Page 26 of The Nanny and the Beefcake
Honestly, he probably had the same expression. Things bloody well had become dire.
He needed to defuse the situation. “There are no bombs or weapons, officers. This is a misunderstanding,” he said, keeping Libby in his sights.
Wide-eyed, with her hand pressed to her chest, she nodded.
“Plum, tell the nice officers that you aren’t carrying any weapons and that you wish no one any harm.”
She continued to nod, her head wobbling rapidly like one of those bobblehead dolls. “Erasmus is correct. There are no—”
“Wait a second,” the taller officer called, lowering his weapon. “I recognize one of those. We don’t have a bomb threat on our hands, Joey. Not if the big guy is holding what I think he is.” The officer holstered his weapon. “I’m going to approach you, sir.”
“Approach away. Like I said, I haven’t got any weapons on me,” he replied, and never in his life had he been so happy to have an armful of sexual stimulation devices.
The officer advanced slowly, then studied the cadre of vibrators pulsing and convulsing like a den of rabid dildos. “That’s the Rainbow Screamer,” the cop said, his tone losing the whole I’m-about-to-shoot-you quality.
Raz glanced at the buffet of plastic cocks cradled against his abdomen. “The, what?”
The officer pointed to the colorful vibrator. “The rainbow one. My girlfriend has this.” The cop leaned in like they’d become best mates. “She loves it. We both do. She takes it everywhere—even on vacation.”
Raz gave the officer a weak grin. “Cheers, mate. Here’s to good times on holiday.”
The shorter officer checked Libby’s bag. “All clear, George. We’ve got a yoga mat, a little Buddha statue, a tiny gong, and a pair of sneakers.”
“Bring the bag here, Joey,” the cop directed.
Raz breathed a sigh of relief as the shorter cop handed Libby’s yoga tote to the taller one.
“Dump the items inside, sir,” the officer directed.
Happy to comply, he followed the officer’s command and breathed a sigh of relief. Yes, this looked insane, but no one was any worse for wear. The best-case scenario? They bid goodbye to the men in blue and pretended like this never happened.
“Miss, would you join us?” the shorter officer called to Libby. “Stand right next to the big guy and tell us your name.”
She hurried over and saddled in by his side. “I’m Libby Lamb.”
“Lamb? Are you related to a Connolly Lamb?” the officer asked, eyeing her.
Libby swallowed hard. “I don’t know who that is.”
“And you?” the cop asked, turning to him.
“Erasmus Cress.”
“The Lion? The British Beast?” the taller cop asked, cocking his head to the side, as the shorter one repeated their names into the walkie-talkie strapped to his vest.
“Yeah, that’s me,” he answered, but he was far more concerned with making sure Libby was all right than meeting a fan. He touched her shoulder—the one that wasn’t covered in bird shit. “You okay, plum? Got that crap karma sorted?”
Trembling from the onslaught of adrenaline, she leaned into him. And God help him, he couldn’t keep from wrapping his arm around her.
“That was quite a convergence of energy—truly an astral projection. My conscious emptied out of me and flowed into the cosmos,” she replied, making no bloody sense, but she wasn’t assaulting anyone with plastic dicks or howling at the moon. So, all in all, it was an improvement.
“Much ado about nothing, right officers?” he remarked, pulling the policemen’s flummoxed gazes from the yoga nutter curled into his side.
“Not exactly. We still have to take you in,” the taller cop answered.
Double bollocks.
“You do?” Libby shrieked, gripping the edge of his hoodie and balling the fabric in her hand as she anchored herself to him.
