Page 33 of Being Bold (Tactical Operations & Protection (TOP) Security #1)

Selene

The first thing Selene noticed when she walked into the hotel room she’d be sharing with Bo was that it only had one bed.

The second thing that struck her as she edged further inside was the huge glass-walled shower mere steps from the bed.

The bathroom wasn’t a separate room so much as part of the same cozy space. That was going to be . . . interesting.

Crossing her arms, she leaned out a hip and asked, “Did Duke pick this hotel?”

Bo stepped in behind her, shuffling with their duffels through the narrow hallway that opened into the bedroom where she’d stopped. “Yeah, why’d you as—” She turned in time to see his eyes widen at the setup. His throat sounded hoarse when he said, “There’s supposed to be two queen beds.”

“Uh-huh.” She couldn’t help but smirk at the expression on his face as he stared at the shower.

The walls were tinted pink in an ombre fashion, starting at the bottom.

If the hue were meant for privacy, it would do little to hide anything, judging by the silhouettes of the brass faucet she could see clearly through the colored glass.

“What the hell?” he muttered.

A chuckle tickled her throat. “Maybe it’s French?”

That or the hotel had leaned heavily into the artsy vibe this part of the city had going on. The Honeyrose’s lobby had proved to be a mix of vintage and modern with heavy art deco influences. Lots of mirrors, jewel tones, and gold accents. Their room kept the theme going.

In front of the bed, a deep pink tufted stool with gold spindly legs looked like it had never been sat on. The same pink continued in the floor-to-ceiling drapes that framed a window extending the length of the wall past the bed.

Night had fallen on the flight over, and the curtains were open enough to showcase the twinkling lights of the Quartier des spectacles .

Even in winter, downtown Montreal’s popular arts and entertainment district drew locals and visitors alike for its array of cultural events and festivals.

Not that they’d be partaking in any of those.

Bo shook his head, drawing her attention.

He dropped their duffels on the narrow white worktable across from the bed.

It could be a simple mistake, or Duke was trying to play matchmaker.

Either way, the bed was a king-size with plenty of room for both of them to sleep comfortably.

They’d shared one before. Though if it were up to her, she wanted to do more than just sleep in it.

How would Bo feel about that?

Afraid she already knew the answer, she took off her boots and moved to the bed, her gaze trained on the wooden floors.

They were a warm brown, topped by a distressed area rug underneath the platform bed.

With a sigh, she stretched out on it, testing its feel.

The mattress was both soft and firm, the perfect blend for comfort.

She could’ve easily curled up on it if she hadn’t napped for three hours.

Instead, she rolled to her side, propping up her head with her hand. “So, what do we do now?”

Leaning his butt against the worktable, Bo crossed his arms over his chest. “We wait for Dao to send you the meetup location. Before that,”—he scowled at the shower—“we need food.”

He wanted to clean up before they went for dinner, but the look on his face said he wasn’t enthused about putting on a show. Imagining watching him in there, washing the muscles that rippled over his chest and back, then lower, a cloth tracing the outline she’d admired in his sweatpants . . .

Moisture pooled between her legs. Squeezing her thighs together, she met Bo’s gaze. “Do you want to shower first or should I?” The turn of her thoughts made her voice come out unsteady and laden with desire.

His pupils dilated, and his dark eyes took her in. The look in them was so hungry that her breath caught. Holding his gaze, she sat up slowly. “Or we could shower together.” As soon as the words left her lips, her face flushed with heat.

Did I really just say that?

Though it was what she wanted, she was terrified he’d reject her again. The possibility lodged her heart in her throat while her stomach went on a roller-coaster ride. Sucking in a steadying lungful of air, she told herself to be bold. Go after what she wanted.

When she stood up, his breath rushed out in a strained expulsion. He scrubbed his hands over either side of his beard. “Selene . . .”

Her name was a choked rasp that gave her the courage to move closer. Watching him, she gripped the edge of her turtleneck and dragged it slowly up her body.

When she lifted it off her head, his hands had gripped the edge of the worktable hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

His eyes were on her breasts, so she traced a finger across the top of her bra, down her side, across her stomach until she found the button of her jeans.

By the time she shimmied them down her legs and kicked them off, his pupils had nearly swallowed the umber of his eyes.

His chest rose and fell with his strangled breathing, but he didn’t release his grip on the worktable. She wished he’d let go of whatever justification he used to stay away from her. Because she knew he wanted her. And she wanted him. Enough to offer him the out he seemed to need.

Unhooking her bra, she let it slip from her arms. His Adam’s apple bobbed on a swallow as it hit the floor. Baring herself, physically and emotionally, she slid her underwear down her legs. Naked, she closed the distance between them and whispered, “I’m not asking for forever, Bo.”

He flinched, barely, but she watched him close enough to notice. It surprised her. Did the mere word ‘forever’ scare him so much, or was it something else?

Anger flared in his eyes, and he opened his mouth only to close it again with a grunt. The muscle in his jaw flexed and released with whatever internal debate he was having. All of a sudden, his expression softened. She blinked at the abrupt change.

Staring down at her, he lifted a hand that shook and traced a finger over her lips. “If I could give anyone forever, it would be you, ocean-eyes.”

She shuddered at the intimate contact and the force of his words. They weren’t enough, but it wasn’t a ‘no’ either. If she couldn’t have forever, she’d settle for tonight. Reaching for him, she gripped the hem of his henley. “Shower with me?”

Stuck in viscous anticipation, she waited for his answer. Instead of words, he used actions. He moved her hands from his shirt to place them on his belt buckle, then in one quick motion, he reached behind his head and pulled the henley off. She licked her lips at the sight of his chest.

Forgetting his belt, she rubbed her hands across the auburn fuzz on his pectorals, the texture rough against her palms, before tracing her fingertips down the ridges of his abs. His skin was warm but firm. When her thumb brushed beneath his waistband, he sucked in a sharp breath.

His response made her heart pound harder. She wanted more. Was hungry for all of him. He’d removed his weapons before they entered the hotel, but he still wore his tactical belt.

Instead of trying to figure that thing out, she said, “Take them off. Please.”

He undid his belt and kicked off his boots simultaneously. He hesitated when he unzipped his jeans, so she dropped to her knees to help tug them down.

Bo stopped her before she could reveal his calves. “I have scars.”

Looking up at him, she tried to convey that it didn’t bother her as she waited for him to release his hold. With a sigh, he let go, and she pulled his jeans to the floor. “It’s not pretty.”

Burn scars mottled his lower left leg, but they weren’t gruesome to her. They were a badge of honor, proof of his courage and strength. She lifted her hand to trail her fingers over the leathery skin, but he shifted away before she could. Patient, she met his gaze. “Does it hurt?”

He shook his head, then grimaced. “Phantom pains. Sometimes.”

She moved toward him again and caught sight of a tattoo on the back of his calf. He’d had it done over the scarring. She nearly gasped, thinking about how painful that would’ve been.

Lifting her hand, she met his gaze for permission. When he nodded, she traced the black ink. “What is it?”

He scrubbed his hands over his face before saying, “A bone frog.”

“For Nugg,” she murmured. He didn’t have to tell her what it meant. She understood it was his way of commemorating the brother he’d lost. Leaning forward, she placed a gentle kiss over the markings.

“Selene, you should know I—”

She rocked back on her heels, staring up at his tortured expression. His eyes swam with emotion while the muscle in his jaw worked. “You can tell me, Bo,” she encouraged in a soft voice.

He puffed out a breath. When he spoke, his voice was a low rumble filled with pain. “I still see him—Nugg.” He scrubbed his hands over his face and muttered, “Fuckin’ A.” When he met her gaze, he added, “I hallucinate.”

For a moment, she remained quiet, taking in what he’d said. Knowing he battled this as well as nightmares, it clenched her heart. To ease the ache, she thought only of ways to help him. “Have you talked to someone about it? A counselor, I mean?”

He winced and shook his head. “Not since I got out.”

Tracing her hand over the tattoo again, she coaxed, “Maybe you could?”

He’d pulled a stoic mask over his features when she looked at him. She would’ve sighed, but wasn’t ready to give up on him. This was just another reason he needed her—the understanding she could offer—to help him heal from his past. “You have to start somewhere, Bo.”

In response, he cleared his throat. “Look, you can shower first.” He rubbed the back of his neck as his gaze flitted around the room. “I’ll . . . hide in the fucking closet or something,” he grumbled.

“I don’t want to stop.” If anything, his vulnerability only made her want to comfort him more.

“You . . . don’t?” he asked the question like he wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly.