Nash (Daddies of Justice #3)

Chapter 8

Rosie

R osie nestled into the plush comforter on the guest bed, Max the teddy bear tucked under one arm as she swiped through her phone with the other hand. The title of the self-help ebook glowed on the screen: Healing from Trauma: A Survivor's Guide . She sighed and tossed the phone aside.

She’d read a million books like this. They all said pretty much the same thing. That to get over trauma, you should look after your mental health, your physical heath, and get on with life. But how could she get on with life when she was trapped at Nash’s?

Some day off this was turning out to be. Sure, Nash had let her go to her jujitsu class earlier, even walking her there himself like some kind of dang bodyguard. But otherwise, she'd been cooped up in this room all afternoon, a prisoner in his home.

Her mind drifted back to two years ago, when she really had been a prisoner—held captive in that shady underground casino. The rules there had been the total opposite of Nash's.

Wear skimpy clothes 24/7. Check.

Screw any high roller who demanded your "company". Double check.

Never try to escape. Well, she'd blown that one to hell.

Rosie shuddered at the dark memories. Nash's rules might have been annoying and overprotective, but deep down, she knew they came from a place of caring. Still, that didn't stop the bratty part of her from wanting to rebel, to see him get all authoritative and Dom-like . . .

She shook her head, dispelling the forbidden fantasy. Nash saw her as a responsibility, a damsel in distress. Not a grown-ass woman with desires of her own. Cuddling Max tighter, she let her eyes drift closed, trying to will away the complicated swirl of emotions Nash always seemed to stir up without even trying.

"Rosie! Dinner's ready." Nash's voice carried from the kitchen, jolting her out of her brooding thoughts.

With a sigh, she set Max on the bed and padded out to the dining area. She froze in the doorway, blinking in surprise. Nash had set the table with honest-to-god candles and a vase of fresh flowers. The savory aroma of chicken wafted through the air, making her stomach rumble.

She suddenly felt quite out of place dressed in gray sweatpants and a bobbly old knitted sweater. "What's all this?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow at him.

Nash shrugged, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Thought we could have a nice dinner. I made chicken pot pie—my grandma's recipe."

Rosie's heart did a little flip at the thoughtful gesture.

"Rosie, I know this situation isn't ideal,” continued Nash. “But I want you to feel like a guest here, not a prisoner. That's what all this," he gestured at the table, "is about."

She bit her lip, torn between the urge to snap back with a snarky retort and the warmth blossoming in her chest at his sincerity. Damn the man for being so thoughtful and attractive at the same time. It wasn't fair.

"Thanks, Nash," she managed, slipping into her seat. "It smells amazing."

He flashed her a heart-stopping grin as he served up the pot pie, and Rosie had to fight back a blush. If only he knew the effect he had on her. But no, to Nash, she was just a responsibility, a fragile Little in need of protection. He cared about her yes, but it was seeming more and more like he cared about her in the way you might care about a homeless guy you see every day on the way to work, or a child who's lost and crying in a shopping mall, or a woman you once saved from a casino, and now it's your job to look after her.

She stabbed at her food with the flimsy plastic fork, frustration and longing warring within her. One day, she vowed silently, she'd make Nash see her as more than just a damsel in distress. One day, he'd realize just how badly she wanted him, all of him, Daddy Dom mode included.

But for now, she'd have to content herself with this oddly domestic moment, dreaming of a future where Nash's rules included more than just chaste looks and locked doors.

Rosie chewed thoughtfully, savoring the rich, creamy filling of the pot pie. Nash might be strict, but damn, the man could cook. She glanced up at him through her lashes, admiring the way his shirt stretched across his broad shoulders.

“You’re a great host,” Rosie said, trying to think of something nice but neutral to say to him. Something that wasn’t about how hot he looked right now.

Even as she complimented Nash on his hosting, though, she thought about how strange it was that a host would have such stern rules for her. Normally, hosts didn't make demands of their guests beyond the basics, like taking off shoes or not snooping through medicine cabinets. But then again, Nash was no ordinary host.

He was a Daddy Dom, with all the delicious authority that entailed. And she . . . well, she was his Little, even if he hadn't quite accepted it yet. The thought sent an illicit thrill down her spine.

Part of her, the part that craved structure and discipline, found his rules downright exciting. What would happen, she wondered, if she pushed the boundaries just a little? Tested his limits, and her own?

Before she could second-guess herself, Rosie stretched out her leg under the table, letting her socked foot graze Nash's calf. He stiffened, eyes flying to hers in surprise.

"Oops," she said, blinking up at him with exaggerated innocence. "Sorry about that."

Nash's jaw clenched, and for a moment, Rosie thought he might scold her. But then he just shook his head, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. "Careful, little girl," he warned, voice low and rough. "Keep testing me like that, and you might not like the consequences."

Oh, but I would , Rosie thought, pulse quickening at the unspoken promise in his tone. She definitely would.

Nash arched an eyebrow, studying her with a knowing look that made heat bloom in her cheeks. "Are you purposely trying to push my buttons, Rosie?"

She squirmed under his intense gaze, torn between embarrassment and a wicked urge to keep provoking him. "Maybe," she admitted, biting her lip to hide a smirk. "What are you going to do about it? Something a . . . Daddy would do to punish a Little?"

His eyes darkened at the provocative title, and he leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the table. "Keep it up, little girl, and you'll earn yourself a trip over my knee for a sound spanking. Is that what you want?"

Rosie's breath caught, arousal spiking through her at the thought of Nash's firm hand connecting with her bare bottom. God, yes, that was exactly what she wanted. Craved, even.

She opened her mouth, ready to goad him further, but Nash held up a hand, stopping her. "Before you dig yourself into deeper trouble, there's something important I need to tell you."

The seriousness in his tone snapped Rosie out of her lusty haze, and she straightened, nodding for him to continue. Nash sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "I spoke with Jax earlier. We've identified the man who was following you the other night."

Rosie's heart stuttered, fear clawing up her throat. "Who . . . who was it?"

"Bobby Fire," Nash said grimly.

The name hit Rosie like a punch to the gut. She recoiled, memories of that horrific night flooding back in vivid detail. The cold press of a knife against her throat, the stench of Bobby's rancid breath as he growled threats in her ear . . .

"But he's in jail," she whispered, voice shaking. "He's supposed to be locked up."

Nash reached across the table, grasping her hand in his. "Jax has been looking into it for me. Turns out, he was released early. My guess is his boss greased some palms to get him out." His thumb rubbed soothing circles over her knuckles. "I didn't recognize him at first because he's changed his appearance. Grew a beard, got some new ink . . ."

Rosie swallowed hard, fighting back the panic rising in her chest. She thought she'd escaped her past, but it seemed her demons were determined to haunt her, no matter where she ran.

"What . . . what are we going to do?" she asked, hating how small and frightened she sounded.

Nash squeezed her hand, his touch grounding her. "We're going to keep you safe, sweetheart. I promise. I won't let that bastard lay a finger on you ever again."

And despite the fear churning in her gut, Rosie believed him. With Nash by her side, she felt protected. Cherished.

Nash's green eyes held hers, unwavering in their intensity. "I know it's been tough for you, Rosie. Trying to forget what happened while constantly looking over your shoulder. But you're not alone anymore."

She nodded, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill. It was true. Ever since that night at the casino, she'd never been able to fully relax. She'd thrown herself into her jiujitsu training, determined to never be a victim again. But no matter how many self-defense moves she mastered, the fear lingered, a constant shadow at the edges of her mind.

"I just . . . thought I was free of him," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I thought I could finally start to move on with my life."

Nash stood, coming around to her side of the table and crouching down beside her chair. He took both of her hands in his, his touch warm and comforting. "You will move on, sweetheart. We'll make sure of it. Bobby Fire will never hurt you again."

She managed a shaky smile, her heart swelling at the fierce protectiveness in his tone. "Thank you, Nash. All I want is a chance to live a normal life. To walk without being scared someone’s following me. To sleep without having nightmares. To have a boyfriend without being scared he’s going to beat me up or force me to do something I don’t want."

Nash reached up, brushing a stray tear from her cheek with his thumb. "You deserve all those things, sweetheart. Believe me, I want that stuff for you. I’m going to make the streets safe for you again. But right now, we can at least address that other thing you mentioned.”

She blinked up at him. “You mean . . . about how I want a boyfriend?”

Nash winced. “No. Not that. Can’t help you with that one, baby girl. Even if I wanted to.”

“But why not, Nash? Aren’t you attracted to me?”

Nash looked at her as though he was in pain. “Rosie, darling, even if I was attracted to you, I couldn’t act on it. I’m your protector—not your Daddy.”

“Can’t you be both?” Rosie was aware how pathetic she sounded, but she needed to know once and for all. What was Nash’s deal? Why all the boundaries?

“No,” said Nash firmly. “I can’t.”

“So you aren’t attracted to me.”

“Damn it, Rosie,” snapped Nash. “You know I am. Of course I am. Who wouldn’t be? You’re gorgeous. Way out of my league.”

Rosie blinked at him. “So . . . it’s my personality then? I’m too bratty? You want someone who’s more . . . compliant?”

“No,” Nash said firmly. “There is nothing wrong with you, Rosie Love.” His eyes swept down over her, quickly and as though by accident, and then he fixed them back on hers once more. “You’re a fucking goddess, baby girl. Inside and out. I love your bratty side. I love your sweet side. I love . . .” He trailed off, as though he had suddenly caught himself in the act of doing something wrong. “Anyway. What I was saying, before, is that, if you like, I can help with your nightmares. Perhaps a soothing bedtime routine and a little story would be a good place to start?”

Rosie resisted the urge to prod Nash anymore. He looked distinctly uncomfortable, and honestly, a bedtime story sounded great right now. Anything to avoid having to go back to her room reading more self-help books until she fell asleep.

“Okay,” she said. “That sounds good, actually.”

Nash smiled, rising to his feet and offering her his hand. "Right. Let's get you tucked in, shall we?"

She placed her hand in his, allowing him to help her up. "Just to be clear, Nash, this is me officially inviting you into my room for a completely platonic bedtime ritual. Wouldn't want to break any rules, after all."

His eyes danced with amusement. "Duly noted."

Hand in hand, they made their way to the guest room, the warmth of his touch chasing away the lingering chill of her fears. With Nash by her side, Rosie felt oddly powerful. Like all his strength was passing over to her.

She leaped onto her bed, hugging Max tightly as Nash settled beside her, his back against the headboard. She held out the stuffed bear, grinning. "Max wants to say hi."

Nash chuckled, shaking the bear's paw. "Nice to officially meet you, Max." He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Between you and me, I was a little jealous of you at first."

Her eyes widened. "Jealous? Of Max?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. "When you said you were bringing a guy named Max to the Christmas party, I couldn't help it. Some irrational part of me wanted to thump whoever this Max was."

Rosie gaped at him, her heart skipping a beat. "Why would you be jealous?"

Nash's smile faded, his gaze darting away. He cleared his throat. "It's getting late. We should get you ready for bed."

She frowned, watching as he stood and moved to the bookshelf, his broad shoulders tense beneath his shirt. Why did he always shut down when things got personal?

Sighing, she slipped out of bed and padded to the bathroom, her mind whirling. By the time she'd changed into her pajamas and brushed her teeth, Nash was waiting, a book in his hands. The book was an old, leather-bound volume with ornate golden lettering on its spine. Nash settled back against the headboard, patting the space next to him as Rosie approached. She crawled onto the bed, snuggling close, feeling the warmth of his body next to hers.

"What's the story about tonight?" she asked, her voice soft, almost hesitant.

Nash opened the book and cleared his throat, his gaze fixed on the pages. "This is a special story," he began, his voice gentle yet firm. "It's about a little girl who was lost in the dark woods, but she found her way with the help of a kind stranger."

Rosie listened intently, captivated by the tale Nash spun. His deep timbre filled the room, weaving a comforting cocoon around her fears and worries. As he described the adventures of the little girl and her protector, Rosie found herself relaxing for the first time in what felt like forever.

When Nash reached the end of the book, Rosie felt a pang of sadness. She didn’t want it to be over. The words tumbled out before she could stop them. "Will you stay with me tonight?"

Nash hesitated, conflict flickering in his eyes. "Rosie, it's against the rules . . ."

"I don’t remember seeing a rule about that. Please?" She hated the tremor in her voice, the vulnerability she couldn't quite hide. "I’m not asking you to have sex with me, Nash. Just . . . I don't want to be alone."

He stared at her for a long moment, his jaw clenched. Then, with a sigh, he set the book aside. "Alright. Just for tonight. I gave you some pretty difficult information today, about Bobby Fire. You need a good night's sleep. I don't want you to have nightmares."

Relief washed over her as he stretched out beside her, close but not quite touching. She curled on her side, facing him, drinking in the sight of his chiseled profile in the dim light.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He turned his head, his green eyes soft. "Sleep, little one. I'll be right here."

Rosie nestled closer, tentatively resting her head on his chest. Nash stiffened for a heartbeat, then slowly relaxed, his arm coming around her shoulders.

His warmth enveloped her, the steady thrum of his heartbeat a soothing lullaby. She breathed in his scent, a heady mix of sandalwood and something uniquely him.

As she drifted toward sleep, her thoughts wandered. Nash was strong, protective, and gentle when it mattered most. He challenged her, and pushed her buttons, but always seemed to know when to pull back.

Just like a Daddy should.