Beneath the Stars (Falling Stars #4) - A.L. Jackson Page 0,45
that way, “So, why are you sitting around here? Shouldn’t you be working on that song?”
Her tone was playful, genuine as she ducked through the door.
I was still stuck, standing there staring at where she disappeared before she came back out.
I might have heaved out in relief.
Like missing out on those five seconds she’d been in there had been too much.
She stepped back into the main kitchen with a case of water.
“Not, yet. Working out some ideas with Mells Bells here.”
Mel coughed a bullshit.
Maggie just smiled soft, standing there, balancing that water on the front of her thigh.
Her gaze went tender. Filled with her soft, sweet belief. “Well, wherever you find your inspiration, I know it’s going to ruin some hearts.”
“Hope so.”
She nodded then hefted the case.
And I realized I was standing there like a douche.
“Damn it, where is my mama to whip me into shape when I forget to be a gentleman?” I forced it out like a tease.
Clearly, I was distracted by the very thing I should be showing respect to. Suffice it to say my thoughts right then weren’t all that gentlemanly.
“Let me help you with that.”
She backed away. “No, I’m good, honest. Emily is taking a nap, and Royce has the baby, so it’d be better if I slipped in and slipped out.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
In reluctance, I gave her a small nod. “Okay then.”
“See you later. Glad you made it into town safely, Melanie.”
“Thanks, Maggie. Let’s catch up tonight over dinner.”
“Sounds good,” Maggie called as she dipped out through the archway and down the hall that led to the smaller staircase that I’d sneaked in with her just a couple nights before.
Silently, Mel and I watched her go, and when she disappeared out of earshot, Mel whirled on me. She was already pointing before she’d turned all the way around. “Don’t you dare, Cowboy.”
“Cowboy? How many times do I have to tell you, it’s Sta—”
She jabbed me in the chest with that stabby finger.
Hard.
Cutting me off.
“Oww,” I whined, clutching the spot.
She kept pointing at me, jabbing that finger into my sternum.
“I will cut your balls off if you even think about it,” she warned under her breath, glancing around once before looking back at me. “And Royce will literally kill you.” Her voice dropped lower. “Like, we will find your literal rotted, decayed body buried in a shallow grave. You think you’ve got trouble now?”
I lifted my hands in a placating fashion. “Don’t know what you’re—”
“Don’t bullshit me, Rhys Manning.” Her voice was venom. She was most definitely not playin’. “I think I’ve seen you in action enough times to know when you’re undressin’ someone with your eyes, and you already had her clothes strewn across the room. Maggie is special. Different. Off-limits. Do you hear me?”
Melanie was right on all accounts.
She’d seen me in action more times than I could count.
More than that, she was right about Maggie.
She was special.
Different.
One-hundred-fucking-percent off-limits.
I lifted my hands higher. This time in surrender. “I hear you. Loud and clear.”
Loud and clear.
Eleven
Rhys
With the crash of the waves on the beach below, I sat out on the balcony plucking the strings of my guitar. It made it so I barely heard the timid tapping against the inside wall of my room.
That didn’t mean I didn’t feel it.
That didn’t mean the ground didn’t tremble and the air didn’t shift.
I gave myself a beat to pull my shit together. To remember the warning Mel had dished out earlier today. Rein in the direction my thoughts immediately went stampeding.
Night pressed down, time set to slow.
The canopy of stars hung like ripe fruit waitin’ to be plucked where they were strewn over the horizon.
Like each was holding a wish waitin’ to be granted.
Faint sounds of the house echoed through the walls and drifted through the opened windows, my crew, my family, settling in for the night.
I sat propped against the wall, the French doors to my bedroom wide open, sheer curtains dancing in the breeze and lulling me into some kinda dream as I tried to find the melody for the song I needed to write.
Dream took a sharp turn when I angled around to peer into the darkened shadows of my room.
Maggie stood just inside the bathroom door.
Unsure.
Wary.
Bold.
She edged in a step farther like she was worried she was ignoring a sign that read danger.
With what she was wearing? It made that endeavor all the riskier considerin’ she was wearing the tiniest sleep shorts I’d ever seen and a skin-tight tank.