Beneath the Stars (Falling Stars #4) - A.L. Jackson Page 0,25

It was a grunt.

Did he have the first clue what he was doing to me?

The stairway dumped us out on the second floor across from our rooms. My room was closest, so I led him through the door and toward the Jack and Jill bathroom that connected our rooms.

“Bet you never ’magined when you agreed to share a bathroom durin’ this little adventure it would mean you were gonna have to take care of an asshole like me, did you?” It was the mumble of a tease, words lumbered as he tried to form them on his drunken tongue.

“I don’t mind,” I said, so quiet as I flicked on the bathroom light.

We both blinked against the intrusiveness of it, the white marble gleaming beneath the stark light.

The bathroom was every bit as lavish as the rest of the rooms. The quartz and granite were accented by gold finishes and navy-blue touches, the walls done in a textured, gilded wallpaper.

I eased him down onto the side of the massive jet bathtub. He canted to the side, and I rushed to keep him steady.

Blue eyes peered up at me. I saw the devastation in their depths. He reached out and fluttered his fingertips down my cheek.

I struggled to breathe.

“You should mind, Maggie. You shouldn’t have to deal with the likes of me. Guys like us? We’re no good. No good. You’re too good. Too pretty. Too real.”

I tried to ignore the garbled, incoherent confession.

But my spirit shivered, and my fingers twitched.

I looked at the door in contemplation, wondering if he needed someone with a little more experience than I possessed, which was basically zero.

As if he knew exactly what I was thinking, a big hand clamped down on the outside of my bare thigh. Right through the slit of my clingy dress.

Holy crap.

Shivers raced as I was slammed with a flood of need.

My hands shot out for support.

The problem was I found myself clinging to Rhys’ shoulders.

More, my body whispered.

I wanted it, for him to let his hand slip higher.

To find that achy spot that throbbed between my thighs.

Desperate to know what it might be like.

I had to suppress a moan.

That ocean of blue stared up at me. Sad and filled with something I couldn’t quite decipher. “Stay with me, Goddess Girl. You make it better. How do you make it better?”

Then his eyes went wide. “Gotta puke.”

He pushed to standing and flew for the little alcove that housed the toilet.

He dropped to his knees and started heaving like mad, while I stood there fidgeting, caught in the tornado that was Rhys Manning.

Okay.

I could handle this.

I went to the linen closet, grabbed a cloth, and ran it under warm water. I rushed back to him, knelt behind him, and brushed back his hair, trying not to be grossed out while he puked up his guts. I let loose soft laughter while I whispered at his ear, “I guess the tables have turned, and now I have to hold your hair.”

Rhys grunted and flushed the toilet, and then he turned around and slumped onto his butt.

Leaning against the wall, his head tipped up to look at me where I knelt high on my knees.

And he was looking at me the way he had out on the beach.

Like maybe I was his guardian angel who’d come to rescue him.

The thing was, I was one-hundred-percent certain it wasn’t his body that was in need of saving.

The man’s heart was bleeding all over the floor.

His defenses down.

That unending smile dipped in a frown.

Carefully, I dabbed the cloth around his mouth.

“There we go.” The encouragement trembled from my tongue, and he kept watching me with those blue, blue eyes.

He slanted me a wayward grin. “Some kinda cowboy I am. Can’t even hold my liquor. Embarrassin’. Richey-Poo’s gonna have my man card for this.”

My insides nearly splintered apart.

I dabbed the cool cloth across his forehead, glancing down at him, the man watching me the whole time.

“And here I thought I’d heard it said you were a stallion,” I murmured.

A light chuckle left him. “You gonna rein me?”

My stomach fisted.

Truth was, I wasn’t equipped. I knew he would tear me apart.

I focused on running the cloth over his forehead like it was some sort of mission, fighting the flush that spread across my chest and climbed my neck.

So hot I was sure it lit up my cheeks.

I had no clue how to navigate this.

Friends.

A hand cinched down on one side of my waist. “Just playin’, Mags. Wouldn’t dream of