What was he hiding from?
Was it Granny Fin and her knowing gaze?
Was it Sebastian begging to be a boxer?
Or was it Libby Lamb and that pulse of tantalizing energy that passed between them?
Alone in his room, before he’d succumb to sleep in a fit of fatigued muscles, he’d whisper her name.
Libby Lamb.
Try as he might, he couldn’t turn off the nanny reel in his head. She was bloody everywhere. From the ruby-red punching bag to his jet-black gloves hanging on a hook in Aug’s gym, every color screamed her name. And speaking of every color. He’d caught the arc of a rainbow after an afternoon downpour, and even that made him think of her—and her bag of vibrators.
But when he closed his eyes, he only saw one color, amber.
The image of her sparkling amber eyes never gave him a moment’s peace. Aug would call out a combination, and before his gloves hit the bag, she was there. His body called out to her. Her memory took up every inch of space in his consciousness. Touching her, kissing her, holding her in his arms as he dissolved into a sea of pleasure. There was no escape. And it wasn’t only the sex and the thrill of making her come hard that had his mind reeling.
Despite the insanity of their vibrator calamity, Libby grounded him. She steadied him. Those amber eyes teased him with the promise of home—a home for his battered heart. He’d recognized the sensation well. He’d experienced it before, and he’d known it for more than a decade.
He recalled the day fate knocked the breath right out of him.
East London, eighteen years ago.
He was a fourteen-year-old lollygagging around Aug’s boxing gym.
It was another rainy day in the city. He’d grabbed his bag, preparing to head back to Granny Fin’s place to make dinner and to help her with the twins. It was another ordinary day at the gym until that average Tuesday turned into the day that changed everything. Two bolts of lightning scorched the sky, and in the space of those charged flashes of light, the door to the gym swung open. Like something out of a movie, the prettiest girl he’d ever seen dashed inside to get out of the rain.
Meredith.
Had she left her house ten seconds earlier, or had she walked more quickly, or had a million other tiny insignificant things crossed her path, she would have popped into the shoe store one door down from Augie’s gym or maybe gotten a little further and entered the sweets shop.
But she hadn’t.
She’d slipped into the gym, sopping wet. She wiped the rain from her cheeks, then looked him square in the eyes and grinned like she knew her life was about to change.
Those two flashes of lightning cracked open a new chapter in his life. All that faffing around, toying with the idea of becoming a boxer, hemming and hawing like a rudderless boat, solidified into a drive to be the best—for her and his family. Money was tight. They were barely getting by, living off his grandfather’s pension. He was the man of the house, and at that moment, he manned up. He devoted himself to the sport and put his faith in Aug to train him to become a champion. Augie held the candle, but Meredith was the spark.
And that begged the question, if Mere had captured his heart with two strikes of lightning, could Libby Lamb have done it with two strikes to her gong?
Had that infuriating clanging sound pulled him back from the edge?
Could he love again?
He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, internally berating himself. He was a daft mug to moon over a proposition like that.
He couldn’t have Libby. He didn’t deserve anyone.
No true north existed for Erasmus Cress anymore.
He’d have to get his head in the game on his own. But the more he tried, the worse he got. His sprints were rubbish—his timing, absolute shit. He’d tried to shut out the noise and silence, the gnawing questions rattling around his mind. He’d barely looked at his mobile. After an onslaught of emails and texts from Briggs droning on about bloody promotional bullshit, he’d turned the blasted thing off, effectively divorcing himself from everything in his professional and personal life.
Well, saying he had a personal life was a bit of a stretch.
He was the definition of an absent parent and an indifferent grandson.
What was he to Libby?
Oh, that one was easy. He was the cocky beefcake.
Case in point, he’d barely said two words to her since they got in the car.
Be the beefcake.
Harden your heart.
“Did you say something, Raz? Something about your heart?”
The breath caught in his throat at the sound of her voice.
“No, Libby,” Sebastian countered. “I don’t think my dad said heart. It sounded like he said fart. Did you fart, Dad? Granny Fin says you shouldn’t fart in a car. But if you do, you should roll down the window.” Sebastian tilted his head, sniffing the air. “I smell a fart.”
Libby leaned forward and gave the air a sniff as well.
“I didn’t fart,” he roared.
“Are you sure? I smell something bad. It’s okay if you’re a car farter,” Sebastian replied.
Car farter?
“It’s not my fart,” he answered gruffly, feeling his cheeks heat.
God’s sake!
He was teetering on the edge of a breakdown, working himself into knots over the upcoming fight. He didn’t have the emotional energy to defend himself from being labeled a car farter.
“Do you have a sour belly, Dad?” Sebastian continued.
“Sebastian, my belly is fine, and I didn’t fart.” He could feel Libby’s eyes on him, but he didn’t dare look her way.
“If you did fart,” Sebastian droned on, “Libby could show you how to move around in circles to make it better. It helped me after Phoebe dared me to eat three hot dogs in one minute. Americans like to eat a lot of food quickly. I thought I might puke after. We did yoga to make it better.”
“You’re doing yoga with my son?” he asked, eyeing the woman.
She threw a glance toward Sebastian in the back. “Yes, and he’s been showing me a few boxing moves. It’s too bad your busy schedule precludes you from taking part in family activities. If you had been around the last ten days, you would have seen that Sebastian and I practice yoga every morning and in the evenings. But of course, you’re so very busy.”
Venom dripped from her words.
Libby Lamb might not know a damn thing about boxing, but she sure could land a punch when she wanted.
“Yeah, I can do the tree and the warrior,” Sebastian chimed, lowering his voice as he extended his arms. “Right, Libby? I hardly wobble at all.”
“You are a yoga machine,” Libby replied, reaching back to high-five the boy, then each went into a prayer position. “Namaste, Sebastian.”
“Namaste, Libby,” the boy replied with a bow.
“What the bloody hell was that?” he barked.
“We’re honoring each other’s life force. Yoga is an excellent way to reflect, build endurance, and increase focus in children.” She sat back and threw a few eye daggers at him. “It also helps with indigestion and relieves symptoms that cause one to break wind. You know, your car farting condition.”
This woman!
Anyone who could say break wind and car farting in the same breath without cracking a smile was well and truly pissed. If the whole fart business clearly hadn’t lightened her up, that had to mean he was doing a bang-up job of projecting the arrogant beefcake persona she despised. He should take comfort in that. She wasn’t for him. But that didn’t stop his bloody heart from aching.