Lizzie Blake's Best Mistake (A Brush with Love, #2)(37)

“You look so nice, though!” Lizzie said between giggles. “Good enough to eat.”

“Oh yeah? Let’s decorate you then,” he said. Her eyes went wide with surprise and amusement as he pressed his nose against hers, dragging his face down to her neck and chin as she writhed and laughed beneath him.

“Stop! You’ll make a mess!” she gasped out as he moved one hand to tickle her waist.

Rake pulled back to give her a sardonic look. “Oh, we can’t have that now. I would hate for this to turn into a mess,” he said, scooping his finger through the fluff on her chin and bringing it to his mouth. He forgot that she still had the weapon, though, and she used it. She bucked up, throwing him off-balance, and she used the momentum to roll on top of him, grabbing his jaw with one hand and adding a beard to her creation with the other.

Rake let out an exaggerated groan, pretending to fight her off just enough to turn her laughs into screeches of joy. She planted a hand next to his head, leaning forward so her nose almost touched his as she gasped for air between giggles.

It felt like he’d just won the lottery, seeing her laugh. The realization that he’d do anything to make her smile, act any type of fool to see that pain drain from her eyes, hit him hard and fast.

She continued to hover over him, eyes wild and chest heaving as she worked to catch her breath. They shared a smile. An intimate, delicious, decadent smile that sent a sharp bolt of lust down Rake’s body to his groin, right where Lizzie straddled him. Her eyes heated and her body pressed ever so slightly closer to his as she continued to look at him, her sheet of red hair falling over one of her shoulders and trapping them in a soft, glowing cage.

Rake reached up his hand, unable to control it, and brushed his knuckles along her jaw, dragging his thumb over her parted lips.

The touch popped their bubble, reality flooding in at the edges as the echoes of their laughter dimmed, the sounds of traffic floating in through the open window reminding them where they were. What they were.

Lizzie cleared her throat, her smile turning into something stiff and fake as she slid off him in retreat. She put the can of whipped cream on the nightstand and padded to the bathroom. Rake heard her turn on the tap, and he worked to get his spiraling mind and lust-filled body back under control.

The thought of them having sex and getting it out of their system flashed across his mind, but he knew that wouldn’t do any good. Not for him at least. There was no reason to complicate things more with intimacy and sex. He needed moments like this to stop happening. Silly moments of play that seemed to spark a fire of want for his untouchable … what? Friend? Mother of his child?

She walked back to the bed, damp washcloth in hand. She moved to wipe his cheeks, clean him off, but seemed to think better of doing it herself and handed him the towel. He took it with a silent thanks and scrubbed it over his face, wanting the coarse fibers to wash away the dangerous feelings that seemed to be staining his skin.

These feelings were not real. Rake wasn’t supposed to have these feelings at all. Emotionlessness had served him well for the past few years, and there was no reason to reacquaint himself with them. He didn’t deserve happiness. Didn’t qualify for domestic bliss, the ghosts of his past rattling their chains in his mind and sobering him up from the weird fantasyland he and Lizzie seemed to exist in.

After cleaning off their faces, they worked in silent tandem, stripping off the soiled comforter and pulling back the clean sheet beneath. They plopped into the bed with a safety net of inches between them. Rake stared up at the ceiling, images of his ex, Shannon, floating just above him.

Had he ever felt this way with her? If he had, he couldn’t remember. And it seemed impossible to forget joy like this. But what he and Lizzie had wasn’t real. Couldn’t last. People passed one another in fragments, broken pieces fruitlessly searching for a nonexistent other half, hurting each other more in the process. It was all bullshit, and he’d do well to remember that.

“I wish I wasn’t like this.” Lizzie’s words startled him, and he jumped. He’d thought she’d fallen asleep.

“Like what?” he asked.

“This wrecking ball of a person. I wish I didn’t act on impulse and say stupid shit and do stupid things and break any relationship I’m ever lucky enough to build.”

The words were raw and honest, and Rake could hear the tears behind them. He didn’t know what to say. So instead, he reached out his hand, breaching the valley of sheets between them, and wrapped his fingers in hers. She let out a shuddering breath at his touch and gripped his hand like it was her life preserver in a storm.

“I don’t think you break things, Lizzie,” he said after a few minutes. She let out a disbelieving snort. “I really don’t. I think you make things better. A lot better.”

They didn’t say anything else after that; the only sound in the room was their mingled breathing mixing with the summer night and city traffic. Rake eventually heard Lizzie’s breathing turn into a soft rhythm of sleep, fueling his racing thoughts. He and Lizzie were a mix of blurred lines and one hundred different shades of gray, something undefined, not entirely real.

But her pain was real. It was real and sharp, and he decided then and there that he didn’t like it poking at her. And his last thought before falling asleep was that he’d do whatever it took to stop her from hurting. For the sake of their baby, of course.