Page 129 of The Nanny and the Beefcake
He moved closer and rested his hand on her knee. “Probably the same as lightning striking the same place twice.”
“And you’ve seen that happen two times,” she whispered.
He’d been twice blessed with a phenomenon most never experienced.
Could it mean more? Could it be a sign?
“Why didn’t you show up for your last fight, Raz?” she asked.
Just like Mere’s death, he’d told himself he wouldn’t talk about that day. He’d gotten good at putting on the arrogant mask and pretending nothing could touch him. But it came at a cost—a cost that ate away at his soul. A price he didn’t want to pay anymore. He stared into her eyes, those deep pools of amber that calmed his spirit. “It was like what happened today but on a bigger scale.”
She rested her hand on top of his and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You experienced a panic attack?”
He nodded. “When it was time to leave for the fight, I couldn’t get off the floor. I couldn’t do anything but lay there, frozen.” He focused on their hands and allowed the soothing flow of energy to pass from her to him. “How did you do it, plum? How’d you stop it today?”
She threaded her fingers with his and stood, guiding him up with her. “I offered your heart another choice,” she said, like that made all the bloody sense in the world.
“Another choice? What does that even mean?”
She led him toward the door to her room. “I can show you. It’s easier if we have more space.”
“You want me to come with you to your bedroom?” he asked, like an idiot.
She pressed her palm to the door to her room and stared at it like they were communicating. “The room has good energy. The whole house does. But there’s something about this room. I think it’s the colors. They complement our energy.”
If someone had mentioned a room having good energy before, he would have laughed his arse off. Today, he couldn’t help but agree.
“Yeah, okay,” he answered, his voice squeaking like he was fourteen. He cleared his throat. “I’m down with the violet, blue, and the crows,” he tried again, making sure to add a low, gravelly quality to his response to counter his initial teenage squawk. But Libby didn’t seem to notice his walk down puberty lane. She opened the door, and they entered the space. Lit by the glow of a lamp across the room, the space invited him in like a confessional. Dropping his hand, she fluttered around, removing the pillows from the bed, and making a little violet and blue nest on the rug.
“Is this part of it?” he asked, not sure if he should take part in the pillow party.
“Yes, we’ll be on the ground. You have to sit first, cross-legged, please,” she instructed. “And take off your shirt,” she added as she slipped her tank top over her head, revealing that gold sports bra.
Bloody hell.
A tingle worked its way down his spine at the sight of it.
“Sure, shirts off works for me.”
“And shoes and socks,” she continued, slipping off her trainers.
Blimey, if this was the karma-licious yoga remedy for panic attacks, he was beginning to like the idea of adding yoga to his training schedule.
He sank into the cottony-soft nest and crisscrossed his legs. “Is this right?”
She played with her hair, letting it loose from the bun on the top of her head, and shook it out into soft waves before assessing his position. “Yes, that’s excellent. Now, close your eyes and take three slow breaths.”
He could do that.
One.
Two.
He was about to take his third when she rested her hands on his shoulders. Lowering herself, she sat in his lap, chest to chest, with her legs wrapped around his waist. And bloody hell, his cock took notice.
“I…um…” he muttered.
“Don’t apologize. I’m using my shakti on you. An erection is a natural reaction to my energy.”
