Page 21 of From London, With Love

“Yes?” I say, the word coming out is more a question than a statement. They giggle like little boys in response.

“He was hot, wasn’t he?” It may be Harper who asks the question, but the look on Mia’s face says she’s wondering the same thing.

My mouth opens and closes like a fish trying to breathe on land, no words forming. The giggles only intensify.

“Oh, he was. Hesowas.” Harper struggles to get the words out, doubled over from her giggling.

I stare at them both incredulously. Was it that obvious?Yikes. I need to work on my poker face. As I let out a sigh, two heads whip towards me. I sit back and run my hand through my hair, my fingers twisting through the blonde ends as I try to ground myself. I’m struggling to come to terms with how hot I found him. For me, hot men are few and far between. Call me picky, but I’m not one to find any old, tall, darkand handsome manhot. Which is why it’s awfully jarring that this one had such an effect on me.

“Not only was he incredibly attractive, but he was wearing a suit.A fucking suit.I could’ve fallen to my knees right there behind the counter,” I confess as my face heats from my admission.

“Fuck me.”

“Lord have mercy.”

Their synchronised replies turn me into the giggling Gertie. My hands come up to cover my face.

I, not dissimilar to many other women around the world, have abigthing for men in uniforms and suits. I can’t explain it, but it’s a thing, and it’sdeadly.?

His suit looked like it was custom-made for his body. It fit like a glove, accentuating his broad chest and shoulders. I definitely did not check out his arse as he left, so I cannot confirm or deny if it was as incredible as the rest of him. There’s just something about men with great arses.

“Even though he ended up being a dick, he does sound incredibly hot,” Harper states. “Did you at least get his number?” My eyes shoot towards her. She doesn't look at me as she brings her wine glass to her lips and takes a large sip. Did the horny bitch even listen?

“Harps, I didn’t even get his name. He only knew mine because of the name badge I forgot I was wearing. Anyway,” I say, leaning further into the lounge and placing the toes of my sock-clad feet onto the edge of the coffee table. “I decided to refer to him as Mr Darcy henceforth.”

I felt so confused when he said my name, and inthataccent. The deep timbre of his voice made my thighs clench involuntarily, and the confusion was quickly replaced with embarrassment and a twinge of anger.

In that moment, I dubbed him Mr Darcy. It’s unlikely I’llever see him again, so his real name is of no interest to me. Between his immaculate suit, the sheer arrogance seeping out of his pores, and his unforgettable face, he was the complete Mr Darcy package.

“A classic Bridget Jones moment, love that for you,” Mia muses, nodding slowly in agreement.?

“Oh, Mia.” I have to pull my lips between my teeth to hold in my giggle. “I was actually referring to Fitzwilliam Darcy as opposed to Mark Darcy.”

“Potato, potato,” she replies, giving a flippant flick of her wrist.

Chapter 10

Lara

For the next four weeks, I’m left utterly baffled at the sight of Mr Darcy. Like clockwork, each Tuesday he visits the store, seemingly to peruse the Classics section. He never makes a purchase, which both intrigues and confuses me.?

Riss is still here each of my three working days. We begin each day with a cup of tea and a sweet treat in the reading nook—a tradition that began on my first day. Riss claims she doesn’t want to leave me on my own yet, “just in case”. Watching the way she interacts with the customers, I tend to think it’s more so because she doesn’t want to be on her own. She knows almost every person who steps foot in the bookstore and converses with them all.

She’s also bought me in some form of baked good each shift. Despite me insisting she doesn’t need to go to that effort, she continues to show up each morning with a different treat. When I’d politely asked her why, she’d responded, “I always thought I’d be baking for my grandkids at this age, but life has away of surprising us.” I embraced her just a little tighter the following morning when she handed me a plate of brownies.

I haven’t spoken to Mr Darcy since the initial encounter—unless you count the nonverbal communication, particularly eye contact. He alternates between throwing smirks my way and beaming at me. I, on the other hand, remain consistent by narrowing my eyes in his direction each time they lock with his.?

Speaking of consistency, Mr Darcy has a little of his own. It’s almost killed me each of the four times he’s entered the store because he’s in a suit.Every. Damn. Time.I’d be hard-pressed to remember the last man I saw who wore a suit as well as he does. I hate that I find him so attractive; it’s appalling. I’m not normally one to be so affected by a man, but he’s something else entirely.?

I’m behind the counter, adding new stock into the system when the bell chimes. My eyes glance towards the door as the suit-clad man invading my thoughts materialises in front of me. The way he’s absentmindedly running his palm up and down the stubble on his jaw makes me wonder how it would feel rubbing against the inside of my thighs.?

My mind instantly shuts that thought down as he approaches me, and I struggle to keep the heat from tingeing my cheeks with a telltale blush. The last thing I need is for this arsehole to know I find him attractive.?

“Lara.” My name comes out softer than usual, and I decide not to think about knowing his usual tone.

“Hello, Mr Darcy,” I say in response.?

Shit.

---