Page 52 of Love Bomb

It was agony.

How was he supposed to protect her from this?

He hadn’t had these sorts of problems when she was a kid. Back then, he mainly defended her from bullies who made fun of her stick-insect figure and frizzy hair. Now her figure was far from stick-like and her hair was a waterfall of curls. He suddenly felt ill-equipped to protect her from the men staring at her.

And Rona wasn’t helping. She lapped the attention up. Smiling and laughing, like it didn’t matter that half the men in the room were drooling over her. To make it worse, the more she danced, the better she looked. Her cheeks were flushed from exertion and her green eyes bright with delight.

When the band announced the next dance would be Strip The Willow, the dancers split into two facing rows—men on one side, women on the other. The music started, and Bain found himself at the head of the group, facing Rona. It was the job of the main couple to dance down between the rows, stopping to twirl with each of the other dancers. The woman went first, twirling each man before returning to twirl her own partner in the middle of the passageway made by the facing dancers.

It was a simple dance, with lots of skipping, and laughter when the spinning got out of control. But it meant Bain had to watch as every man in the line danced with Rona. Which was the exact opposite of what he’d been trying to achieve by taking her onto the dance floor in the first place.

With gritted teeth, he went through the motions. And yes, he gave each guy a death glare when his turn came to spin Rona. When one set of eyes strayed to her bouncing breasts, Bain growled—loudly. The guy hastily looked away.

Maybe if she’d still worn her sweater, things would have been slightly better But she was in a short pink T-shirt with a big orange cat across her boobs. It was hard not to stare at the cat. And then notice how it undulated as Rona danced.

He groaned, then shifted awkwardly, in the hopes of freeing up a little more space in his jeans. His pants might have been uncomfortable at the sight of her, but his brain was in agony. This wasn’t the girl he remembered. She wasn’t socially awkward. And she wasn’t clinging to him, looking for direction. No, she was out there, having a blast, and looking so damn sexy while she did it that it hurt to watch.

Rona was right—the girl she’d once been was gone.

And the woman who’d replaced her was breathtaking.

How did someone so tiny have such full breasts and rounded hips? And where the hell had she found those jeans? They cupped her backside like loving hands, and made every man in the room drool—when they weren’t watching her boobs bounce around.

And her waist? He’d never noticed a woman’s waist before. Not really. But Rona’s was tiny. He bet he could span it with both his hands. Then he’d slide his palms up to feel the weight of her gorgeous breasts, before bending to press kisses against the crook of her neck. What would it take to make her perfect milky skin turn pink under his touch? Not very much, he suspected.

Rona spun his way, but he was too busy daydreaming that he missed his cue. She crashed into him, taking them both to the floor. The laughter was loud.

Rona joined in as she untangled herself from him. She got to her feet first and leaned over to offer him a hand up. It was all too much. Bain surged to his feet, grabbed her hand, and hauled her off the dance floor.

“Bain!” she protested before shouting apologies to the dancers they’d abandoned. “We haven’t finished the dance.”

“Aye,” he said, barreling through the crowd and taking her with him. “We have.”

He couldn’t take it anymore. Rona was right, she’d grown up. And turned into a stunning woman with curves that made his IQ drop to double digits just at the sight of them. So what if she used to be his stalker shadow? Those days were gone, and she wasn’t stalking him now. In fact, she seemed quite happy to wander off from him, following any man who smiled at her.

Speaking of which…

He spotted Darren Shaw and veered toward him. As they drew even, Bain gave him a quick jab in the stomach. He smiled with satisfaction when Darren doubled over. With any luck he’d get the message and keep his dirty paws off Rona.

“Did you just punch Darren?” Rona said, her voice a high-pitched squeak. “Bain! Please tell me you didn’t just hit Darren.”

“I didn’t punch him. My fist accidentally clipped his stomach as we passed by.”

“What is wrong with you?” Rona demanded as he pushed through the door into the corridor between the conference center and pub.

“Nothing,” he told her. “There’s nothing wrong with me. In fact, my head is a whole lot clearer than it was this morning.”

There were a few people mulling around, going between the bar and the cèilidh. They took one look at Bain’s face and gave them a wide berth.

Bain glanced around for somewhere private to talk. He spotted a space behind the coat racks and headed straight for it, pushing aside the coats until he made it to the wall. He whirled Rona around in front of him, so her back was to the wall and he was between her and anyone who might spot them.

She put her hands on his chest and looked up at him with those big, witchy eyes of hers. “Bain? What’s going on?”

About a million different words, emotions, and thoughts bombarded him all at once. But instead of opening his mouth and letting it all out, which would bring about nothing good, he took a deep breath and a minute to gather himself.

In the background, muffled music played. Laughter rang out and the unmistakable clink of glasses sounded like fairy bells, chiming in approval of the celebration. Bain wasn’t surprised by the sound. All Scots knew the Seelie enjoyed a good party.

In an hour or two, Dougal would calm everything down by taking to the stage to read some Rabbie Burns poetry, then people would slowly make their way out into the snow, tired and happy after another successful Burn’s Night.