I See London 1 (4 page)

“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.