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.
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