Crazy for Loving You: A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy(88)

I’m still sitting at my desk in my office, staring at my phone in shock while Elvira makes herself at home on my dick rug, when West pops his head in. He’s gotten a haircut, but it’s not military short—just trimmed up—and it shows off the silver strands I’ve started to notice more and more amidst all the dark brown.

I love them.

They’re more evidence that he’s seen enough of life that he knows what he’s getting into with me.

“Daisy?”

That’s all he says—just my name—but it’s everything.

Are you okay? What do you need? What can I do?

He doesn’t need to do anything—this is the kind of news I could handle on my own just fine, because I’m an independent woman, except I don’t want to handle it on my own.

I want to decompress about it with someone.

“Froyo run?” I ask.

His face scrunches into one of those don’t bullshit me faces, but he still strolls over to my wall of frozen yogurt, grabs two cups, and fills them both before crossing to my desk and setting them both in front of me.

My windows are open, and there’s an ocean breeze rolling in. The sun’s starting a slow descent in the late afternoon sky.

And all is right in the world.

I mean, as right as it can be right now.

He drops into the seat across from my desk, a dainty, round ivory spinny chair that his large, masculine frame should look ridiculous in, but he blends in everywhere from the pool to my bed to sitting under my mom’s dick art, so I shouldn’t be surprised he looks right here.

I take a slow bite of caramel froyo—I swear, he always knows exactly what I’m in the mood for—and then I burst into tears, which startles the cat so badly she darts out of the room.

“Margot hired a hitman to take out Julienne,” I sob.

West’s eyes go wide, and then he’s one big blur of motion, leaping across my desk, clearing the froyo without any danger of sending it flying, lifting me out of my chair, and pulling me close, my ear to his heart, his lips pressing kisses to my crown.

“Ah, Daisy,” he whispers.

“She’s—in jail—and I—” I stop, hiccup, and don’t even try to continue.

There was so much more my grandmother said.

Restraining order filings.

Lawsuits.

Private eye reports on Anthony Roderick.

But it all comes down to one thing: Remy’s safe.

Margot’s in jail.

Anthony’s being investigated for tax fraud, and all appearances are that he’s fled the country.

My grandmother’s family lawyers filed to have the Rodericks’ challenge to the will dismissed, but it’s a mere technicality.

Remy’s safe, and he’s ours.

And the emotions are too big for me to handle on my own. The relief. The joy. The love.

“I’m okay,” I babble to West’s chest. “It’s all—it’s—”

“Too much,” he finishes.

I nod and reach for my phone and open my email. The full message from The Dame is on top, so I click it open and pass it to him.

The details—I don’t want to think about the details.

I want to go hug Remy. And my mom. And West’s sisters and his mom. And then go tell Luna and Cam and Emily. And throw a party. And hug and kiss Remy.

But more, I want to stay right here.

Snuggled up to West.

Except maybe naked.

Out on the beach.

Yes.

“You read this?” he asks me softly.

I freeze. “Oh, fuck. Did she say we have to get rid of you now? She’s such an asshole. Ignore her. I’ll handle her. She tries to get rid of my mom and my Uncle Jethro at least three times a year too.”

He chuckles. “I don’t care if she doesn’t like me. So long as you do.”

“I love you.” I gasp and slap a hand over my mouth, because I wasn’t supposed to tell him like that.

There were supposed to be candles. Flowers. Peanut butter and potato chip sandwiches. Vanilla froyo, which is his favorite, sometimes with a light layer of rainbow sprinkles.

And me in a hot pink teddy.

His arms tighten around me. “I love you too, Daisy,” he whispers. “And it scares the fuck out of me, because love’s never been kind, but I can’t help myself. You’re so damn easy to love.”

I blink up at him, and he’s watching me with the most serious expression I’ve seen since the night I asked him to come back and help me with Remy.

He’s offering me his whole heart.

That whole, perfect, bruised but still beating, gentle giant heart.

I touch his cheek. Smooth his brow. Let my fingers trace his lips. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I love you,” I whisper again. “I don’t deserve you, but I love you.”

His smile is everything.

Everything.

And I can’t resist kissing that smile until I’m breathless and hungry and pulling him to the floor beneath my desk to love him the way he deserves.

Forever.

It’s always been for other people.

But only because I hadn’t yet met my West.





Thirty-Seven