Page 22 of Being Bold (Tactical Operations & Protection (TOP) Security #1)

Selene

The fire’s crackling should have been white noise lulling Selene into peaceful dreams, but she could only toss and turn in Bo’s bed.

The whiskey had warmed her belly, and with his down comforter covering every inch of her below her chin, she’d stopped shivering.

Yet sleep eluded her. She couldn’t get comfortable.

If she lay on her back, her head throbbed from where she’d smacked the ice, but she found no relief on her side either.

Perhaps she’d gone past the point of tiredness to a place where she’d become too exhausted to rest.

After what felt like an hour of struggling, she believed it was possible.

Her brain refused to settle as if some hypervigilance switch had been hit.

Every little noise sent her pulse into overdrive.

The wind howling against the cabin walls, animals calling into the night, it was all so unfamiliar.

Then, there was her whole situation and her confusion surrounding Bo, which kept her awake.

She’d tried counting sheep and relaxing her muscles one by one, but nothing had put her any closer to a state of drowsiness.

Huffing out a breath, she rolled over for the thousandth time.

Through the cracks in the railing, she could see Bo passed out on the couch.

The glow from the fire revealed his softly rising chest. She was freezing, and he slept without a shirt on, a single blanket tangled in his legs.

It must be a Montana thing. She didn’t know if she’d ever get used to the cold or if it mattered now.

Without her job at Saber Tech, she should head back to California.

Except, the mere thought sent panic coursing through her veins.

She loved her parents, but spending the rest of her life in Santa Barbara was out of the question.

I need more than that.

She needed . . . a frown tugged at the corners of her lips. Her instinct was to say adventure, but after the last two days, she wasn’t so sure that was what she wanted. Safety was her main priority. Well, that and sleep.

She’d never been one to rely on sleeping pills, but Benadryl had always knocked her out.

Maybe Bo had some. Wondering, she watched him.

His rest seemed sound, and it was doubtless that he needed it after dealing with everything she’d brought to his doorstep.

She didn’t want to wake him to ask about the medicine, but she could check the bathroom.

If she found some diphenhydramine hydrochloride, that would be great.

If not, maybe she’d try another shot of whiskey.

Selene snorted to herself. Whatever Bo liked was strong.

She didn’t often drink hard liquor, but the stuff he’d given her had burned all the way down.

If she had enough of that, she’d probably pass out.

Set on her plan to find relief one way or the other, she slid out from under the covers and crawled to the ladder, careful not to bang her head. It had been through enough.

After the shot of whiskey, Bo had insisted on checking her bullet graze.

Thankfully, it had scabbed over and washing it with her shampoo meant it was clean without needing more stinging antiseptic.

She’d offered to tend to his cut in return, but he’d declined—adamantly.

As if he were afraid they’d wind up in a liplock again.

With a sigh, she took the last rung of the climb down.

As soon as she stepped onto the floorboards and turned, one of them creaked under her foot.

Wincing, she glanced at Bo. He didn’t stir.

Releasing a breath in relief, she crept toward the bathroom.

When she crossed the threshold, she shut the door before flipping the light switch to keep it from spilling into the living room.

It was cold in the room, making her shiver.

Regretting not putting back on her pants, she tugged at the hem of her sweater.

It barely covered her bottom and stretching it didn’t make it any longer.

Rubbing her legs together for warmth, she opened the under-sink cabinet, hoping to spot the pink package she needed.

Her first glance provided no hope, so she squatted and rifled through bandages, peroxide, washcloths, and every medicine she didn’t need.

About to give up, she found the first-aid kit and lifted it out. A box of condoms had been squashed underneath it, dragging a long sigh out of her.

Not going to need those.

Unless she somehow managed to crack through the wall Bo was determined to erect between them. Shaking off the thought, she opened the kit and found what she was after.

Palming the single dose of Benadryl, she zipped the bag and replaced the first-aid kit under the sink.

Opening the wrapper, she pushed the little pink pill into her hand.

She searched the bathroom for a cup before she popped it into her mouth.

Not seeing one, she set the pill down and turned the cold water on.

About to cup her hand beneath the faucet, she stopped when a strangled shout seemed to shake the cabin.

Turning off the water, she flew out of the bathroom.

Bo thrashed in his sleep as if he fought against something or someone .

She raced to his side, then froze, unsure how to help him.

Was he having a normal dream, or was he caught in the throes of something else?

She’d heard about people with PTSD and how you shouldn’t wake them during a night terror.

Is that what this was? He hadn’t mentioned having any post-traumatic stress, but if he’d been a SEAL in Afghanistan . . . she gulped. Surely, he’d seen things—disturbing things.

Another shout caused her to jump. He sounded like he was in so much pain, she couldn’t let him keep dreaming.

Sitting on the coffee table, she leaned over him and spoke, “Bo, wake up. You’re having a bad dream, okay? Wake up.”

He showed no sign of having heard her. Worry mounted, but she kept her tone soothing as she tried again. “Bo, it’s Selene. You’re having a bad dream. Please, wake up.”

His body jerked with a cry of agony, and she reared backward, barely avoiding a swinging arm. Her eyes welled with tears as garbled noises stuck in his throat. He was covered in sweat.

Since talking wasn’t working, it was time to try something else. Reaching out a tentative hand, she placed it flat on his shoulder and gently shook. “Bo, wake up. Wake up!”

After several harder shakes, his eyes flew open, and he lurched into a sitting position. His chest rose with his quick breathing while he blinked rapidly at her. His head swiveled, taking in the cabin before returning to her face. “Selene?” he croaked.

She winced in sympathy, unsurprised that his throat was raw after the screams he’d made. “Yes. Let me get you some water.”

He grabbed her hand, stopping her before she had a chance to stand. “No, wait. Please.”

“Sure.” When he didn’t say anything, just gripped her hand tightly, she felt compelled to ask, “Are you okay? That was . . . intense.”

Major understatement.

As if he knew how bad it had been, his shoulders drooped. “I’m sorry. I can’t . . .” He cleared his throat. “That happens sometimes. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“How often?”

He frowned, and she figured it had to be more than he was willing to admit.

“Nevermind. It’s none of my business.” But she couldn’t help wondering if it was part of why he thought he didn’t deserve gratitude.

What did you go through, Bo?

She wanted to pry so badly, to know what drove him, that she pressed her lips tightly together to keep from asking.

But he surprised her. “I don’t sleep much. It’s why I usually end up on the couch.”

He hadn’t let go, so she brushed her thumb across the back of his hand. “Can you tell me? Maybe talking about it will help.”

His breathing had returned to normal, but he still looked lost. She gave his hand a squeeze, urging him to answer.

“I left Afghanistan after a suicide bombing. It was a woman.” He closed his eyes, and a pang of sympathy bowled over her at the strain on his face.

“I could’ve stopped her, but I hesitated.

The bomb went off, killing dozens, including my—” His voice broke, making her want to gather him in a hug.

Instead, she tracked the movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed hard.

After a shake of his head, he opened his eyes. “A SEAL from my team, Nugg.”

Something in his voice told her he and Nugg had been close. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. It seemed like a lame offering, but he didn’t try to shrug it off.

“Me too.”

The guilt she read on his face forced her to speak, “What happened is not your fault.”

The weight of his sigh pulled his shoulders even lower. “Yes, it is.”

Oh, Bo.

Her heart sank as she realized why he tortured himself. Guilt and blame were nasty emotions. They had the power to eat away at you if you let them.

“How long ago was it?”

“A little over four years.”

And he’d been letting it fester all that time. No wonder he thought he didn’t deserve something as simple as her thanks. A deep sadness rolled through her chest followed by the opening of a tiny bud of relief at knowing his pushing her away wasn’t about her.

He was punishing himself, but it wouldn’t bring his friend back.

Stifling a sigh, she patted his leg. “Let me get you that water.”

◆◆◆

Bo

Bo released Selene’s hand and immediately missed its warmth.

But then she stood up, and his focus shifted entirely.

She wasn’t wearing any pants. Her long legs were bare, the swell of her curvy hips and the edge of her light blue underwear peeked beneath the length of the dark sweater she’d slept in.

Before she could step away, he caught her thighs, holding her in place. “Wait.”