Chapter Six #2
All she could do was stare into his eyes. She wanted to tell him he was special too. Wanted him to understand how much his being here meant to her. But she didn’t have the words, and he wasn’t expecting a reply. He gave her a small nod and turned his attention back to the stage.
~ ~ ~
Blane kept his arm along the back of Bea’s stool. He was measuring every move, every word—but his body seemed to have ideas of its own. Resting his arm there had come as a surprise to him. Keeping it there was a choice.
The whole time he’d been shuffling with her to that song, he’d been hunting for something to say. Some way to let her know the time he’d spent with her meant something. He hadn’t come up with a thing—until Tina had gifted him the words. And she was right. Bea really was special.
He had the impression she didn’t know it.
He didn’t just mean special to him, because he found her attractive—though he did.
It was more than that. It was easy to see that people liked her.
Not only that, but she cared about them.
The hotel staff. Tina here. Even earlier, paying for her purchases at the museum gift shop, she’d had the cashier smiling and laughing with her.
He watched the band move around the stage while he mused. The singer, Carson, was a good guy—one of the younger stars just hitting his peak. From this angle Blane could see the team leader, Brock, hovering in the wings. No specific threats tonight, but Brock was good.
When Carson came to the front of the stage and shouted, “I love you, London!” the whole arena rose to its feet.
Blane knew what came next—Carson’s biggest hit.
He knew because he had all his teams drill for exactly this; the moment a band’s biggest song hit, the atmosphere spiked, the excitement peaked.
If anything was going to happen at a show, that was when.
Bea’s hand on his arm brought him back. She was smiling as she slid down from her stool. He understood what was happening when he saw the other women already heading toward the little area they’d claimed as a dance floor behind the seats.
He got to his feet too, grateful for the chance to stretch his legs.
“You’re going to dance?” Bea looked shocked.
“No. I’m going to stand in the corner. Make sure you’re safe while you dance.”
She looked all around them, then back at him, puzzled. “Safe?” She laughed. “Oh, Blane. You’re funny.”
He shrugged and went to stand in the corner, in the shadows, arms folded across his chest, feet planted square.
It was where he felt most at home. The guys joked, called him the sentry, and mostly that was an accurate assessment.
It didn’t feel that way tonight, though.
Tonight was different. He wasn’t only standing here to make sure Bea was safe.
He cocked an eyebrow when it hit him. He wanted to be close to her, too—and without dancing, this was as close as he could get.
When the song ended and Carson launched into another, he checked his watch while Bea and the other women kept dancing.
He loved that she was enjoying herself. But he was all too aware the minutes were ticking down.
Tonight would be over too soon. He scowled.
Sooner than it needed to be, thanks to Cash and the check-in with the team he’d agreed to.
Still, he was here for now, and so was she.
She’d be gone in the morning. So, he wasn’t going to waste the little time he had.
When another song started, the other women kept on dancing, but Bea came to him, laughing and out of breath.
“My goodness, Blane. The other girls think I’m some kind of celebrity now.
” He cocked an eyebrow, and she laughed again.
“They think I’m some kind of star since I’ve got my very own bodyguard.
And you have to admit—” she looked him up and down “—you do rather give that impression.”
His jaw tightened. “Guess I do. But I’m not up here because I’m working, Bea. I—”
He froze a moment as a thought hit him. He’d had women run the bodyguard line on him before—the tired jokes about letting him guard their body.
But he shook the thought away; Bea wasn’t that kind of woman.
He set his hand on her shoulder. It seemed to be the only way he knew how to connect with her. “You want to sit back down?”
She dropped her gaze, then smiled back up at him. “It’s embarrassing to admit, but I can hardly avoid it—I have to nip to the ladies’. I’ll be right back.”
As she stepped away, he followed her.
She looked up over her shoulder at him. “You need to go too?”
“Just playing bodyguard to my star.”
~ ~ ~
The concourse was less crowded now, and there was only a short line for the bathrooms. Blane took up a position near one of the merch stands and folded his arms across his chest while Bea went in.
When she came out, two younger guys—a little worse for wear by the look of them—stepped out of the men’s room just behind her.
Blane tensed and was already halfway to them before he registered what was actually happening.
She’d dropped something, and one of them was handing it back.
By the time he reached them she was smiling, thanking them.
He tried to relax. The two guys shot him wary looks and hurried off. It was only their expressions that made Bea turn around and spot him.
“Oh—hi.” She gave him a small smile. “Is everything all right?”
He nodded, feeling like a damn fool and definitely not wanting to admit what he’d just done—that he’d been on his way over to… to what, he didn’t know. Only that he’d felt the need to get to her.
She glanced back at the departing guys, then at him, and he held his breath.
He’d overstepped. He’d already pieced together, from the little she’d told him, that she was building a life of her own—that she’d spent far too many years with a man in control of most of her decisions.
He braced for it, not blaming her in the least if she told him to go screw himself.
Instead she smiled, the confusion on her face turning to something warmer. He didn’t have a word for it, but it loosened most of the tension in his shoulders.
“Aw.” She patted his arm. “Were you looking out for me?”
He grunted, not trusting himself to speak in case what came out was a rambling explanation, or an apology.
“You really are very good at your job, aren’t you?” With that, she slipped her arm through his and tugged him back the way they’d come. At the doors he pushed one open for her, and as she ducked under his arm to go inside, she shot him a smile. “Thanks for not taking over.”
All he could do was nod. He should probably admit that he’d have taken over in a heartbeat if things had gone differently. But he didn’t want to say anything that might make her stop smiling at him the way she was right now.
She returned to her seat, and he perched on the stool beside her. His arm found its way along the back of hers again, and when she turned to smile at him, he was grateful he’d allowed instinct to override logic yet again.