Crazy for Loving You: A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy(10)

All I’ll have is a memory of a striptease from the hot as fuck stranger who probably wouldn’t be here if Gramalicious hadn’t vetted him already, and who probably won’t be here long, because who stays to take care of a stranger’s baby?

He’s feeding the baby right now. And he changed a diaper after Pierson, The Dame’s butler, produced a bag of supplies, but staying? For the next eighteen years?

No way.

People don’t do that.

But not only is he holding and feeding the baby, he’s also engaged in the stare war to end all stare wars with my grandmother.

Usually challenging her only makes her paranormal undead powers stronger, but it seems that being challenged might also be strengthening him.

Whoa.

Just whoa.

I said sexy as fuck, right?

“Mr. Jaeger, my legal team has all the paperwork prepared for you to surrender custodial rights to Daisy,” my grandmother says.

I need a paper bag. And that’s before he growls a low, “No,” at her.

She frowns and glowers, which is impressive.

Usually I’m the only one who can overcome the power of her Botox, but unlike me, Westley Jaeger hasn’t made her a few billion dollars—I’m equally fucked the day my grandmother realizes I’m more lucky than brilliant, because I do love poking her—so he’s really taking his life into his own hands.

“As you didn’t appear to read the will in its entirety, allow me to sum it up for you,” The Dame says dryly. “All of Rafe and Julienne’s assets are to be liquidated with proceeds donated to the local chapter of Sea Stars Anonymous.”

He stares blankly at her while I simultaneously try not to laugh and cry. “Are you for fucking real?” I ask.

Her face pinches again. “Yes, Daisy, I am for fucking real.”

“Sea Stars Anonymous is a local charity group dedicated to helping people who believe they are reincarnated sea animals and want to return to their…previous manifestation,” I tell West.

“I don’t give two shi—craps where their stuff goes.”

“Mr. Jaeger, just to clarify, Remington does not come with a trust fund, so if you’re expecting some kind of financial windfall for—”

I suck in a breath and step back, bumping into one of my frozen yogurt dispensers and accidentally making it leak down my back.

But that face—the raw anger emanating from his blazing hot honey brown eyes— the way his nostrils flare, the way he bares his teeth—hot as fuck may not be a strong enough sentiment.

“Lady, I don’t know what kind of selfish jackass you take me for, but you can shut your yap-hole right the hell now. This baby needs a family. His mother wanted it to be me. And if she’s any indication of what money can do for a person, I’ll be the best damn thing to ever happen to him. You want your lawyers to draw up papers having Party McDiamonds here surrender her rights to me, I’m good with that too. We clear?”

I need a fresh pair of panties. And also to realize I should probably be offended by Party McDiamonds, but I’m secretly very impressed with the nickname.

It’s a new one.

The Dame squares off against him. “You’re here at my invitation, Mr. Jaeger. Do not make me revoke it.”

“I’m here at his dead mother’s invitation. You go on and threaten whatever you need to threaten, but you can be one hundred percent fucking certain that when my lawyers look over that will and confirm for me that I’m this baby’s legal guardian now, I’m taking him home, and I’m raising him right.”

He’s cradling the tiny bundle against his dark blue polo with one thick, corded forearm while a fire rages in his dark eyes, and is it possible for ovaries to melt? Because my mouth is dry and my knees are weak and I just had a flash of something that has nothing to do with my erogenous zones and everything to do with some deeper level of arousal than I’ve ever felt before.

Men with babies.

Men who tell off my grandmother with babies.

This is better than weekends in Bali with rock stars.

Oh, god.

My biological clock just gonged. Fuck.

Fuck.

“Where’s his nanny?” I ask. I’m breathless and desperate, and I need to latch onto something solid and familiar.

Westley snorts like that’s an inappropriate question.

“The nanny was fired the day before the accident for posting YouTube videos with him,” The Dame informs me.

“Oh? Because Julienne didn’t use him to help criticize baby wash and diaper cream from the minute she brought him home from the hospital.”

“So glad to see you’ve found the silver lining for Remington.” Belatedly, I realize she hasn’t started shapeshifting into a bull to ram a horn up West Jaeger’s ass over his insolence. But before I can dwell on it, she adds, “As for you, you can consider this the next family test.”

I suck in a sharp breath, because no, she didn’t.

Except she did.

She just threatened to disinherit me if I don’t raise Julienne’s baby.

This whole inheriting-a-baby thing might have me teetering on the edge of a major fissure while an earthquake still rocks around me, but I’m not an asshole concerned about getting a couple hundred million bucks when The Dame kicks the bucket.

It’s more that being disinherited means being fired from Carter International Properties.