Crazy for Loving You: A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy(74)

I’m toasting like a marshmallow. Hot and sticky and pliable.

Knowing I’m in danger of going up in flames, and not caring a bit, because oh my god, his mouth.

And his hands.

And his—“Well. Someone is certainly happy to see you, Daisy.”

We fly apart. West leaps off the sofa. I flail my arms, uncertain what to do with them. “Mom. Where’s Remy?”

“Sleeping. Your grandmother’s on her way.” She turns to West, who’s not pacing, but looks like he wants to be slipping into the dark corners of the room. Outside, lightning flashes.

Stupid tropical storm.

“What are your intentions toward my daughter?” Mom demands.

“Mom.”

West silences me with a hand on my shoulder. “Oh, you know. The usual. Pretend I like her. Take naked pictures. Post them online. Sue her for emotional distress when people call me an asshole online. Use the proceeds to buy a hot air balloon and an amusement park. Then pursue my porn star career.”

I gape at him.

Mom can’t stop blinking. Her jaw’s unhinged.

“And this is why I don’t date,” I mutter.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll leave room in the budget for Remy to have lots of funnel cake for breakfast. And nannies with hooters the size of small houses.” He pats my shoulder and straightens again, spearing my speechless mother with a glare I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of. “Any other questions?”

I snort.

It’s not a delicate snort.

It’s a full-on, I should not be laughing at this snort.

But despite the growly voice, I don’t think West is truly offended. There’s this fuck, yeah, I can have fun too twinkle in his eye that makes me want to jump him.

He’s not just a responsibility-first military man.

He’s hiding some fun under that exterior.

Thunder rolls through the house.

“If your grandmother gets stuck here during the storm, I will utilize military training to get Remy to safety,” West adds.

Hello, hot flash in the chacha. “Will you take me with you?”

“Only if you leave everything but that leopard print thong bikini behind.”

Oh, fuck.

I know he’s joking just to horrify my mother some more, but I don’t actually have a leopard print thong bikini. And I think I need to rectify that. Stat.

“Oh my god, Daisy. He’s the man-you,” my mother gasps.

“See?” he growls. “Things can always get worse.”

He turns on his heel with military precision—which is also hot as fuck—and strolls to the staircase while my mother gapes wide-eyed at his back.

“Mother,” I hiss. “Apologize.”

“He just sassed me.”

“Because you interrupted us and then questioned his honor.”

Her eyes light up, and she rubs her hands together in glee, and I realize I’ve made a very big, very bad, very fatal mistake.

And now my mother thinks we’re getting married.

Not now.

But eventually. When I fall so hard I can’t see my life without West in it.

And she thinks I don’t know what she’s thinking.

But I do.

And I need a paper bag.

Because for once, she might actually be psychic.

Psychic.

“Oh my god,” I gasp, and I lunge for my phone.

It’s all suddenly crystal clear.

I just need a few hours to prove it.





Thirty-One





West



The storm’s rolling in hard and heavy tonight, and I’m mentally going through the condo renovation I’m helping a buddy with. Pretty sure I remembered to seal all the windows, but I’ll need to go check it out in the morning after the storm passes.

I’ve barricaded myself and Remy in the Pepto Bismol room—the one Daisy called the Strawberry Daiquiri suite—and I’m debating texting her to ask if the community has bad weather sirens—and which room is safest in a tornado—when there’s a knock at the door.

I watch, and the lock unlocks, the door cracks open, and I catch sight of a blue eye and dangling purple hair. “Come quick. My grandmother’s in the shower and my mother’s having a video call with a gallery up in Atlanta.”

Fuck. Her grandmother is stuck here.

I need to prepare some contingency plans. “Go where?”

“My wing. Security’s better there.”

“Tornado shelter?”

“I have four. My staff will keep us separate from Mom and the Graminator if anything worse develops, but the weather reports say the storm’s weakening fast.”

I’m not actually surprised Daisy checked the weather.

But I am worried about how much I want to go with her. Without Remy. And there’s not much about my sleep shorts that’ll hide how I’m feeling.

But I grab the sleeping baby and a book and follow her down the hallway, watching her hips swing in those pink velour pants and that strip of skin low on her back flash beneath her short black T-shirt. Our window to sneak out of here is short.

And I have to get my cock under control.

“Sorry about my mom,” she whispers. “You were awesome. And I told my grandmother you know what her Achilles’ heel is, so she should leave you alone lest you turn her to a pile of dust and ash. Also, I found something. You should probably see it.”