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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.
Chapter 4
The boat was packed, students crowding around the bar area and filling the dance floor. The DJ played some song I’d never heard before. The kids on the dance floor were going crazy, moving their bodies to the beat of the music. Tables lined the walls of the main part of the boat. In one corner a guy climbed on top of the table, spraying the dancing crowd with a bottle of champagne.
Mya nudged me. “Those are the guys from the Gulf.” I stared blankly back at her. “The Middle East,” she explained. “There are a ton of them here and they party like crazy. They drink Cristal and drive Ferraris and make little effort to go to class. Piece of advice? Avoid them like the plague. They come to London and screw around with girls they’ll never take seriously. They like to show off, and for the most part they aren’t bad guys—they just aren’t boyfriend material.”
I studied the kid spraying the champagne. Got it, no Arabs. They hardly seemed like my type anyway. Their cars probably cost more than the house I had grown up in.
“So who is datable here?”
Mya’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Good question. And a tough one to answer. Most of the guys at school you can rule out straightaway. At a school this small, everyone talks. Besides, with such a small dating pool things can get a bit incestuous.”
“Ladies, anyone care to join me for a drink?” Michael stood behind us, a bottle of champagne in hand.
Mya grinned. “You got the good stuff. Nice.” She turned to me. “Do you like champagne?”
I had no idea. Being able to drink legally as a college freshman had never seemed like an option. But here I was. “Sure.”
Michael handed the bottle off to one of the girls serving drinks at the tables. She wore black shorts so short I doubted she could bend over and a skimpy black tank top barely constraining her boobs. Compared to her I looked like I should be going to church.
Michael guided us over to a little table pushed up against the wall with a small reserved sign.
“Michael always buys tables,” Mya explained, sinking down next to me.
“What do you mean he buys tables?”
“See, this way we have bottle service and don’t have to go to the bar. Instead you can sit at the table all night if you want and the waitresses serve you from here.”
I nodded as though it made sense, even though I totally didn’t get it. What was such a big deal about having to walk over to the bar?
The waitress opened the bottle of champagne, filling up three glasses. The frothy golden liquid bubbled over the top.
“A toast!” Michael announced, grabbing the first glass and raising it high in the air. Mya and I followed suit. “To the start of another fabulous year!”
Our glasses clinked together. I took a sip of my drink, the bubbles exploding in my mouth. The DJ switched songs and loud hip-hop music came over the speakers.
“I love this song!” Mya grabbed my hand. “Come on, we have to go dance.”
I wanted to tell her no because the truth was, I wasn’t even sure I could dance. I had tried a few times at family weddings, but that kind of dancing looked nothing like this—bodies gyrating to the music in a seductive beat. I followed Mya out to the dance floor, looking around, trying to figure out what to do. Finally I began moving my hips, wishing desperately that I’d had more of a social life in high school to prepare me for all of this.
Mya jerked her head in my direction. “Your roommate’s here,” she yelled over the pumping beat.
I turned.
Fleur strolled into the party, a group of guys in tow. Samir walked next to her, the perfect counterpart to her beauty. She made her way through the crowd like Moses parting the proverbial Red Sea, all eyes on her. Well, except for mine.
Tonight he wore dark jeans, an expensive-looking black jacket and a gray collared shirt. I hadn’t thought it possible for him to look even better than the day on the steps.
I was wrong.
He exchanged handshakes with a few guys before heading over to the table next to Michael’s. He moved confidently, as if he owned the room. Suddenly Samir’s head turned, his gaze meeting mine. My heart began to pound.
His stare pierced me.
Was he imagining me naked right now?
I reddened instantly.
Samir’s eyes widened, his lips twitching. The look he gave me was long and languid, surprise flickering in his deep brown eyes. Surprise, followed by clear male appreciation. With each second that passed it felt as though he was stripping away my clothes, layer by layer, baring my body before him. I felt the full weight of his stare, each glance leaving a trail of heat in its wake. It was as if his hands were running over my skin—molding, shaping my curves, caressing my skin.
No one had ever looked at me like that before.
Fleur tugged on Samir’s arm. He ignored her. She tugged again—saying something to him now—and he turned his attention away from me.
“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.”
