Lizzie Blake's Best Mistake (A Brush with Love, #2)(65)
“Right,” Rake said, following Andrew toward the shallow end of the pool where the models were clustered in their black-and-white swimsuits, long-limbed and smiling radiantly as they gently splashed in the water.
Rake shared a few words with the photographer, confirming the aesthetic goals of the shots, then clapped his hands, telling everyone to get to it.
Rake watched with disinterest, trying to avoid the suggestive smiles some of the women sent him. After a few minutes he rearranged the order, pulling a few girls out for a smaller focused shot. They were all naturals, smiling and posing with professionalism that made Rake confident they’d have plenty of images to use.
He was about to call it a wrap and let the models and photographer go back to actually candid candids, when a husky voice spoke near his ear.
“These suits are divine,” the woman purred, placing a hand on his shoulder. She gave him a honeyed smile, lips full and dark red, her catlike features framed by waves of silky black hair. “I’m Sasha, by the way,” she added.
“Rake,” he said, giving Sasha a brief smile before turning his attention back to the pool.
“And what do you do, Rake?” she asked, pressing closer to him under the pretense of moving out of the photographer’s way. She didn’t step back.
“I’m on Onism’s creative team.”
She let out a tinkling laugh like that had been a hilarious joke, and he shot her a funny look. She was undeniably gorgeous and friendly, and the Rake from five years ago would have jumped at her obvious flirtation. But, at this point in his life, he wasn’t interested. And after dealing with Dominic, the last thing he had patience for was small talk. Strangely enough, even the idea of engaging in flirty banter with this woman made his skin crawl, and an image of Lizzie flashed full force through his brain.
“I’m a model,” Sasha said, dragging a hand down her lovely figure. “Obviously.”
“You’re doing great work,” Rake said, hoping his tone sounded professional as he gestured toward the pool. She giggled again.
“It’s easy when these suits are so glamorous,” she said, finally stepping away to do a full spin as she ran her hands over the crisscrossing fabric that went from the top piece to the bottom. “Oh, am I all tangled back here?” she asked, stopping with her back toward him, her fingers resting on the fabric near the curve at the base of her spine. The weaving pattern was tucked and bunched, forming a small ball of knotted material.
“Yeah, looks a bit twisted,” Rake said, clearing his throat as he glanced up from her perky butt and put all his focus on the photographer.
“Would you fix it for me?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder at him, eyes sultry and heated. Rake’s jaw ticked as he looked down her body. He nodded, quickly plucking the strings of fabric into place.
“All set,” he said, gesturing toward the photographer and pool in the hopes she’d walk away and break up the intimate dynamic that seemed to be choking him.
“You’re the best,” Sasha said, placing a hand on his chest, then popping up on her tiptoes to place a kiss on his cheek. “I better get back to work, but find me later if you get a spare second,” she added, sauntering back toward the pool and shooting him one last sultry smile as she caught him watching her walk away.
Rake felt himself blush.
Like an asshole.
What was wrong with him?
Why did he have so many … feelings all of a sudden?
Why did seeing Lizzie in her red dress make his heart feel like it would beat out of his chest? Why did her laugh feel like a punch to his gut with an iron fist? Why did Sasha catching him checking her out make him feel like a guilty piece of shit?
He’d been doing astonishingly well the last few years with composed neutrality on all things, but now it was like his motherboard was short-circuiting and his brain was a mess of emotions.
He scrubbed his hands down his face in frustration.
And when he opened his eyes and looked across the party, his gaze landed on the redheaded source of so many of these ridiculous fucking feelings.
And she looked pissed.
Their eyes locked for one tense moment, before she turned on her heel.
And took off in a dead sprint.
Chapter 34
LIZZIE knew, objectively, that running away was not the subtlest of party exits. But, subjectively, she was feeling too overwhelmed and insecure to care.
She’d never struggled too much with loving her body. She liked her thick thighs and round hips. Found satisfaction in her big boobs and soft curves.
But, standing by that pool—bloated, sweaty, stained, and smelling like scallops—while a literal model flirted with Rake, every ounce of Lizzie’s confidence seemed to evaporate from her body. She was only human, after all.
A human woman feeling a lethal combination of jealousy and possessiveness as she watched the gorgeous woman lean into Rake as he smiled down at her.
Lizzie’s heart felt like it collapsed in on itself, folding over and over like a piece of paper until it was a sad little square.
In a totally platonic roommates/coparents way.
A teeny-tiny corner of her brain—the feminist lobe that she’d worked hard to develop but seemed to be shriveled up at the moment—told her she was being ridiculous. That the woman was her sister-in-arms and shouldn’t be disliked for her beauty. That internalized misogyny would not get the better of her, and she would be cool, calm, and collected for once in her life.