Nurturing Britney (Surrender Book 7) by Becca Jameson (best books to read fiction .TXT) 📗

He has an odd fascination with my clothing choices. “No. I guess not.” I wiggle my butt on the counter, realizing that I kind of like it actually. It feels less restrictive or something.

His attention is back on the pancakes as he lifts them out and pours more batter. “Your clothes aren’t in very good condition. Will you let me buy you some new things?”

I suck in a breath. “I don’t want you to spend money on me.” I’m uncomfortable with this idea.

“And I don’t want you wearing threadbare jeans and shirts when I’m perfectly capable of buying you some new clothes.” He removes the last of the pancakes from the skillet and sets the platter on the island between the plates and silverware he’s already arranged there.

A second later, his hands are on my hips again, and I’m flying through the air. My butt lands on the stool. My dress isn’t tucked under me though, and heat rises once again on my face as I squirm to smooth the cotton skirt over my panties against the stool.

He doesn’t say anything as he takes a seat and pushes the butter and syrup toward me.

I’m starving, but I need to address his last statement as I prepare my pancakes. “Davis…”

He sets a hand on top of mine and squeezes. “It’s already done.”

I lift my gaze. “What is?”

“I ordered some new clothes for you this morning while you were still sleeping. They’ll be delivered later today.”

“Oh.” I swallow. My hands are shaking.

“Please, just accept my help and don’t let it bother you.”

I nod, tears coming to my eyes.

He wipes them away gently with the pad of his thumb and smiles at me. “I kinda hope you like dresses more than your wardrobe suggested because I bought you some.”

I offer him a smile. “Okay.”

“If you’re not comfortable going out of the house in them, you can wear jeans and T-shirts and sweaters. I get it. But maybe when you’re in the house, you could find a way to let yourself feel as pretty as you are?”

More tears fall. He’s so astute. Before I can think to stop myself, I murmur, “Thank you.”

He lifts both brows.

And then I say, “Sorry.”

He laughs. “I’m going to have to come up with creative consequences for every time you say thank you unnecessarily.”

I shiver. Consequences? Hmmm. “Like a swear jar?” I joke.

He turns to face me and cups my chin. “Sweetie, you don’t even want to know what might happen if I hear you swearing. Saying thank you will seem like a walk in the park.”

My eyes go wide, my mouth open.

His eyes go wide too and he drops my chin, jerking his attention back to his plate. He grabs his knife and starts slathering butter on his pancakes. Finally, he looks at me and offers me an odd smile. “Sorry?”

I swallow and return the strange smile. “Habit?”

We hold each other’s gazes for a long time before he responds. “Yeah.”

He must have had an odd relationship with his former girlfriend if he didn’t let her swear.

We both switch our attention to our plates and eat in silence for a while. The pancakes are amazing, and I’m pretty sure I moan around every bite. I also eat way too many of them. “Tell me about her,” I finally say.

“Who?”

“Your girlfriend. The one who wasn’t allowed to swear or…climb onto her own stool.”

He picks up our plates and takes them to the sink. I spin around and watch him rinse and load the dishwasher, thinking maybe I’ve gone too far. Maybe it still hurts that she left him, or wouldn’t move here with him, rather.

Finally, he turns around and leans his butt against the counter, facing me. “Collette liked me to take care of her. We were together for a year. It’s what I’m used to.”

“I see. You loved her.”

He shrugs. “I don’t know if I loved her or not. We had a lot in common, so we had an agreement, I guess you could say. A mutual understanding. We filled each other’s needs. Scratched an itch.”

I watch his mannerisms as he speaks of her. I’m not following. He describes his relationship so oddly. “Why didn’t she move to Seattle with you?”

“We were growing apart. We probably never should have been together in the first place. We had differences.”

He just told me they had similarities, so I’m confused, but I don’t press him further. He doesn’t look distressed about her though. Not sad, exactly. More matter of fact about it. For some reason, I like knowing this. He’s not hung up on her.

I set my hand on the edge of the counter, thinking to push to standing, but instead, I realize I’ve got syrup all over my palm. I lift it and glance around for a napkin.

“Hang on.” Davis turns around, opens a drawer, and pulls out a washcloth. He runs it under the water and then shuffles over to me. He takes my hand and wipes it clean before lifting his gaze to my face and then dabbing at a spot at the corner of my mouth.

He sets the cloth on the table next and lifts me to the floor. His hands are still on my waist, and he’s staring at me again. I can’t read his expression. He seems kind of…sad…or I’m not sure, but I step closer and wrap my arms around him, saying thank you without words.

He leans down and buries his face in my hair, inhaling slowly. “Mmm. You smell good,” he whispers.

When he releases me, I step back. “Did, uh, Collette like those particular bath products?”

He scrunches up his face. “Yeah. Does that bother you?”

I shake my head. “No. Just curious.” If he likes the scent of powder, I’m happy to oblige. It does smell fresh and clean. Maybe it’s a little hidden secret more people should consider.

“We need to talk,” he announces. “I have questions.”

I chuckle. “When have we not been talking?”

“Touché.” He pats my butt on the way by and