Page 67 of The Nanny and the Beefcake
Her hand flew to her throat. “What about it?”
“You’ve got a love bite showing.”
“Love bite?” she echoed. Was he a boxer or a vampire? “You mean a hickey?”
“Whatever you call it here in America—I can see it on your neck, which means—”
“Your family and Madelyn might notice.” She threw on the wrap and held it closed at her neck like a Victorian schoolmarm. “Can you see anything? Is it hidden?”
“Erasmus, get your arse in gear, lad,” his grandmother called. “You’re not about to make an eighty-year-old woman with an arthritic hip climb this monstrosity of a staircase now, are you?”
“Granny is in rare form. She can be a right ball-buster. We better go,” he replied, waving for her to join him in the hallway.
They sprinted past the myriad of doors before booking it down the stairs. Screeching to a halt, they froze as they hit the first floor and found three people staring at them—three people positioned within a few feet of her yoga tote.
A yoga tote filled with vibrators.
Why hadn’t she put it away?
That was easy to answer.
She didn’t know where to put it. She hadn’t even set foot in her room. Having all that sex got in the way of a grand tour.
Libby’s heart jumped into her throat. She observed the woman standing next to Madelyn. With her salt-and-pepper-colored hair twisted into a bun, that must be Raz’s granny Fin, and the boy beside her had to be Sebastian.
Sebastian.
She parted her lips to greet the boy when Raz broke out into a bout of jumping jacks, right in the middle of the grand foyer.
“Libby and I are getting in some training,” Raz huffed, knocking out those jacks like a champ, which he was, so it made sense. She still wasn’t clear on why Raz had chosen the fitness ruse. Perhaps it had something to do with her sex-flushed cheeks. Whatever it was, she had to go along with it in hopes his family and Madelyn would buy it.
“It’s never too early for fitness,” she replied, upping the wattage on her grin. She glanced at Raz. She needed to get in on this fitness business—and fast. But she couldn’t join him in his jacks-a-thon. Her wrap would fly open if she flung her arms into the air. She couldn’t chance a hickey spotting. Instead, she parted her legs and sank into the splits.
A morning stretch never hurt anyone.
Because she was on the floor, she looked up to find everyone staring at her with their mouths hanging open.
Note to self: dropping into a splits position in a grand foyer with an audience of mostly strangers is not the best way to make an entrance.
Raz froze mid-jack. “Blimey, that’s quite a trick, plum!”
“You know I can do the splits. Remember, in the hallway when we—”
“Were discussing yoga positions,” Raz supplied.
Heat rushed to her cheeks. Her O might have returned, but her chi, her inner balance, was as lopsided as ever. Was she about to reference sex with her boss…in front of his son and grandmother?
Libby Lamb, act like a professional—and not the lady of the night sort of professional! A fitness professional.
“Yes, that’s correct. We were discussing yoga. This pose is called hanumanasana. That’s Sanskrit for this position known colloquially asthe splits.”
And…crickets.
For the love of Buddha, get up!
No one said a word as she maneuvered to a standing position with the grace of a drunken sailor. Attempting to stand with crap balance while concealing hickeys was more challenging than it looked.
Madelyn gave them the once over. “How nice to see you both up, dressed, and raring to go.”
