Kissing Mr. Darcy

by Shéa R. MacLeod

His lips quirked a little higher. “That so?”

  “It is.”

  “Good thing for me your cousin has taste, then. Or I’d have never met you.” He gave me a wink—the naughty man; had he no shame?—before sticking out his hand.

  “Nik.”

  I stared at his hand for a moment before finally deciding it would be rude to ignore it. “Emma,” I said. The minute bare skin touched bare skin, I knew I was in big fat trouble. The instant zing of chemistry hit my bloodstream like a dose of one of those energy drinks Kev was so fond of.

  “I’ll bring it to you,” he said.

  “Bring it to me?” I repeated like a moron.

  His smile widened as if he knew exactly what I was feeling. “Your tea.”

  I jerked out of his grasp, suddenly realizing we were still holding hands across the counter like a couple of lovesick teenagers. “Thanks,” I mumbled, suddenly afraid to meet his gaze. Like he might hook me in and mind-meld me or something.

  I slapped some money on the counter, hoping it was enough, and whirled around. I very nearly ran all the way to the back corner booth Kate always chose. I plopped on the seat, cheeks on fire, trying to ignore Nik as he moved about behind the counter making my tea.

  It was a tradition, hanging with Kate and her best friend, Chloe, at Milk & Bean, whiling away hours over innumerous cups of coffee and plates of tasty treats while setting to rights the ills of our small world. It was one of the things I’d loved most about my visit to London a few months earlier and missed the most when I’d gone home to Portland. But now this was my city, just like it was Kate’s. The thought sent a thrill of excitement shooting through me until I was practically dancing in my seat.

  “How many cups of coffee have you had?”

  I looked up with a wide grin and practically exploded out of the booth. “Kate!” I wrapped my arms around her and squeezed her hard. She hugged me back just as hard.

  “I can’t believe you’re here, Emma. This is going to be great! I can’t wait to show you all over London.” She squeezed into the booth next to me, a wide smile plastered on her face. She looked so happy, happier than I’d ever seen her before. Which was a good thing, or I’d have had to kick her husband Adam’s backside.

  Kate had met Adam in London after her first husband (a jackass) left her for another woman. They’d fallen crazy in love. Of course, what Kate hadn’t known at the time was that Adam was this super famous actor. There’d been all kinds of misunderstandings and whatnot, but eventually they’d gotten everything sorted and were currently living their happy-ever-after in a little apartment near Hyde Park. I was extremely jealous and also ridiculously happy for them. Kate deserved to have a wonderful life and now she had it.

  “Now tell me,” Kate said, settling against the booth cushions, strumming her fingers on the tabletop. The ginormous diamond on her left hand flashed in the low overhead lighting. Adam loved to spoil her. “How have the first few days in London been?”

  I told her about my outings with Kev and how I’d tried to hook him up with a waiter. She laughed so hard, tears ran down her face. She was mopping them up, still giggling when Nik brought our drinks.

  “Caramel latte for you, Kate,” Nik said, shooting her a flirtatious grin. “And tea for my lady.” He winked at me again before striding away. His black Chucks made no sound on the tile floor. I was too busy staring at his butt to notice.

  “Nice, huh?” Kate said, voice filled with amusement. She brushed a lock of silky brown hair out of her face and took a sip of coffee. Her eyes sparkled at me over the rim of her cup.

  I flushed. “If you’re into that sort of thing.”

  She gave me a look. “Please, girl.”

  I shrugged. “He’s got a very nice backside, but I’m not interested.”

  “Why not? You could do worse than Nik.”

  “He’s not interested either.”

  She snorted. “You sure could have fooled me.”

  “He’s clearly a flirt. It means nothing. Can we change the subject? Tell me how you’re doing. How’s Adam?”

  We chatted for a while about the things going on in our lives, and if my gaze strayed to the counter and a certain rogue coffee boy more often than it should have, I would deny it to my grave.

  ON THE WAY HOME AFTER meeting Kate, I stopped in at the local WH Smith’s to pick up pens and notebooks I’d need for school. Most people took notes on their laptops, but I preferred the feel of paper under my hands. Plus I loved using different color highlighters and pens. I was visual that way. It also meant I could sneak in sketches while the professor gave his or her lecture. Designing dresses was a soothing pastime for me. Naturally, they were all Regency era with high waists, simple lines, and Grecian styling. Sometimes I threw in a modern twist just for fun.

  I poked through the selection of sketch pads and charcoal pencils. There was a carrying tin of a dozen pencils and a good selection of pads with nice, hard backs. Perfect for sneaking in a sketch anywhere and everywhere.

  “Are you an artist?”

  Drawn from my musing, I turned toward the voice and blinked. “I dabble,” I finally managed.

  He was quite a bit taller than I was, almost gangly, and had a prominent Adam’s apple. He wore a tweed jacket with arm patches (I’m not joking), skinny jeans, and red Chucks. His glasses were both somewhat nerdy and completely hipster. In fact, he was an odd combination of the two. I wouldn’t say he was good-looking, but he had a certain attractiveness as he swiped a tumble of medium-brown hair off his forehead. A flash of Nik’s glossy dark curls popped up in my mind, and I deliberately pushed it away. Nik was not my Mr. Darcy. I’d already decided he was Mr. Wickham.

  “Really?” Geeky Hipster Dude asked. “What sort of things do you like to draw?”

  “Fashion mostly.” I didn’t mention the era. Most people thought it was weird to be so obsessed with the Regency.

  He looked a little disappointed. “Oh. Well, I guess that’s okay.”

  I felt like saying, Gee, thanks for your approval in my most sarcastic tone. I mean, he’d opened himself up wide for it. But I didn’t want to come off as rude my first week in the country. Instead I asked, “What do you draw?”

  “Vampires, werewolves, anything paranormal. I’m really into zombies right now. My goal is to be a comic book artist.”

  That was way more up Kate’s alley than mine, but I smiled encouragingly. “That seems like a very interesting job.”

  “Oh, it is,” he enthused.

  It may not have been my thing, but there was something sexy about a man excited about his work. People are always the most attractive when they’re passionate about something. That’s what I think, anyway. Something about how their eyes shine and their smiles widen and their expression becomes more animated. It makes my fingers itch to draw them. Catch that single amazing moment on paper forever.

  “By the way, my name is Byron.”

  “Emma,” I said with an encouraging grin. We shook hands. He had a perfectly acceptable handshake but nothing that excited me.

  “I’d love to take you out sometime, Emma. Talk about our art. Get to know each other.”

  I wasn’t sure Byron was my Mr. Darcy, but I was pretty sure he wasn’t a Willoughby or Wickham, which was a step in the right direction. Only way I could find out for sure was to spend more time with him. Not exactly a hardship. He was cute enough, and he seemed to like me.

  “Sure. I’d like that.”

  Mr. Geeky Hipster Dude

  THE DATE STARTED OUT okay, as far as first dates go. It was three days after we ran into each other at WH Smith’s, and Byron and I were seated at a table in the outdoor dining section of Las Iguanas on Southbank. From my seat I could watch the River Thames flow majestically toward the sea and the top of the London Eye, just visible above the Golden Jubilee Bridge.

  Despite being summer, there was a chill in the air, and I was glad for the heat lamps set at intervals between the tables. Other couples chatted softly in the can
dlelight while a samba played over the speakers.

  “What are you having?” Byron asked, peering at me over his menu.

  “I was thinking about the pulled pork tacos. They sound delicious.”

  His face twisted. “You know eating pork causes stress, right?”

  This had to be a joke. Only I would end up with not one, but two food obsessed dates. “Um, no.” That was a new one.

  “I’ve given it up myself.” His tone was ever so slightly condescending. “They’ve done studies, you see. Eating pork causes eczema, typhoid, and all sorts of dreadful diseases.”

  “Who is ‘they?’” I asked, not sure if I actually wanted to know, but unable to stop myself.

  “You know, they. The people who do the studies.”

  That was entirely unhelpful. “Have you ever known anyone who got typhoid from eating pork?” I admit I was curious.

  “Well, no. But like I said, they’ve done studies.”

  “I see.” I didn’t, but I didn’t know what else to say. “What are you eating?”

  “I’m going with the fish.”

  I couldn’t help myself. I literally snorted.

  “What?”

  I pursed my lips, trying to hold back a laugh. “You know fish are full of mercury, right? And they’re finding radioactive fish from the Fukushima thing.”

  It was his turn to snort. “Nasty rumors.”

  “Ah.” Apparently conspiracies were only accurate if they didn’t involve something he wanted.

  The waitress arrived, and I took great pleasure in ordering the pork. Michael looked displeased but didn’t say anything. Smart man.

  The conversation turned to safer topics. For a while. Then, shortly after the waitress brought our food, I asked about his family.

  “I’m an only child,” he said.

  “Oh, that’s sad. I don’t know what I’d have done without my sister. Not to mention my cousins.”

  He all but sniffed. “I was lucky to have my parents to myself.”

  “So you’re close then?”

  “Oh, yes, I still take the train out to Reading every weekend so my mum can wash my clothes.”

  I paused, fork halfway to my mouth. “Your mom still does your laundry?” He had to be, what, thirty?

  “Oh, yes.” He dabbed at his lips delicately with his napkin. “I’m thinking about moving closer so it’s easier, you know. I can have her wash twice a week instead of just once.”

  “Oh, ah, lovely.” Wow. Loser much? What sort of grown-ass man didn’t do his own laundry?

  I decided to switch topics quickly. “What do you like to do on the weekends? Watch TV? Read?”

  “Oh, I don’t watch TV. It’s the poor man’s entertainment.”

  Based on my past cable bills, I wouldn’t exactly call it that. “Then what do you do?”

  “I prefer plays. But not West End plays. I like something more avant garde.”

  Was avant garde synonymous with crap? Because that was usually my experience. “Do you ever come down to the festivals here on Southbank?” They had everything from dance festivals to a Christmas fair. “I’m so looking forward to attending some of them. I heard in the fall they have an Apple Festival. That should be fun.”

  “It’s a waste of time,” he said with an eye roll. “So commercial and lowbrow.”

  Had he seriously just insulted me and half of the people in London? I hated to think what sort of events he considered not lowbrow. I focused on my pork.

  “People tell me I look like Channing Tatum,” he announced out of nowhere.

  Startled, I nearly blurted out, “Are they blind?” I managed to bite my tongue. Instead I said, “Do they?” He looked nothing like Channing Tatum. For one, he was far too scrawny. For another...well, no. Just no.

  “That’s probably why I get a lot of dates.”

  I blinked. Was he seriously bragging about other dates while on one with me? “No doubt.” I waved the waitress over and ordered another margarita. I wasn’t much of a drinker, but I was considering this medicinal.

  “Why did you move to London?” he asked shortly after my second margarita arrived.

  “I’m doing my masters here,” I said, gulping down half my drink in one go. “I start next week. English literature with a focus on Regency era gothic fiction.”

  “That’s an interesting choice.” He didn’t sound like he thought it was interesting. He sounded like he thought it was stupid. “No money in it, though. I should know. I looked into that once. Decided to go with something more lucrative. You should rethink.” He rambled on for a good ten minutes about why my chosen avenue of study was a big mistake. I didn’t actually care because I was on my third margarita. Man, those things were delicious.

  “Do you cook?” His question wiggled its way into my brain, which was currently filling with a lovely margarita fueled fog.

  “Oh, erm, yeah. I like cooking, but I enjoy baking more.”

  “You should taste my Victoria sponge. All my friends beg me to bring it to our get-togethers. They say it’s better than one from a bakery.”

  “That’s nice. So, ah, do you want to get married? Have kids?” I knew it was passé to ask such things on a first date, but at this point I really didn’t care. I could either be offended by or amused with the arrogant bastard. I decided, rather drunkenly, to go with amused. Might as well have some fun.

  “Crap, no. I mean, lots of my friends are having kids, the poor bastards, but I just can’t see myself there, you know? Maybe when I’m old. Like forty.”

  I almost snorted margarita up my nose. “Oh, gosh, what’s that?” I muttered.

  “What’s what?”

  I rustled around in my purse. “My phone was ringing.”

  “Really? I didn’t hear it.”

  “It’s set to vibrate.” I squinted at the screen, which danced in front of my eyes. “My flatmate just texted me. He thinks he forgot to lock the front door.”

  “What kind of idiot doesn’t lock the door?”

  “Well, he’s a little ditzy sometimes, but he’s a good person. I better go check on it for him. You know, to be safe.”

  “Why can’t he check it?”

  I scrambled woozily for an idea. “Er, his mom is sick, and he’s taking care of her. Out of town. I should go.”

  “You want to go and come back? I can wait.”

  Oh, good gosh. “No, no. It’s kind of a long way. I don’t want to make you wait. How about we do this another time?”

  “Next week?”

  “I’ll call you,” I said and dashed out the door as fast as I could, narrowly avoiding a collision with a coatrack.

  Chapter 4

  I’M NOT USED TO DRINKING. I mean, I’ll have a drink every once in a while on a special occasion, but three margaritas in one night is like six bottles of wine for normal people. In other words, I was more than a little sloshed.

  I managed to find my way back to Southbank Station where I stood, squinting at the tube map hanging on the wall, trying to figure out my way home. I swear it kept moving on me. The map, I mean.

  “Need help?”

  I blinked at the man who’d suddenly appeared at my side. Dark hair shone glossy as a raven’s wing beneath the fluorescent lights. Blue eyes rimmed with dark lashes stared down at me until I thought I might melt. “Nik?”

  “Hey, Emma. You’re looking a little...” he lifted a brow as if not wanting to offend me.

  “Tipsy?” I giggled like a dork. “Yep, jusht...just had three margaritas.”

  “Bad date?” he guessed.

  I swayed back so far, he actually had to grab my shoulders to keep me from falling on my behind. A traitorous part of me wished he’d grabbed a bit lower. “How’d you know?” I whispered in awe, blinking slowly to keep him in focus.

  He chuckled. The sound sent warm tingles dancing through me. Stars, the man was sexy as all get out. He could really be a cover model for a romance novel. I should suggest it to Kate. She was a writer. She probably need
ed a hot man for her covers.

  “I had a feeling.” His voice was a soft rumble. I could listen to that voice all day. Too bad he wasn’t Mr. Darcy. My Mr. Darcy, I mean. Probably he was somebody’s Mr. Darcy, even if he was a Wickham.

  “Excuse me?” he asked with a frown.

  “What?” I frowned. Were there two of him?

  “You said it was too bad I’m not Mr. Darcy.”

  I blushed. I think. The alcohol was making me flushed and overwarm so maybe it wasn’t too obvious. “Did I say that out loud?”

  “Afraid so.” He might have smirked a little. It was hard to tell, what with my vision problems.

  “That’s not good.”

  He looked amused. “Come on, love. Let’s get you home.”

  “I’m not sure how I feel about this whole ‘love’ thing,” I mumbled as he helped me swipe my Oyster card. The gate swung open, and I managed to get through before it slammed shut. It was a near thing though.

  “It’s no big deal,” Nik said, joining me. He wrapped an arm around me and guided me to the escalator. “It’s like how people in America call each other ‘girl’ or ‘dude.’”

  “Oh.” I frowned, disappointed. I’d kind of hoped it meant more than that. Then I told myself not to be an idiot. Nik was cute and all, but he wasn’t the right guy for me, so who cared what it meant when he called me “love?” Not me. “What’ve you been up to tonight? You have a date, too?”

  “Of a sort. I had dinner with my sister.”

  “Oh. Too bad.”

  That tickled him. “Perhaps.”

  “Why were you at Milk & Bean instead of Sophie?” I blurted.

  “You know Sophie?” He seemed surprised, but again, it was hard to tell, what with his face multiplying.

  “Sure. Met her when I vishited...visited Kate. Both times. I dunno why people keep dragging me out for coffee. I like tea.”

  “So you said.” He was clearly amused. He hesitated as I swung down one of the side tunnels. “I’m farther down,” he said, jerking his thumb toward the escalator leading into the belly of the tube system. “You sure you can make it all right?”