“Kiss me.” He whispered the words against my mouth, taunting me with them, goading me further, pushing me over the edge.
“Shut up. This would be so much better if you didn’t talk.”
He chuckled, his lips vibrating against mine.
I opened my mouth, deepening the kiss, my tongue reaching out and grazing his. Suddenly everything exploded. The taste of him swirled in my mouth, the feel of his body against mine, sent sparks through my body. He kissed me back. He kissed me like he was drowning and I was his lifeline—mad, desperate kisses that had my body tightening in anticipation and my mind blown. This was nothing like I’d ever experienced before. And it was way better than our kiss at Babel.
“Better,” Samir mumbled, the word nearly lost between our mouths. His words might have been noncommittal, but by the way his hands were moving over my body—cupping, stroking, squeezing—the way his mouth plundered mine—he was just as affected as I was.
I might have been naive, but the desire I felt pressing against me was enough to erase any doubts. He wanted me just as much as I wanted him.
I moved against him, emboldened now, deepening the kiss, throwing whatever inhibitions I had out the window. His body moved over mine, covering me, pushing me back until I was lying down on the sofa. I felt the worn cushions hit my back, shifting slightly until he was directly settled between my legs. I hooked my right leg over his back, putting our bodies in closer contact.
Samir reached down between us, lifting up my shirt, barring my skin to his eyes. The cool air hit me with a blast, my skin pebbling with goose bumps. It was too much, too fast, too intense, too out of control. I broke away, my face flushed, lips puffy. We were wading deeper and deeper into uncharted territory.
“Stop.” I tugged down on my shirt, running a nervous hand through my hair. It was a tangled mess. “Just stop.” I scooted up to a seated position, hugging my knees to my chest. “I need a moment.”
Samir moved off of me, pushing back to sit on the couch opposite mine. When my breathing stilled, I lifted my head and met his gaze. The heat in his eyes was enough to send a shock through me.
What had we done?
“That was better,” Samir acknowledged with a tilt of his head. A self-satisfied smirk crossed his face. I would have thought he was totally unaffected… if I hadn’t noticed how quickly his chest rose and fell.
“Thanks for the compliment.”
“Your kissing is fine. As much as the idea of kissing practice sounds good, you don’t need it. Your lips—and tongue—are perfect just as they are. Your body is even better.”
I didn’t even know how to answer that. I was a mess—
I wanted to run. I wanted to stay. I wanted him between my legs, easing the ache inside me.
“I should go to bed.”
Samir leaned forward, closing the space between us. I was riveted to the sight of his lips. I wanted them again. Badly. There was something about him, some temptation I was finding difficult to resist. I just wasn’t sure why. My body’s response confused me, tied me up in knots, had me searching for answers when I feared there were none. Only want and need and lust.
I wasn’t thinking as I reached out, my fingers tracing his lips, much the same as he had done to me. His eyes darkened, his gaze smoky as my fingers stroked him, his lips swollen from my kisses. I was mesmerized by him, mesmerized by the feelings he evoked within me.
I burned for him.
As my fingers pressed down on his lips, feeling the weight of them, his tongue darted out, licking my skin before taking my finger into his mouth, sucking on it.
Desire flooded me.
My finger slid from his mouth. His expression was hooded, his chest heaving as though he had just run a race. It seemed to be the same pattern as my own pounding heart. We hovered there, indecision flaring between us. Inches separated us. If I moved forward, we would kiss again. And if I stayed where I was…
His breath mingled with mine before his lips swooped down on me again.
Later I would blame the alcohol and the late hour and the fact that Hugh was making me crazy. In the moment, though, it came down to one thing. Samir was there, kissing me. So I kissed him back.
From the start this kiss was different. We knew each other now—I knew the weight of his body on top of mine, the touch of his lips, the feel of his tongue. I knew that he liked to nibble on my skin, his teeth just barely grazing my flesh. I recognized the groan that escaped from his lips.
Our bodies remembered each other. I would never forget this kiss.
He took me somewhere I’d never been before—a kind of pleasure I’d only read about, only ever imagined. It was just a kiss and at the same time, it was anything but.
I kissed him back, met him stroke for stroke, until his hands skimmed under my shirt, until I felt his hand brush my bra, his fingers whispering along the skin there, inches from my nipples.
It scared me that it was always like this with him, always a spectacular loss of control. It scared me that he pushed me out of my comfort zone and made me crave more than I should.
“I should go,” I blurted out, pulling away from him. This time I leaped up off the couch, making my way toward the common room door. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake again. But in spite of myself, I hesitated, my hand hovering over the handle. I tossed out the question behind me, not sure if I asked it more to hear his answer or to try and know my own.
“What was that?”
For a moment I didn’t think he would answer me. And then I heard his voice, low and husky—
“Extra credit.”
Chapter 14
“Have you ever been out of control around a guy?”
Jo laughed. “Um, yeah. Pretty much all the time. Why?”
Because I can’t seem to keep my hands or my lips off Samir and I don’t know what to do about it.
“Just curious.” It was unbearably lame to have this conversation at nineteen, but here we were. I shifted my phone to the other ear. “Things are crazy here right now.”
“I can tell.”
I sighed. “I think I did something stupid last night. I made out with that guy again. The one I kissed.”
“Not the British guy?”
“No. The other one.”
“Was it good?”
“It was amazing.” My voice sounded bleak.
“Don’t sound so excited about it,” Jo teased.
“It’s complicated.”
“Why? Because you like him?”
My fingers clutched the phone. “I don’t like him.”
I couldn’t like him.
“Why?” Jo challenged.
Samir has bad idea written all over him.
“Because…” I struggled to find the right words. “I don’t like the way he makes me feel.”
“What do you mean?”
I sighed. “I don’t know. I just don’t feel like myself around him. I feel out of control, tied up in knots. I do things with him that I wouldn’t normally do.”
“Is that such a bad thing?”
It was scary as hell.
“Yeah. It is.”
“It sounds like he likes you, though.”
I hated the little thrust of hope I felt at her words. “I don’t think so. He’s always with other girls. And yeah, we hook up and stuff, but that’s it. He’s never said anything to me that would make me think he likes me.”
“So why don’t you tell him that you like him? Feel him out?”
I laughed. “Are you joking? I can barely talk to a guy without losing my shit. And besides, I told you—I don’t like him. We just have this weird chemistry thing between us.”
“Then take my advice—the only way to get over someone—”
“I don’t like him,” I protested.
“I know, I know. But seriously the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”
I choked back a laugh. “Thanks. I’ll take that one under advisement.”
Suddenly my cell beeped. I pulled the phone away from my ear, staring at the caller ID.
Blocked.
My heart thudded. That could only mean one thing. “Jo, I gotta go.”
“Okay, Mags. But take my advice.”
“We’ll see,” I evaded, hanging up the phone.
My fingers shook as I hit accept on the other call. My father’s voice filled the line, coming through gravelly.
“How’s school?”
I stilled, clutching the cell phone tightly in my hand. I hadn’t talked to my father in months. The sound of his voice was enough to put dread in the pit of my stomach. No matter how hard I tried or how much I hoped things would be different, these phone calls never went well.
“Things are good. School is busy.” I didn’t think he really cared. I was a box he checked off once a month if I was lucky. Make sure daughter isn’t screwing up. Check. Maybe these little phone calls assuaged his guilt. Maybe my grandparents put him up to it. I had no clue. Sometimes the feigned connection between us hurt more than the absent one.
“Where are you?”
“I’m on base. I’m doing a TDY in the Middle East for a few months. The phone connection’s not great.”
Silence filled the line. I struggled to think of something to say. “I heard you might come home for Christmas?”
Static sounded on the other side of the line. “That’s the plan.”
I felt a tightening in my chest, a familiar lump forming in my throat. And even worse, despite years and years of disappointment, I felt hope. Hope that things would be different. That this would be the Christmas that we would actually be a family.
Sometimes I hated the hope more than anything.
“How are your classes?”
I shook the feeling off. “They’re fine.”
“Well, hopefully you’re at least getting a decent education out there. It sure costs enough.”
I gritted my teeth, struggling to not point out the fact that he wasn’t really contributing to my college expenses. I was here because I worked my ass off in high school and was lucky enough to get a scholarship. He had nothing to do with that.
“Maggie…”
The static became even stronger. A click sounded on the other end of the line.
He was gone.
I stared at my phone, struggling not to cry. I was used to this—phone calls that came at odd hours of the day. Bad connections. Months gone by without talking to each other. It shouldn’t still hurt this much. But it did.
No one could hurt me like my dad did.
I shoved my cell into my bag, checking my watch. I had ten minutes to get to my next class. I hurried through the building, making my way up to the classroom and sliding into the seat next to Samir.
As much as I hated to admit it, the call with my dad affected me. It always did.
“You okay?”
The concern I heard in Samir’s voice surprised me.
“Yeah. Why?”
“You look a little funny.”
I fought off the blush.
“You ready to get your paper back?”
“We’re getting them back today?”
Samir nodded. “Yeah, Abbott announced it last class. Didn’t you hear?”
I shook my head.
He shot me another concerned look.
Professor Abbott walked into class, a thick stack of papers in his hands. “I have your papers,” he announced from the front of the room, setting the heavy stack down on his desk. “Most of the grades were very impressive. You should all be very proud of yourselves.”
He began calling out names. When he got to me, I stood on shaky legs, walking to the front of the classroom to pick mine up.
“Try harder, next time, Ms. Carpenter,” he murmured to me.
I stared down at the paper in shock. An unforgiving letter stared back at me, the inky red mark blurring as my eyes teared up. I had gotten a C plus. I had never gotten a C plus in my life. “How did you do?” Samir asked when I got back to my seat.
“Not great.” My face heated, a red flush settling over my cheeks. Could this day get any worse?
He shrugged. “I wouldn’t worry about it. It’s just a paper, not the end of the world.”
Easy to say when you weren’t on an academic scholarship.
I glanced over at him. My gaze settled on the bright red mark on his paper. My jaw dropped.
“You did not get an A.”
Samir grinned. “I think I did.”
“How is that even possible?”
“My natural genius?”
“You don’t even take notes,” I sputtered. “Half the time you look like you’re almost asleep. I’ve never even seen you with the textbook. Do you own the textbook?”
Samir laughed. “Nope.”
“Life is so not fair.”
“Never said it was.”
This whole time I’d just assumed he wasn’t paying attention. Honestly, I hadn’t even thought he was all that smart.
My eyes narrowed. “Is your whole shtick an act?”
He grinned, winking at me. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
So much.
“Ready to begin?” our professor asked the class.
For the next hour I sat in class watching Samir. A few times he caught me, tossing me a sidelong grin. He didn’t touch his pen once.
He just sat there, lounging in his chair, legs crossed at the ankles. By the end of it the only thing I’d learned was that I couldn’t get that stupid kiss out of my mind.
We got up from our chairs, gathering our stuff to leave. Samir walked by my desk. He leaned close, our faces just inches apart.
“Keep looking at me like that and we’re going to have to pick up where we left off.”
My cheeks turned red yet again.
He walked out of the classroom whistling.
Chapter 15
If my paper grade in Intro to IR taught me anything, it was that I needed to get serious about school. Somewhere in the array of nights out I’d lost my focus.
I desperately needed to get it back.
“I need a break,” Fleur announced.
“You’ve been studying for twenty minutes.” Even at a university where half the school failed to even come to class, Fleur was definitely not going to win student of the year. “You don’t need a break after twenty minutes.”
I was cracking down on the inhabitants of room 301, myself included.
Noora grinned at me from across the room.
“It’s boring,” Fleur complained, her algebra book in hand.
“It’s math, it’s supposed to be boring.”
Fleur wasn’t the only one who needed a break. Truthfully I wasn’t one to judge her lack of academic motivation. I had decided the only way to get back on track with my classes was to catch up on all the reading that fell by the wayside while I had been discovering London.
There was a lot of it.
“Let’s go out.”
Noora laughed. “Why do I think you guys aren’t going to be getting much work done?” she teased.
I shook my head, not bothering to look up from my book. “No. I have to study. We aren’t going out. Considering how little work you do, your grades can’t possibly be better than mine. Putting in some extra study time wouldn’t be the worst thing.”
“Studying is overrated,” Fleur challenged.
I hesitated. “Speaking of not studying. What’s the deal with Samir? He got an A on our last paper and I swear I’ve never seen him with a book.”
“He’s like that. Always has been. He’s crazy smart. My uncle, too.”
How had I missed that memo?
“If I have to study for another minute, I’m going to scream.”
I groaned. “You’re not helping here.”
“Sue me. I hate school.”
“I’ve noticed. What’s your major?”
She shrugged. “Haven’t declared one.”
Noora shot me an amused look across th
e room. I pulled a face.
“Need I say more? We’re studying. Stop trying to distract me.”
Fleur’s phone went off across the room. She was silent for a moment, scanning the screen. A smile spread across her face. “I’ll make you a deal.”
Noora laughed again.
“No deals. Studying.” I stared down at the same blank page I’d been trying to read for the last half hour. It was no use.
“We study for another hour,” Fleur cajoled. “Then we go out.”
“Fleur, I got a C plus on my paper. I’m on scholarship. If I don’t bring my grades up, I’m going to have to leave the International School.”
“Fine. Two hours. We can make a late appearance.”
I hesitated.
“You aren’t going to study past midnight anyways. Please. I promise we’ll spend the rest of the weekend studying. And besides, if we go out you might see Hugh.”
“Just give in to her,” Noora called out from across the room. “You know she won’t give up until she gets her way.”
I was so weak. “Fine. Two more hours. Then we’ll go out.”
* * *
We didn’t go to Babel. Tonight was a place called Blue, some hot club tucked off of a little street in Mayfair. Fleur, true to her word, studied with me for two hours before helping me dress up to go out. Noora stayed behind. I probably should have followed her example.
We met up with Samir and some of his friends. Even though Samir’s friends didn’t talk all that much, they were polite and tended to keep an eye out for the girls. If a guy made one of us uncomfortable, they stepped in and broke it up. Plus the late-night shawarma runs to the best Lebanese restaurant in town were an added bonus.
I leaned back against a pillar, surveying the crowd. I couldn’t help that my attention kept straying back to the same place. It really was a cruel twist of fate that he seemed to be the hottest guy in any room. Tonight was no exception.
“Who’s that?”
Fleur followed my gaze until it settled on a guy in a black jacket talking to Samir.
“Him?” She waved dismissively. “It’s Samir’s dealer.”
I See London 1 Page 9
