Page 7 of The Baby-whisperer and the Brute
Cinda answered. “He’s the reigning heavyweight boxing champion of the world. He bought the house on the other side of us about a year and a half ago, but he hasn’t spent much time in Newport until just recently. I’m hoping he’ll come and bring his two little girls.”
“I’mhoping he’ll come and bring his two big biceps,” Kristal said with a humorous smirk. “Not that Hunter isn’t stacked and jacked—I love his physique—but have you ever seen Sullivan Reece shirtless in the boxing ring?”
She made her mouth into an O and fanned herself. “I bet that man could bench press my three-ton Mercedes G Wagon. With all of us in it.”
“And those tattoos... oh mama,” Bonnie added. “I know a lot of women who’d love to read betweenthoselines.”
All the women laughed.
Everyone but me.
I was too disconcerted by a sudden flashback to this afternoon when the massive dark-haired jogger had removed his shirt… and stolen my breath.
I hadn’t seenhimon the Bluff Walk until just recently.
Was it possible there weretworecent arrivals to the neighborhood, both of them possessing enormous muscles and tattoos and a powerful allure to women of all ages and backgrounds?
I developed a new and urgent hope that Mr. Sullivan Reece and his daughters wouldnotbe attending the party in two weeks.
Because I suspected the wild streak Mother had apparently once possessed had not actually disappeared… but had been passed on to me.
And that it would be, as it had been for my mother, my downfall.
Chapter Two
Hide and Seek
Sully-- Two weeks later
I stood in front of the full-length mirror in my bathroom, tugging at the collar and sleeves of my pressed dress shirt.
Inside me a struggle raged—on one side, the desire to look respectable and make a good impression on my neighbors, the Wessexes, who’d been kind enough to invite me and my two daughters to their lawn party today. On the other, the need to rip off the confining garment, which seemed to have shrunk considerably since the last time I’d been forced to wear it, and rip it into very expensive confetti.
To be fair, it wasn’t the shirt that was the true source of my frustration but my ex-wife, Anouk.
She hadn’t returned my calls over the last several days, though I’d left increasingly impatient messages.
Her “long girls’ weekend” had now stretched into more than a week.
I’d stopped caring long ago where she went and what she was doing or with whom, but our two young daughters missed their mother.
She hadn’t bothered to call them once since I’d picked up the girls at her Manhattan penthouse on short notice—at which point she’d informed me I would be keeping them for theentire summer.
Anouk had handed me a temporary change of custody filing from her attorney along with all their clothes and belongings packed into several suitcases.
Since then life had been nothing short of chaos. Skyla and Claire were undisciplined, rebellious little hellions who refused to eat anything but junk food, popped out of bed all throughout the night, and ignored almost every request I made.
They were also very clearly starved for affection, so instead of cracking down on them, I’d gone the other way, offering them as much love, support, and time as I possibly could.
But I was tired. More tired every day. And nothing I did for them could ever replace the presence of a mother.
Having spent large chunks of their lives traveling and training for my boxing career, my parenting skills weren’t much better than Anouk’s.
At leastIcared. Somehow, despite my best efforts to do the exact opposite, I’d fallen for a woman without a drop of motherly instinct.
The sound of my phone ringing sent me running into the connected master bedroom. I grabbed the device from my bed, bringing it to my ear.
“Anouk. Where are you? Are you back in New York?”
