Page 11 of Late to Love

The problem? I like trouble.

Chapter5

Darcy

IT’S THE FIRST Saturday in June, and on any other normal time, I’d be making plans with my bestie Amanda to pack up and spend the entire day at the beach. But because I’m determined to get this project done on time and on budget, I’m letting myself into Hall’s Balls far too early in the day for the place to be open. Earlier even than I’ve come during the week, because I woke up early and figured I may as well get this done.

Obviously, Anthony did not give me a key to the main building. Obviously, I already had one from working at the town’s only hardware and key-making store. We have copies of all the merchant’s keys, which is probably weird, but it’s been this agreed-upon thing for so long that I rarely stop to think about it.

Making a note to figure out why Anthony’s fire escape door wasn’t one of the keys we had to copy, I open the door leading up to his loft. It’s dark in the small hallway, which makes sense; the only light fixture is from the loft. Which needs to be fixed, and it’s so easy to do that I add it to my list.

Knocking on the door, I wait for any kind of answer: a grunt, a yell, or, even better, a door opening and a smiling Anthony waiting on the other side.

Yeah, that’s delusional.

I try again, but after no response, I finally try the knob. It’s open. Stepping over the threshold, I determine that he’s probably not even here. With the way that man looks, he’s probably running on the beach like a madman. Or lifting weights in the corner of the loft with earbuds in and music so loud he’d never hear me.

I’m a few steps in and heading toward the kitchen when the floor shakes with footsteps. I turn, and there’s Anthony.

Almost entirely naked.

Wrapped only in a white towel that hangs low and loose on his hips, showing off that delicious dip between hip and heaven.

Holy. Fuck.

I shouldn’t stare. I should absolutely look away, but there is no way I’m doing that. Not even close. I couldn’t stop gaping at him if I tried.

I might be drooling.

His arms are covered in tattoos that go up and over his front shoulders, gracing his unbelievably huge chest as they give way to a thin layer of dark hair. And so help me, I have never thought a hairy chest was sexy, but I’m changing my mind effective immediately. The magnitude of him, the sheerbreadthof him, is on full display as he stops and regards me, an expression of surprise flitting across his face moments before he schools it into something else.

“Miss Belle,” he smirks. Hesmirks.

Wait. Is Anthony Hall actually…flirting with me? No way. He would never.

Unless he would.

“I…” Yep, still unable to talk. Good job by me.

“Quit staring,” he snaps, his voice sharp but also…hot?

I shake my head, forcing myself out of the near-catatonic state his body put me in, and blink rapidly. “Sorry.” My cheeks are on fire. Why is it that sometimes I feel completely in control of the conversation with him, and other times, I’m absolutely on my metaphorical back?

Not that I wouldn’t mind him putting me on my physical back.

He resumes his path toward the bedroom, calling out as he goes, “You should be.”

I press my hands to my face, desperate to cool off. I can’t believe I just saw what I saw. I can’t believe I stared at him like a total pervert. I can’t believe how fuckinghothe is.

“Coffee’s made.” His voice carries easily across the expanse. “May as well pour yourself a cup since you’re helping yourself to everything else in my house.”

Shit.I know he’s trying to embarrass me, and in many ways it’s working. My pride won’t quit, though, so pour a cup of coffee I do. Maybe the scalding temperature will get me back in a working state of mind. But when he emerges from his bedroom and finds me in the kitchen, clad in gray sweatpants and a ratty white T-shirt, I nearly sink to my knees.

The man is entirely unfair.

He’s. Wearing. Gray. Sweatpants. Come.On.

A gleam of something approaching playfulness sparks in his eyes. “Figured I may as well help you.”

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