I See London. Chanel Cleeton
walked toward us, looking even better than I remembered.
* * *
“Nicely done,” Fleur whispered under her breath.
I couldn’t help but agree. Tonight Hugh was dressed in a perfectly-tailored black suit, no tie and a cream dress shirt underneath.
“By the way, he thinks I’m doing a master’s,” I mumbled.
Fleur’s eyes widened. “Maybe I misjudged you. You’re learning already.”
I rose from my seat, my normal five-feet-four-inch height helped out by the pair of red heels Mya had lent me. He still towered over me.
Hugh smiled widely, his gaze roaming down my body. “Hi.” He reached out, gathering me close. Through the soft fabric of his shirt his muscular chest pressed against me, his strong arms embracing me. His lips brushed each of my cheeks in greeting before he pulled back. I stood there, my brown hair tumbling around my shoulders, my curvy body wrapped in Mya’s tight dress, a faint blush spreading across my cheeks as his gaze took me in.
“You look gorgeous.”
The gymnasts that had been working out in my stomach moved farther north. Something tumbled in the vicinity of my heart. When he said it, I believed him.
“Thanks.”
His gaze shifted from me to Mya and Fleur. I quickly made the introductions, bolstered by their presence. Both girls looked a lot older than they were, both stunning in their own right. For a moment I felt a twinge of worry. But somehow, miraculously, after the introductions were made and Hugh asked how everyone was enjoying themselves, he led me off to a table tucked in the back.
My hand in Hugh’s, our fingers linked together, I followed him through the bar. Occasionally he paused to shake hands with someone. He seemed to know everyone. It was as if he was the cool kid and for a day I was getting the chance to sit at his table. Except this wasn’t high school. This was London, one of the most glamorous cities in the world. And even though I knew this same scene was playing out in bars and clubs all over the city, all that mattered was that in this bar I was with the guy everyone wanted a piece of.
Somehow, as unlikely as it was, he had chosen me. For the night, at least.
I followed his lead, sitting down next to him at a comfy couch. Hugh moved closer to me, his suit-clad leg brushing up against my bare one. The movement sent a flash of heat through my body.
“Do you want a drink?” He waved over a waiter.
I nodded, leaning back as he ordered drinks for both of us. I had no idea what to talk about. Ask him about himself, Fleur had suggested. It couldn’t hurt to give it a shot.
“How long have you owned the club?” I leaned forward, closing the space between us. I wasn’t completely unaware of the fact that the move gave him an excellent shot of my cleavage.
Hugh’s gaze dipped for an instant before returning to my face. He grinned, taking hold of my hand once again, lacing my fingers with his. A thrill ran down my spine. His fingers stroked back and forth. I couldn’t help but wonder if what they said was true, big hands…
“About a year.”
I would never get tired of hearing that accent. I struggled to concentrate on the conversation. “What did you do before that?”
“Traveled, mostly.”
I grinned. “I’m jealous.”
When I was a kid I’d been obsessed with the idea of traveling. I’d had a globe in my room and I used to place pins in all the places my dad had been—the ones he could talk about at least.
Hugh’s fingers moved up my arm, tracing small circles on the inside of my wrist. “I spent some time in Asia and Europe. Backpacked around, mostly. I got bored with that after a while and I ended up coming back.” His fingers traveled farther up my arm. “Besides, my girlfriend wanted to settle down back home.”
I froze. Girlfriend?
Hugh smiled ruefully. “We broke up a year later. She wanted to get married. I didn’t. And then I opened the bar.”
I didn’t even know what to say to that. He’d almost been engaged? I hadn’t ever even had a boyfriend. “How old are you?” The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them.
“Twenty-seven.”
Shit. Eight years.
“How about you?” His voice was low, a strand of my hair wrapped around his finger.
I couldn’t tell him I was nineteen. “I’m twenty-three,” I lied, the number appearing out of thin air.
“You’re a baby.”
He had no idea.
“I’m not that innocent,” I teased, the words slipping out, adding to the weight of my lies.
Hugh’s eyes widened, a grin spreading across his face. His fingers traveled higher, stroking the sensitive hollow of my neck. “Oh, really?” His lips whispered over my ear, moving up to press a swift kiss against my temple. “I’m beginning to wish I didn’t have to work tonight. I’m tempted to test that statement.”
His lips brushed against mine.
Holy shit.
“That is a shame.” The words tumbled out of my mouth with the same seductive tone I’d slipped into since we sat down at the table. It was like someone had taken over my brain. “I’m tempted to let you.”
I was flirting. I was actually flirting.
All these years Jo told me it would be easy if I could just let go a bit. She was right. Now that I’d let go, I didn’t want to go back to the old Maggie. I liked this version—liked the flutter in my chest when Hugh looked at me like he wanted me.
He grinned at me. “I’m really glad I met you, Maggie.”
My own smile echoed his. “Me, too.”
Hugh glanced down at his watch. “I have to get back to work. You around later?”
I thought about saying yes. Part of me wanted to. I liked the way I felt around him—shinier, more glamorous, simply more. But somehow Fleur’s voice appeared in my head. Play hard to get. Make him work for it. “Sorry, I have plans.”
Hugh nodded, the gorgeous grin still on his face. “I’m glad you stopped by.” His lips wandered downward, grazing the corner of my mouth. “See you around, Maggie. I can’t wait for next time.”
Chapter 9
“What the hell happened? He didn’t even ask for my number.”
Mya leaned back in her chair, an oversize pair of sunglasses covering her eyes, a coffee cup clutched in one hand. Last night after we left Cobalt, we’d made plans to meet at our neighborhood Starbucks for coffee. I hadn’t bothered inviting Fleur.
“Dating in London is challenging.”
“It’s not like it was even a date. I sat with him for like a nanosecond.”
“He looked interested.”
I pulled off an end of my croissant, stuffing it in my mouth. “I guess. The whole thing was just confusing.”
“That’s London.”
“He’s twenty-seven.”
“That’s a little old.”
“It’s eight years.” I sighed. “Well, as far as he thinks, I’m twenty-three. So it’s only four.” I groaned. “You’re the expert. Help me. What do I do next?”
Mya drew off her sunglasses, setting them carefully on the small Starbucks table. “He’s playing the game.”
“Yeah,