Page 14 of Love Bomb

Oh, how she wanted to force-feed him the thumb-drive.

“I’m not giving up,” she told him. “The folly needs to go. If you won’t blow it up for me, I’ll do it myself.”

Suddenly, Bain was very serious. He took a step toward her, closing the distance in a move that would have been intimidating if she hadn’t had a history with him. But Rona knew Bain would never hurt her. Not for any reason.

“Listen to me very carefully,” he said. “Do not try to blow up the folly yourself. Explosives are dangerous and should only be handled by professionals.”

“Well,” she took her own step forward and glared up at him. “I can’t get a professional to help me out, so I’ll have to use Google instead.”

“I swear…” He loomed over her and for a second she thought he might do something rash—like tie her to the bed until her deadline passed.

She held her breath. Waiting. A strange sense of excitement flooding through her. He took a steadying breath and stepped back. And the moment was shattered.

Thankfully.

He glanced around the room. “You need a keeper. Where’s this famous Tom? Maybe he can stop you from doing something dumb.”

At the sound of his name, Tom Cat meowed.

Rona hurried to cover for the cat. “He’s in the shower,” she said casually. “I plan on joining him.”

She gave Bain what she hoped was a coy glance, but considering she didn’t know what coy looked like, she wasn’t sure she pulled it off.

“In fact,” she carried on, lifting a glass of wine. “I was just about to take him this when you knocked the door.”

Bain considered the wine. “Won’t it dilute in the shower?”

She put it back down. “Time for you to go,” she said shoving him toward the door, very aware that if Bain didn’t want to be moved, her efforts would have made no difference.

She threw the door wide and hustled him through it.

“Thanks for visiting,” she said. “Now go away.”

Then she shut the door on his amused face.

“Men,” she said to Tom as she lifted the wine glass and downed the contents in one gulp. “Who needs them?”

Not her. She had Tom Cat and Google. She’d sort out her own bloody problems. It’s what she’d been doing ever since her parents and taken her from Invertary, and she’d become really good at it. Grabbing her laptop, she opened the search bar and typed: How to blow up a folly.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Bain took the deadly red-tartan stairs two at a time as he went down to the pub below the hotel. For years he’d been telling Dougal that his carpet was a hazard because it turned the stairs into an optical illusion, making it impossible to see the step edges. But the man loved his tartan and the red carpet had stayed. At least he’d let the MacGregors install a decent handrail.

The pub wasn’t busy. Most people had decided to stay home, rather than brave the wintry weather. But there were a few stalwart locals dotted around the place, and a couple of tourists huddled by the massive fireplace. Bain headed straight for the long mahogany bar running the length of the room.

Dougal Jamieson, proprietor and town’s mayor, was in position behind it. Surveying his kingdom with an air of satisfaction.

“Were you upstairs visiting with Rona?” he asked as Bain pulled out a tall stool.

“Oh, aye,” Bain said.

“Then you’ll be needing a drink,” Dougal said with a knowing look. “Whiskey?”

“No, I’m driving, and I’ve already had a couple of beers. How about something warm?”

“Well, it’s too late for coffee, but I do a mean hot chocolate,” Dougal said.

“Sounds good.” Bain leaned his forearms on the bar. “Who’s playing taxi tonight?” he asked, his eyes on one of the elderly domino players who he knew no longer had a driving license.