Beneath the Stars (Falling Stars #4) - A.L. Jackson Page 0,10
tall and intimidating.
Since the last time I’d seen him, he’d grown a full beard.
He wore jeans and a tee that stretched across his wide, wide shoulders.
The playfulness he wore like a brand barely covered the outright strength that blistered from underneath, and I could see the layer of rigid worry tighten his corded muscles.
But what he was known for was all there—the fame he’d gained for himself that had women dropping to their knees—the tease of sex that seeped from his skin and his smirking, delicious mouth.
Those blue eyes were warm and dancing and oh so sweet.
From where he stood staring down at us, I was sure my chest was caving in. My heart beating wild for a man who was twelve years older than me.
So off-limits it wasn’t even funny.
So out of reach he might as well have been a poster tacked on my wall.
In an instant, I was both terrified and ensnared.
And I knew Royce was right.
I had to stay away because Rhys Manning would bring me the type of trouble I couldn’t afford.
Two
Rhys
“Here…let me get that.” I tugged at the suitcase Maggie had dragged out of the back of the SUV.
Rays of sunlight speared through the heated sky, the air sticky and hot. The severity of it was eased just a fraction by the light breeze that gathered over the ocean and billowed through the trees.
Paying us no mind, the rest of her family scrambled around to gather the mountain of shit they had brought along. When they’d first rolled up, I’d gone directly to Emily and pulled her into a big, welcoming hug, not close to bein’ faked considering I’d missed her so damned much, then my poor heart had gotten all mushed up when I got a peek at her new baby girl who was the sweetest, tiniest thing.
Then I’d moved over to Royce and had shaken his stiff hand.
Suffice it to say the guy hadn’t been as excited to see me as Emily had been.
I’d convinced myself the only thing I was gonna give Maggie was a harmless, indifferent wave. You know, keep my distance like a wise man would do. Then I’d found myself standing in front of her two seconds later.
But since I was only trying to help her with her bag, I figured that at least earned me a C- for behavior.
Look at me—I wasn’t totally failing.
“It’s fine,” Maggie muttered as she tightened her hold on the handle.
I set my hand over hers.
Ah.
There we go.
I’d call it an F+.
Because both of us froze.
Taken by that flash of fire that neither of us should be feelin’.
“Please.” The word came out rough and like an apology and didn’t have a fuckin’ thing to do with the bag.
The girl had barely dared to look at me since she’d climbed out of the backseat in all her sweet, soft, siren glory.
Wearin’ these high-waisted black fitted jeans and a cropped tee that showed off a swath of silky skin, high-top white Chucks on her feet, the river of black cascading over her shoulders in the softest waves.
My fingers itched.
I’d prayed it would have evaporated over the last six months, or maybe that I’d just have become immune to it—that aura that surrounded her.
The warmth.
The heat.
That unsettled peace I wanted to dip my fingers into and pull into my mouth. Taste it on my tongue.
No such luck.
The force of it had hit me like a shockwave the second she’d set her feet on the ground. In the second she’d risked a peek at me with those charcoal eyes before jerking her attention away.
So sweet and sexy I could hardly breathe.
In reluctance, Maggie sighed. “If it’ll make you happy.”
“Think it’s the other way around, Sweet Thing.”
She barely shook her head, like she didn’t know what to make of me. “Go for it. I have plenty of other things to bring in.”
She ducked back into the SUV and pulled out three giant duffle bags and a couple smaller totes, dropping them to the ground with an oomph.
“Crap,” she muttered, looking at all her stuff.
I reached down to grab a couple of those duffles.
“I’ll get them,” she rushed.
I swiveled away when she tried to grab them. “Nah, I’ve got it.”
She wavered. God, she really didn’t want me to help out, did she?
Was gonna do it anyway.
I slung one on either shoulder.
Was a good thing I’d been hittin’ the gym, because holy fuck, she must have packed bricks in these bags. “Good lord, woman, what do you have in here?”