Crazy for Loving You

by Grant, Pippa

  “What does he need?” Luna, the vegan lifestyle guru, half-reaches for him, then stops. “Does he need to like, go squat in the grass or something?”

  West looks in too. “Why’s he half-naked?”

  “He likes it.” Despite myself, I’m grinning all dopey too, because he is adorable with his gummy smile and perfect dark eyes, and all that wonder that says he can’t wait until he’s big enough to go conquer the whole damn world. “He might be planning on being a nudist. Which is awesome, if you ask me. He should definitely be comfortable in his own body. Maybe we should have nudist weekends, just for Remy.”

  Huh. West’s eyes are back to being that honey-brown color.

  The man with the magical color-changing eyes is giving me a take-no-bullshit look that probably served him well in the Marines, though it’s definitely not intimidating to me.

  If anything, it’s making me more in favor of nudist weekends.

  I could definitely be naked with this man. And I hate when naked and stress relief are a bad idea.

  But is it?

  Is it really?

  Yes, Daisy, it’s a bad idea. I make my inner voice sound like my grandmother, and it almost works to rein in those rampant hormones. He has an almost-girlfriend, remember? He’s off-limits.

  “If you want me to stay, you’re going to have to change your tactics,” he tells me.

  “What right, exactly, do you have to this child?” Emily asks.

  “It’s all in the will.” I wave my hand, not wanting him to go into too much detail. “Julienne and Rafe clearly knew what they were doing when they wrote it, even if none of the rest of us get it, so we’re just figuring this out one day at a time. West comes from a good family, so it’s not like I can object to one more person—or eighty more people—loving the baby. Do you remember May Ella Jaeger, the comedienne?”

  “Who?” Luna asks.

  “She has a special on Netflix!” Cam exclaims. “Jude and I started watching that the other night.”

  Emily glances at her. “Just started? It wasn’t very good?”

  Cam grins. “No, it was very good! We got distracted.”

  “Good for you,” Luna cheers. “I love distracted.”

  “It definitely doesn’t suck,” Emily agrees with a love-sick smile of her own.

  None of them seem to notice that West is going pink.

  Maybe his mom embarrasses him?

  Or maybe he’s not comfortable hearing about my friends having gloriously active and satisfying sex lives.

  While watching his mother’s comedy special on Netflix.

  “Anyway, May Ella Jaeger is West’s mom,” I say casually. “Which means he’s hilarious too, of course.”

  My three friends turn and study him closer again.

  He turns up the growly Marine face, and I suddenly feel the need to fan myself.

  Grumpy doesn’t usually do it for me, but I’m so damn grateful that he’s here, for so many reasons, and honestly, what kind of man agrees to move in and take care of a baby on a temporary basis that could be a very long temporary, when he has his own life to live?

  The rare kind, that’s who.

  “How did you end up in the will again?” Emily repeats.

  “They got drunk and drew names out of a hat,” he deadpans like the good son of a comedienne that he is.

  “I can see it,” Cam says slowly. “Logical explanation.”

  Remy squeals again, and I slip into the cabana, which is nice and cool with the fans blowing over ice buckets. “Hey, there, you handsome devil. You ready for some yum-yum milky-milk? Yes? Yes, you are? Who’s a good boy? Remy’s a good boy.”

  “It is like having a dog!” Luna exclaims.

  West mutters something again.

  And I decide I’m doing it. I’m doing whatever I can to help the man out.

  Twelve

  West

  You can learn a lot by listening to four women talk.

  And today, I’ve learned that Daisy has three solid friends who are just as terrifying as my sisters when they all get together.

  That’s a compliment, by the way. There’s nothing more heartwarming than seeing women glare daggers of we will go into Xena, Warrior Princess mode to protect our friend and this child at all costs.

  They don’t need to worry about me. I’m just here as a temporary extra layer of protection between the baby and his evil grandparents.

  I’m sitting in a chair across the pool, pretending to check email on my phone while soaking up this gorgeous Miami day, but I’m actually watching them as they all inspect the baby and gossip.

  They’re too far away to read their lips, but I can read body language.

  Pretty sure their entire conversation is reinforcements have arrived and you don’t need that jarhead over there.

  I google each of them and confirm my suspicions.

  They’re actually more dangerous than my sisters. And their testimony in court should hold far more weight than my presence, except nearly all of them have had some recent questionable publicity.

  Where money goes, scandal follows.

  Alessandro drops into the pool chair beside me and stares across the sparkling blue pool water at the women. “You’re actually sticking around? Without actual paperwork?”

  Translation: these people can screw you at any moment. It’s like he knows. Knows how much I don’t want to get attached, but can’t walk away, because Daisy’s right.

  This kid can’t go to his grandparents. He deserves a fighting chance.

  And I don’t have another job lined up after the gym renovation is complete, nor do I have the beach house for much longer. I’d been thinking I’d move in with Becca, or at least closer to her, but clearly, that’s not happening.

  I nod briefly. “Yep.”

  I also know I’m an idiot for not having signed legal documents about what my rights are and aren’t when all this is over. But any signed legal agreements between Daisy and me specifying that I’m out of the picture as soon as Remy’s hers would basically eliminate the benefit of me being here to help her get him if anyone found them.

  He nods with a short grunt.

  Man-speak for appreciate the help you’re giving to the boss-lady, but you’re still a moron under your dented armor.

  We both sit there for a few more minutes while the blonde—Emily Stanton, the billionaire skincare scientist—hands Remy back to Daisy. The women have been whispering for over an hour, taking turns fussing over the baby, but Emily’s the only one who held him.

  “You the kid’s father?” Alessandro asks.

  The question hits me out of left field and reminds me I’m in a completely different world. “What the fuck?”

  He doesn’t flinch. “Rafe Roderick was a cheating asshole. Julienne was no angel. Just because she wasn’t a known cheat doesn’t mean she didn’t do it. Not judging. Just asking.”

  “You want a DNA test?”

  His gaze flicks to the women, who are hugging Daisy like they’re leaving, then back to me. “Crowd like this, DNA test will be the only reason you stick around any longer than it takes to get Anthony and Margot Roderick out of the picture.”

  “That’s all I’m here for. Then I’m gone.” My beef isn’t actually with Daisy. She seems nice enough, if a little wild and unpredictable, and while the life she’ll most likely give Remy isn’t the one I’d pick for him, it won’t be a bad life, and I don’t think she’ll raise him to be an asshole. Nor do I think it’s ultimately my business.

  Honestly, any other day, I’d let myself call her attractive.

  But I’m not going there.

  Not getting attached.

  To either of them.

  Alessandro’s watching me. “So you’re not trying to replace Sierra’s kids with Remy. Baxter and Nina, right? Those were her kids?”

  I shove to my feet, because fuck.

  My family won’t even say those names to me.

  Somebody did his research. My jaw’s clenchin
g, and I want to hit him, but that won’t help Remy either.

  “Gentlemen, I’m hungry,” Daisy calls. She’s in a bikini that’s barely holding in her breasts, with her smooth, soft belly and curvy hips and legs on full display. And now that her friends have departed, there’s no distraction from looking at her. “Fish Tails for lunch. Twenty minutes. Let’s go.”

  I eyeball her body again. There’s no way she can get dressed and get a baby prepped to get out the door in twenty minutes.

  “Are you seriously doubting my abilities already, Mr. Jaeger?” she calls playfully, like she can read my mind.

  “Just thinking delivery would be easier.”

  “No way. I’m not staying cooped up in this house all day.”

  “This house is forty thousand square feet,” I point out. Maybe not that big. But it’s fucking big. “Go to a different room.”

  Alessandro smirks.

  Daisy lifts her chest and puts her fists on her hips, drawing all of my attention to the sparkle in her belly button.

  Hells, yeah! my balls cheer.

  “Suit yourself if you want to stay,” she says. “Remy and I are going to lunch. And we’re going to have a fabulous time introducing him to all the neighbors.”

  Fuck, she’s hot, my left nut whispers.

  My right nut bumps his fist.

  And my brain engages on the words introducing him to all the neighbors. I don’t know much about going out with celebrities and public figures—except my brother, who’s large enough to take care of himself and not need a bodyguard—but I have a feeling the baby’s going to get mobbed.

  And Alessandro’s sigh reiterates the suspicion.

  “Just you backing her up?” I ask him.

  He shakes his head like I’m a moron.

  Of course she’d have an entourage.

  She doesn’t need me.

  But fuck it.

  Why not go out to lunch?

  See what this Bluewater community has to offer while I’m here. Who knows? Maybe I’ll meet a rich single woman who just needs a little stress relief.

  Probably not, but seriously—it’s just lunch.

  What’s the worst that could happen?

  Thirteen

  Daisy

  I had no idea that getting a mahi-mahi sandwich from Fish Tails, the Caribbean-themed seafood restaurant in Bluewater’s private shopping village, could be such an epic ordeal.

  Or that so much gear could fit in the back of my tricked-out VW Bug.

  But here we are, not even at Fish Tails yet, with a diaper bag, a stroller, a baby carrier, a baby sling, and one very tight-lipped temporary co-guardian competing with Alessandro for Most Acutely Observant Dude With Muscles, all strolling down the plank sidewalks past Mrs. Chu’s jewelry shop with the display of my mom’s penis artwork in the picture window, dodging locals on golf carts and stopping to answer questions from other residents who saw the news in People or heard it from their neighbors and want to either offer their condolences, tell me they bought everything Julienne ever one-starred, or ask to see the baby.

  Sometimes all three in one sentence.

  My neighbors are awesome. Especially the Wealthy Widows. Nothing like gossipy, happy old ladies who have all the life experience I want to have one day, making suggestions on how best to care for a baby.

  I am soaking it up.

  “Are we eating today, or should we just go throw ourselves in Steve’s lagoon to spare ourselves the pain of starving to death?” Alessandro mutters.

  “I don’t know who Steve is, but I’m betting we should go with him,” West mutters back.

  “You two are adorable,” I tell them.

  Also, I’m intentionally stalling, because Tiana texted back that my last-minute lunch plans required a wee bit more time to execute.

  West is welcome. Even if he doesn’t know it yet.

  I smile at Mrs. Esteban, who’s jogging in place beside us with ten-karat diamonds in her ears and glittering hand-weights gripped in each hand. “We’ll catch up later,” I tell her.

  She nods. “Bring the little one by the gym sometime soon. We’ll show him how to lift weights.”

  “Get him started right,” I agree, even though I’m hardly known for working out right.

  Emily always tells me I should take better care of my feet when I show up to do the elliptical in my stilettos.

  But could I rock carrying a baby in stilettos if I didn’t work out with them on?

  I don’t think so.

  West suddenly freezes beside me as a strawberry blonde I don’t recognize waves from the front of Fish Tails.

  “Oh! Is that Becca?” I wave back at her while West turns a what the hell have you done? look at me.

  I smile, because what I’ve done is a huge favor.

  Not every temporary co-parent of mine is lucky enough to get the Daisy Carter-Kincaid matchmaking treatment. And today, we’ll find out if she’s worthy and smart enough to snag a man who’d take on a baby that supposedly isn’t his, or if she doesn’t deserve him.

  My eye starts to twitch at the idea that she’d take him, but really, that would be for the best.

  I’m not taking him. For one, he knows my real name and where I live. Plus, he’s been very clear that he’s only here as a short-term favor. And god knows getting laid is good for the soul. And the grumpies.

  So maybe this favor isn’t entirely for him. I’ll make that up to him later too. If I need to.

  “Don’t be mad,” I tell the glaring retired Marine. “My grandmother’s background check on you was a little bit thorough. We went through and added all of your friends and family to the guest list, and when my assistant called Becca, she mentioned having diapers and formula as a baby gift, so we invited her to join us. Your family should feel free to drop by Miami anytime too. Cam really wants to meet your mom.”

  He doesn’t answer me, but instead walks stiffly toward the woman and bends to give her an awkward peck on the cheek.

  “Thanks. For the help,” he grunts out like a caveman.

  “Of course! That’s what friends are for!” Her smile is awkwardly strained, and she keeps glancing toward me, then away, like staring at me straight-on might make her blind.

  I make a quick wardrobe check.

  Yep, I’m definitely wearing pants today. A skirt, actually—my favorite blue tropical print wrap skirt. I got it in a tourist shop in Antigua after my luggage fell overboard on the cruise down to the island—don’t ask—and when my grandmother told me it made me look like a tourist whose better fashion sense got baked out by sunstroke, I decided it was a keeper.

  Oh, and I’m wearing a white tank top too, so while I look awesome and am showing some cleavage, I’m not likely to cause permanent eye damage like the sun would.

  “Becca?” I ask, sticking my hand out to shake. “Hi. I’m Daisy. West has told me so much about what an awesome friend you are.” I tell the lie while beaming up at him and while she continues to stare at me star-struck, which is a little uncomfortable, because it’s not like I’ve cured cancer or written an earworm song, which are both equally impressive accomplishments in my book.

  Also, I’m rapidly getting the feeling that the note in Gram-gram’s background check that West was dating Becca just might’ve been wrong.

  Way wrong. “Oh! Looks like our table’s ready. Care to join us?”

  She babbles something that sounds like a yes, and West takes her by the shoulders and steers her into the cozy restaurant with its palm frond fans and Jimmy Buffet music playing in the background, dropping his hands back to his own pockets as soon as she’s pointed in the right direction following the hostess.

  They are so wrong together.

  For one, she’s wearing jean shorts and a buttoned-up sleeveless blouse, which is a perfectly acceptable Miami outfit, except for the part where West himself is so buttoned-up this morning that he needs someone more like Luna.

  Free-spirited with a touch of a wild side. Luna also has a huge heart, which
West probably also needs. Because don’t we all? Not that you can judge a person’s heart size by what their clothes say about their personality.

  But I can judge compatibility by clothes. Usually.

  And my matchmaker instincts—which are admittedly rusty, since I rarely put much time into matchmaking—say these two are so wrong, and that ship has sailed.

  Dammit.

  Maybe all isn’t lost. Maybe I can salvage this for them. And then West will be happily dating someone, and I can mark him officially on my off-limits list for the most solid reason anyone ever goes on that list.

  “You’re evil,” Alessandro murmurs to me.

  “Just because I’m the byproduct of a messy divorce and have no use for commitment doesn’t mean I believe other people shouldn’t have love.”

  “I don’t think what they have is love.”

  I sigh, because he’s right, and now I’m going to go back to not having a solid excuse for telling myself West isn’t hot as fuck.

  He and Becca are doing a funky dance around the table, each one trying not to touch the other, or even look the other in the eye, as they pick seats at the window table shaped like a fish.

  A grouper, specifically.

  I asked Pixie, the owner, about which fish they were once, and I can totally see the resemblance now. Plus, it’s a boxier fish, which works well for a table. So long as you don’t bump your knee or elbow on the fins.

  West ends up under the tail, with Becca on top of the tail, which leaves me with the head. Alessandro parks the stroller across from me and next to Becca, then surreptitiously slips into the vacant two-person table behind Becca where he can see the whole restaurant.

  “Hush puppies?” I ask my companions. “Pixie makes the best hush puppies in the universe, and then she serves them with strawberry butter, which is basically like having an orgasm in your mouth.”

  Becca goes red.

  West sighs. “Yeah. Hush puppies.”

  “They’re out,” Chipper Bergman says forlornly from the seat beside Alessandro. “I really wanted hush puppies, but they’re out.”

  A perky teenager with braces bounces to our table with a bright grin. Her parents own a luxury condo across the golf course, and she works here all summer for a place to escape.