by Grant, Pippa
And that little smile turning up the corners of her lips—it melts me.
Completely.
And utterly.
I’m done.
Gone in a way I’ve never felt.
“Ohmygod, why did you let me fall asleep?” She leaps off the bed without a hint of self-consciousness.
I put a finger to my lips, then point at Remy, who needs to be moved, but fuck, if I move him, I swear he’ll wake up.
“West.” She shakes her head, then wraps an arm around my ears and pulls my head to her bare breast. “You crazy man. You should’ve woken me up.”
“One of us needs sleep.”
“Your turn. Bed. Go.”
“Rough night.”
“You are in so much trouble for not waking me up. Hand me the baby. And go to sleep. Now. Before I call my mother and grandmother in here to visit.”
The semi-hard-on that I apparently do still have in me shrinks back.
“C’mon, Mr. I Can Do Everything. You can go to bed.”
She pulls Remy out of my arms, and he fusses, but not for long.
She freezes. “Oh, god. This is totally inappropriate, isn’t it?”
I study her, bare-chested, with a baby tucked against her skin, then gesture to my own bare chest. “Babies like skin. Helps them bond.”
Fuck, she’s gorgeous.
She cuts off my view by pointing to the bed again.
I rise, but I grab her hand and pull her along with me.
Because if I have to sleep, I want a pillow.
A Daisy pillow.
She wordlessly climbs onto the bed with me, one-handedly fluffs a pillow, and then lets me wrap my arms around her legs while she sits with Remy.
And then Daisy—party heiress Daisy—sings me pop songs until I fall asleep.
Thirty-Four
Daisy
Remy is in a mood.
I don’t know if it’s the change in atmospheric pressure after the storm, or having my grandmother on the premises, or realizing that my mother is easily manipulated, but he won’t sleep more than fifteen minutes at a stretch.
Grandma Helene claims to be up to the task of making him happy, and she makes it a solid two hours before marching into my office, where I’m arguing with The Dame about a prospective new development in Australia.
“He doesn’t want food. His diaper’s clean. I gave him a bath, which he hated. Reading to him is like having a demon sprout off his forehead and spew terror all over everywhere. He screamed so loud that he scared the cat. And don’t ask which one. All of them. Just assume he scared all of them. I’ve lost my touch with babies. Daisy. How did this happen? It was just yesterday that you were a baby, and now I can’t soothe this one.”
My office door opens, and a dark-haired older woman I’ve only seen on Netflix strolls in. “That’s because he needs his other grandma,” she announces.
Oh.
My.
God.
I had this woman’s son’s dick in my mouth just a few hours ago.
“He knows who’d fly through a tropical storm to get here, doesn’t he?” she coos at Remy, who momentarily stops screaming to look at her.
“Who are you?” Gramalicious demands, rising to her full five-foot-one-inch height, since being immortal doesn’t exclude her from the effects of gravity.
“Oh. Oh! Are you Westley’s mother?” Mom’s whole face lights up. “We have so much to talk about. Like how wonderful your son is. And how much you’re going to adore Daisy. And how quickly we’re going to get you away from my mother, because that’s in everyone’s best interest. Are you hungry? Thirsty? You want some frozen yogurt?” She points to my wall. “Daisy. What flavors do you have this week? The coconut is the best, especially if you swirl it with the chocolate.”
May Ella Jaeger finally looks up from making faces at Remy to glance at my wall of froyo.
“I’ll take chocolate,” a voice says behind her.
“Coconut for me,” another voice says.
“Get out of the way, you Amazonian. You and your big head are blocking my view.”
Three—no, four other women tumble into my office, with Alessandro on their heels.
“They were on the list,” he says with the same level of exasperation generally reserved for venting after The Dame leaves.
All five of the Jaeger women speak at once.
And I start grinning.
Because god, I’ve missed having people in my house.
“Australia can wait, Grammykins,” I say.
“It cannot—”
“It’s a bad investment. It can.” I twirl out of my seat—I’m not behind my desk, because my grandmother commandeered it this morning—and cross the floor to West’s family. “Hi. I’m Daisy. And I can’t wait to meet all of you.”
“Oh my god, she’s real,” the shortest one says. We’re about eye level.
“Of course she’s real,” the one with blond highlights replies.
“I can’t tell if she’s slept with him yet,” the one with West’s hazel eyes says.
“She’s not sleeping with West,” the one with the darkest hair and plain chocolate eyes replies. “He’s all business first. Probably hasn’t even noticed her since she’s competing with this adorable little bundle of fluff. Hi, you cranky little cranky-pants. You need hugs from Aunt Allie, don’t you?”
“Watch out, Allie. They’re contagious,” hazel eyes says.
“For the last time, Oscar is fixed.”
“Who are these people?” my grandmother demands.
“Family.” I’m grinning as I shoo them all out of the office. “There’s more froyo in the kitchen. Peanut butter and potato chip sandwiches, anyone?”
“Daisy Imogen—” my grandmother starts again.
“I’ve got her,” Alessandro says with a sigh.
“You know you’re my favorite.”
“Next week’s my anniversary.”
“And you know you’re getting a good raise even if you don’t deal with her.” I peck him on the cheek and gesture for West’s family to follow me to the kitchen, where we find the man himself hunched over a massive plate of cheesy scrambled eggs.
His dark hair is sticking up at odd angles. There are dark circles under his eyes. And even his shoulders look tired.
But he still leaps to his feet, fully wide awake, as soon as we parade in. “Oh, fuck,” he mutters.
“Go back to bed.” I go up on tiptoe and kiss his cheek too. “I’ve got ‘em.”
“But—they’re—fuck,” he finishes again.
“Westley. That’s no way to greet your mother.” His mom’s eyes are twinkling like flying down to Miami where her son inherited a baby with me is just another day in the life, and she can’t wait to whip out his baby pictures and swap embarrassing tales with my mom.
“I was talking about them.” He gestures with his fork to his sisters, who are all pretending to be talking to the baby in my mom’s arms while they eyeball all of us.
“They were worried about you.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “They wanted to meet Daisy.”
“That too,” the short one says. “Initial indications are that we could get along, but so far, I’ve only been promised frozen yogurt.”
“My grandmother’s in my office,” I murmur to him. “But all is not lost. I keep spare tubs in the freezer.”
“That freezer?” he points to my built-in Subzero.
“Nope. This one.” I pull open a cabinet under the island, which is half-stocked with pre-mixed frozen margaritas, and half-stocked with froyo.
Remy starts crying all over again.
And West’s sisters step up to the challenge.
“Does he have gas?”
“Does he need to poop?”
“One time, Mia screamed for six hours because she’d gotten a hair tied around her toe.”
“The twins used to take turns screaming like that. They’d feed off each other. Be glad you only have one.”
&nbs
p; “My oldest used to scream anytime we held her facing outward.”
“My oldest would scream anytime we held him facing inward.”
“Babies are so complicated.
“And different.”
“He’s probably freaking out because there are seventeen million new people in here.”
“How much is he eating every day? Is he having a growth spurt?”
“Which kid was it who had their teeth come in at two months?”
“Oh, look, he’s lifting his head!”
West looks at them.
Looks at me.
Shakes his head with a half-smile. “You love this.”
“They’re. So. Awesome.”
He bends over, grabs a container of froyo, and finds a spoon. “They’re all yours. Come find me later.”
I lift a brow.
He just chuckles and keeps going.
He pauses to hug each of them, kisses each of them on the tops of their heads. But when he heads for the door, none of his family stops him.
They notice he’s going.
But his sisters trade grins that say they understand.
“Long night?” his mom asks me. She has a way of wording the question that makes me think she’s talking about more than just Remy not sleeping.
“The longest,” I reply. And I think I’m getting red in the cheeks.
Which makes my mom grin so big, her cheeks are about to crack.
And the weird thing is, I don’t think I mind that she’s hearing wedding bells.
Not one bit.
Thirty-Five
West
The noise from the kitchen has barely faded down the hallway when I run into someone who makes me appreciate my family on a level I never would’ve thought possible.
“Mr. Jaeger,” Imogen Carter sniffs.
“Mrs. Carter.” If she were my grandmother just being a butthead, I’d call her Satan and move on. But I think she honestly expects the world to bend to her, and I’m not in a mood to fight.
Besides, she can make Daisy’s life hell.
I’d like to avoid that.
Alessandro’s behind her, and he shoots me a look that simultaneously calls me a chicken and thanks me for not being a dick.
I’m gearing up for a fight when she steps calmly around me. “Have a nice day, Mr. Jaeger.”
That was…weird.
I cut a look to Alessandro, but he seems just as perplexed as I am that she didn’t take the opportunity to tell me she’s signed Remy up for ballroom dancing lessons.
A chill washes over me.
She doesn’t think I’ll be here long. I’m no longer her problem.
Fuck.
I believe Daisy when she says she’ll stand up to her grandmother, but Imogen’s hardly powerless.
My breathing is fast and choppy, and I remind myself I’m here to take it one day at a time. One fucking minute at a time if I need to.
We’ll be fine.
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.
“Oh, god, West,” she gasps. “That feels so good. But no. Bad boy. This is for you.”
“Then you shouldn’t offer such delectable treats.”
She shimmies out of reach, sending both of us bouncing again, and I put a hand to her head to keep us from knocking noggins and giving each other concussions.
There’s a devious glint in her eyes, though. “That’s right. You just hold on right there.”
“Hold on to—”
She slides the rest of the way down my bouncing body, slips a hand into my sweatpants, and frees my erection. The cool air hits it, then the heat of her fist, and then—oh, fuck, yes.
Then her mouth.
She kisses my tip, swirls her tongue around my head, and sucks my cock all the way to the back of her throat, her wet, hot mouth fucking heaven.
“Daisy,” I gasp.
She presses on the trampoline on either side of my hips, and rides with me while I bounce.
I start to protest, but then she cups my tight balls while she pulls off my cock, swirls her tongue around my head again, and then sucks me back down, and I can’t speak.
I can just feel. The thick, heavy sensation in my cock warning me that I can’t hold out. The warning, warning buzzing in the fuzzy recesses of my brain, declaring that this is not a safe place to get a blow job, but it’s drowned out by the sight of those blue, blue eyes boring into mine.
Sit back and enjoy this, Marine.
I don’t know if that’s Daisy or my balls talking, but christ, her mouth—and her tongue suckling the underside of my dick—and her joy, her spirit, her determination to make me feel good—fuck.
Fuck.
“Daisy—I can’t—I’m gonna—”
There’s a glint in her eyes, and she sucks me harder, and suddenly I’m coming down her throat in a white-hot flash of sensation that makes my fingers and toes tingle and my legs and stomach tighten and my heart swell.