I See London 1 (11 page)

“Kiss me.”

I blinked.
Was he joking?

“Kiss me,” Samir repeated, his tone lazy.

I shoved against his chest. “You’re not helping. Be serious.”

“I am being serious. You want to learn how to kiss? Kiss me. Knowing how to initiate a kiss is just as important as knowing how to receive one. It’s not enough to be seduced, you need to know how to seduce.”

My hands remained on his chest, my fingers curled into the fabric of his black sweater. Curled into his warmth. Up close, I couldn’t resist the opportunity to study Samir. His eyes were a dark coffee color, framed by ridiculously thick, long lashes. Dark curls of hair brushed against his collar. His skin was tan, certainly far tanner than my own pale skin. He was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.

“Scared?” he teased.

Yes.

I was tired of being ruled by my fear and nerves. I closed the gap between our lips, lingering just a breath away from kissing him. My hand traveled north, releasing my grip on his sweater, moving up his neck. My fingertips brushed against his bare skin, the feeling silky smooth. My hand continued its upward path, growing bolder now, threading through Samir’s hair, loving the feel of his silky curls beneath my fingers.

He stiffened.

Our gazes met. I held the force of his stare, shocked to see desire flaring in his eyes. It was all the encouragement I needed. My lips brushed against his—hesitant, exploring, hungry. Once, twice. Samir sighed, his mouth opening slightly. His breath tingled with mine, his tongue grazing my lips. He wasn’t quite kissing me back but he wasn’t moving away either. Clearly he was going to make me work for it.

“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.