Beneath the Stars (Falling Stars #4) - A.L. Jackson Page 0,23
like I could offer reprieve from whatever hell he’d descended to.
“Rhys…hey…are you okay?”
Another moan rumbled from him.
Deep and guttural.
Laden with pain.
“Hey, I’m right here. It’s okay. It’s okay.”
With the way the words tumbled in desperation, I thought maybe the only one I was trying to convince was myself. The way I wanted to lie down beside him and take on some of the hurt I could feel seeping from his pores.
Soothe the pain I could feel gushing from the well of a broken spirit he clearly wanted to hide.
I wanted to confess to him that mine was broken, too.
That I’d been hurt.
Brutalized.
That I was terrified of letting it go and desperate for its surrender at the same time.
The biggest problem was I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe this man felt mine the same way as I felt his.
That maybe…maybe together we could hold some of the fractured pieces for the other.
Crazy.
Of course, I knew even thinking it was insane.
Reckless to the extreme.
But I wanted it…wanted to hold what he couldn’t. Soothe it from his soul.
Be his balm like I was aching for him to be mine.
Rhys groaned.
“Let me get Royce. He can help get you inside.”
I started to push to standing when a massive hand reached out and clamped me by the wrist. “No.”
A shock raced my arm.
Heat.
Flames.
It stoked a fire I’d never felt before.
I heaved out a shuddered breath.
Oh God.
I searched him through the lapping shadows as he turned his head enough to look at me.
Stark blue eyes stared out from behind the wild pieces of hair that had fallen in his face.
Disoriented but sharp.
“No,” he rasped. “Just you.”
My chest squeezed, and I was such a fool, reaching in to brush the hair back from his handsome face. “What happened?”
“Got in a tussle with a bottle of Jager. Clearly, I was outperformed.” One side of his bearded mouth tipped in a meager smirk.
My stomach fisted and a bolt of attraction streaked through my veins.
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” I told him, keeping my voice hushed, just loud enough to be heard over the whipping of the wind. “I…saw you.”
On a grunt, Rhys managed to flop onto his back. His eyes were squinted but still focused on me.
“Believe me, Sweet Thing, you don’t wanna go there,” he slurred, trying to sit up and then collapsing back down.
“What if I do?” Throat tight, I moved to lean over him.
Compelled.
Drawn.
A fool.
I couldn’t help it.
Captured, I stared down at the beautifully brutal lines of his face.
“What if I’ve been worried about you all these months?” I murmured. “What if I spent too many nights wondering what happened that night? What made you snap? What if I wanted to be there for you?”
That blue gaze flashed.
A white strike of lightning.
Without answering, he reached out and twisted a lock of my hair around his finger.
The air whooshed from my lungs.
When he spoke, his rumbled words were like prods of desire raking across my skin. “Look at that…a goddess beneath the stars looking down over me.”
“Are you sure you didn’t fall and hit your head?” I asked him, giving it my all to keep cool and calm. Knowing he was only teasing me.
Flirting a little.
Such a liar, Maggie.
I was positively shaking, and the man was messing with my mind.
“Must’ve died and went to heaven.” The knuckle wound in my hair brushed my chin. “Goddess Girl.”
Oh god. There he went.
Doing me in.
Tempting me into imagining all the things I knew better than to imagine.
“Rhys.” It was a murmur.
Confusion.
A plea.
Intensity crackled.
Fired and flashed.
For the longest time, we stared.
Held.
Entranced.
Found in a single moment together.
Then he seemed to think better of it, shook his head, and pushed to sitting. The movement of his big body jostled me back.
Or maybe it gave me access to my senses, and my self-preservation kicked in.
A clear, distinct warning that if I got too close, I was going to get lost in his destruction.
Then he was back to flaunting that ridiculous grin.
Whiplash.
“Just how strong are ya, Mag Pie? Think you can sling me on that back and carry me inside?” He managed to only half slur the words.
Droplets of giddiness dripped into my chest. A well gathering fast. “You’re asking me if I can lift a Mack truck?”
“Hell, no. Just if you can tackle a stallion.”
He waggled his brows, though it was sloppy and goofy and kind of adorable, and god, how easily I could fall for this man.