I See London 1 (22 page)

“Maggie.”

Samir wrapped his arms around me, pulling me against his chest. One arm hooked around my body, sliding me onto his lap. I sat there, his arms around me, cradling me, tears falling from my eyes.

“I still remember the last thing she said to me. She told me to be good.”

And I’d been good ever since.

“When I was younger, I just thought if I was good that maybe she would come back for me.”

That maybe she would love me.

“Maggie.” Samir’s voice was raw with emotion. He reached out, his hand stroking my face. “It’s her loss.”

My heart thudded. “You don’t have to—”

“Listen to me,” Samir interrupted. “It’s her loss. If she left you, it’s on her. It wasn’t you.” He kissed the top of my head, his lips brushing against my hair. A shiver slid down my spine. “I promise you, it wasn’t you.”

Emotion—thick and heavy—clogged my throat. “Thank you.” Embarrassment flooded me. “I should go.” I wriggled off his lap.

Samir held me there. “Maggie—”

I stared back at him, a question in my eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. And then his lips claimed mine.

This time the kiss was nothing like the ones before. It started softly—hesitantly—a tentative meeting of lips. He pressed soft kisses against my mouth, sucking on my bottom lip gently, his tongue curling into my mouth.

With each brush of his lips, I felt myself catching fire. His kiss was easy, almost sweet. My response was anything but. This time I took over the kiss, my mouth moving against his, devouring it. I gripped his arms, pressing his body against mine.

I felt his arousal pressing against me. A moan escaped from my lips.

“I want you.”

Three words. Three words that slipped from my mouth without me even realizing it. Three terrifying words.

I jerked back from Samir, my heart racing like a horse in the Kentucky Derby.

“I don’t want to want you.”

I let Samir pull me back against his body, his arms stroking mine softly.

“I know,” he whispered, his lips pressed against my hair.

We sat there on the steps, not speaking, watching the cars drive by.

Chapter 31

Two days before Valentine’s Day, the International School descended into a nervous frenzy. There was far too much romantic drama going around for the holiday to not be a huge deal. Some guys had even gotten an early start—enormous bouquets of flowers were delivered to school on a daily basis. Their presence only served to stoke the seeds of madness. It became a competition—each girl striving to receive the most ostentatious display of love.

No one was immune. Sadly, not even the inhabitants of room 301.

“You’re going.”

“No, I’m not.”

Fleur leveled me with what I’d affectionately termed The Look. “I hate to break it to you, but he’s not going to call.”

“He might.”

“He told you he might have to work tonight. It’s eight o’clock. He’s not going to call.”

As much as I hated to admit it, deep down I knew she was right. That didn’t make it suck any less. I knew the odds of spending today with Hugh were slim since he had to work, but still. A girl could dream. It was my first Valentine’s Day with a sort-of-maybe boyfriend. And besides, I needed a distraction—it was Valentine’s Day and the last thing I wanted was to see who Samir was taking out for his date.

“I hate Valentine’s Day.”

“Join the club.” Fleur threw a pillow at me. “That’s why you’re coming out tonight. It’ll make you feel better.”

“Doubtful.” I had visions of stuffing my face with Magnum bars and watching movies about other people finding love.

“The Valentine’s Day party is the highlight of the school’s social season.”

“You say that about all the events.”

“Well, this time it’s true.”

“I don’t know…”

“You’re going.”

“Why?”

Fleur paused, her expression clouded. “Last year Costa and I spent Valentine’s Day in Paris. This year he’s probably celebrating it the same way with his new girlfriend. I don’t feel like being by myself tonight.”

Whenever Fleur played the Costa card, I knew she was bringing in the big guns. “I’m not really sure I’m in a social mood tonight.”

What I didn’t say was that I didn’t want to see Samir. Ever since that night on the steps, I’d been avoiding him. I couldn’t believe I’d broken down like that in front of him, or that I’d told him about my mom.

I felt vulnerable, exposed. And I didn’t want to deal with it.

“That’s the point. No one is in a good mood tonight. But instead of sitting in the room feeling sorry for ourselves, we’re going to get dressed up, go out, get drunk and judge everyone’s fashion choices. We’re reclaiming Valentine’s Day.”

I grinned, her mood infectious. Fleur had a way of rallying the troops when her mind was set on something. “Fine. You’ve convinced me.”

Given my current dateless status on Valentine’s Day I figured it couldn’t get any worse.

* * *

By the time we got to the club, the party was already in full swing. I had to give it to the university—they never did things in half measures. The venue they’d chosen for the event was, according to Fleur, one of London’s trendier clubs. The interior was sleek and modern. Cool house music poured from the club speakers.

I followed Fleur over to a table where Mya and Michael sat, already knocking back glasses of champagne.

Michael waved us over. “You came!” he shouted over the music.

“Fleur convinced me.”

I slid into the booth next to Michael. He passed me a glass of champagne.

“A toast,” he shouted. “To my girls.”

We clinked glasses.

I caught sight of George across the room. I grinned, waving at him. I’d seen less and less of him as the year progressed.

“Hey, guys, I’ll be right back.” I left the table and walked over to him. “Hey.”

He grinned. “Hi. How’s it going?”

“Good. You?”

“Can’t complain.”

“I’m surprised you came out tonight. It’s good to see you, though.”

George didn’t seem to be big on going out. He ran with the quieter crowd within the International School.

He shrugged. “Residence Life sponsors the party every year. Mrs. Fox wanted everyone to come.”

“Well, I’m glad you did.”

George gestured to a point over my shoulder. “I see you’re hanging out with the Ice Queen now.”

My gaze jerked to where Fleur sat with Mya and Michael. I grinned, turning back to face him. “She’s kind of amazing when you get to know her.”

George shrugged, taking a swig from his bottle of beer. “I’ll just have to take your word on that one.”

“She is,” I insisted. “She’s really loyal and fun. And believe it or not, she can be pretty sweet.”

George tossed me a skeptical look.

“Do you want to go for a run sometime soon?” he asked, changing the subject.

I nodded. We’d started running together at the beginning of last semester, but the busier school got, the less time I had for working out. Unfortunately my thighs seemed to miss the activity. “Sounds good to me.”

We talked for a few more minutes before I headed back to my friends.

I slipped into the booth between Fleur and Michael. Fleur sipped her champagne, surveying the room. She had that look in her eyes I’d quickly learned spelled trouble.

“I’m going to play,” she announced, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

I groaned.

Most of the guys at the International School failed to impress me. The American guys were nice, but in an environment as diverse as our university, they tended to blend into the background. The European guys were doable but they operated a tight little clique that was hard to break into—especially given Fleur’s breakup with Costa, who seemed to be the unofficial leader of the Europeans. There were some major hotties within the group, but that was it. Not to mention they seemed a little stuck-up.

The Arabs were überintimidating. Probably because they mostly spoke Arabic and I got the distinct impression they looked down on the Americans. Even my friendship with Samir hadn’t been enough to make me feel comfortable around the Arab clique. Although Samir was definitely the undisputed leader. The Africans, like the Arabs, mostly kept to themselves.

We were a veritable United Nations of men.

“Maggie likes her men older,” Michael teased with an exaggerated drawl.

I elbowed him in the side. “Shut up.”

Mya leaned in. “Who are you going to hit on?”

Fleur scanned the crowd, tapping her fingers against her champagne flute. Her eyes narrowed. “Him.”

We all followed Fleur’s gaze.

Of course.

Alessandro Marin was arguably the hottest guy at the International School. He was Italian and looked every inch the Roman god. He was also, as far as I could tell, pretty much untouchable. Possibly even for Fleur. He didn’t even run with the European group; he pretty much did his own thing. There were rumors he modeled on the side and had dated a Swedish pop star.

“Nice choice.” Michael let out a low whistle.

I had to agree—the boy was majorly fine.

She grinned. “Excuse me, I’m going to go meet my latest—”

“Victim?” I teased.

“Exactly.”

After Fleur left, I sat with Mya and Michael, watching the crowd. Fleur was right; it did look as if most if not all of the school was here.

And then I saw him.

Chapter 32

Samir stood across the room from me with a large group of Arabs. Some I recognized from other nights out, others seemed new. Tonight he wore a white collared dress shirt, sleeves rolled, exposing lean, tanned forearms.

A flush spread across my cheeks. He wasn’t here with a date.

Suddenly, Samir turned. He grinned at me, his head jerking in a nod. His gaze ran over me from head to toe, his grin widening.

I froze. I couldn’t stop staring at him. A part of me wanted to cross the room and say hi. Hell, I wanted to say more than hi. I was losing my mind.

“Oh, shit,” Michael exclaimed.

I tore my attention away from Samir.

“What’s up?” I asked, recognizing his tone immediately. It was his something-major-is-about-to-go-down voice.

“Shit is about to get ugly.”

I scanned the crowd, but nothing seemed out of place to me. No one was wearing the same outfit; no one seemed to be messing with someone else’s guy. My gaze settled back on Samir’s group. He’d turned away from me, his attention focused on something else. A low murmur seemed to spread throughout the crowd. Whatever was happening, Samir was clearly about to be part of it.

“What’s going on?”

Mya’s eyes widened, ignoring me. Her gaze settled on someone in the crowd. “Oh, she didn’t.” Her voice had the same eager anticipation Michael’s did.

“What? What am I missing?”

Mya gestured toward a dark-haired girl standing in the corner, her arms wrapped around a boy’s waist.

“That’s Amira. She’s Omar’s ex-girlfriend.”

Samir’s BFF Omar. Awareness dawned. “And that’s not Omar.”

“Nope. That’s Abdul. He used to be part of Samir’s little group, but he and Amira hooked up while she was still dating Omar. They’ve been lying low ever since.”

“Apparently not any longer,” Michael commented, his gaze jerking back and forth between the couple and Samir’s clique.

Sure enough, Omar had broken away from his group and was now heading toward Amira and Abdul. The expression on his face said it all. This was not going to go over well.

“You don’t think they’re going to fight, do you?”

The words were barely out of my mouth before Omar shoved Abdul. Amira shrieked, moving away from Abdul. Words were tossed out in Arabic.

Michael leaned forward. “Oh, here we go.”

A group of guys moved into the fray, backing up Omar. There had to have been six of them.

Mya frowned. “This is about to get real.”

Samir came at the group, a mass of guys behind him. My heart thudded. “Oh, no.”

“Really, really real,” Mya added.

She wasn’t kidding. I’d never actually seen a fight in person. My high school hadn’t been particularly rowdy, and while there were a few fights, I’d always seemed to miss them. Here I had a front-row seat.

Through the mass of people it was impossible to see who threw the first punch. But inevitably someone did and the instant fist connected with bone, things got really ugly. There must have been thirty people now, a mix of guys from the university. Most were Arab and seemed to be friends with either Omar or Abdul. The rest seemed to have randomly jumped in for the thrill of the fight.

Without realizing it, my eyes tracked Samir’s movements. He threw punches, his movements sharp and quick. He might not have been a big guy, but he was fast. And by the looks of things, this definitely wasn’t his first fight. I winced as one of the other guys landed a blow to his jaw. Samir’s head jerked back.

Nausea welled up. “Isn’t security going to break it up?”

Michael shrugged. “Would you want to go into that?”

He had a point.

The three of us watched in shock as the fighting continued. I couldn’t even tell who was fighting anymore; gone were any clear alliances or sides. This was a brawl—arms shoving, hands punching, legs kicking. I half expected people to start biting each other.

In the melee I lost sight of Samir.

“This is insane.”

Mya shook her head, her tone wry. “This stuff happens all the time. Although I have to say, I’ve never seen this many of them brawling at once.”

“Aren’t they going to get in trouble?” This looked like the sort of thing you could get expelled for.

“They’ll probably be fine. The school’s pretty used to it by now. The guys involved will pay for the damage to the club and all will be forgotten.”

“This is undoubtedly the most effed-up Valentine’s Day I’ve ever had.”

Michael clinked our glasses together. “Amen, sister.”

Suddenly club security began moving into the crowd, breaking the fight apart. The bouncers pulled people off of each other. A guy grabbed Samir, yanking him off of Abdul. Samir’s shirt was ripped at the bottom. Blood ran down his face from a cut on his cheek. His eyes looked intense, wild. Our gazes connected across the room. The look he sent me was all fire, passion, heat—