“Please don’t look at my baby pictures.”
My head jerked up at the sound of wry amusement in Samir’s voice. I set the picture back down on the table. “Why? You were a cute baby.”
He snorted. “I’ve never been cute.”
I laughed at the expression on his face. “You ready?”
I followed Samir out of the apartment, trailing behind him. We rode down the elevator in silence.
“So where do you want to go first?” he asked when we reached the sidewalk outside his apartment.
“You’re the tour guide. Lead the way.”
He paused for a moment, considering. “We’ll go to the Eiffel Tower first. Then maybe the Louvre. It’s still early enough that hopefully we can miss most of the tourists.”
I cast a sidelong glance at him. “I didn’t peg you for the museum type.”
“Why?” Samir asked. “I like art.”
“I don’t know. I just never really thought about it before.”
“Well. I do. Like art. And other things.” He hesitated. “You know, you really don’t know much about me at all.”
He had a point. In a way, I was scared to learn more about him. It was easy to tell myself that this thing between us was nothing more than a physical reaction to a hot guy. Anything else was dangerously close to something more. And yet I wanted to know him better. I wanted him to know me. “So what else do you like?”
“I like to read. Sometimes I like to cook.”
“You cook?” I couldn’t keep the surprise out of my voice. I never would have guessed that one.
“Of course I cook.” He almost looked affronted by my question. “Our chef taught me how.”
“What kind of food?”
“Mostly French. A little bit of Lebanese, but not a ton.”
I shook my head, a wry smile on my face. “You don’t seem to ever stop surprising me.”
Samir grinned. “Go on, ask me something else.”
“Favorite book?”
“Hmm.” Samir paused for a moment. “That’s a tough one. The Count of Monte Cristo. In French, of course. Or The Great Gatsby.”
Surprise filled me. “I love Gatsby. I never would have pegged you as a Gatsby fan.”
“Why?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s sentimental…romantic, even.”
“Hey, I can be sentimental and romantic.” I pulled a face. “I can,” Samir insisted. He put his arm around me, guiding me out of the path of oncoming Parisians.
“How about you?”
“What about me?”
“What’s your favorite book?”
That was a hard one. “Pride and Prejudice. Gatsby. Great Expectations.” I grinned. “Honestly, the list could go on and on.”
Samir smiled. “You should definitely check out the library in the daytime then. My dad has some great first editions.”
I blushed, the memory of last night assailing me. I tripped on the sidewalk just as Samir reached out a hand to catch me.
The streets and sidewalks were relatively crowded this morning, although less so than London—and the people definitely walked a little slower. But despite all of its history and beauty, Paris was still a busy, modern city.
We walked down the street, the Eiffel Tower suddenly coming into view.
“Do you want to go up?” Samir asked, removing his arm from my shoulders. “You can go up on the different levels and look out at the city.”
“Have you ever done it?”
He grinned. “Actually, no. It’s usually pretty crowded with tourists and I’m not one for waiting in line.”
I thought of all the club lines he always bypassed.
“We don’t have to. It looks really busy already.”
Samir shrugged. “I don’t mind.” He scanned the landscape before settling on a small trailer off in the distance. “Well, if we’re going to wait in line, we might as well have something to eat.”
I followed his gaze. “What’s that?”
“Crêpe stand. Had one?”
I shook my head.
He flashed me a grin, grabbing my hand. “Come on, then.”
I followed Samir to the crêpe stand, allowing him to pull me along. Our fingers linked together.
I was amazed he could eat so soon after breakfast. Come to think of it, he always had a healthy appetite. It was pretty unfair considering what good shape he was in. I scanned the options, trying to translate what some of the words meant. Some things I could recognize. Strawberry crêpe. Chocolate crêpe. Others were harder to decipher.
“What are you getting?”
“Nutella. Definitely Nutella.” I recognized the name of the chocolate spread; we had it in our school cafeteria.
“I’ll try that, too.”
Samir ordered for us in French. I took the opportunity to move my hand out of his. The French was hot enough as it was; I didn’t need to add touching to the mix.
When he pulled out his wallet to pay, I shook my head. “My treat.”
He hesitated. “I’m not letting a girl pay for me.”
My lips twitched. “Please? Think of it as a thank-you for showing me around Paris today. Despite what you might say, I’m pretty sure hanging around a bunch of tourists is not your idea of a good time.”
He snorted.
“This is just my way of saying thanks. Besides, you always pay for everyone. I beyond owe you.”
He sighed, the expression on his face vaguely uncomfortable. “Fine. But just this once. Thank you,” he added.
I grinned. “You’re welcome.”
Chapter 40
We spent the day hitting up the major Paris sights. We only made it halfway up the Eiffel Tower, but the view was incredible. From there we walked to the Louvre, following the signs to the Venus de Milo and finally, the Mona Lisa.
“This is the Louvre express tour,” Samir joked. “Next time you come to Paris you should come back and fully experience the museum. It’s so big, it can take days to appreciate the artwork.”
I wasn’t a huge art lover or anything, but something about standing there, staring up at one of the greatest masterpieces ever created, resonated with me. It wasn’t about the painting as much as it was what the painting represented. Here I was, this little girl from South Carolina, in Paris, no less. Even after months of living in London I still felt as if, somehow, this was all a dream.
“Ready for the next stop?” Samir asked.
I nodded, surprised by how good a tour guide he actually was. Even though he’d offered to show me the city, I’d been fully prepared for him to moan about the number of tourists or get impatient with my desire to take way too many pictures. Instead, he was quiet most of the time, answering my questions and taking the obligatory photos of me in front of various landmarks.
For the most part we took our tour of the city on foot. Occasionally Samir would hail a cab if the distance was too far, but other than that, we walked everywhere. I loved it. My ballet flats were perfect for navigating Paris’s cobblestone streets. And Parisians were definitely big walkers.
Throughout the day Samir would put his arm around me, guiding me out of the path of oncoming traffic. A few times he took my hands in his, pulling me along with an infectious enthusiasm.
I’d never felt more aware of his body. Or his hands.
We went to Notre-Dame, Montmartre and an artistic district called the Marais. Samir took a picture of me in front of the Arc du Triomphe and we walked through the Tuileries Gardens. It was one of the best days of my life.
“Is there anything else you wanted to see?”
I glanced down at my watch. It was getting late and the sun was starting to go down. Tonight for dinner Fleur planned for us all to go to this Lebanese restaurant she loved.
“I think that’s everything.” I looked up at him. “Thanks for today. I had a really good time.”
He smiled. “Me, too.”
We walked along the river, Samir pointing out the sights. Artists set ou
t canvases of Paris street scenes for sale all along the riverbank. I hesitated. It would be the perfect souvenir to remind me of this day.
“Do you mind?”
His lips twitched. “No. Everyone should have their obligatory Parisian street scene.”
I walked over to the paintings, studying them before settling on the one I wanted—a picture of the Eiffel Tower. Samir haggled with the guy in French until they reached a price both seemed happy with. I pulled out the requisite number of euros, flashing Samir a grateful smile. “Thanks for that. It’s a little intimidating when you don’t know the language. And I noticed not many Parisians speak English.”
Samir laughed. “I promise they speak a lot more English than you think.”
“Then why don’t they try to help out more?”
He shrugged. “Because the French won’t deign to speak English. They think their language is superior, so why bother? Besides, you are in France. If you were a French tourist in the United States, would you be angry if people refused to speak French to you?”
I guess he had a point. “It’s still a little frustrating.”
He winked at me. “We can be frustrating. It comes with being French.”
I considered this for a moment. “Which are you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, at school—in London—you seem so Arab to me. You fit in with all those guys and when you speak Arabic it just seems so natural. But here in Paris…you fit here, too.”
I was still trying to make out who Samir was. Normally I was fairly decent at reading people. But with him it felt as if he was a riddle I was constantly trying to solve.
“I’m both,” he answered, his gaze meeting mine. A new kind of tension filled the air. “Always both.”
I shook my head, breaking the gaze between us. There was something about his stare—suddenly I felt both warm and cold all over. “I can’t figure you out,” I murmured softly.
He was silent. For a moment I didn’t think Samir heard me. He started walking, heading back toward his apartment. I followed behind him, silence between us. He stopped abruptly, standing still until we were right in front of each other. When he finally did speak, his words were a surprise, his tone a mix of challenge and frustration.
“I can’t figure you out, either.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” I looked down at the ground in front of me, unable to meet his gaze. He was so close—if I reached out I could feel his body beneath my hand, his heart pounding beneath my palm. I could stroke up to the bare skin at the collar of his shirt, my fingertips roaming up his neck, stroking his lips—
“Don’t look at me like that.”
My head jerked up in surprise, my gaze meeting his. The heat of Samir’s stare had me stepping back. He reached out, his arm grabbing me at the waist, pulling my body up against his. His arousal pressed against me.
“Don’t look at me like that and think I’m not going to kiss you.”
I barely had a chance to register his words before his mouth descended on mine. With each kiss, bite, lick, he devoured me. There was nothing patient in this kiss, nothing sweet. It was nothing like our kiss on the steps. This kiss was a mass of desire and frustration. It wasn’t a question. He wanted. He took.
My knees felt weak as Samir plundered my mouth. The only thing I could do was hold on. My hands traveled up his body, running over his chest, moving up to lace around his neck. Without realizing it, I pulled him closer to me. I wanted him all over me, inside me. I wanted everything.
Samir broke away first, his chest rising and falling in heavy pants. He looked deliciously rumpled. “Why are you with that guy?” Anger blazed in his eyes—anger and something else, something that might have been hurt.
I stared at him, my mind struggling to keep up. “What?”
“The British guy,” Samir ground out.
Oh.
“Why, Maggie?”
“Why do you care?” The words just slipped out, driven by frustration and the need to know, once and for all, where I stood with him.
“You know why.”
My eyes narrowed. “Do I? Why do you care that I’m with Hugh? Why?”
He raked a hand through his hair. Frustration filled his tone. “I don’t know, okay? I don’t know. I just do.”
I waited for him to say something, waited for him to tell me he had feelings for me. But instead he just stared at me, confusion flickering across his face.
“I see you.”
I couldn’t tear my gaze away.
“I see you,” Samir repeated. “I see you, exactly as you are. Can you say the same about him? Can you say that about yourself?” His voice was raw, hypnotizing me with each word. “Do you know what it’s like watching you make a mistake by hanging out with some guy you clearly don’t fit with? Do you know what it was like watching you walk away with him that night? Imagining you fucking him? Imagining him touching you? Do you know what these past few months have been like?”
I did know. It was the same feeling I suffered every time I saw him out with another girl.
“I had to talk to Fleur. I’ve been pumping her for information for months. Trying to find out if you were having sex with him or not.”
I stared at him incredulously. Was he insane? I knew exactly what it was like—he had a revolving line of bimbos on his arm. Who was he to push me like this? What did he know about anything? About how I felt inside?
He was a magnet I couldn’t escape from. And he was a chance I couldn’t take.
I turned away from him. My heart pounded in my chest. All this time, all he did was jump from one girl to the next. He was so casual about things; he always treated me as though we were just having fun. How dare he push me on this? How dare he make me doubt things with Hugh? Hugh didn’t make me crazy. Not like this.
“Do you love him?”
I whirled around. “Why? Does it matter? Give me one reason why I should walk away from Hugh. He’s nice and he’s good to me. He actually makes me feel good about myself. I can breathe around him.” My voice broke. “I can’t breathe around you. You push me and you crowd me and I can’t breathe. I don’t want to be a random hookup. I see you, too. I see you with a different girl every night. I hear the stories. So yes, I want Hugh. I’m happy with Hugh. The only mistake I’ve made is hooking up with you. This ends now. No more kissing. No more strip rummy, no more hooking up. We’re done.”
Samir’s eyes closed for a moment and he staggered backward as if absorbing a blow. Then he turned his back to me and walked away.
Chapter 41
After our trip to Paris, the pace at school picked up considerably. I barely saw my friends. We didn’t have any classes together and we were all so busy with school. Fleur and I were like two ships passing in the night. We talked a bit at night in our room, but otherwise I spent most of my time in the library or hanging out with Noora. I avoided Samir. Somehow—eventually—we managed to be cordial around each other, but we never spoke of that night in Paris. And whatever friendship we’d had seemed to be gone.
Exams were coming, and with them, the stress of final grades. And soon—far too soon, if you asked me—I’d be leaving London. Not just for a few weeks either. For four months.
Four very long months.
I walked up High Street Ken, heading toward the Tube station. Hugh had invited me over to his place and for the first time since I’d known him, I hadn’t invented an excuse not to go. I wanted things to work between us. Needed them to. And if I didn’t change quickly, I was worried I’d lose him for good.
I lengthened my stride, weaving through the crowds of people. The weather had warmed a bit, and with the changing season came a whole new host of visitors to London. Tourists descended on the city, blocking the sidewalks with their giant umbrellas and massive folding maps. When I bitched about it to Hugh, he laughed and told me I was officially a true Londoner.
I liked the sound of that.
I turned into the station entranc
e, elbowing my way past a group of American tourists. I walked toward the turnstiles, ready to pull my Oyster card out of my pocket, when I saw Fleur walking in the opposite direction. I opened my mouth to call out her name—
She wasn’t alone.
Costa stood beside her, his arm draped casually around her shoulder. He said something that made Fleur laugh and then he leaned in, pressing his lips against hers. It definitely wasn’t the kind of kiss you would give a friend.
“Excuse me, miss?”
My gaze jerked away from Fleur and Costa, turning to face the man who spoke to me. He was dressed in a business suit, annoyance on his face.
“You’re blocking the entrance.”
My cheeks flamed as I mumbled my apologies. I moved out of the way, my thoughts full of what I had just seen. When I looked back at the stairway, Fleur and Costa were gone.
How could she have kept something like that from me? Were they back together? I had seen him recently at school with his girlfriend, so I didn’t think he was single. I just couldn’t believe Fleur was stupid enough to get involved with him again.
* * *
By the time I got to Hugh’s flat, I’d pushed all thoughts of Fleur from my mind. I leaned against the glass window, staring out onto the city. Hugh lived in a modern building with a doorman and a killer view of the river. This was the part of London I always thought of as “modern London.” Here the buildings were taller, the architecture more contemporary. I liked it, but for me, London would always be a celebration of a time long since passed. I loved the history that flooded the streets, loved the feeling that I was in another era when I walked down my street in Kensington.
“Enjoying the view?”
I turned around, anticipation filling me as Hugh walked toward me. I turned back to face the window. My eyes closed as his arms wrapped around me; his muscular body pressed against me. I was short enough that Hugh could fit my head under his chin, giving me the sensation that my entire body was encased in his.
It was so different from being in Samir’s arms.
Hugh bent his head, his lips finding the sensitive spot behind my ear. He kissed me softly there, his lips leaving goose bumps in their wake. I turned in his arms, leaning up on my tiptoes and pressing a soft kiss to Hugh’s cheek. His hands stroked down my back. Our bodies were locked against each other, his fingers probing, hands stroking. He reached up and tugged at the edge of my shirt, lifting it up over my bra, pulling it over my head. A rush of cold air hit my bare skin.
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