utterly impossible. “You know what I’m talking about.”

He tossed me a knowing smile. “I thought you didn’t remember. You might have to refresh my memory. A lot happened at Babel.”

“The kiss, you ass,” I hissed, careful to keep my voice low. That seemed like the safest way to describe it.

This time he flashed me a full-on grin. “I seem to remember a lot more than just a kiss happening. I seem to remember exploring you with my hands, tasting you, your body pressed up against the wall—”

“Did you tell anyone?” I bit out, cutting off his little monologue.

He paused, lingering over his answer. “Not yet.” He took a few steps forward, closing the distance between us. Something tumbled in my chest. His lips brushed against my cheek, pressing a swift kiss there. Just as he’d done at Babel before we’d parted ways.

I stood frozen, too surprised to move.

“See you around, Maggie.”

I stood on the steps, watching him walk away, hating the part of me that wished I were going with him.

Chapter 8

Walking into Cobalt I was struck by three things. First, as tacky as it sounded (and I only said it in my head), if Hugh really did own this place, he was loaded. Loaded in a very adult sort of way, in which I definitely didn’t fit. Two, I had no idea what I would even say to Hugh when I saw him. And finally, whatever else happened tonight, this “girls’ night” was something I never could have predicted.

I wouldn’t have gone as far to say Fleur was nice. She was less bitchy than expected, grudgingly accepting my presence because Mya wanted me there. I was just lucky Mya decided to take me under her wing. The fashion and makeup advice alone were life changing.

My long brown hair was the straightest it had ever been. They’d sprayed something in it that made it shinier than ever and my makeup was flawless. Clothing had been a bit of a challenge, since Mya was definitely a few inches taller. Luckily I was wearing something called a bandage dress that must have barely covered Mya’s mile-long legs, since even on me it felt ridiculously short. The color was a shocking red. Thanks to their help and the glass of wine they plied me with back in our room, I felt as good about myself as I ever would.

Samir’s reaction hadn’t hurt, either.

Fleur led us to a small table in the corner. She sat down first, crossing her legs. “Do you see him?”

I scanned the room. The decor was sleek and modern, the bar filled with well-dressed people, the majority of whom looked several years older than us. I shook my head.

“What’s his name?”

I hesitated, not sure I trusted her with anything. “Hugh.”

Slowly, whatever confidence the dress and wine inspired fizzled. If I looked my best, it didn’t really matter. There were at least twenty girls who looked better. There were exotic girls, girls dressed as if they’d stepped off a runway or from the pages of a fashion magazine. Girls with eye-popping jewelry and designer bags.

Mya leaned toward me. “Are you okay?”

I laughed shakily, the backflips in my stomach starting up again. “This was a stupid idea. He probably won’t remember me. Let’s just go somewhere else.”

Fleur frowned. “I’m not leaving,” she protested. “We just got here.”

“What’s up?” Mya asked. “You seemed excited on the way here.”

“I didn’t know what all the girls would look like on the way here.”

Fleur arched a brow. “It’s London.”

“I was talking to Mya,” I snapped.

Fleur shrugged, completely nonplussed by my angry face. “It’s London,” she repeated, her French accent creeping in. “There will always be girls. There will always be beautiful girls. You can either stay in and lament that fact, or you can go out and be one of the beautiful girls.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

Fleur ignored me, signaling to a waiter. “London is all about perception. Nothing else matters here. Some of the most beautiful girls in town won’t be able to make it on the club scene. Here pretty looks are meaningless. It’s what you make of your looks that counts. With the right attitude you can have any guy you want. You just have to play your cards right.” The waiter hovered near her side. “Now, what was the guy’s name?”

I gaped at her. It was strange to think she’d just given me something akin to advice. That I was inclined to take it was even stranger.

“Hugh. His name is Hugh,” I repeated.

Fleur turned to the waiter, a beaming smile on her face. “Is Hugh here?”

I had never seen her smile. She perpetually wore the same sulky expression on her face and it worked for her. She was so pretty she didn’t need to smile. But when she did? Her smile was dazzling.

The waiter nodded, clearly speechless.

“Excellent. Will you tell him Maggie from Babel is here to see him?”

The waiter scurried off to do her bidding.

My heart pounded madly in my chest. “We didn’t order drinks,” I protested, desperately needing liquid courage.

Mya grinned. “I don’t think we’re going to need to.”

* * *

The waiter came back with a bottle of champagne and three glasses. Fleur nodded her approval before turning her attention to a group of guys at the table opposite ours. My gaze darted back and forth around the room. I didn’t see any sign of Hugh.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have bothered him on a busy night.”

Fleur rolled her eyes. “If you’re going to keep complaining, I’m going to leave you and go sit with those guys. Stop freaking out. He sent over a very nice bottle of champagne. He’s interested. This is just all part of the game.”

“That’s the problem. I don’t know how the game is played.”

Fleur sighed; a wonderfully Gallic shrug accompanied the noise. “Let me guess. You’ve never had a boyfriend?”

“I’ve been busy,” I shot back defensively. “Focusing on school. Getting into a good college.” Trying to get into Harvard. “I didn’t exactly have time for boys and parties.”

“What a little saint you are.” Fleur’s tone was mocking. “And yet you’re here. So a part of you doesn’t just want to stay at home doing homework on the weekends.”

She had a point.

“Okay, fine. What do you suggest?”

“Flirt. Make eye contact. If you get nervous, ask him questions about himself. Guys love talking about themselves. You can make a whole date go by, saying practically nothing at all.”

Mya nodded, taking a sip of her champagne. “She has a point.” She nudged me. “I think you’re about to get your chance.”

My hand tightened on the stem of the champagne glass.

Hugh walked toward us, looking even better than I remembered.

* * *

“Nicely done,” Fleur whispered under her breath.

I couldn’t help but agree. Tonight Hugh was dressed in a perfectly-tailored black suit, no tie and a cream dress shirt underneath.

“By the way, he thinks I’m doing a master’s,” I mumbled.

Fleur’s eyes widened. “Maybe I misjudged you. You’re learning already.”

I rose from my seat, my normal five-feet-four-inch height helped out by the pair of red heels Mya had lent me. He still towered over me.

Hugh smiled widely, his gaze roaming down my body. “Hi.” He reached out, gathering me close. Through the soft fabric of his shirt his muscular chest pressed against me, his strong arms embracing me. His lips brushed each of my cheeks in greeting before he pulled back. I stood there, my brown hair tumbling around my shoulders, my curvy body wrapped in Mya’s tight dress, a faint blush spreading across my cheeks as his gaze took me in.

“You look gorgeous.”

The gymnasts that had been working out in my stomach moved farther north. Something tumbled in the vicinity of my heart. When he said it, I believed him.

“Thanks.”

His gaze shifted from me to Mya and Fleur. I quickly made the introductions, bolstered by their presence. Both girls looked a lot older than they were, both stunning in their own right. For a moment I felt a twinge of worry. But somehow, miraculously, after the introductions were made and Hugh asked how everyone was enjoying themselves, he led me off to a table tucked in the back.

My hand in Hugh’s, our fingers linked together, I followed him through the bar. Occasionally he paused to shake hands with someone. He seemed to know everyone. It was as if he was the cool kid and for a day I was getting the chance to sit at his table. Except this wasn’t high school. This was London, one of the most glamorous cities in the world. And even though I knew this same scene was playing out in bars and clubs all over the city, all that mattered was that in this bar I was with the guy everyone wanted a piece of.

Somehow, as unlikely as it was, he had chosen me. For the night, at least.

I followed his lead, sitting down next to him at a comfy couch. Hugh moved closer to me, his suit-clad leg brushing up against my bare one. The movement sent a flash of heat through my body.

“Do you want a drink?” He waved over a waiter.

I nodded, leaning back as he ordered drinks for both of us. I had no idea what to talk about. Ask him about himself, Fleur had suggested. It couldn’t hurt to give it a shot.

“How long have you owned the club?” I leaned forward, closing the space between us. I wasn’t completely unaware of the fact that the move gave him an excellent shot of my cleavage.

Hugh’s gaze dipped for an instant before returning to my face. He grinned, taking hold of my hand once again, lacing my fingers with his. A thrill ran down my spine. His fingers stroked back and forth. I couldn’t help but wonder if what they said was true, big hands…

“About a year.”

I would never get tired of hearing that accent. I struggled to concentrate on the conversation. “What did you do before that?”

“Traveled, mostly.”

I grinned. “I’m jealous.”

When I was a kid I’d been obsessed with the idea of traveling. I’d had a globe in my room and I used to place pins in all the places my dad had been—the ones he could talk about at least.

Hugh’s fingers moved up my arm, tracing small circles on the inside of my wrist. “I spent some time in Asia and Europe. Backpacked around, mostly. I got bored with that after a while and I ended up coming back.” His fingers traveled farther up my arm. “Besides, my girlfriend wanted to settle down back home.”

I froze. Girlfriend?

Hugh smiled ruefully. “We broke up a year later. She wanted to get married. I didn’t. And then I opened the bar.”

I didn’t even know what to say to that. He’d almost been engaged? I hadn’t ever even had a boyfriend. “How old are you?” The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them.

“Twenty-seven.”

Shit. Eight years.

“How about you?” His voice was low, a strand of my hair wrapped around his finger.

I couldn’t tell him I was nineteen. “I’m twenty-three,” I lied, the number appearing out of thin air.

“You’re a baby.”

He had no idea.

“I’m not that innocent,” I teased, the words slipping out, adding to the weight of my lies.

Hugh’s eyes widened, a grin spreading across his face. His fingers traveled higher, stroking the sensitive hollow of my neck. “Oh, really?” His lips whispered over my ear, moving up to press a swift kiss against my temple. “I’m beginning to wish I didn’t have to work tonight. I’m tempted to test that statement.”

His lips brushed against mine.

Holy shit.

“That is a shame.” The words tumbled out of my mouth with the same seductive tone I’d slipped into since we sat down at the table. It was like someone had taken over my brain. “I’m tempted to let you.”

I was flirting. I was actually flirting.

All these years Jo told me it would be easy if I could just let go a bit. She was right. Now that I’d let go, I didn’t want to go back to the old Maggie. I liked this version—liked the flutter in my chest when Hugh looked at me like he wanted me.

He grinned at me. “I’m really glad I met you, Maggie.”

My own smile echoed his. “Me, too.”

Hugh glanced down at his watch. “I have to get back to work. You around later?”

I thought about saying yes. Part of me wanted to. I liked the way I felt around him—shinier, more glamorous, simply more. But somehow Fleur’s voice appeared in my head. Play hard to get. Make him work for it. “Sorry, I have plans.”

Hugh nodded, the gorgeous grin still on his face. “I’m glad you stopped by.” His lips wandered downward, grazing the corner of my mouth. “See you around, Maggie. I can’t wait for next time.”

Chapter 9

“What the hell happened? He didn’t even ask for my number.”

Mya leaned back in her chair, an oversize pair of sunglasses covering her eyes, a coffee cup clutched in one hand. Last night after we left Cobalt, we’d made plans to meet at our neighborhood Starbucks for coffee. I hadn’t bothered inviting Fleur.

“Dating in London is challenging.”

“It’s not like it was even a date. I sat with him for like a nanosecond.”

“He looked interested.”

I pulled off an end of my croissant, stuffing it in my mouth. “I guess. The whole thing was just confusing.”

“That’s London.”

“He’s twenty-seven.”

“That’s a little old.”

“It’s eight years.” I sighed. “Well, as far as he thinks, I’m twenty-three. So it’s only four.” I groaned. “You’re the expert. Help me. What do I do next?”

Mya drew off her sunglasses, setting them carefully on the small Starbucks table. “He’s playing the game.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of a problem, then, considering I don’t know the rules.”

Mya leaned back, studying me. “I’m surprised you didn’t have a boyfriend in the U.S. You’re cute. What was wrong with those American boys?”

I laughed. “I’m not great with guys.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I just get uncomfortable. Like in high school, there was this guy I liked. He was really popular, captain of the soccer team, really hot. We had like five classes together and I still couldn’t manage to talk to him. Finally senior year came around and our chem teacher assigned us as lab partners. I spent the whole time planning out exactly what I was going to say to him. There may have been note cards involved.” Mya snorted. “One day I got so nervous I knocked over one of our experiments.”

Her eyes widened.

“Oh, yeah. I started a fire. So for the rest of senior year, he knew me as the girl who started the fire in our chem class.”

Mya cracked up.

“It was bad.”

“You seem to at least be doing better here. No chemical fires.”

I threw my napkin at her. “Laugh all you want. It sucks being this inept with guys. I do want a boyfriend. I just have no idea how to actually get one.”

“I can only help you so much. I haven’t dated a ton, either. We need to call in the big guns. You need Fleur.”

I grimaced. “Trust me, that’s the last thing I need.” I hesitated. “What’s the deal with you and Fleur? Why’d she come out last night?”

“I think she’s lonely.”

I found it hard to believe anyone who looked as gorgeous as Fleur could ever be lonely.

“It’s a bad situation. A lot of their friends jumped ship with the breakup. I don’t think she has anyone besides Samir and his crowd.”

“Maybe she would have more friends if she was a bit nicer. She still barely speaks to me as it is, and I live with her.” She was marginally nicer to Noora. I figured she just hated Americans. Or it was something I’d done.

“She’s hard to get close to, yeah. But once you get to know her, she’s not that bad. And despite all the shit with Costa, she’s really good with guys.”

“Whatever. I don’t think there’s anything to help me with anyway. I’m not going to go back to Cobalt like some loser. If he was interested in seeing me, he would do something about it.”

Mya waved her hand dismissively. “There are a ton of other guys in this city. If this guy isn’t the guy, you’ll find someone else.”

I was going to need all the help I could get.

* * *

Mya and I separated at Starbucks. She had some shopping to do and I had been dying to go to Hyde Park. From my dorm room window I could just see the tops of the trees. I’d started going on these little walking adventures, exploring the city I’d come to love. Since my visit to Westminster I’d added trips to Buckingham Palace, Harrods, the National Gallery and the Tower of London. Sometimes Noora came with me—she seemed to enjoy doing touristy stuff as much as I did.

I crossed the street, walking through the oversized iron gates. It was still early for London and the park was fairly empty. I loved the city when it was like this. It felt like it was my own secret place to explore. I wrapped my coat tighter around my body, trying to ward off some of the morning chill. It might have been late September, but London was starting to get cold. I sat in the quiet for an hour, lost in my thoughts.

“Hey, Maggie.”

My head jerked up at the sound of my name. George waved at me, jogging over to the bench. I hadn’t seen much of him since the first day, when he helped me move in to my room. Most of my classes were full of freshmen; we had only passed each other in the halls a few times. Despite the small size of the school, London was a big enough city that everyone seemed to have their own thing going on.

I waved back at him.

He stopped in front of the bench, his hands on his hips. He seemed a little out of breath.

“How are you settling in?”

“I’m adjusting little by little.”

“How’s Fleur?”

I pulled a face.

He grinned. “Don’t take it personally. She’s like that with pretty much everyone. No one lives up to her standards.” He shook his head. “How is everything else? How are your classes?”

I talked to George for a few more minutes, making plans to go for a run in the park later in the week as we walked back to campus together. We parted ways in the hall.

Brunch on the weekends was served until one; luckily I had just caught the tail end of the meal. The cafeteria was mostly empty. I made my way through the line, frowning at the meager food offerings. Somehow, unbelievably, the weekend food selection was even worse than normal. I grabbed some cucumbers and white rice, the only appetizing options. I scanned the room for a seat.

Fleur sat by herself at one of the tables. I hesitated, shifting the tray in my hands. What the hell.

“Can I join you?”

Fleur’s head jerked up from the fashion magazine she had been reading. She paused for a moment before gesturing toward the empty chair. “Go ahead.”

The tone of her voice gave a good indication of where the Ice Queen nickname had come from.

I sat down across from her, already reevaluating my decision. Fleur continued reading her magazine, her fingers flipping the pages. Voices sounded behind us. Costa walked by with a group of his friends. He didn’t spare a look for Fleur, but her head jerked up at the sound of his voice. The stricken expression on her face said it all.

“I’m sorry.” The words escaped my mouth before I even thought about what I was saying or who I was saying it to.

Fleur’s eyes narrowed, her gaze jerking away from Costa and focusing on me. “I don’t need you feeling sorry for me. I’m fine.” Her tone was like ice. “I don’t want to talk about Costa.” She focused back on me. “How about you? What are you going to do about that guy? The one from last night?”

The topic change surprised me. “Hugh?”

She nodded.

I shook my head. “I have no idea.” I hesitated for a moment. “Mya thought I should actually talk to you. She seems to think you’re some sort of guy whisperer.”

She laughed at that—the sound bitter and somehow incongruous with her beauty. “I’m not sure I’m the example you should hope to emulate.”

I shrugged. “I’m massively out of my league here.”

“Aren’t we all?”

It was weird talking to a girl who looked and dressed like a model but seemed this thrown by a guy.

“Fair enough.”

We ate the rest of the meal in silence before we went our separate ways. But I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d seen the beginning chinks in the Ice Queen’s armor.

Or maybe it was just wishful thinking.

Chapter 10

Little by little I began settling into life at the International School. I enjoyed classes with my professors, loved getting into debates with my classmates. Here students from all over the world mingled together, forming friendships transcending ethnic or cultural background. There was something incredible about listening to an Israeli and a Palestinian student discuss the current conflict. Wars might be raging throughout the world, but the International School was a neutral zone. It was an amazing thing to see. The school wasn’t Harvard, but it was special in its own right.

Most of all I fell in love with London. I spent my free time walking around the city, exploring new places daily. Sometimes I went with friends, but most of the time I went on my own. It was the kind of place where you could never get bored. It was rarely quiet.

“Are you staying in tonight?” Noora asked from across our dorm room. As usual Fleur had gone off somewhere.

“Yeah. Probably just doing some work. You?”

“I’m meeting some friends for a movie. Want to come?”

“I think I might pass this time. Thanks for the invite, though.”

Noora nodded, grabbing her purse. “See you later.”

My phone rang. Mya. “What’s up?”

“We’re going out.”

I stared down at the textbooks spread out all over my bed. I had a ton of reading this weekend. And I was really behind.

I pushed away the guilt. I could study another time.

* * *

I followed Mya down the steps, stopping dead in my tracks.

Samir stood on the street in front of the building, leaning against a sleek black sedan. Fleur stood next to him.

I groaned. “I changed my mind about tonight.”

“Nope. You’re coming.” Mya tugged on my hand.

I shot her a look. “You could have mentioned that two of my least favorite people were included in our little group.” I didn’t even bother lowering my voice. Samir was a flirty thorn in my side and Fleur’s thawing seemed to have bee a temporary moment, never to be repeated.

Samir grinned at my words. Fleur just looked pissed off.

“You wouldn’t have come if I told you the truth,” Mya answered, nonplussed. “Besides, you need a night out. You’ve been way too good lately.”

My eyes locked with Samir’s. He wore a pale blue collared shirt, sleeves rolled, and a pair of dark Diesel jeans. Flashes of the dreams I’d been having about him assailed me.

Samir turned to Fleur, a torrent of French escaping him. He didn’t seem angry, but there was intensity behind his words—and a definite chill in her reaction.

Were they talking about me?

Whatever he said to her, Fleur definitely didn’t look happy.

I already felt ridiculous enough, playing dress-up in one of Mya’s dresses, too tight on my curvy frame. Now I felt like an unwanted interloper. “You know, maybe this was a bad idea,” I called out, ready to turn around and go back in the building.

“You’re coming,” Mya snapped, shooting both Fleur and Samir a dark look.

Samir said something else in French. Fleur glared at me.

I really needed to learn another language.

Fleur turned her back to me, sliding into the backseat without another word.

“Come on.” Samir jerked his head toward the car.

I hesitated.

“Come on.” His lips curved into a grin. “Are you really going to let Fleur push you around like that?” He leaned in closer to me. “Trust me, your best play is to show no fear.”

He had a point.

I slid into the backseat next to Mya, glad to have her as a buffer between me and Fleur.

Samir shut the door with a grin. “Good girl.” I rolled my eyes.

Another guy got into the front seat. I instantly recognized him as Samir’s partner in crime from the first day on the stairs. Samir introduced him as Omar.

I leaned back into the leather seat, desperately wishing I were anywhere else. Fleur didn’t talk most of the car ride, staring out the car window instead. Samir and Omar spent most of the drive speaking in Arabic. We ended up at Babel again.

As we walked toward Babel, I felt a nervous flutter in my stomach. Was Samir thinking of the last time we were here together? Because as soon as I set foot in the club, I couldn’t get the memory out of my mind. At the same time, I couldn’t help but wonder if I would run into Hugh again. It felt a bit like returning to the scene of the crime.

“Sorry it’s a little tense tonight,” Mya whispered.

I laughed. That was a massive understatement. “Why are we even here?”

“Samir called me and practically begged me to come out.”

I gaped at her. “Are you joking?” Somehow I couldn’t see Samir begging anyone for anything.

“Fleur’s not having the greatest day.”

I rolled my eyes. “Let me guess, she maxed out her credit card? Or wait, her favorite manicurist was booked? Tragedy.” I’d been living with Fleur’s iciness for weeks now and I was sick of it.

“It’s her birthday.”

I paused. “What’s so bad about that?”

“Her mom was supposed to come to London so they could spend it together. But she bailed at the last minute to go to some spa in Switzerland.”

I couldn’t help the twinge of sympathy. There was nothing worse than being disappointed by your parents.

Mya shrugged. “Fleur was all set to spend her birthday by herself, but Samir found out. I think this was his attempt to throw her a little party.”

My gaze flew to Samir. A few girls stood next to him and Omar, one of them pressing a swift kiss to Samir’s cheek.

“And he told you it was okay to invite me?”

Mya shook her head. “It was his idea. He thought you would have fun.” She grinned. “He said something about you seeming tightly wound lately? An excess of pens in class or something.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at that one. He still gave me shit about the first day. At least now I was down to two.

“I don’t get why he invited me. She hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you. She just takes a bit to warm up to people. And I don’t think she has anyone else.”

“She should be nicer, then.”

“You’re right.” Mya hesitated. “But there’s more to Fleur than what you see. A lot more.”

My look was skeptical at best.

“I’m serious. I wasn’t popular in Switzerland. I was one of the only black girls and some of the girls were really snobby about me being from Nigeria. Fleur was one of the few that actually stood up for me. I’m not saying she’s sweet, but she’s not as bad as everyone makes her out to be. She has her good side. You just have to work to find it.”

Maybe it was just me, then.

The boys waved us over. The table had already filled up; four random girls sat crammed in around the guys.

Fleur fisted her hands on her hips. “Samir. Move your friends.”

Samir mumbled something that sounded unflattering but he moved the girls over, relocating one of the girls onto his lap. A waitress poured drinks for the table. By the time she finished, Samir and the girl were practically making out.

I looked away.

I didn’t know what to make of Samir. Mya’s story about Fleur’s birthday made him sound as if he was almost a decent guy. His man-whore side suggested otherwise. Sure he was young and single, but still. Why did there have to be so many girls?

Mya nudged me. “Having fun yet?”

I laughed. “Sorry, not so much.” There was a weird energy at the table tonight. Fleur was knocking back drinks, her expression hard. Samir hadn’t broken apart from his girl. Omar didn’t speak to anyone.

Fleur leaned over to Mya. “I can’t deal with this.” She jerked her head toward the girls. “I hate when he does this.” Her gaze traveled over Samir’s little harem. “They’re just here for the free drinks and the table. It makes us look bad to be seen with them. Let’s go dance.”

Mya groaned. “I’m not in the mood to dance tonight. Why don’t you find someone else?”

Samir broke apart from the girl. His gaze met mine across the table. Something lurched in my chest as I hurried to look away, afraid he would see the confusion and inexperience reflected in my eyes. If I didn’t get up from the table soon, I was going to have to leave. This was beyond awkward.

“I’ll dance with you,” I blurted out.

Mya stared at me.

Fleur looked surprised for a moment before she nodded. “Fine. Come on.” She grabbed my hand, pushing her way around the table. I followed behind her reluctantly. She stopped in front of a raised platform, on display for the whole club to see.

“Up there?”

She rolled her eyes. “Stop being such a baby. I don’t dance on the floor like everybody else.”

Of course she didn’t. I stared back at our table—Samir was still ensconced with the group of girls. What the hell. I climbed up to the platform.

“This is such a bad idea,” I muttered under my breath.

Ignoring me, Fleur began dancing to the music, moving her hips in a way I could only hope to emulate. My gaze roamed over the crowd. People were looking at us. Girls were staring at us enviously; a group of guys grinned, lifting their glasses in a silent toast. A rush of power ran through me. I moved closer to Fleur, moving my body to mimic her moves. Our hips swayed to the beat of the music, our bodies nearly flush with each other. We were putting on a show and judging by the whistles we were getting from the crowd, they liked it. A photographer came over and snapped our picture. Fleur threw her arm around me, pressing a kiss on my cheek.

The flash went off.

So this is what it was like. This is what it felt like to be wanted. To be one of the cool kids.

I fucking loved it.

I grinned at Fleur, too carried away by the moment to be pissed with her. She had a point—on top of the platform it was impossible not to feel as though you were on top of the world. She flipped her hair back, tossing me a smug little smile. She was definitely enjoying herself as much as I was. There was power here, power in being a girl, power I’d never realized before.

I was drunk on it now.

I locked eyes with Samir across the room. He sat nursing a drink, the girl finally dislodged from his lap. He wasn’t smiling. The force of his stare surprised me.

This time I didn’t look away. I met his gaze head-on, shaking my ass to the music. Fleur grabbed my hand, pulling me into a twirl—she was definitely a little drunk—and then I was facing Samir again. He hadn’t stopped staring.

I didn’t care.

I didn’t want to be the lame girl everyone walked all over—I wanted this feeling, this rush, to last forever. I jerked my gaze away from Samir, passing over the crowd until it rested on—

A very tall, hot guy in a black jacket. Hugh.

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