London Falling. Chanel Cleeton

trick and exquisite torture all rolled into one. Just being here—a foot away from him—was enough to tempt me. I ached to reach out, brush my fingers against his skin, and curl into that warmth.

      And then I heard that voice again—sexy and sultry, the husky tone winding its way through my body, sending a shiver in its wake. I could drown in his voice.

      “Hi, Maggie.”

      Samir

      IT WAS LIKE being punched in the chest. Fuck me.

      She sat there, inches away. All I could do was stare like a man lost in the desert, faced with a mirage. I could smell her perfume; the memory of that subtle scent had been driving me crazy for months. I remembered exactly what it smelled like on her naked body. Remembered kissing every inch of her gorgeous skin, nibbling on her, my tongue tracing patterns across her flesh.

      The rush of arousal hit me like another punch.

      “Samir? Are you paying attention?”

      I jerked my gaze away from Maggie, taking one last look before turning to face my cousin. I slid a smile on my face, struggling to get my body under control. I’d known it would be weird seeing Maggie after...well, after seeing all of her. But this?

      Somehow I’d missed the memo that seeing her under the harsh cafeteria lights, surrounded by the aroma of crappy food and the presence of other students, would make me want to take her back to my room and strip her bare. Hell, at this point a cafeteria table would have worked.

      I wanted to bury myself in her body.

      “Samir.”

      “Give me a minute, Fleur.”

      I needed a moment. A moment of quiet before I had to look back at her. I needed a moment to get my shit under control.

      “I’m tired, Fleur. I just flew in from Beirut. Excuse me if my response time’s a little delayed.”

      Fleur rolled her eyes. “There seems to be a lot of jet lag going around.”

      I looked over at Maggie. Her head was turned, her gaze focused on the plate in front of her, her face partially hidden by the curtain of her brown hair. I remembered all too well having her hair wrapped around my fist, pulling her head back, capturing those lips—

      “Samir. Are you going to sit, or are you just going to stand there staring?”

      “Chill,” I muttered through gritted teeth, sliding into the chair next to Fleur so I could have a perfect, uninterrupted view of Maggie. If only she’d look at me.

      “So how was Lebanon?”

      “Fine.” I needed to get Fleur on another subject fast. Lebanon was the last thing I wanted to talk about right now.

      “How’s your girlfriend?”

      The word “girlfriend” passed so easily from Fleur’s lips, sending a wave of dread through me.

      My head filled with curse words—in English, French and Arabic. That was the beauty of my French and Lebanese heritage—although there was always a part of me that felt caught between two cultures, two worlds, it did give me a wealth of profanity to choose from. I settled for merde.

      I couldn’t look at her now. This wasn’t how I’d imagined this going down. I needed a chance to talk to her—to explain in private, without Fleur and the rest of the damned school listening in.

      But Fleur had said the word I’d been dreading, the word I’d never wanted Maggie to hear from anyone but me. Hell, let’s be real, I would rather have eaten glass than told her what Fleur had casually let slip.

      I didn’t want to look at Maggie. I couldn’t look at Maggie. I owed her an explanation—an apology—so much more than I could give her. Instead I froze, unable to think of anything to save this moment.

      Her head jerked up from the plate, the anger flashing across her face a knife slashing me open. But it was nothing compared to the hurt that followed, clouding her beautiful brown eyes. Shame filled me. Not for the first time, I wished I could go back and undo everything that had happened this summer. I wished things were different. I wished I were different. I’d never been one for regrets. Until now. Until her.

      This girl brought me to my fucking knees.

      CHAPTER TWO

      Maggie

      GIRLFRIEND.

      The word pierced me, knocking the breath out of me. I sat there, staring, watching it play out in front of me. It was one of those moments when my world lurched to a crashing stop.

      I waited. Waited for him to laugh and say he’d broken up with her. Waited for him to look at me. Waited for something—some sign—to let me know I hadn’t been an idiot all summer, lusting after a guy who didn’t even want me. I waited for words that never came. My heart—the one I’d sworn was never engaged—broke a little bit.

      I was such an idiot.

      I’d known there was a possibility this would happen. I’d known it even when I’d gone to bed with him. He’d had a girlfriend then, and there had been no promises, no guarantees. Nothing beyond the way he looked at me, the way he touched me. He’d never given me the words, just the fire and passion that changed everything.

      But the revelation still shattered me.

      I escaped from the cafeteria in a mad dash, mumbling some ridiculous excuse that had Fleur looking at me in surprise and Samir staring down at the floor. He should be staring at the floor. A strangled gasp pushed through the anger. Months. Months since we’d had sex, and not so much as a phone call or an email or a freaking message in a bottle. Just a lame text that had come in the middle of the night in July. Months of me dragging my lazy ass to the gym, eating non-fat yogurt, and hitting the tanning bed every free chance I had.

      When he’d sent me that first text after our night together and I’d read those words—Last night was amazing. We should do it again. Often. See you next year. Xxxx—I’d actually believed it. Our one night together had been amazing. So amazing that four months later I was still reliving it in my thoughts and in my dreams.

      And he was still with his girlfriend.

      How could he? Did he sleep with his arms curled around her like he had with me? Did he hold her body against his? Did he kiss her lips like he’d kissed mine?

      How could he do what he’d done with me with someone else, when I couldn’t so much as look at another guy?

      I pushed open the door to our room, anger and hurt flooding me, building to a stunning crescendo. I stopped short at the sight of Mya staring at me with a worried expression on her face.

      “You seem upset.”

      “I’ve been better.”

      The three of us were roommates this year—me, Mya and Fleur. I’d felt guilty about leaving our old roommate, Noora, but she’d found an off-campus apartment and seemed happy with her new living arrangement. Moments like these I wished I had a single.

      “Want to talk about it?”

      “Not really.”

      Mya more than anyone would think I was an idiot for fooling around with Samir. She’d told me from the beginning that he had “bad idea” written all over him. She’d been right—and wrong. Mya hadn’t been there to see how amazing he’d been when we’d lost Fleur in Venice during fall break. Or how kind he’d been the night I’d found out my dad was marrying a complete stranger. She didn’t know Samir could look at you and make you feel like you were the most beautiful girl in the world. Or that he could kiss you like he was drowning and you were his lifeline. She didn’t know he could make you laugh until your sides ached, or make you smile so hard your cheeks hurt.

      It would have been easy to chalk up my night with Samir as a big mistake if he really were the player everyone seemed to think he was.