Crazy for Loving You: A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy(84)

Daisy and I will be fine, and Remy will be fine, and everything, right now, in this moment, is good.

That’s good enough.

I need to get out to my job site, but I don’t want to.

I want to go sit by the pool.

Cannonball into it.

Race my sisters on unicorn rafts.

And have fun. Not in a who-can-do-the-most-push-ups way. But in a this is my family and they’re awesome kind of way.

One margarita into my mom, and she’ll be busting out the jokes like she’s on a stage. One margarita into Allie, and she’ll start confessing to all the things she made Keely take the fall for in high school.

And I can laugh at them instead of telling them they’re being ridiculous and immature, because life’s about more than just following the rules.

What the fuck has following the rules ever gotten for my heart?

I almost turn around to go grab Daisy, toss her over my shoulder, and then dash out to the pool to leap in with both of us, but there’s no need.

She’s sneaking up behind me and grabbing my hand as I pause at the bottom of the stairs. “Come here,” she whispers.

I don’t know where we’re going.

I don’t care.

Five minutes ago, she was watching my family like she was in heaven and couldn’t wait to get to know everyone and would be opening up the pool and the bar and ordering in everyone’s favorite foods and six dozen of her other friends for a massive Welcome to Miami party.

And now she’s here.

With me.

Just the two of us.

While double the grandmas and quadruple the aunts stand between Remy and Imogen Carter.

“They wore you out already?” I ask her while she drags me down the hallway toward her lounges.

“Are you kidding? Never. It’s a personal goal to always be the last partier standing. I haven’t even gotten started yet. Don’t warn them, by the way. I need to know what your family is actually made of, so I know when to go easy.”

“Daisy—”

“And I mean that in the sisterly way. Not the I never lose kind of way. But you, my hot hunky co-parent, have gotten the short end of the stick, and I am determined to correct that immediately.”

Hells to the YEAH! my balls roar.

I tell them not to get too excited.

But she’s here. When she could be with a half-dozen other people, soaking in all those vibes her extroverted personality needs.

She turns into the trampoline room, drags me inside with her, throws the doors shut, and then releases my hand to shove a chair under the door handle.

She frowns. “Think that’ll hold them out?”

“The lock might.”

“Oh! Right.”

She moves the chair away, twists the lock on the doorknob, and then turns.

And leaps.

That’s Daisy.

I’m laughing as I catch her.

“To the ball pits!” she orders while she peppers my cheeks with kisses.

This is the weirdest of her lounges. Four steps lead up to a massive floor of linked trampolines, with ball pits lining the walls that were black two days ago, but are now painted with everything from seventies-style flowers and sayings to sparkly bling to penises.

I choke on a laugh, step onto the trampoline, and almost drop her.

She twists around, grins at the wall of dicks, and then shimmies down. “You know what? Better idea. Race you to the ball pit!”

She takes off, bouncing like a madwoman, and I follow.

Fuck, this is fun. “What’s in the ball pits?”

“Your special surprise.”

“Which ball pit?”

“This one—no! That one!”

I feel like a teenager. Racing across a trampoline to catch a bright, happy, hilarious beam of sunshine in a short, tight, giraffe-hide-patterned skirt and a tan, expensive-looking tank top. Her light purple hair is hanging loose, her makeup is light, and her feet are bare.

And my heart is carefree as a birthday balloon.

“What about this one?” I ask as I snag her around the waist.

She shrieks with laughter, tries to leap away, and instead takes both of us down.

We bounce, bumping hips, and soon she’s rolled so she’s straddling me while the stretchy material beneath us makes everything unstable and crazy and perfect.

“How about this one?” she says, bending to brush her lips against mine.

“I’ve been misled, madame. I demand a ball pit.”

She laughs again.

And I take advantage of the moment to kiss her.

Holding her face to mine, inhaling that laughter, swiping my tongue over her lower lip, biting softly, exploring, tracing, just living.

Tomorrow doesn’t matter.

Yesterday doesn’t matter.

Just this—kissing Daisy. On a trampoline. While she dives headfirst into kissing me back with those plump lips and quick tongue and eager hands stroking down my chest and pushing my shirt up.

Her hips roll over mine, rubbing my aching cock, and I groan into her mouth.

I’ve been perpetually aroused since the moment I got here, and I don’t have a fucking condom.

“No frowny faces,” she informs me as she pulls out of the kiss and rises up to strip out of her shirt.

She’s wearing a teeny tiny black lace bra that makes my cock strain harder between her thighs. I trace the cups over the swell of her breasts and sit up to suck at her nipples through the thin fabric.