Page 85 of The Nanny and the Beefcake
“I wonder why he doesn’t know how to use any of it?” she huffed, throwing more eye daggers his way. Thank God she didn’t have a gong. He could picture it now. Libby, in a rage, chasing him down the mountain in a flurry of clangs and jarring bangs.
“The door is unlocked. And there’s a note taped to it for you,” Sebastian announced from the porch.
He waved for the boy to go on ahead of them, then turned his attention back to the nanny. “Sebastian is my son and my responsibility.”
“He’s my responsibility, too. I promised your grandmother I’d keep him safe. And I’ll have you know, I don’t break promises,” Libby shot back, then set off for the house before he could reply.
The nerve.
He followed behind, fuming. Did she not understand what was at stake for him? He could quite literally see red as he charged through the door.
He grabbed the note and skimmed the text. It was from someone named Maud, writing that she’d left two sets of keys on the hooks by the door for them and that she would be by later to say hello. He folded the sheet in half and stuffed it into his pocket. She was probably a real estate agent or the house’s caretaker. He looked up and glanced around their temporary home. And bloody hell, he was no interior design aficionado, but even he could appreciate the décor. The house was stunning, welcoming, and cozy like a bed-and-breakfast, and the agitation prickling through his veins subsided. He stopped and studied a painting of two pack burros.
“Donkey art,” he mused.
“Are you okay?” Libby asked and cocked her head to the side.
Jesus, what was wrong with him? Donkey art? Was the elevation draining his brain?
Forget the home furnishings and bloody lace doilies, you daft wanker.
Again, Libby didn’t wait for his response and stomped her way up the stairs. If she could stomp, so could he. He had a lot on his mind, too, and he plodded along behind her like the beast he was. The bloody staircase whined and creaked beneath their feet as if the house itself was begging them to ease up and mellow out.
There wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of that happening. The frantic energy pulsing between them was enough to knock a man twice his size on his arse.
“I found my room. It’s on the third floor. The ceiling is a triangle,” Sebastian hollered from higher up in the Victorian.
“Good, lad,” he replied, but his mind was elsewhere. He focused on Libby’s jet-black ponytail swishing wildly from side to side. She’d worked herself up into a right fit. “Why are your knickers in such a twist, plum?” he whisper-shouted as they stepped onto the second level, the old floorboards continuing to creak beneath their feet like the house itself could sense the tension. “Is it your O?” he asked, enunciating the letter like the arrogant arse he was. “You can’t have it without me, eh? Are you angry with me for not following thecurriculumand hitting thosebenchmarksthis week?”
She turned on her heel and grabbed a fistful of his T-shirt in her ridiculously firm grip. Like a pint-sized bouncer, she pulled him into a bedroom and slammed the door. “What did you say to me?” she hissed, pressing his back to the wall.
His heart hammered in his chest. He’d taken the arrogant beefcake act too far this time. The question was, what was his raven-haired captor going to do about it?
Twelve
Erasmus
“How dareyou bring up my O,” Libby bit out.
The energy coming off her might just blow the top off this Victorian.
And not only that.
This whole tough yoga nanny business was one hell of a turn-on.
“You seem keyed up like you’re desperate for release,” he answered, his voice sounding a hell of a lot huskier than he’d expected.
A sexy blush colored her cheeks as her chest heaved. “That’s what you think this is about? My O?”
Steady, mate. Put on the beefcake mask. Karma won’t help you now.
He manufactured a smirk. “It’s kind of my O, too. It only comes out for me.”
“It is absolutely notyour O,” she whisper-shrieked, pushing up onto her tiptoes. Her breasts grazed his chest, and a titillating buzz penetrated every cell in his body.
“Have you been able to…” he trailed off, losing a fraction of his cocky edge. He was genuinely interested. Plus, the heat of her nearness had scrambled his brain, and if she leaned in any closer, she’d feel what he had going on in his trousers.
“Have I been able to do what, Erasmus? Masturbate to completion? Have I jumped into bed with another guy and spent the night in a state of orgasmic bliss?” she tossed back, eyes blazing.
