Page 166 of The Nanny and the Beefcake
Libby looked him over, her eyes devouring his body. “Erasmus is an excellent student. Extremely compliant.”
“Am I now?” he tossed back.
“You went above and beyond what I asked of you this morning,” she purred.
And now it was his turn to have his cheeks heat up. He’d spent the better part of the early morning hours between her thighs, making her pant and moan with his mouth. If compliance meant tasting Libby Lamb before dawn, he was on board.
Nonchalantly, he brushed at the corner of his mouth. “That I did. I’m always up for the challenge of going above and beyond.” He shifted his stance.Dammit!Thanks to the image of Libby’s naked body spread out on the bed like a dirty breakfast buffet, his blood supply had headed south.
Bloody hell, he’d be especially challenged if he had to run nine miles with a giant hard-on.
“One last question. That’s what we’ve got time for,” Briggs said, staring at his phone and frowning.
“I’ve got one for Erasmus Cress.”
Raz nodded to the reporter.
“Are you concerned that yourpseudo-trainingwith Miss Lamb will leave you unprepared to face the Irish Snake?”
There’s always a knob.
Raz narrowed his gaze, hardening his expression. “No,” he bit back. There was no need to say any more than that. This bloke was fishing, trying to provoke him. But he wasn’t about to fall for it.
“There are reports you aren’t spending as much time in the gym,” the man continued, glancing over at Augie, but the stone-faced trainer didn’t bite either. “And Silas Scott posted on social media,” the reporter continued.
Ah, that’s what must have soured Briggs’ expression.
“And what wise words did the Snake share today?” he replied, sarcasm coating his response.
“He said that you should think about changing your name from the Lion to the Donkey—or the Jackass. His words, sir, not mine,” the knob reporter added.
Bloody prick.
Raz stared the guy down. “It doesn’t matter what they call me. My name could be Erasmus Cress, the Pussycat, and I’d still crush Silas Scott.” Raz amplified his air of confidence. He could play the part of the badass boxer flawlessly, but that didn’t stop the tiny voices from clawing their way back into his head.
Was the reporter right? Was he throwing it away? Was he disrespecting Mere’s memory by altering his training?
Stop.
“That’s your reply?” the reporter asked. “You believe you’ll beat Silas Scott?”
“Without a doubt,” he answered, ignoring the twist in his gut.
“That’s it,” Briggs announced. “Mr. Cress and Miss Lamb have a race to run.”
Raz stared across the square and met Zen Dougie’s gaze. “No, no, Briggsy, I’ve got a race towin.”
“Sorry, our champ’s got a race to win. And with that, thank you for coming out. Any questions regarding the upcoming championship fight can be directed to my associates. And a word of caution. If you’re new to this part of the country, the Rocky Mountain oysters aren’t from the ocean,” the agent added as the media dispersed.
“How are you holding up, Briggsy? Keeping your distance from the food tents?” he asked, doing everything he could to maintain a breezy attitude—anything to get the reporter’s words out of his mind. He couldn’t let one question throw him off. He’d be ready. There wouldn’t be a repeat of what happened a year after Mere’s passing. There would be no panic attacks, no trembling hands, no gasping for breath on the bathroom floor. Thanks to Libby, he’d be as solid as an ox. He’d fulfill his promise to Mere. He could do it. He could be the best. He could have it all.
Briggs directed a few of his aides to speak with the different media outlets, then slid his mobile into his pocket. “I’m fine—a little smarter and a little wiser when it comes to my choice of lunch in Rickety Rock, that’s for sure,” the man offered, then threw a furtive glance at Libby. “Just so you know, that matter you sent my way has been taken care of.”
“And?” Raz asked, keeping his voice low.
“And the offer was accepted.”
“I appreciate your help, Briggs.”
