Lizzie Blake's Best Mistake (A Brush with Love, #2)(3)

“Oi, mate, can I get another?”

The body spoke. In an accent.

An Australian accent.

Her brain pirouetted to attention. This was not a drill. There were few things Lizzie loved more than a man with an accent.

Please, merciful Lord, let that beautiful voice belong to an equally beautiful face so I may have sex with a hot Australian. Amen.

She turned and was confronted by a man who looked like the sun shone through him. He was tall and broad, his wide shoulders decorated with the slopes and valleys of lean muscles obvious beneath the clean lines of his button-down. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, and a loosened tie hung from his neck, practically begging Lizzie to stroke the shiny silk.

Her eyes scoured over him, the pleasure centers in her brain going off like winning Vegas slot machines with each new discovery: sharp jawline. Tempting textures of stubble. Firm slant to his mouth. Dusting of hair on his forearms. Peek of an Adam’s apple.

He was sensory overload.

He must have sensed Lizzie’s ogling, because his eyes flicked to her, then back to the bartender, before doing a double take. He blinked at her with something close to surprise. Her brain hyper-focused on his eyes, a fascinating blue-green that reminded her of when she would hold pieces of sea glass up to the sun as a child.

Lizzie smiled, and his eyes flashed to her lips before his own mouth ticked up at the sides. As she continued to study him with an almost anthropological type of fascination, his smile grew, wide but bashful, the tiniest hint of pink kissing his cheeks.

“See something you like, Birdy?” The words were gravelly and deep, purring across her skin and tickling down her spine.

“God, yes,” she said and laughed. He laughed back, a quiet shaking of his shoulders that contrasted sharply to the sonic boom of her own.

He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning lazily against the bar. Settling in.

This was going to be fun.

“I’m Lizzie.” She stuck out her hand in the few inches that separated them. She needed to touch his skin, even just his hand. She wanted to know if his body felt as sun-kissed as it looked, like each cell collected the rays.

“Rake,” he said, closing his long fingers around hers.

Lizzie couldn’t help the cackle of amusement that burst from her lips, making him flinch in surprise. He quickly recovered with a look of bemused curiosity.

“Something funny about my name?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Rake? Of course there’s something funny. That’s not a name, that’s a type of hero from a Julia Quinn novel.”

“A historical romance fan, I see?” he said, leaning an inch closer. Damn, he smelled good. Something heady and fresh, like a summer night filled with bad decisions and good memories.

“You too?” she asked dryly, arching an eyebrow.

“I’ve dabbled to keep up with the references,” he said.

“Tell me, Rake, are you an infamous one? Do you have a string of scorned lovers littered across London’s ton? Or—er—Australia’s? I’m guessing?”

He grinned at her. “Oh, sure, I’m Sydney’s finest libertine.” He laughed, sending a ripple of enjoyment through Lizzie’s chest. She loved making people laugh. “But if I’m the rake here, what does that make you? The virginal wallflower? Bookish spinster, perhaps?”

“Spinster? I’m not old, you ass. And I’m the opposite of virginal.”

Heat and humor flashed in his eyes as he did a quick perusal of her body, a playful smile firmly in place. “That so? What archetype are you, then?”

Lizzie chewed on the inside of her cheek, thinking.

“A rogue,” she said at last, nodding. “I’m definitely a rogue.”

Rake shook his head. “A rogue and a rake? We won’t have any fun at all, will we?”

“Doubtful,” she replied, giving him a wink.

“Can I get you something?” the bartender interrupted, pulling them out of their little bubble. Rake straightened a bit, turning to the man.

“Oh, uh, yes. A pilsner and that cider you have on tap.”

Lizzie’s heart sank a degree as she registered he ordered two drinks. Both men turned to Lizzie for her order.

“Macallan. Neat,” she said, giving the bartender a bright smile.

“Put it on my tab,” Rake said, and the bartender nodded.

“Don’t bother, I’m waiting on someone,” Lizzie said to Rake. “And clearly you’re…” She waved at the two beers plunked in front of him.

His eyebrows pinched together for a moment in confusion, until he got her meaning. “I’m here with some coworkers, on an overseas work trip. And it just so happens to be Jan from Sales’s birthday,” he said, opening and closing his hands in little bursts of mock excitement.

Hope perked back up in her chest like a wolf catching the scent of prey. She decided to go through the checklist, no point in wasting time.

“Married?” she asked, glancing at his ring-free left hand.

He laughed. “No.”

“Girlfriend?”

“No.”

“Boyfriend?” she asked, taking a prim sip of her scotch.

“Single,” he said, pointing a finger at his chest, humor dancing in his eyes. Lizzie nodded.

“Emotionally unavailable?”