Page 49 of The Nanny and the Beefcake
She shrieked as two tiny forms loomed in the darkened doorway.
“We thought you’d never get out of that giant car,” came a girl’s huff of a voice.
Then the other pint-sized person shrouded in darkness lunged toward them. “Say, beefcake!”
Seven
Libby
Beefcake?
“Smile for the camera!” came a boy’s familiar voice.
Light blasted from below, followed by a sharp, mechanical hum.
She screamed bloody murder, then jumped into Raz’s arms.
As if he were expecting her to hurl her body at him, he caught her and held her close. Instinctively, or maybe it was the adrenaline surging through her veins, she nuzzled into him. Their bodies melded together in a predominantly chaotic yet slightly erotic motion. Her hammering heartbeat evened out as she inhaled Raz’s virile, earthy scent. It made her want to press her lips to the hollow of his neck and lick a trail down to his rock-hard torso.
This man was built like a brick house—and clearly, she was a-okay with that.
Sweet Buddha’s belly, she could not allow her mind to go there.
She only had a second to get her bearings before the smack of plastic meeting a hard surface erupted in a cascade of cracks, rattles, and an echoing buzz.
The vibrators.
A jarring clang—her gong—accompanied the cluster of sex toys that proceeded to vibrate on the polished floor as the sound echoed through the cavernous, darkened room.
She’d barely caught her breath when the lights came on, and an ornate chandelier illuminated the grand foyer. She shielded her eyes from its glow. Blinking as her pupils responded to the onslaught of the glare, she squinted and took in not an intruder or a thief but six pairs of eyes attached to six of her favorite people. Six people who stood stock-still, staring at her slack-jawed.
What in the world were they doing inside Raz’s house?
Libby surveyed the stunned group. Penny cocked her head to the side then shared a curious look with Charlotte as Mitch and Rowen stood there, dumbfounded. She focused on the little bodies that had met them at the darkened doorway and spied none other than her favorite six-year-olds, Phoebe Gale and Oscar Elliott.
For what felt like half a century, no one moved.
Libby forced herself to employ her yoga and meditation training.
Breathe and be mindful.
She took stock of her body—a body that clung to another body. And this other body, Raz’s body, cradled her in his arms like this was some deranged version of whooshing a bride across the threshold. Except this bride didn’t come in throwing bouquets of roses and lilies. Nope, this modern woman chucked vibrators at the guests.
The mechanical hum that greeted—or scared the ever-living crap out of her—cut through the stunned silence as Oscar snapped another shot with his Polaroid instant camera.
“Here,” Oscar said, pushing up on his tiptoes to hand her a photo. “This is the first picture I took. It sure looks like I surprised you.”
Libby stared at the blurred image. Looking positively terrified, the flash lit them in a harsh burst of yellowy-orange as they clung to each other, wide-eyed. They looked like they’d emerged from one of those jarring so-called fun houses with mirrors that distorted bodies and uneven flooring that could make the most balanced human feel off-kilter enough to lose their lunch, which wasn’t too far off from what she’d experienced tonight.
“Thanks, Oscar,” she said, accepting the image, then showed the shot to Raz.
Shell-shocked, the man nodded. “Brilliant work, lad.”
“It sure caught the emotion of the moment,” she said to the boy, then realized her feet were dangling. And, oh no! She was in Erasmus Cress’s arms in front of everyone.
She leaned in as all eyes remained locked on them. “You can put me down,” she whispered.
“Yeah, good idea,” he replied, gently lowering her to the ground.
