The Gift of Love (The Book of Love #8) - Meara Platt Page 0,1

to the side, just the littlest bit.”

“Why must I tip my head?” She did not understand why her thoughts were suddenly so muddled. Perhaps it was the champagne she had been served, an excellent vintage, and she’d taken two glasses already.

Or was it three?

Cake, champagne, and being held in Ronan’s arms were a heady combination.

“I need to get the correct angle to kiss you on the cheek. It may seem a simple matter, but it is actually a rather complex set of mathematical calculations required to–”

“Kiss your queen! Kiss your queen!”

“Ah, the crowd is getting restless,” he joked and brought his head down to kiss her before she was ready so that his lips landed on her mouth. Her open mouth. Her fault, really. She should not have turned and looked up at him to ask another question at this precise moment.

And now that she had...holy crumpets!

His warm lips pressed down on hers...and pressed some more...and...warmth flooded her body. Suddenly, everything tingled, and she became acutely aware of him. The sandalwood scent of him. The gentleness of his embrace despite the strength of his arms.

The perfection of his kiss.

Oh, my heavens.

He abruptly drew his mouth off hers and stared down at her in confusion. He was looking at her so oddly, she knew she must have done something terribly wrong and had to apologize at once. “I’m so sorry! You caught me unprepared. I had more questions to ask and did not see your lips coming at me until it was too late.”

She was not certain he heard any of her apology, for the enthusiastic crowd was cheering too loudly and now began to shove them in the direction of the music room to open the dance.

Ronan held her by the elbow to keep her from stumbling. This was always the Brayden way. If someone was in trouble, a Brayden rushed forward to help. Not that she was in any serious trouble, but she was not very big, and this crowd would have easily knocked her down in their enthusiasm.

Ronan was the size of an oak tree.

No one was going to push him over.

“Are you all right, Dahlia?” He appeared to be sincerely concerned, taking a moment to look her over as they stood alone on the dance floor.

“A little shaken up, I fear.” Everyone was staring at them, still cheering in anticipation of the musicians striking the first notes. The musicians were a quartet consisting of a pianist, several violinists, and a harpist.

Ronan’s arm went around her waist, and he placed the palm of his hand at the small of her back. With his other, he took her hand in his. “I’ve got you. You’ll be fine.”

She gave a stiff nod, just wanting this ordeal to end. First a kiss, and now a dance? She was still reeling over the touch of his mouth to hers. No man had ever kissed her before, certainly not like this. Gerald ought to have been the one to do it.

So why was she relieved Ronan had been the first? He wasn’t her beau. It troubled her that she was still tingling. And dreading that Gerald would notice and find yet another reason to disapprove of her behavior.

“Bollocks, you’re still wound in a tight coil. What is wrong with you today?”

“I don’t know. I want to have fun, but Gerald is tossing daggers at me. How is it my fault that I got the pea? And don’t you dare say anything to him once this dance is over. You’ve got that protective look in your eyes again. I do not want you fighting my battles.”

“I am not doing any such thing.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, you are. Stop it. He is my problem. Well, not my problem. He is my beau.”

Ronan sighed. “Forget about him for the moment. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“But I am dancing in your arms, and he obviously does not like it.”

“The music hasn’t started yet. I’m just holding you.”

“Which is even worse.” They stood alone in the center of the room, the crowd still applauding them and tossing Ronan advice, which included shouts of kiss her again as if their first kiss hadn’t been enough.

He arched an eyebrow. “Are you betrothed to the lunk?”

“No, not yet. I think we shall be soon.”

“Then he has no claim on you. Enjoy the moment. Every man in the room wishes he were the one holding you in his arms. You are young and beautiful, Dahlia. It is impossible for you to look