Page 46 of Being Bold
You got this.
Right. Because she was so cool under pressure. She blew out a breath and dropped her hand. Her stomach surged with nausea. He was her bodyguard now, which meant there’d be no escaping him.
Shit, shit, shit.
She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the door. Her world had fallen apart, and she’d latched onto him like a safe harbor in a storm. Whatever she felt, it wasn’t real . . . it was just the situation.
Ignoring her inner voice’s call of “Bullshit,” she nodded and pushed off the door. After another deep breath, she forced herself to open it. When she stepped into the room, three sets of eyes trained on her, and their conversation came to a halt. It was so quiet, the scuff of her boots across the floor as she walked to the kitchen sounded like a bullhorn announcing her presence.
Bo was frozen at the stove. If the ingredients strewn across the counter were any indication, he’d been prepping breakfast. Two men, one tall and blond, the other trim and dark, sat at the kitchen table.
Well, this is awkward.
She stopped in the middle of the room, lifting a hand in a small wave. “Hi.”
Her voice broke the pall, and both men jumped up from the table so fast that she almost stumbled backward. They came at her with palms outstretched as Bo said, “Selene, this is Hercules and Romeo.”
Those can’t be their real names.
The tall blond reached her first. “I’m Herc,” he said, gripping her palm in a handshake.
She tensed at the power she felt in his grip, but he released her immediately. The guy looked like a bodybuilder. His shoulders were twice as broad as hers, and his arms in the tight-fitting ski shirt looked as big as her thighs. And she knew she had some extra weight there. He smiled and managed to seem completely nonthreatening despite his size.
She couldn’t help but return it. “Nice to meet you.”
When he stepped back, the shorter man slid smoothly in front of him. He had brown hair down to his shoulders and was only a couple of inches taller than her. Still, the way he moved told her he wasn’t any less dangerous than the big guy. A slow grin spread across his lips as his eyes assessed her. When he spoke, his voice was like simmering chocolate, warm and dark as his eyes. “I’m Romeo. Bo didn’t mention how beautiful you were.”
She arched a brow at his charm and placed her hand in his. When Romeo clasped her palm and lifted it toward his lips, she noticed Bo stiffen out of the corner of her eye. Before the man could kiss her hand, she tugged against his fingers, and he released her.
As handsome as he was, she wasn’t interested. “You’re trouble, aren’t you?”
Herc barked out a laugh. Clapping Romeo on the shoulder, he dragged him away. “She’s too smart for you, Casanova.”
As they settled back at the table, she walked over to Bo, who’d started beating eggs with enthusiasm in a large plastic bowl. “Can I help?”
He tensed, his shoulders flexing into a tight line. With a grunt and a mumbled, “Sure,” he handed her the bowl.
Setting it on the counter, she kept whisking the frothy yellow liquid inside. “What are we making?”
“Nothing fancy. Just scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast.” He wouldn’t look at her, which made her frown. With a shrug, he added, “Better than an MRE anyway.”
Her mouth watered. Last night’s dinner had long since evaporated into fumes. Breakfast might not be fancy, but it sounded like heaven. “Where did this all come from?” Yesterday, his fridge was empty.
Stretching slices of bacon across a skillet, he told her, “I asked the guys to bring it. My resupply’s past due.”
“Oh,” she answered even though she wasn’t quite sure what he meant. How exactly did he get food out here? She doubted anywhere delivered, and the trek into Big Sky or Bozeman was a multi-hour affair. Did he stock up, like, what? A month at a time?
She preferred her produce as fresh as she could get it, which meant she ended up at the grocery store multiple times a week. Cooking with ingredients that didn’t come out of a can only once a month seemed particularly sad to her. In fact, some fresh fruit would be delicious with what he was making.
Almost finished with the eggs, she asked softly, “Is there any fruit?”
Bo scrubbed at his beard, then shook his head. “Um, no. Sorry.”
He still refused to look at her. Her stomach dipped, shallowing out into an unpleasant plateau as she turned away. If he kept this up, she was going to wind up with a complex.
“So, Bo,” Herc called from his seat. “We need a base, man. This place isn’t big enough for the five of us.”
Five?
