Lizzie Blake's Best Mistake (A Brush with Love, #2)(61)

Then, with perfect, sonic boom clarity, Lizzie’s voice broke through his haze.

“Oh my God, is that my thong?”





Chapter 30




LIZZIE stared with an open-mouthed grin at Rake’s spread-eagle form in the tub. She knew this was a very serious matter and he could have hurt himself, but she was notorious for laughing at the absolute worst possible times.

“You okay?” she managed to choke out, trying to swallow down the nervous giggles.

“Fine,” Rake said, his eyes wide with horror, one hand (unsuccessfully) covering his erect penis and the other fisting her underwear.

“You sure?” she asked, pretending to cough over a laugh.

Rake was quiet for a moment, still staring up at her, before he closed his eyes and turned his head. “I think I’d like you to leave so I can die in peace, please,” he said.

“Oh, calm down, drama queen,” Lizzie said, no longer hiding her amusement now that she was pretty sure he was unharmed. Besides his pride. Obviously.

“Let me help you up.” She moved forward, bending over the tub to offer him a hand. He ignored it, pushing his way to standing. Lizzie handed him a towel, pressing her lips together to hide a grin.

“I’m sure this happens to every guy,” she said, smiling at the glare Rake shot her. “I’m just worried you sprained your wrist too, because that fist was flying.”

Rake stomped out of the room, and Lizzie followed.

“And I’m honestly surprised it took this long for an incident to happen,” she continued.

Rake shot her a confused look as he gathered his clothes in his hands, still refusing to speak.

“You have an ‘I masturbate a lot’ type of vibe, and I can’t believe I haven’t walked in on you sooner.”

Rake blew out an angry breath, slamming his underwear drawer and heading back toward the bathroom, clothes fisted in one hand.

“I feel like I could toss a tomato at you and you’d hump it,” Lizzie continued, practically running after him in her pursuit to apparently be the most annoying person on the planet. “You look like—”

The words died in her throat as Rake spun on his heel, splotchy patches of red staining his cheeks, annoyance flashing in his beautiful eyes.

“Do you ever stop talking?” he growled, before taking her face between his hands and placing a rough kiss on her lips.

It was the kind of kiss that stole the air from her lungs. Like dropping down the largest hill on a roller coaster, losing yourself to a free fall, and hoping you never touch the ground. It was a kiss that made her skin prickle and her heart stutter.

On instinct, she molded herself against him, pleasure points sparking in her breasts, her belly, her hands—every millimeter of her body that touched his coming to life. He tasted like citrus and sin, and she couldn’t get enough of it as he deepened the kiss. She felt like a raw nerve, something coming unhinged in her chest as he sipped at her lips, pressed her for more as his tongue explored her. It felt like every moment of want and lust and hunger over the past few weeks clicked into place, weaved into a beautiful tapestry of this kiss.

And just when she thought she might fracture apart from the magnitude of it, he pulled away.

And took two steps back.

His chest heaved as he stared at her with something like bewilderment and fear, while she, on the other hand, swayed forward as though he were a magnet she couldn’t fight.

“We won’t talk about this again,” he said, his voice low and rough.

Lizzie didn’t know if he meant the kiss or the masturbation or the fall, but she was too dazed to ask, her skin still humming. She nodded numbly.

“I’ll see you at the launch party,” he said, fixing her with a final, level stare before turning around, walking into the bathroom, and shutting the door behind him.





Chapter 31




LIZZIE pounded her fist on Indira’s door. She pounded and pounded and pounded like maybe she could take an ounce of her built-up horniness and confusion and expel it through her fist. She was more likely to punch a hole through the wood than solve her ailment.

“Jesus Christ, Lizzie,” Indira said, swinging the door open and gracefully sidestepping Lizzie’s rogue fist. “Who died?”

“Indiraaaaa,” Lizzie whined, propelling herself into the familiar apartment and flopping onto the couch face-first. “I have a very real problem.”

“It’s nice to see you’re being so stoic about it,” Indira said, pressing her lips into a firm line in a failed attempt at hiding her smile.

Lizzie turned her head to glare at her. “I’m serious!”

“What’s your problem, sweet Elizabeth?” Indira asked, sitting on the coffee table and stroking a motherly hand over Lizzie’s hair.

“It’s Rake.”

“What about Rake? Do I need to kill him?”

“No. He’s killing me,” Lizzie said, rolling over and draping a dramatic arm across her eyes.

“Could you try actually telling me what’s going on, or do you want to keep going like this? I just need to know if I should start drinking.”

Lizzie pushed up onto her elbows, fixing Indira with the most serious expression she could muster. “I’m so horny, I think I might die.”