Page 27 of From London, With Love

I decide to take a risk: up the ante of flirtation and get arealreaction out of Lara. “It would seem I’m not quite as heavy-footed as you believed.”

It’s as if the sound of my voice breaks her out of a trance. Lara blinks once and stumbles backwards, seemingly attempting to break contact. Her foot catches on a stray pile of books. For the second time in the past two minutes, I reach for her. This time, my hands wrap around her waist and pull her towards me. Face slamming into my chest, I inhale the sweet raspberry and rose scent of her. Lara’s hands latch onto my biceps. Her warmth envelopes me, and I contemplate never letting her go.

Once again seeming to hear my thoughts, she releases me and pushes against my chest. I’m conflicted, as I often am when it comes to her. One part of me is still thoroughly gobsmacked that I’m thinking of her as anything but a pain in the arse, while the other part is utterly disappointed by the loss of contact.

Lara takes a step back, this time avoiding the now-fallen tower of books, and looks up at me.

“What was that about?” Her tone is stern as her arms cross over her chest, but the way her eyes roam over my body betrays her.

“Thought you could use a hand,” I reply simply, the smirk from earlier developing in full. “You’re awfully clumsy, Lara.”

She stares at me, mouth agape. “I am not! I wouldn’t have tripped over those books if it weren’t for you in the first place.”?

“You’re right,” I admit. Lara’s eyes flare briefly. “Next time, I promise to warn you before touching you. I’dhatefor you to fall for me.”

If eye rolls were audible, Lara’s would’ve been the most obnoxious moan imaginable. I’d like to hear that noise underdifferent circumstances, preferably my name, but a moan is a moan. I don’t miss the way her cheeks turn a shade darker as I send her a wink over my shoulder, strolling unhurriedly toward the front door.

There’s not a single doubt in my mind that this isn’t one-sided. I’ve seen the way her cheeks turn crimson when I’m a little more adventurous with my flirting. The way her lips part and her eyes darken when my gaze skates across her body. She may deny it, but Lara is affected by me.

I need to find a way to prove it.

Chapter 12

Lara

“Ican feel your eyes on me.” Mr Darcy’s deep tone jolts me from my daydreaming.

“I guarantee you can’t, because they weren’t on you.” My eyes flit away briefly before roaming back in his direction, and I find him still enthralled by the classic he has in his hands.

Glancing towards the window at the front of the store, I notice an unfamiliar motorbike outside. It’s sleek, black, and expensive looking, with a surface so clean I can see the store reflecting on the body. I don’t know much about motorbikes, but I’d guess this one would cost more than my yearly salary at home. There’s a thin sheet of rain falling—not unexpected on any given day in London—and I wonder how the poor rider is coping in the cold.

“Are you quite sure?” Mr Darcy continues slowly flicking through the pages.?

My cheeks warm. How is he so alluring yet a huge dick at the same time? I move my head slowly to face the shelves he’s in front of, hopefully giving myself time to pull it together.?

“I’m sure about the fact you’d fit in perfectly as a Kane brother, with your arsehole-ish demeanour and penchant for suits.” I don’t say it loudly, but I don’t exactly whisper it, either. Of course he hears, and the comment gets his attention. He looks up from the book, and our eyes meet across the store. Feeling the not-so-unusual spike in my heart rate that occurs whenever his eyes lock on mine, I avert my gaze, instead dropping it to the floor. For the first time, I clock that his usual dress shoes are missing. In their place are a pair of thick black boots covered in a wet sheen. Well, this is unusual. Obviously, it’s raining outside, which explains the water, but boots??

“A Kane brother? From those dirty billionaire books?” The deep gravel of his voice draws my attention back to his face. And what an annoyingly good-looking face it is.

I suppress a groan before correcting him. “Dreamland Billionairesbooks, not dirty.”

Mr Darcy pointedly ignores me and continues as if I’d never said a word.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I seem to recall you mentioning how incredibly attractive those men are?” Mr Darcy questions, slowly turning through the pages ofTo Kill A Mockingbird. I am stunned—he remembered our conversation?

Deciding not to overthink his memory skills, I settle for a suitably cutting retort. “Of course you’d remember that part rather than pay attention to the arsehole comment.”?

He shuts the book with a thud and turns his body towards the bench I’m standing—hiding—behind.

“I always remember the good parts, love.”

Love.

What the fuck?

I cross my arms and open my mouth to reply with something smart, but find myself snapping it shut. He constantly throws me, and I don’t know how I feel about it. If he continuesto call melovewith that beautiful London accent of his, we’re going to have someseriousproblems.

The way the word rolled off his tongue so effortlessly is dangerous,verydangerous. Eyes drifting towards his mouth, my treacherous little mind goes into overdrive. I’ve got a list of approximately 132 other dangerous things his tongue could do. Whoever is pulling the strings in my brain produces something akin to a PowerPoint Presentation for each and every one of those things.

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