Lizzie Blake's Best Mistake (A Brush with Love, #2)(5)

“Leaving. Bye, asshole.”

And goodbye hot Australian Rake. No amount of tempting accent and good looks were worth waiting around with aggressively drunk guys.

She shouldered her purse and took a step toward the door, hating that she had to walk past Nate and his friend.

“No you don’t.” Nate’s voice suddenly rose, startling Lizzie. “We have a date.” He stumbled a step from the bar, blocking her path.

“We really don’t,” Lizzie said, trying to sidestep him.

“Bitch, yes we do. I’ve been talking to you for days. I’ve put in the work.”

Lizzie was about to let him know that two days of light flirting on the internet was no one’s definition of work, when Nate made the biggest mistake of his life.

He grabbed her.





Chapter 3




TIME stopped with Nate’s attempt at possession, making Lizzie feel like she was moving underwater.

She turned her head, staring at the spot where his thick fingers pressed into the bare flesh at her shoulder, the skin puckered and blanched around his unclean nails. She registered from somewhere far away that he shook her a bit.

The vibrations of his voice near her cheek forced her head to turn back to his face. His mouth was moving, but she couldn’t hear the words. A sickly tongue peeked out to wet his fumbling lips as a lecherous smile broke across his face.

Lizzie smiled back as rage flooded her body, her lips curling to bare her teeth.

Casually, she reached for her drink from the bar, bringing it toward her mouth.

Nate’s bloodshot eyes followed the motion, hungry and predatory.

Right before her lips touched the rim of the glass, she willed her fingers to release, letting it fall to the floor. Nate followed its path, head moving with its descent. Lizzie could tell the moment it shattered by his flinch, but she couldn’t hear anything over the blood rushing through her ears.

Things sped up then.

She cocked her right fist back, swinging it up in a gorgeous arc to his down-turned face, making square contact with his nose. She found a perverse joy in feeling it crunch beneath her knuckles.

Nate’s head whipped back from the impact, blood pouring from his nostrils. Before he could stagger away, she grabbed his shoulders and thrust her knee into his groin. He crumpled over, and Lizzie stepped back, letting him fall to the floor.

A moment of silence spread through the bar like a crack traveling through glass, as the last ten seconds registered with everyone.

Then all hell broke loose.

Shouts erupted, a woman shrieked, and the pure commotion in the bar vibrated against Lizzie’s shattered nerves. She tried to suck in a deep breath, needing to escape, but before she could get her bearings, Nate’s friend advanced on her.

“Fucking bitch! I’ll—”

Lizzie didn’t get to hear what he intended to do. In a blinding flash, the asshole was pinned to the bar, his face smashed against the wood and arms twisted behind his back, while Rake hovered over him, rage in his eyes.

“You’ll do nothing.” Rake’s accent was much less sensual and far more terrifying now. He pressed his large palm against the friend’s face, digging it into the bar and making him yelp. “You and your mate won’t even look twice at a woman again, or I’ll find you. Understood?” The man whimpered out a yes, and Rake pushed off him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, turning to Lizzie, worry marring his face. She nodded, a numb feeling ebbing across her skin and lips as a weird haze blanketed her senses. Rake continued to stare at her, before nodding in return. He stooped down and picked up her purse, which she’d dropped in the commotion, then stood, creating room for her to move forward. He seemed to know how badly she didn’t want to be touched, and he managed to usher her out of the bar, creating a protective bubble without invading her space further.

Out on the street, Lizzie started walking—quick, sharp steps—not caring where she was going. She wanted as many inches, feet, miles between herself and that stupid fucking bar with its stupid fucking boys. Rake kept pace with her, and while there was something oddly comforting about his presence, a protective energy humming from him, the tears that pricked at her eyes made her want to tell him to fuck off too. She picked up speed. He matched it.

One block passed. Then another. And another.

She was running now. If she ran, she could concentrate on the muscles in her legs, and not how Nate’s touch still pressed into her skin. If she ran, she could suck in more breath, get his stench out of her nose, get the feel of his words off her cheek.

She felt stupid. Dirty. Why was her life always like this? Why was everything such an ordeal? Why did a cloud of chaos seem to permeate from her pores and stick to her skin?

She wanted to run and run until she finally outpaced the feelings. She always felt too much. Too sharp.

“Lizzie.”

The sound of her name on Rake’s lips pulled her from her thoughts. She stopped short, placing her hands on her knees as she gulped down lungfuls of the humid May night.

“Are you okay?” Rake’s question came in heavy pants, his hands resting on his hips as he caught his breath, Lizzie’s giant purse still clutched in one of his fists.

Lizzie nodded and grabbed her bag, not wanting to look at him, not wanting to see the wary pity people always wore in the wake of her messes.