Читать книгу I See London - Chanel Cleeton - Страница 7

For a moment I couldn’t move. I just stood there, gaping at him, convinced this was some sort of nightmare I would eventually wake from.

I blinked.

Still there.

Samir lay sprawled on the empty bed—Fleur’s bed—his hands behind his head, his ankles crossed. He looked perfectly comfortable, lazy even—except for his eyes. His eyes blazed as they explored my naked body—starting at my breasts, roaming lower…

His gaze lingered like a caress over my bare skin, leaving a flash of heat in its wake.

I shrieked.

Lunging to grab the towel from the floor, I wrapped it hastily around my body, as if its mere presence was enough to erase my nakedness from his memory. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He didn’t answer me. Instead his eyes lifted back to mine, slowly, his lips quirking.

“What is wrong with you?” I snapped. My cheeks reddened. Hell, I blushed everywhere. “Are you some kind of perv or something?”

He laughed, the sound rich, filling the dorm room. It should be illegal to laugh like that. “That’s one I haven’t been called before.”

“Well, maybe you should be. Why the hell are you spying on me?”

He grinned. “I wasn’t spying. I was waiting for someone. The show was just an added bonus. One I thoroughly enjoyed, by the way”

I crossed my arms over my chest. I wanted to die. More accurately, I wanted him to die.

Samir laughed again, the sound sending a flutter through my body.

I needed to put on clothes—sweatpants, preferably, and a parka.

“I’m pretty sure I’m going to be enjoying this little memory for a while.” He rose from the bed, his body uncoiling, the move graceful and unhurried. He had style, I’d give him that.

I expected him to walk out the door, but instead he moved toward me, each step bringing a new set of nerves and anticipation.

“What are you doing?” I stumbled over the words, my voice coming out as a squeak.

This had to be a dream.

His gaze never left mine. I wanted to look away, wanted to turn around. I wanted to bolt, but something kept me in place.

My feet were rooted to the floor.

“What are you doing?” I repeated when he stopped inches away from me, close enough that the scent of his cologne teased me. He was taller than I’d originally thought, forcing me to tilt my head up to meet his gaze.

He reached out, his finger grazing my collarbone. The touch of his hand against my bare skin sent a shiver through me. No one had ever touched me like this. I sighed, the sound filling the room. He froze, his finger hovering over my flesh. I opened my mouth to say something—to push him away—but I came up blank. All of my thoughts were focused on the point where his finger hovered over me, mesmerized by the sight of his skin against mine, of the possibility of that hand dipping lower…

“Samir!”

The voice broke me out of my stupor. I whirled around, staring at the door.

A girl stared back at me through narrowed eyes and a pissed-off expression. She was tall. Way taller than me. Her thin body was encased in an outfit that looked like it belonged in a magazine. Shiny brown hair and boxy bangs framed a slender face with high cheekbones. One perfectly shaped eyebrow arched at the sight of me. There was only one person it could be—

I’d never seen a French rap video, but I could definitely imagine her in one.

She brushed past me, her eyes only for Samir. He didn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed. They hugged in a tangle of limbs, my presence forgotten.

This time I did bolt. I grabbed my clothes, heading for the door. Hell, at this point changing in the middle of the hall was preferable to spending another minute in their presence.

My roommate’s boyfriend was the hottest guy I had ever seen.

And he’d just seen me naked.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later I was fully dressed but no less flustered. I hovered outside the room, hoping I’d given them enough time to go somewhere else. Anywhere else. I would have stayed out longer, but I was starving and my wallet was sitting on top of my desk. I punched in the code, my hand getting ready to turn the knob when the door swung open.

I stared up into Fleur’s perfect face.

“Let me guess, you’re one of my roommates.” Her voice had a heavy French accent; her hand fisted on her hip. The words escaped in a bored drawl, hinting at some irony in us being roommates.

“I’m Maggie. Maggie Carpenter.”

She turned her back to me.

“American. Of course.”

So much for a warm welcome. At least I’d been forewarned.

“The rooms suck,” Fleur called out. I could hear a note of satisfaction in her voice. “The American kids always have a hard time adjusting. Especially if they haven’t been to Europe before. They say everything in the U.S. is bigger.”

I stiffened, the insult unmistakable.

A burst of French came from the other side of the room.

He was still there.

“Don’t poke the new girl, Fleur.” Samir’s voice filled the room, speaking English now. He winked at me.

Of course they were a couple. They were both so beautiful and exotic-looking, like something out of a magazine. All I could do was stand there with my stupid deer-in-the-headlights expression, staring back at them.

It was official. I had the worst roommate ever.

* * *

For a school as expensive as the International School, the dining hall was a bit of a disappointment. Like the dorm rooms, it was small. One wall boasted a bunch of silver tubs full of food, heated under fluorescent lights. A stack of plastic trays sat in front of the line of food.

“Go with the curry. Trust me, it’s the only thing remotely edible.”

I turned to the girl next to me—a tall black girl with long black hair. Gorgeous blue beaded earrings hung from her ears, a matching silver-and-blue scarf wrapped around her neck.

“Thanks for the advice.”

“No problem. I’m Mya. Are you new?”

“I’m Maggie. I’m a freshman.”

“Welcome. American?”

I grimaced. It had to be the accent giving me away. “Yeah.” Or my outfit. I stared down at my jeans and flip-flops, wishing I’d put something more glamorous on.

“Don’t worry. There are lots of Americans here.” She gave me a friendly smile, one of the first genuine ones I’d received since I arrived. “This is probably a bit of a culture shock.”

“It’s different,” I hedged. “Where are you from?”

“Nigeria.”

Wow.

“That’s pretty cool.”

She shrugged. “It’s nice. London’s better, though. We spend most of the year here. My dad works at the Nigerian embassy.” She gestured toward one of the empty tables. “Do you want to sit together?”

I had been courting visions of having to sit by myself at lunch, with only a book for company. “That would be great, thanks.”

I followed Mya to one of the tables, sliding into the chair across from hers. “Have most students arrived yet? It seems kind of empty.”

“Most probably have, but there are always the ones who push it right up to the last minute. Not everyone lives on campus or eats in the dining hall, either. A lot of students have their own flats and do their own things. It kind of adds up to a weird mix. We’re a small school, but there are still a bunch of different cliques.”

Great, it was high school all over again.

From the other side of the partition, I heard the sound of French. I turned in my seat, a groan escaping my lips. Fleur walked in, Samir trailing behind her.

“Fabulous.”

Mya followed my gaze until she settled on Fleur. Her lips quirked. “Ahh, I see you’ve met the reigning queen.”

“She’s my roommate.” I skewered a piece of chicken with my fork. And her boyfriend knows what I look like without my clothes on.

Mya’s eyes widened. “You’re going to have your hands full.”

“Believe me, I’m starting to figure that out.”

I had to ask. I ducked my head, hoping I wasn’t turning bright red. “What’s the deal with that guy? Samir, right? He was in our room earlier.”

“You have had a busy morning. That’s Samir Khouri. He’s Lebanese. At least his dad is. He’s a politician back in Lebanon. His mom’s French or something.”

“He seems like an asshole,” I muttered.

She laughed. “Yeah, you’re not far off the mark with that one.”

“Hi, Mya.”

My head jerked up at the sound of Fleur’s voice.

“Hi.”

“Are you going to the party tomorrow night?” Fleur asked, completely ignoring me.

Mya grinned. “I never miss a boat party.”

Fleur tossed her light brown hair back over her shoulder. “A bunch of us are going out after if you want to come.”

“I might. Thanks.”

Fleur nodded, not even bothering to glance my way, her heels clipping on the wood floor as she walked away.

“Are you guys friends or something?”

Mya shrugged, tearing off a piece of bread from her plate. “Not really. I would call us acquaintances that occasionally hang out. We went to boarding school together in Switzerland for a few years.”

Of course they did.

“So about that party Fleur mentioned. You’re going, right?” Mya asked.

“I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it, really.”

“You have to go. The boat party is the start of the semester. Everyone will be there. The school rents a boat on the Thames. You can’t miss it—it’s a great way to get to know people and an excuse to look fabulous.”

“I don’t know. I don’t have anything to wear.” Not to mention the fact that I wasn’t exactly the party type. In high school I hadn’t been a big partier. Still—this was college and I was living in one of the most glamorous cities in the world.

“You’re coming. I can’t allow you to miss your first boat party. Besides, if you need an outfit, you definitely came to the right place. We’re going shopping.”

* * *

She hadn’t been kidding about the shopping. Thanks to Mya, I was now the proud owner of the world’s skimpiest dress. It was hot-pink and made of some sort of stretchy fabric. It barely covered my now highly enhanced boobs, courtesy of Mya’s padded bra suggestion. The hemline fell just below my butt. High heels completed the look.

I ran a brush through my long brown hair, wishing it did more than just lie flat and straight over my shoulders. I had wanted to wear my hair up, but Mya said the neckline of the dress looked better with it down. I figured her advice was worth following.

In high school, my clothes had been cute. My grandparents didn’t believe in spending a ton of money, but we had a decent selection at some of the discount stores. I had always been able to make do.

Here I was totally out of my element.

Tonight Fleur had left for the party dressed in a skintight white minidress I could have fit maybe one thigh in. The dress looked like something out of a magazine. So did Fleur, for that matter.

A knock sounded at the door.

I stumbled over in my high heels. Mya greeted me on the other side in a gorgeous red dress.

She whistled. “Girl, you look hot. My friend Michael’s going to give us a ride. You’ll like him. He’s American, too.”

Despite the school’s advertisement that a large part of the student body was from the U.S., I hadn’t actually met any other Americans. “Sounds good to me.”

I followed Mya out, stumbling slightly on the stairs. “Shit.”

“You okay?”

“It’s the heels.”

We walked out to the front of the building, where a guy leaning casually against a black SUV waved to Mya. He walked up to her, pressing a swift kiss on each cheek before turning to me.

“I’m Michael.”

“Maggie.”

He grinned. “Where are you from, Maggie?”

“South Carolina.”

“A Southern girl. Nice. I’m from Connecticut.”

He was cute—sandy blond hair and green eyes. He was dressed in a collared shirt and dark jeans. He was exactly the kind of guy I would have liked back home.

“You girls look great tonight.”

I fought off the blush. “Thanks.”

We followed him to the SUV.

Mya grabbed my arm before we slid into the backseat. “He’s gay,” she whispered. “I didn’t want you to get a crush on him or something. But he’s a great guy and I thought you guys might get along. You’ll learn early on, there are a lot of fake people here. Michael’s as real as they come.”

“Thanks for the heads-up.”

Inside the car was even nicer-looking, the interior a combination of leather and wood. Techno music played from the speakers.

I couldn’t help but feel like Cinderella on my way to the ball.