Page 82 of The Baby-whisperer and the Brute
“Better?” She turned back to me, looking at me over one shoulder.
That was when I noticed she was wearing her hair loose. The long sweep of it was like a golden river cascading down her back. The curling ends danced at hip level, drawing my eyes where I’d been trying to keep them from going, to the curves of her waist and hips and ass.
My fingertips dug into the sheet and blankets, gripping the linens until my hands shook.
Hopefully Angelina couldn’t detect the reaction from where she stood in the dark room. I couldn’t let her see how she affected me—not after she’d told me she didn’t want me.
“Yes. You can go now,” I gritted out.
Without further comment, she slipped from the room, and I let out a long breath.
I couldnotafford to mess up again—not when the girls and I were so dependent on her. If I lost control of myself and got out of line again, Angelina would leave for sure.
The only thing more powerful than my desire to have her was my desire tokeepher.
I tried telling myself it was all about the girls. They were here permanently now—and I was thrilled about it. After seeing them with Anouk in New York, I knew living with their mother wasn’t the best thing for them.
What had I been thinking at the beginning of the summer when I’d suggested Anouk move into the house in Eastport Bay with us? Thank God she’d said no.
When I was honest with myself, I had to admit there was much more to my determination to keep Angelina at a distance than my fear of losing Skyla and Claire’s nanny.
Iwanted to keep her too, and I was terrified of scaring her off again.
* * *
Over the next several weeks, I slowly healed. I was able to get up for small stretches of time during the day now and go to the bathroom alone—thank God.
Wilder Lowe had earned friend-for-life status, stopping by every morning during the first week to help me in and out of the shower. There was no way tiny Angelina would have been able to support my tall, heavy frame, and there was even less chance I’d ask her to touch me when I was undressed.
My willpower was considerable, but I wasn’t superhuman.
She remained the perfect nurse, continuing her gentle ministrations with patience and tenderness. Meanwhile, I was nearing a breaking point. I was either going to strangle her or kiss her.
Of course either would drive her away, so I contented myself with merely imagining both scenarios. The kissing one was my more frequent fantasy by far.
Angelina had also enrolled the girls in school—Claire in the preschool where she used to work and Skyla in kindergarten at the nearby public elementary.
Each day when the girls returned home, they ran into my room to show me what they’d worked on at school. My bedroom walls had become a gallery of colorful crayon drawings and finger paintings—a beautiful view that cheered me despite the lingering gloom from the disastrous title fight.
I couldn’t move past it. The fight promoter Frank Balletto had called this afternoon just after my daughters’ visit, informing me that Travis Diggs was demanding a rematch.
Angelina came back into the room during the call. She’d left to fix the girls a snack and settle them in the home theater to watch a princess movie.
Clearly piecing my end of the conversation together, she questioned me when I hung up. “Why would they ask you to fight him again? You won.”
“I didn’twin,” I spat, sounding harsher than I’d intended. “It was a judge’s decision, and pretty much everyone agrees it only tipped my way because I was the defending champ. I was a disgrace.”
Angelina looked horrified. “You’re not going todoit, are you?”
I gave her anIsn’t it obvious?look. “I still have to defend the title when there’s a legitimate challenger. Considering the fact Diggs almost killed me, I’d say he’s pretty fucking legitimate.”
“Considering the fact he almostkilledyou, I’d say you’re crazy to even think about getting into the ring with him again.”
Her tone was more forceful than I’d ever heard it, and a crease marked the space between her delicate little eyebrows.
“What about Skyla and Claire? What if you don’t make it next time?”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” I smirked.
