I See London 1 (27 page)

“Good night,” I offered weakly.

A soft smile spread across his lips. “Sweet dreams, Maggie.”

Chapter 39

“Did you sleep okay?”

My head jerked up at the sound of Samir’s voice. A flush spread over my body. Considering the dreams I had after our card game,
restful
was the last word I would use to describe my sleep.

I nodded, needing a moment to gather my composure before I trusted my voice. I paused for a moment before gesturing toward the silver coffeepot on the table. “Want some?”

Samir slid into the seat across from me. He grabbed the coffeepot, pouring the steaming liquid into the ivory-and-gold china cup in front of him. He reached forward and grabbed a croissant off a platter on the table.

“Those are really good.” I was already on my second one.

“Yeah, the chef makes them all the time.”

We ate, silence filling the table.

“So what are your plans for today? Fleur mentioned something about going shopping. Hitting up some of the vintage shops?”

I nodded. Fleur and Mya had been talking about going shopping since we planned this trip. Apparently there was a district of shops in Paris where you could buy vintage Chanel for good prices. Although I was pretty sure we had very different definitions of what a good price was.

“I’m surprised you wouldn’t want to do more of the city. See touristy stuff. That sort of thing. The Louvre is nice. And Montmartre has a great view of the city.”

I wanted to see all of those things. But Michael seemed just as excited about going vintage shopping as Fleur and Mya were. And I wasn’t sure I felt comfortable going off on my own. I knew like three words in French and from what I could tell Parisians weren’t eager to help Americans with the language barrier.

“Everyone is really excited about shopping. And I’m not really sure I can navigate the city with my mediocre French.”

“I can take you.”

Surprise filled me. “That’s really nice of you to offer, but it’s fine. I can definitely do Paris another time.”

“Why not now?”

“I don’t want to screw with everyone’s plans.”

“Then don’t. I’ll take you. It’s not a big deal.” Samir’s lips curved. “I think I can live with the disappointment of not getting to go vintage shopping.”

I laughed. “I don’t think—”

“Are you afraid to be alone with me?” Samir interrupted, a challenge in his voice and a knowing look in his eyes.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Yes.

“Then take me up on my offer. I’m only nice like once or twice a week. Take advantage of a rare opportunity.”

I had to laugh at that. It seemed dangerous to go with him. But I didn’t know how to come up with a valid excuse other than
I’m afraid I won’t be able to keep my hands off of you.

But it was Paris…

“You’re sure you don’t mind?”

“Trust me. I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to. It’ll be fun. Promise.”

* * *

Twenty minutes later, I stood in Samir’s parents’ apartment, waiting for him to come down. I tapped my foot impatiently against the marble floor. I wanted to leave before everyone woke up and learned we were going on this little sightseeing adventure. It was too weird to explain.

I stared down at the round wood table beneath a large crystal chandelier that looked as though it belonged at the Palace of Versailles. Various framed photos sat on top of the table. I couldn’t resist staring. Samir’s mom was gorgeous—dark hair and beautiful ivory skin. His dad looked like an older, more distinguished version of Samir. He didn’t smile in his photos. Pictures of Samir at various ages sat in the frames. I smiled softly at the sight of a chubby baby with dark curls.

“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 out 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.