10. Lara

Chapter 10

Lara

F or 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 a way 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.

Did I really say that out loud? Mother Nature, if you’d ever considered opening a sinkhole in London, I invite you to do so right beneath my feet. Attempting to quell the embarrassment trying to seep through my pores, I slowly glance up at him. He’s already staring at me, the shadow of a playful smirk on his face.

“I beg your pardon?” The sensual tone in his voice is back, and I almost feel relieved. Deciding to just go with it, I pull my lips into a sweet smile as I continue to hold his gaze.

“Was I not quite clear enough for you, Mr Darcy?” I say the name with emphasis and watch as his eyes light up for the briefest of moments. Game on.

“You were indeed quite clear, Lara.” His smirk grows as he holds my gaze. Every nerve-ending sparks to life at his words. Will his accent ever not be sexy as fuck?

“Good,” I say, hoping this conversation ends quickly.?

I grab the stack of books in front of me, praying the nervous energy isn’t visible. Turning to head into the storeroom, his voice stops me in my tracks.

“What you weren’t quite clear on, however, is why that name?”

I knew the conversation ending there was too good to be true. Slowly, I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Of course, it does nothing to help my nerves. This is so not ideal. How do I explain my way out of this? Do I tell him the truth and risk further embarrassment, or attempt to play it off some other way? Considering I’m a terrible liar, and even worse at improvisation, it seems the truth is the way to go.?

Taking another deep breath, I open my eyes and turn back towards Mr Darcy, finding him smiling at me broadly. The sight has my stomach dipping, and I say a silent curse in his name. Why does he have to be so good-looking all the time??

“I thought it would’ve been obvious?” My voice is light, higher than its normal tone. Get it together, Lara; you’re a strong, independent woman who is not thrown off by hot men.?

His smile only widens. “Break it down for me.”

Those eyes of his could harness the attention of a room full of people, and he wouldn’t even know. The emerald green pools draw me in against my will, and I’ll be damned if I fall prey to this man.

The books in my arms feel like a dead weight. Is this really happening? Jesus Christ, sometimes I really should keep my mouth shut. Perhaps then I’d avoid situations like this. I deposit the books onto the counter. In an act displaying far more confidence than I possess, I lean my elbows on the counter and entwine my hands in front of me.

My cheeks ache as I give him my best megawatt smile. I didn’t exactly expect him to falter, but I certainly did not expect him to copy my actions, placing us in far closer proximity than necessary. Is this dick serious? Not wanting to show weakness, I hold my own.

“Where would you like me to start? Your categories are attire, attitude, and literary preferences.”?

His head tips backwards, a deep laugh reverberating through him. When his eyes lock back on mine, there’s a glint to them that wasn’t there before. I hate the way it makes my stomach knot. The way it has my mind whirling. The way it has me wanting to lean in closer to see his reaction. My eyes drift down to his lips momentarily. I think I’ve been subtle, but the smallest raise of his eyebrows tells me how wrong I am.

“Category A please, miss.”?

My breath hitches ever so slightly at the word “miss”, and I know he sees it. Our proximity leaves no room to hide.

“That’s an easy one—the penchant for suits. Truly, does your wardrobe hold nothing else, or do you enjoy the god complex the suits give you?”

My grandmother often tells me sarcasm is the lowest form of wit. I learnt it from my mother, who happens to be her daughter, and I strongly disagree with the statement.

In my humble opinion, sarcasm is hilarious, and I’ve always enjoyed it. When I’m around the man in front of me, however, it jumps up a level. As does my attitude and sass level. I don’t recognise myself with the words coming out of my mouth, but I can’t help it. He brings it out of me like nobody else.

Apparently, he’s unbreakable. He continues to beam at me as if I hadn’t just insulted the shit out of him. “I assure you my wardrobe holds plenty; it’s the god complex.”

Taken completely by surprise, a laugh breaks free. Not a sweet little giggle, but a real belly laugh. Just when I thought he couldn’t possibly have anything else going for him, the arsehole turns out to be funny.?

Looking at Mr Darcy, his eyes are softer than they were a moment ago. I’d pay good money to know what’s going on inside that head of his. Bloody hell, I need to stop. I don’t care what he’s thinking about; none of my business. Unless it’s something about me, of course.

He pushes off the counter, standing at his full height.?

“So that covers attire,” he says, the corners of his eyes crinkling. My eyes once again trail down to his lips. He really does have a beautiful smile. “I think I can guess where the literary preferences come into it, but the attitude has me stumped. I don’t think you know me well enough to judge me.”

Arms crossing over his chest, Mr Darcy’s eyes roam over my face as he continues. “But for you, Lara, I’ll let it slide.”

“It’s hardly fair you know my name, but I don’t know yours,” I reply, knowing full well I’m wrong. I don’t need to know his name, and the only reason he knows mine is because I wear a badge. There’s really nothing unfair about it at all, but that doesn’t stop me.

“I disagree, Lara .” The jerk has the audacity to smile at me once more. It’s a softer smile, and my god, it’s even more gorgeous than the others. “You’ve named me all on your own. You don’t need my real name.”

The slight cock of my head allows for a far more scrutinising look.

“Is this really how you want to play this, Mr Darcy?”

At my words, he leans against the counter. Our faces are mere inches apart. I don’t dare breathe for fear of pushing him away.?

“I don’t play games, Lara. I win them.”

For the second time during this interaction, my thighs clench involuntarily. It’s not only what he says but the way he says it. It’s almost as if it’s a promise spoken in a husky tone.?

It feels like this conversation has taken a turn, and we’re treading a dangerous line. I glance quickly around the store, noticing he’s the only customer right now. Somehow that makes it worse.?

With one last smile, he walks away.

Have I started a game I have no chance of winning?