I died a bit inside.
“What were you doing sneaking out this late at night?” he teased, his tone seductive.
I blinked, struggling to keep up with him. “I wasn’t sneaking out. I was going to the kitchen to get some water.”
“A light might have helped,” he suggested mildly.
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, I figured that out. I couldn’t find it.”
Samir leaned against the hallway wall, studying me carefully. “Are you tired?”
I shrugged. “Not really.”
“Me, either.”
Samir leaned in closer to me. The smell of his cologne filled my nostrils. My nerves jumped. If I just reached out…I curled my fingers into fists to keep them in place. Without intending to, my body leaned forward.
A new tension filled the hallway.
“Do you want to—”
Yes.
I knew I shouldn’t want to. A part of me even felt guilty about Hugh. Sure, we weren’t exclusive, but I’d still never imagined I would be one of those girls who hooked up with two guys at once. But Samir knew about Hugh and never said anything to me—I doubted he cared. And Hugh didn’t seem like the type of guy who got jealous. Still…
“Play cards?”
I blinked.
“What?”
Samir grinned at me. “Do you want to play cards?”
Surely I’d misheard him. “Cards?”
“Yes, cards.” He let out a low laugh. “Take your mind out of the gutter.”
I flushed.
“Come on, it’ll be fun. I’m a great card player.”
“Cards?”
Samir laughed, throwing an arm around my shoulder. “Come on. We’ll play in the library.”
I blinked. “You have a library?”
Samir grinned. “I should have known that would get you excited.” He held his hand out to me. “Are you in?”
I hesitated for a beat. I knew better than this. I was only asking for trouble hanging out with Samir on my own. At night. In a robe.
“I’m in.”
I let him lead me down the hallway, reveling in the feel of his body pressed against mine, his arm still wrapped around me. He stopped in front of a door down the hall, releasing me to open it and flip on a light switch.
I gaped at my surroundings.
Samir’s family library was incredible. The room was filled with wall-to-wall bookshelves nearly bursting with books—thin spines, fat spines, a rainbow of colors and the smell of old leather.
“You should see your face right now.”
“What?”
Samir shook his head ruefully, amusement in his tone. “You just look happy. I’ve never seen anyone who loves books as much as you do.”
“I’ve always liked books.”
Samir sat down in one of the leather wingback chairs. “Why?”
This time there was no challenge in his tone; he genuinely sounded curious.
I walked away from the bookshelves, sinking down into the chair opposite his. “I don’t know.”
“Yeah, you do. Why?”
I should have known he wouldn’t let me get off that easily. I shrugged. “I didn’t get to travel much when I was younger.” Or at all. “So I liked to read. Books let me go places I wouldn’t have a chance to go to. They gave me a different life, an adventure.”
“Is that why you wanted to go to Harvard?”
My eyes narrowed. “How did you know about that?”
“I talk to Fleur.”
“You talk to Fleur about me?”
His lips twitched. “I talk to lots of people about you.”
What did that mean?
“So—Harvard?”
I sighed. “Yes. Harvard was a chance to change my life. Or so I thought.”
Samir was silent for a moment. I waited for the joke.
“And now you’re in London. And Paris.”
I smiled softly. “Yeah, I am.”
He grinned. “You’ve done well, Maggie.”
I flushed with pleasure. “Thanks.”
Samir gestured to the table between us. “Want to play?”
Yes.
I sat down at the chair across from him. Samir opened a drawer, pulling out a stack of cards.
“This is what’s called a gaming table.”
I grinned. “Fancy.”
He laughed. “Something like that.” He began shuffling the cards. “So what do you want to play?”
“I’m not much of a card player. I don’t know a lot of games.”
“Lucky for you I know plenty of games.” A dimple winked back at me. “So what do you want to play?”
“Go Fish? Rummy? Those are the extent of my card games.”
He laughed. “I was thinking poker but sure…rummy sounds good.” He got up from the table, walking over to an elegant wood cabinet. He opened the doors, pulling out a bottle of alcohol and two glasses. Samir poured the drinks, walking over and handing one to me. “Brandy. Perfect for a night of gaming.”
I grinned. Our fingers brushed as I took the glass from his hands.
“To games.” Samir raised his glass in the air.
“To games,” I echoed, bringing the glass to my lips. “Mmm.” The liquid filled my mouth, the taste rich and seductive. “It’s really good.”
“It’s my dad’s finest.” Samir sat back in his chair and dealt the cards, facedown.
I sipped from my glass, waiting for the cards to fall. When he finished dealing, I lifted my cards, staring at the hand. Not too bad.
Samir took a sip from his glass. His gaze met mine. “Want to make things interesting?”
“What do you mean?”
“Let’s up the stakes a bit.” His tone was huskier than normal.
Suspicion filled me. “Up the stakes how?”
Samir flashed me an irresistible grin. “Strip rummy.”
Chapter 38
“I’m not playing strip rummy.” I couldn’t even say the words without laughing.
“You might like it.”
“Doubtful.”
Samir grinned. His hands moved, his fingers hovering over the buttons of his collared shirt. “Come on. I’ll even give you a head start.”
Slowly he popped open the first button, revealing tanned skin and a sprinkling of chest hair.
My gaze was riveted to that spot. Holy hell.
“Should I stop?” Samir asked, toying with the next button.
Yes. No.
Curiosity filled me. I had only seen Samir shirtless in my dreams—despite all the kissing, we’d always remained clothed—it was a chance to make my fantasies a reality. Maybe strip rummy wasn’t such a bad idea after all. I stared at that little patch of skin, temptation taunting me.
“No,” I whispered.
Heat flared in Samir’s eyes. Slowly his hand traveled down his shirt, unbuttoning the rest of the buttons. His hands shook slightly with each motion until finally he reached the last button. His gaze met mine as he pulled the shirt off his shoulders.
Whoa.
His body was covered in lean muscle—his pecs and abs clearly defined without looking beefy. His skin was gorgeously tan, just the lightest sprinkling of dark hair across his chest. I couldn’t tear my gaze away even if I wanted to.
Samir flashed me a knowing grin. I took another sip of brandy.
“Now you have a head start.” He gestured toward the cards. “Ready?”
Not even kind of.
My response came out with a jerky nod.
I struggled to concentrate on the cards in my hands. They were decent, not great, but hopefully good enough. As long as I didn’t concentrate on the sight of Samir’s bare chest. We played in silence, tension making the air thick and heavy. It was ridiculously difficult to play cards across from a half-naked guy. Especially one I struggled to keep my hands off of fully clothed.
I sipped my brandy.
“Getting nervous?”
My head jerked up as I struggled to keep my eye
s above shoulder level.
“I only have three cards.”
My gaze moved to Samir’s hand. Shit. I hadn’t even been paying attention to his cards. If I wasn’t careful, he was going to go out soon. And I would lose a piece of clothing.
I took my turn quickly, my heart beating wildly in my chest. Fear and something else—anticipation, maybe, spurred me on.
Samir reached for the deck—drawing the top card—staring at it, a slow smile spreading across his lips. You could have heard a pin drop. He fanned three cards down—the three of clubs, the three of hearts and the three of spades. He placed a card on the discard pile, leaning back in his chair, his arms folded over his head, a satisfied smile spreading across his lips.
“I’m out.”
Horror filled me. I stared at the cards for a moment, struggling to get my courage up. I could back out now—go to bed and avoid all of this. I knew Samir; he talked a good game but if I bowed out he would understand.
The gleam in his eyes gave me all the courage I needed.
My hands moved down, shaking slightly, tugging on the knot of my soft pink robe. I untied the silk, hesitating before pushing the robe off of my shoulders.
Samir’s eyes widened.
The robe dropped to the floor.
Underneath I work a thin cotton camisole—the fabric so sheer I knew Samir could see my nipples through the material. Thankfully a pair of lace boy shorts gave me at least a bit of coverage. I tucked my legs in front of me in the chair, struggling to cover myself as much as possible.
Neither one of us spoke.
It was a minute before I shuffled the deck, dealing the cards. The entire time I felt the hot weight of Samir’s stare trained on my body. Every part of me felt sensitive, electrified. Despite my lack of clothing, I was ridiculously warm.
This hand went faster than the last. I played recklessly now, spurred by the desire to not have to take off any of my remaining clothes. Samir had removed his shoes and socks before we started playing, so now he was down to just his jeans and presumably a pair of boxers.
I couldn’t contain my glee when I went out first. “Strip.”
Samir laughed. “Gloating now, are we?”
I shook my head. “Uh-huh. Stop stalling. Strip.”
Samir’s eyes gleamed. “Eager to get me naked?”
I laughed, not denying it. “Better you than me.”
Samir stood, reaching for the button of his jeans. All traces of laughter fled. My eyes were mesmerized to the spot where his fingers hovered. He knew it, too. Slowly—too slowly—he unbuttoned his pants, dragging the zipper down. The sound filled the room.
I didn’t bother looking away. It was as if all the air had been sucked from the room. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. All I could do was look.
I wanted to touch.
Samir pulled his jeans off his lean, tapered hips, exposing a lot of skin and a pair of dark gray boxers. His jeans fell to the floor. He kicked them away. He reclined back in his chair, his posture relaxed, his gaze anything but.
My gaze traveled lower. His boxers left little to the imagination. He was definitely as turned on by this as I was.
Fire heated my cheeks.
Samir dealt the next hand in between sips of his brandy. He winked at me, seemingly comfortable playing in his underwear. “Things are about to get interesting.”
I wasn’t sure I could handle things getting anymore interesting than this.
I fumbled with the cards, my hands shaking with my movements. Part of me wanted to stop playing, part of me desperately wanted to continue.
The play slowed a bit, making the awkwardness of sitting across from each other in essentially our underwear even more pronounced. I watched in horror on the next hand as Samir went out first.
This time he didn’t speak. We both just stared at each other, the silence between us palpable. It was the boy shorts or the camisole. Either way, Samir was about to see a whole lot more of me than anyone had ever seen before.
Never taking my eyes off of his, I reached down with both arms, curling my fingers around the soft cotton fabric of my camisole. I hesitated for a beat.
His eyes flared.
I began dragging the soft pink fabric up over my stomach, over my belly button, my hands hovering just below the swells of my breasts. Samir’s gaze dipped down, below my eyes, running over my naked skin. A flush spread across my body.
I liked him looking at me.
I pulled the rest of the fabric over my head, the cool air hitting me as I tossed the shirt aside. I could feel the weight of Samir’s stare on my breasts, could sense the desire growing within him. For a moment I just sat there, arching my back slightly, letting him look his fill. The desire in his eyes chased away any embarrassment I might have felt. He made me feel beautiful, wanted, brave.
“Samir—”
The door to the library swung open. I instinctively moved to cover myself.
“Samir, man, I’m going to crash here tonight…” Omar’s voice trailed off at the sight of me, half-naked in the library. He blinked as if I were a mirage.
Samir jumped up from his chair, blocking me from Omar’s sight, rapid Arabic coming out of him. I didn’t need a translator to know he was pissed.
Humiliation flooded me. I fumbled with my clothes, grabbing the camisole from the floor and tugging it over my head, picking up my robe and belting it tightly around my waist.
From the other side of Samir I heard Omar call out, “Sorry about that, Maggie,” before he walked out of the library, closing the door behind him with a click.
A flush spread throughout my body. I wanted to die.
Samir turned around to face me. “Are you okay?” he asked quietly.
My chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. “Omar saw me naked. Omar saw my boobs. No, I’m definitely not okay.”
Samir looked panicked. “I’m sorry. I had no idea he was even here. He was supposed to be staying at his friend’s. I’m so sorry. I thought I locked the door.”
“Apparently not.”
“He won’t say anything,” Samir swore. “I made him promise not to.”
For a minute neither one of us spoke.
Samir gestured to the table between us. “Do you want to call it a night? We don’t have to finish if you don’t want to.” He left the last part hanging like a question I didn’t know how to answer.
Wanting wasn’t the problem. It was everything else.
“We probably should.”
Samir nodded.
“Good night,” I offered weakly.
A soft smile spread across his lips. “Sweet dreams, Maggie.”
Chapter 39
“Did you sleep okay?”
My head jerked up at the sound of Samir’s voice. A flush spread over my body. Considering the dreams I had after our card game, restful was the last word I would use to describe my sleep.
I nodded, needing a moment to gather my composure before I trusted my voice. I paused for a moment before gesturing toward the silver coffeepot on the table. “Want some?”
Samir slid into the seat across from me. He grabbed the coffeepot, pouring the steaming liquid into the ivory-and-gold china cup in front of him. He reached forward and grabbed a croissant off a platter on the table.
“Those are really good.” I was already on my second one.
“Yeah, the chef makes them all the time.”
We ate, silence filling the table.
“So what are your plans for today? Fleur mentioned something about going shopping. Hitting up some of the vintage shops?”
I nodded. Fleur and Mya had been talking about going shopping since we planned this trip. Apparently there was a district of shops in Paris where you could buy vintage Chanel for good prices. Although I was pretty sure we had very different definitions of what a good price was.
“I’m surprised you wouldn’t want to do more of the city. See touristy stuff. That sort of thing. The Louvre is nice. And Montmartre has a great
view of the city.”
I wanted to see all of those things. But Michael seemed just as excited about going vintage shopping as Fleur and Mya were. And I wasn’t sure I felt comfortable going off on my own. I knew like three words in French and from what I could tell Parisians weren’t eager to help Americans with the language barrier.
“Everyone is really excited about shopping. And I’m not really sure I can navigate the city with my mediocre French.”
“I can take you.”
Surprise filled me. “That’s really nice of you to offer, but it’s fine. I can definitely do Paris another time.”
“Why not now?”
“I don’t want to screw with everyone’s plans.”
“Then don’t. I’ll take you. It’s not a big deal.” Samir’s lips curved. “I think I can live with the disappointment of not getting to go vintage shopping.”
I laughed. “I don’t think—”
“Are you afraid to be alone with me?” Samir interrupted, a challenge in his voice and a knowing look in his eyes.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
Yes.
“Then take me up on my offer. I’m only nice like once or twice a week. Take advantage of a rare opportunity.”
I had to laugh at that. It seemed dangerous to go with him. But I didn’t know how to come up with a valid excuse other than I’m afraid I won’t be able to keep my hands off of you.
But it was Paris…
“You’re sure you don’t mind?”
“Trust me. I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to. It’ll be fun. Promise.”
* * *
Twenty minutes later, I stood in Samir’s parents’ apartment, waiting for him to come down. I tapped my foot impatiently against the marble floor. I wanted to leave before everyone woke up and learned we were going on this little sightseeing adventure. It was too weird to explain.
I stared down at the round wood table beneath a large crystal chandelier that looked as though it belonged at the Palace of Versailles. Various framed photos sat on top of the table. I couldn’t resist staring. Samir’s mom was gorgeous—dark hair and beautiful ivory skin. His dad looked like an older, more distinguished version of Samir. He didn’t smile in his photos. Pictures of Samir at various ages sat in the frames. I smiled softly at the sight of a chubby baby with dark curls.
I See London Page 21
