Nurturing Britney (Surrender Book 7) by Becca Jameson (inspirational novels .TXT) 📕

of a young woman who overheard a conversation. If the cops went to the Sky Lounge to question Lazinski, they would leave with nothing. I’m certain of that. All that would happen would be for Lazinski to get pissed and work harder to find his commodity. The police wouldn’t even have a warrant, so they wouldn’t be able to search Lazinski’s computer or office, and I doubt the man keeps written records of his human sales.

I shudder, once again wondering if that asshole has sold other women. I need to find out how many women have come and gone from the club since she started working there. It’s the kind of profession where turnover is high in the first place, so it would be difficult to know if anyone who previously quit was actually sold. But it might be helpful if Britney specifically remembers anyone disappearing without quitting, like she did.

I know my boss isn’t going to be fond of me keeping Britney in my home indefinitely. She’s a liability. But her safety is far more important to me than mine right now, so there’s no way I would put her somewhere else. I wouldn’t trust anyone else.

I groan softly. I’m attached to her. It’s plain as day. I like her. I even like things about her that she’s unaware of. She’s got tendencies that indicate she’s submissive, and even some that indicate she could be a little.

I think about the worn stuffed animal, and my cock gets hard. Dammit. The visual of her curled up in her bed hugging that bunny to her chest makes me wrap my hand around my dick. I want to nurture her so badly that my mouth is dry. I get the feeling that it’s been a long time since anyone loved her.

Maybe I’m making this shit up. It’s possible I’m inventing aspects of her with my wishful thinking. I need to stop my mind from running away from me. She’s just a woman with a pile of problems. Reading too much into her personality will get me nothing but a permanently hard cock and blue balls.

A sudden scream pierces the air, and I bolt upright, scrambling to get out from under the covers. It happens again as I rush from the room. I don’t even think before I open her door and close the distance to her bed in seconds.

She’s curled in a tight ball on her side, hugging one of the pillows to her chest. The sheets and comforter have slid off her body. She’s wearing nothing but white panties and the thin white tank top. She’s so vulnerable.

As I reach her, she screams again, curling in tighter.

I sit on the edge of the bed and set my hand on her back, not wanting to make things worse, but needing her to wake up.

She flinches and cries out as her eyes bolt open. Her hair is everywhere, spread around her pillow, the sheets, over her shoulder, across her face.

I smooth my hand up to her face and brush long locks from her eyes. “Shh. You’re okay. It’s me. Davis. You’re in my home. Safe.”

She blinks at me, seconds ticking by. Suddenly, she uncurls and scrambles over toward me.

Instinctively, I reach for her and lift her onto my lap.

She wraps her arms around my neck and buries her face in my chest. She’s shaking and her heart is racing.

I wrap my arms around her and rub her back, my hand getting tangled in her hair. “Shhh,” I repeat, trying to soothe her.

God, she’s precious. I’m struggling to catch my breath. My entire body responds to this woman. I can’t stop it. Five minutes ago, I’d nearly convinced myself to keep my distance, and now she’s in my lap, her small arms wrapped around me, her body trembling.

“Sweet girl…” I can’t stop from burying my face in her hair. When I inhale her scent, I’m lost to her. I freeze for a moment, soaking in the smell of baby powder. She’s bathed, and she used the products I left. Not that she had a choice. I only left her exactly what I would leave any little.

I shouldn’t have. I knew it even as I bought the pink bottles of shampoo and baby soap. I’d gone a little overboard with that purchase, but I figured if she questioned me, there were any number of responses I could give her. Ignorance. A female child in my family who sometimes visits. I just thought she might like pink…

I lower my face to her neck and draw in another breath, bringing in the scent of baby soap from her skin. Jesus.

Reluctantly, I pull my head back. My hands run all over her back and her arm. Eventually, as she calms, I find myself including her bottom and her thigh.

Her breathing evens out finally, and she suddenly stiffens and jerks her face up to meet my gaze in the dim light. She scrambles to get off my lap, but I hold on to her. “You’re okay, sweetie. You had a nightmare.”

She freezes and looks at me again. Her blue eyes are wide as saucers. “I’m so sorry.”

I frown at her. “No reason to apologize. It was a nightmare. You were screaming.”

She winces and looks away, her palms on my chest, keeping us separated.

I hate it and slide my hand from her back to her cheek. “You want to talk about it?”

She shakes her head.

“Do you have nightmares often?” I’m wondering if this is because of what happened to her last night or if she has a lifetime of ghosts who haunt her in her sleep.

“Sometimes, but not like that.”

I reach for her wrists and gently tug her hands from my chest so that I can pull her against me again. I could hold her like this for hours if she’d let me.

I’m relieved when she relaxes against me once more, intentionally now that she’s awake. She even flattens her hand on my bare chest and smooths it around to