Lizzie Blake's Best Mistake (A Brush with Love, #2)(51)

Rake almost had to bite his knuckles to suppress a groan.

The problem with seeing Lizzie like this every morning—while he was uncomfortably hard and still heard the echoes of her moans in his dreams—was that she was too damn precious and peculiar for her own good.

Rake’s own good, more accurately.

Something about her was crawling under his skin, working its way into his system, making him feel … things. And feeling was something he’d given up the second Shannon had walked out the door two years ago.

“Why are you so pouty this morning?” Lizzie asked, her voice snapping him out of the uncomfortable memories.

“I’m not pouty,” he answered. He was sexually frustrated, confused, and needed her to turn away so he could get to the bathroom without her spotting his erection and giving him hell about it. But definitely not pouty.

“What are your thoughts on cream pies?” she asked suddenly, staring at her computer screen.

A thousand lewd images flashed through Rake’s mind. “I beg your pardon?” he said, his voice cracking. “It’s a bit early for porn, isn’t it?” he added, nodding toward her laptop.

“It’s never too early for porn,” she answered evenly. “But I mean for Bernadette’s. Some sort of cream pie or a cream-filled donut shaped like a butt. Is that too obvious?”

Rake let out a breath. “Well, you are known for your subtlety. I’d hate for you to ruin that.”

Lizzie looked up at him, flashing a wide grin. “Excellent point. Are you ready for today?”

The first ultrasound was scheduled for that afternoon, and Rake had been a jumble of nerves and anticipation all week.

“Can’t wait,” he answered honestly. “We should leave around eleven thirty, yeah?”

“Sounds good,” Lizzie said, her attention back on her laptop.

Rake decided to take his chances and got out of bed, making his way to the shower to get ready for the appointment.



* * *



“I DON’T MEAN to rush you, but we are about to be very late,” Rake said to the closed bathroom door a few hours later.

Lizzie had decided to make last-minute fruit tarts that morning, losing herself in a mountain of sugar and fruit while Rake became utterly engrossed by the focused pucker between her eyebrows. Her small smile as she laid the fruit slices in concentric patterns. The sinfully delicious scent of her and the dusting of flour on her forehead as she popped one straight into his mouth and made him chew.

“Thank you for the warning, Father Time,” Lizzie said with a laugh before opening the door.

She breezed out, her bare feet padding along the wood floors. She wiggled into a pair of wedged heels then ran her hands down her stomach, smoothing the tight red fabric of her dress that clung to her body, accentuating every curve.

“Why are you so…” Rake tried to swallow past his dry throat, his eyes scouring over the jut of her hips, the swells of her breasts. He couldn’t drag his gaze away. The dress was just so damn … red.

“So what?” she asked absentmindedly, grabbing her giant purse and riffling through it.

“Why are you so dressed up?” he finally managed, his voice cracking.

Lizzie looked down at herself like she hadn’t realized she was wearing a dress that was threatening to kill him. She shot Rake a goofy grin. “Oh, this? I wanted to make a good first impression.”

“For who?” he choked out.

“The baby, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

She let out her sonic boom of a laugh. “I’m kidding. I know I won’t be able to wear stuff like this for much longer, so might as well work it while I can.” She emphasized this point with a shake of her hips that almost made Rake’s knees buckle.

“It’s very … red,” he said, cringing at the words. What was the matter with him?

“Whoa, nothing gets past you, kid.” She patted him on the cheek as she moved past to grab her phone. “I know they say redheads shouldn’t wear red, but I’ve never been a fan of social constructs of feminine beauty and rules of fashion. Plus, wearing red makes me feel like Jessica Rabbit.”

Rake wasn’t sure what the hell she was on about, but as she bent over to pick up a tube of lipstick that had fallen to the floor, her tight skirt riding up in a way that showed nothing but had him picturing everything, he didn’t really care. He had the urge to move to her, bunch the fabric in his fists and shove it up to her waist, see the full roundness of her ass, touch every sweet hidden freckle that covered her skin.

But he couldn’t do that.

For reasons he couldn’t quite remember but he knew existed, and there was some important reason to abide by them.

He was being ridiculous. The only reason he wanted her like this was because he’d made it forbidden, and therefore wanted her all the more. It was the only logical explanation for his near-constant state of arousal around her.

“What’s wrong with you?” she said, pulling him out of his fantasy as she stood back up. “You’re staring at me all weird.”

“Am I? Sorry. I was just thinking that you look very nice.”

Lizzie blinked in surprise, like she wasn’t used to compliments, but she recovered quickly, beaming at him.

“Thank you. I was going for a sort of cool-future-mom look that says I’m serious about parenting but also still pull a ton of dick, ya know?”