Crazy for Loving You: A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy(73)

I shift on the seat, pulling my knees up until they’re resting on his thighs. “Who takes care of you?”

The corner of his lips hitches up. “I’m a simple guy. Don’t need much taking care of.”

“Everyone needs taking care of sometime. No man is a bubble.”

“You mean an island?”

“No. Islands are awesome. Sand. Palm trees. The beach. A lifetime supply of chocolate, peanut butter, and books in the secret hideaway you find when you start exploring…”

He barks out a laugh and shakes his head. “And a bubble is just a lone pocket of air trapped inside a cage of soap water?”

“Exactly. You’re one smart cookie, Westley Jaeger.”

He tilts his head to study me, and my breath whooshes out of me. Hazel. He has magic, color-changing hazel eyes that have seen more of the world than I have.

Maybe he hasn’t been as many places.

But he’s seen more. Bad stuff that would reduce me to a crumpled mass of helplessness. Can’t be a Marine in this day and age and not have experienced bad things.

And he doesn’t have anyone taking care of him. He does it himself, because he doesn’t think he needs anyone.

His family must want to throttle him on a regular basis.

But this is their lucky day.

Because I, Daisy Imogen Carter-Kincaid, am going to take care of this man.

“You’re going to take Remy from me one day, aren’t you?” he says quietly.

A lump rolls up from the bottom of my neck to the top of my throat like it’s chasing Indiana Jones, and I have to swallow hard to get it back down.

Westley Jaeger’s body and mind might be made of steel, but his heart is cotton candy.

Cotton candy that he’s freely given to a baby that, by all rights, never should’ve been his, but is now firmly settled in his heart.

I shake my head and draw an X over my own heart. “No. Never.”

His eyes narrow slightly, his lips part, and I hear the question that he doesn’t voice.

Even when whatever this is between us fizzles out?

It’s a legit question.

I don’t date.

But then, I’ve never had a Westley in my life.

I honestly can’t imagine my life without him now though.

“Long term, I’m not in your grandmother’s plans,” he reminds me.

He’s not wrong, and we both know it. She likes him short-term because he gives me credibility. Like he did today, talking about his time in the service, his experience with his sisters, his brother, his nieces and nephews, talking about how well I’m doing with the baby despite not having a lot of practice.

What mother does before her first kid? he’d asked.

My grandmother was correct to fight to keep him here right now. But she’s wrong if she thinks there’s a day coming when West shouldn’t be in Remy’s life.

“I will fight her tooth and nail,” I whisper. “And she might be immortal, but I have a way bigger army.”

He doesn’t crack a grin. Like he knows I’m serious.

My grandmother is in peak shape for an eighty-two-year-old woman. Her mind’s sharp. Her body’s strong. She gives zero fucks and feeds off of fear, which is relatively abundant when she’s around. It’s an endless source of energy.

She could honestly live past one hundred.

But my friends outnumber hers a thousand to one.

A lick of power rolls through my belly as the full impact of having friends sets my nerves humming.

I can stand up to my grandmother. And I will land on my feet.

No, check that.

I can fucking soar.

West is still studying me, but he’s not in growly overprotective Marine mode.

No, this is something else.

It’s white-hot attraction mixed with…pride?

“You do have the bigger army,” he murmurs. “But having a Marine Corps is better.”

I slide a hand over his stomach and lean closer. “Maybe I should have both.”

His lips are mere inches away. My mother will be upstairs with Remy for the next fourteen years. The doors are all locked and guarded.

I can kiss this man for the rest of the day if I want, and no one will disturb us.

There’s no shame in being caught doing what comes naturally, but this—this isn’t just raw, carnal pleasure to be had.

This is more.

He’s not asking for just my body. He’s asking for me.

And I don’t want just his body.

I want this strong, capable, dependable man who asks for so little for himself to know that there’s someone in this world who will put him first.

“What are we doing, Daisy?”

“Shh. You have a little something…” I brush a thumb over his lower lip. “Right here.”

There’s that half-grin again. “No, I don’t.”

“You’re about to.”

He doesn’t stop me.

He probably should. This is me, diving into the deep end with both feet like I usually do.

Except when my lips brush his, and his fingers wrap around the back of my head, and his heart leaps beneath my hand, I know this is the deep end I’ve been looking for my entire life.

His short beard scratches the delicate skin around my mouth, lighting up my nerve endings. His lips part, brushing open-mouth kisses to my own parted lips, and I’m not melting.