Beneath the Stars (Falling Stars 4)

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.

Like slipping into quicksand.

“What would you say if I wanted to try?” I whispered, throat so tight it was difficult to speak.

He grunted. “I’d say that sounds like a mistake.”

“I thought you said I needed to make a few mistakes along the way?” I lifted my chin, my eyes searching his face in the darkness.

He forced a grin that felt wholly faked. “Ahhh…a few mistakes are called for. But believe me, baby, you don’t want this kind of tragedy.”

“Rhys—”

He shook his head to cut me off. “Don’t.”

I glanced back at the house. “I really should get Royce. He can help me get you inside.”

Rhys huffed out a laugh, shoving off the darkness that had gathered around him like a violent storm. He cocked a playful grin. “Think I’ve received my full allotment of death threats from your brother today, thank you very much. I can make it just fine.”

“Death threats?”

“Let’s just say he made our boundaries very clear.” He gestured at the bare space between us. “Just so you know, we’re already crossin’ them.”

I scowled. “When?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

I huffed a sigh.

Freaking Royce.

“Richard?” I offered instead.

“Nope. Good as new. Can’t keep a good man down.” His words were all slurry and mushed together.

He hopped up like he was going to prove the point.

Only he stumbled three feet to the side.

A goliath who swayed.

I jumped up and rushed to his side. “Whoa there, cowboy. You keep it up, and you’re definitely going down.”

He leaned against me, slinging his arm over my shoulders.

The man heavy and hard and pure masculinity.

He staggered a bit, and I struggled to keep him upright, because holy crap, he was made of brick.

Suddenly, his nose was in my hair. “Why you gotta smell so good, Mags? And this dress.”

My brain was short-circuiting with him this close.

With the words that slipped from his mouth so errantly.

With the way his fingertips grazed over the silky fabric in the barest brush.

Wildfire.

It consumed my flesh.

But it was my heart that was at risk.

Because there was no missing the most glaring truth—I felt no fear when Rhys Manning was pressed up against me.

For the first time since I was fifteen, a man touching me didn’t send me into a tailspin. Even the barest brush would leave me with the sense of fight or flight, something that usually pitched me into a panic attack.

With Rhys? It was nonexistent.

The same way as it’d been that night all those months ago when he’d had me on the dance floor. When I’d sworn there was something swirling around us. An intensity that shimmered and shined and glowed in the space.

It was something he’d acknowledged today.

What I needed to remember was in the same second, he’d shot it down. Said it couldn’t happen.

No question, he was right.

“Let’s get you inside, big guy,” I muttered while I internally chastised myself for itching to run my hands all over his body.

“You’re too good. Too good,” he mumbled, close to incoherent. There was something in his tone. Something weaved in remorse.

“No, Rhys,” I told him. “I’m not.”

Somehow, I managed to grab the empty bottle and keep him upright at the same time.

“So good,” he slurred at the side of my head. “So pretty. Oh, you could fuck me up, Sweet Thing.”

I gulped down the need and focused on getting him back to the house because clearly, he was saying things he was going to regret in the morning.

I managed to guide him to the boardwalk, and the sounds of the house became more distinct.

Music thrumming.

Laughter ringing.

Hardly any time had passed, but it felt like hours.

He clung to me as we slowly moved up the planks, my feet bare, his footsteps clomping in his boots.

I left my shoes because there was no chance I could balance those, too.

“Up you go,” I said when we made it to the steps that led onto the deck.

He lumbered up.

“I’ve got you,” I promised.

“Course you do,” he rumbled.

I started for the back door.

“Side door.”

Right. I probably didn’t need the headache of explaining away my helping a drunk Rhys through the door.

Not that I wouldn’t gladly do it.

But it was more that Rhys didn’t need an audience. He didn’t need the questions when it was clear he’d fallen apart.