Crazy for Loving You A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy - Pippa Grant Page 0,18

thinking about them makes me want to buy out six florists today and make sure everyone all across Little Havana gets a free flower. It’s how I get balance from the ugly parts of my life—by spreading love bombs across Miami.

“You’re almost out of formula,” West says gruffly.

Of fucking course I am. But I smile at him. “Got that covered.”

I press a kiss to Remy’s head because I need to look away from the man whose temper is rising so fast that he’s making me sweat—who knew I was a sucker for the overprotective type?—and oh my god.

This baby.

He’s so sweet.

He’s cuddling closer and closer, smelling like peach fuzz and baby sweat, which shouldn’t be addictive to sniff, except it is. And his hair—he has this thick black hair that’s so fine and soft, it could probably be sold on the black market for a special new kind of cashmere.

Not that I’d do that to him.

But I know enough unscrupulous people who would.

My door bangs open.

West spins into a crouch, flinging himself between me and my visitors. “Out!” he orders Alessandro, who crosses his arms and lifts a brow.

I should be trying not to grin right now, but West just basically put his life on the line in issuing orders to my head of security without looking first.

Except having someone who’s not paid to protect me put himself in the line of fire is volcanic on the hotness scale, and there’s nothing funny about that.

“Your grandmother’s on her way,” Alessandro tells me.

He eyeballs West.

West eyeballs him right back.

“You staying?” Alessandro demands.

“Not really my place, is it?”

The two men continue to stare at each other, and something passes silently between them. I don’t know what, but I know Alessandro is a better judge of character than any dog, and even Luna’s Beck, who spends his whole life around dogs, agrees.

So when my head of security nods to West and holds out a fist for a bump, a puddle of warmth floods my chest.

A puddle of warmth that means absolutely nothing, because in the next breath, West is walking out the door.

“Hey, take my number,” I call after him, making Remy squawk at the sudden noise.

He turns, and I catch the weirdest expression on his face. Like…hope? Or dread?

Or both?

“For attorneys.” I wave a hand, realize I don’t want to take that hand off Remy, and quickly put it back. “And all that boring stuff.”

“Got you covered,” Alessandro says to me.

And then West is gone.

And I have this horrible suspicion I’m never going to see him again, which shouldn’t be a bad thing—we can’t date, for multiple reasons, and having him out of the way so no one is witness to me fucking up Remy is a good thing.

But I still feel the weirdest emptiness, an extra loneliness, at my temporary co-guardian doing exactly what my family wants him to do.

Leave.

It’s right, but it’s also so, so wrong.

Eight

West

I don’t want to leave Daisy alone with Remy, because she has the same look on her face that Tyler had the day our first niece was born—the one that says oh my god I have no idea what I’m doing holding this thing that’s smaller than a football.

But that baby is hers so much more than he can ever be mine. I have no blood claim. I didn’t know his family. And it’s not like I’m leaving him stranded at the steps of a firehouse and hoping he’ll get adopted someday by a family who loves him.

This family has money. They have their own brand of loyalty. And it’s none of my fucking business.

Alessandro walks me down a winding staircase, out through the D-shaped courtyard and past a D-shaped pool, and into a sitting room with another round sunken seating area with a gas fire pit in the middle, crystal penises decorating the end tables, and bright green plants placed about the room beneath the high ceiling. We walk through this room too, straight into a connected foyer with a curved glass staircase.

I pause at the doorway. “Can she handle this on her own?”

He studies me briefly, and I know he’s not going to answer me. So it surprises me when he replies, “Doesn’t matter. She will.”

That’s not ominous. Not at all. “There’s no legit reason for me to stay.”

“Just a legally binding will.”

“You knew Julienne?”

“Unfortunately.”

“She make her will while she was drunk?”

“Probably drew names out of a hat.”

I look down at the textured white marble floor. All I need is one person to