Beneath the Stars (Falling Stars 4)

I learned quickly those things meant little to me.

I knew firsthand what greed could do. The lengths that people would go to in order to build and protect it.

But this…this was for a man who’d turned me inside out and hadn’t had the first clue.

The one who didn’t know he’d been the first to make me feel.

The first to make me want.

I inhaled a sharp breath when that anticipation turned to a burn.

A boil in my blood that had sweat slicking across my skin.

The SUV came to a stop in the round drive in front of the five massive steps leading to the front door.

I tried to convince myself the physical reaction was only because I was getting ready to witness history being made. Two bands at completely different spectrums of the music industry, one country and the other metal, preparing to converge in the same spot.

Carolina George and A Riot of Roses.

A confluence of differences and like-minds that together I was sure sheer magic would be made.

Or maybe it was the fire.

The truth that I was displaced from my first home.

Or maybe…maybe I should just be real.

Accept it.

Acknowledge it was entirely, one-hundred-percent, due to that crush.

That mad, unrelenting crush that made me feel like I was going to get pulverized.

Smashed into oblivion. Because standing at the top of the steps was Rhys Manning.

Thick and 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.