Crazy for Loving You: A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy(37)

I need to find West and the baby.

But they’re not in any of the lounges. Nor in any of the sitting areas.

I cover the entire hump of the D of my house, all three levels.

The courtyard, where a cat has settled onto a floatie and is sunbathing in the center of my pool.

I head to my private wing, because I’m still in stilettos and I don’t feel like stilettos when my face is sore and my hands are starting to shake from the amount of Benedryl and adrenaline still pumping through my system and this niggling fear over not being able to find West.

Why haven’t I programmed his number into my phone yet?

Also, if I’m going to have to lead a search party to find Julienne’s baby and my co-guardian, I want my face to match my clothes.

In other words, I’d like to be scary as hell when I find him, so he knows he damn well better never take that baby anywhere without telling me again.

What if he hopped a boat and they capsized too, just like Julienne and Rafe?

What if they went wandering through the enclave and didn’t realize that Steve’s house is for an alligator, not a dog, and tried to get into the fence to the lagoon to pet him?

I don’t think Steve likes human as much as he’s developed a taste for chicken since we adopted him and gave him his prosthetic leg, but I don’t know that for sure, because I don’t feed humans to the alligator.

I’m working myself into a panic as I race through changing into hot pink tiger-striped yoga pants and a unicorn tank top offering to bake you some shut the fuckupcakes—it’s battle armor—and then search my bedroom, home spa, closets, secret library, and office, just in case he’s snooping.

But he’s not.

He’s nowhere in my private wing, not even in the rooftop gardens.

I spin in a slow circle, squinting in the sunshine at the palm trees dotting the landscape in Bluewater beyond my house, the roofs of the village, the condo buildings, the thickets of saw palmettos and hibiscus on the paths to Luna, Emily, and Cam’s houses, and the bay, and as I’m finishing my circle, movement at my scrotum pool makes me pause.

There he is.

Pacing in front of the pool house, phone to his ear, which hopefully means Remy’s with him in the building.

I head down the back staircase that leads to the shortcut to my second pool. West’s voice travels down the short pathway, and I freeze.

“Yes. Daisy Carter-Kincaid. Yes. The heiress. No, I’m not some creeper trying to spy on her, I need to know if she’s—dammit.”

There’s a splash, and I peek around the corner to see waves rippling out in the center of my pool.

“Did you just chuck your phone in there?”

He jerks his head in my direction. Relief washes over his face, his shoulders relax, and he starts to rub his eyebrow, then stops and growls. “I need your phone number. Now. Alessandro’s too. And anyone else who keeps tabs on you. Except your grandmother. That woman can go the fuck to hell and show her horns where she belongs.” He blows out a short breath. “Are you okay?”

I don’t take orders.

I give orders.

But the concern laced into his tirade has me pulling out my phone. “Are you kidding? It’d take more than a couple little sea urchins to bring all of this fabulousness down. Gimme your digits. I’ll text you.”

He rattles off the number, and I send him a quick note with both Alessandro’s and Tiana’s numbers attached.

His phone dings, which means that wasn’t his phone he sent flying into the pool.

I take a subtle glance to make sure he didn’t chuck Remy into the water.

Definitely not a baby in there.

I stifle a snort as I realize it’s one of my mom’s crystal dicks. Probably shouldn’t leave her artwork lying around the patio tables.

“How’s the little pipe organ? He didn’t get too nervous about Aunt Daisy being rushed to the hospital, did he?”

“He screamed in sympathy for hours.”

Oh, sarcasm at its finest. That shouldn’t be attractive, but it’s making me a little hot under the collar.

Side effect of the Benedryl, undoubtedly.

“Is he inside?”

“Yes. Found a bed. He’s happy.”

“I should go hug him and promise him I’m gonna make a full recovery. Except I don’t want to scare the poor kid.”

“Scare him how?”

“With my evil scar face.”

His eyes narrow again while he studies me.

I get my picture taken a million times in a weekend when I’m out having fun. I get stared down in boardrooms on a regular basis. And I have to deal with my grandmother’s scrutiny every waking minute of my life.

I get used to it.

But West studying the blotchy, saggy mess that’s currently my face?

It’s making me more self-conscious than that time an ass shot of me in a thong while I was on my period went around the internet.

Seventeen was a horrible age for wearing dresses that got caught in the wind.

And he’s going to tell me I’m beautiful just the way I am, and I’m going to have to punch him, because he doesn’t get to say nice things about me right now.

That would make me like him entirely too much when I might possibly already like him entirely too much simply for being here.

And also lose a little respect for him for lying to me.