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.”
* * *
I felt as though I was entering a secret world—one open only to the wealthy and glamorous.
The club wasn’t big; the compact space was littered with tables, most already full. There wasn’t really a designated dance floor. Rather, people grouped together, dancing in any and all empty spaces. A DJ stood in the corner mixing while a giant video screen played strange patterns of swirling bright colors. I figured it was the kind of thing you enjoyed if you were on something. Otherwise it just looked strange. The main focal point, though, was the bar. It covered nearly the entire back wall, its surface lit up in crazy light patterns, matching the colors on the video screen. Girls danced on top of it.
I had felt out of place at the boat party. Here I felt as if I had walked into Oz.
Samir led the group over to a small table, everyone cramming in together. I slid in between Michael and Mya. Immediately, a waitress came over with the biggest bottle of champagne I’d ever seen. Things that looked like sparklers exploded from the top of the bottle. No one else seemed to think there was anything unusual about the pyrotechnics or the giant-size bottle of champagne.
Right. No big deal.
“I think I’m going to head to the bar for a second,” I whispered to Mya.
I got up from the table, wondering for the millionth time what I was doing with them. Everyone acted like Samir was footing the bill, but I couldn’t help but feel guilty that he barely knew me and yet he was buying me champagne. I figured the mini fireworks display, which no one else at the club had gotten, meant something special. And by special I meant expensive.
I pushed my way through the crowd of people, making my way up to the bar. I paused for a moment, trying to find the biggest gap of space between the dancing girls. Somehow the idea of ordering a drink with some girl’s butt in my face just felt wrong. The guys probably saw it as an added bonus.
I leaned across the bar top, struggling to catch the bartender’s attention. There were at least twelve other girls trying to do the same. My gaze caught with a guy standing next to me at the bar. His arm grazed mine, his hips bumping against me as the crowd pushed us together. He grinned.
“Hi.”
Hello.
He was tall, really tall, with a gorgeous head of dark, chocolate-brown hair. He was dressed in what was clearly the standard uniform of a pair of dark jeans and a suit jacket with a collared shirt underneath.
He wore it well. Really well.
He grinned at me. “Can I buy you a drink?”
There was no way I was ordering a soda now. For a moment I felt the familiar rush of nerves and fear filling me. But whether it was the dress or the champagne, this time I didn’t freeze. Instead I managed a nervous smile
