Page 98 of The Nanny and the Beefcake
Libby and Sebastian. And there it was—that lovely blue-violet tint to the light, and a stillness settled upon the group.
“Now, this is where we incorporate the punching part. We can do this one that’s called a…” Libby focused on Sebastian, and she started throwing hooks while balancing on one foot.
“Those punches are called hooks,” Sebastian supplied.
“Or some of these,” Libby continued, throwing some damn good jabs.
“Those are jabs,” his son answered correctly.
“And then we can mix it up.” She threw a jab, a cross, and a hook. “This is called—”
“Jab, cross, hook combo,” he answered, coming down the steps, unable to stop himself. Could it be something with the energy here? Whatever it was, it drew him to her.
She looked over her shoulder and winked at him. And blimey, she was radiant! The brightest star in the universe had nothing on Libby Lamb.
“Go ahead and stand tall on two feet with your chin up and shoulders back while I demonstrate an advanced element,” she instructed.
As if they were in a daze, the throng of media did as they were told, standing like soldiers eager to please their general.
“In Pun-chi yoga,” Libby continued, tucking the tails of her scarf into her T-shirt, “we build a stable foundation by grounding ourselves. Stability and ease of motion come through repetition. And then we practice something called non-attachment, where we learn to let go. Long story short, you have to be strong and centered before you can release what holds you back.” Libby hinged forward and drew her legs up into a handstand.
And he knew what was coming next.
Gracefully, like she wasn’t on uneven, rocky ground, she raised her hand and busted out the same move that shut him up in the police chief’s office. Her legs parted into a wide V, and she started punching with her free hand.
The press gave a collective gasp as every pair of eyes remained locked on the woman defying the laws of gravity.
“Uppercut, jab, jab, cross, jab, uppercut!” Sebastian exclaimed, labeling each punch as Libby threw punch after punch and barely wobbled in the process.
He stood beside Sebastian to get a better look, and his boy waved him down.
“See, Dad, it’s punchy yoga.”
“Yeah, I see,” he answered, catching Libby’s upside-down gaze.
“Is it okay if we get some tape of you demonstrating Pun-chi yoga, Miss Lamb?” a voice called, but Libby didn’t acknowledge the reporter. She kept her attention on him and Sebastian. With a sparkle in her eyes, she gave them an upside-down grin, then tossed him a wink—another bloody wink—before turning her head toward the woman asking the question. “Go ahead, you can film me and take as many photographs as you like,” she answered and began throwing punches again as Sebastian labeled each one.
He took several steps back to give them some space, and Briggs strolled up to his side with his million-dollar grin intact.
“She’s brilliant, champ,” he exclaimed in a hushed voice. “Who would have thought that a lunatic banging a gong and throwing sex toys at you could charm this hardened lot? Did you know she was this good?”
Raz shook his head, his gaze trained on the raven-haired lunatic. “No, I didn’t.”
“You’re one lucky bloke,” Briggs replied, relief coating the words. “At least for the moment, she’s PR gold, and you only have to stick with her until the fight. I already have the press release ready to go when you part ways.”
Raz’s posture stiffened. “Part ways?”
“You know, mutual respect, blah, blah, blah. Wish you well, blah, blah, blah.”
Raz parted his lips, but nothing came out. All he could do was ignore the tightness in his chest and let Briggs’s words sink in.
The man was right. Despite the pull between them to tear each other’s clothes off, she couldn’t be his. She’d made it clear that a relationship wasn’t in the cards for her. Their professional split should be a no-brainer, and yet his lips still tingled from her kiss.
“Miss Lamb,” a reporter called, pulling him from his thoughts. “Can you tell us any more about the Pun-chi yoga moves you’re using to train Erasmus Cress?”
“We’ll chat more later, mate,” Briggs whispered, pulling out his mobile. “I need to listen and make sure Libby doesn’t say anything bonkers.”
He nodded to his agent, hardly able to make heads or tails from his reaction to the thought of parting ways with Libby Lamb.
