Beneath the Stars (Falling Stars 4)

I wanted to whisper in his ear that I did.

That I dreamed of it again and again.

I wanted to confess I didn’t think I was ever going to stop.

Before I did, I pushed to standing and held out my hand. “Let’s get you into bed.”

I helped him up, which was a feat in itself, getting the giant of a man upright.

He rose to his hulking height.

Imposing.

Powerful.

All bristling muscle and wide shoulders and endless temptation. He made a pit stop at the sink and rinsed his mouth with mouthwash, and then he let me help him into his darkened room.

Even without any light, I could tell it was a wild mess. A bull unleashed. The man untamed.

“Just wanna lie down. Can you help me?” he muttered as we stumbled toward his bed.

He started tugging for his shirt. What in the world? Was he going to strip right there?

“Rhys.” I hesitated. At a loss for protocol.

He cracked a crooked grin. “Most women don’t have so many reservations about helpin’ me into bed.”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not like most women.”

“Believe me, Sweet Thing, I noticed then I keep noticing all over again.”

Slay. Slay. Slay.

The man was wrecking me.

I managed to help him sit on the edge of the mattress. “There we go, big guy.”

“Old guy, you mean,” he ribbed, his words garbled as I knelt to unlace his boots.

Beautiful guy, I wanted to say. Or maybe I wanted to show it, the way I felt the urge to set my hands on his knees and run them up his muscular thighs.

Explore the way I’d never explored before.

Heat blistered through the air.

Could he feel it?

The crush of emotion?

I dropped my head and forced myself to pay attention to the task, made myself a promise that I would get him into bed and get the heck out of there before I made a complete fool of myself.

I tugged his shoes from his feet, one and then the other, the bulk of them thumping onto the floor when I got them free.

Rhys moaned, though this time it was throaty, something that sounded a whole lot like pleasure.

Damn.

My hands were shaking when I eased up higher and grabbed the hem of his shirt so I could help him get it over his head.

Our proximity was far too close for comfort.

I could taste each of his ragged breaths.

The Jager he had drank and something headier. The country boy that was all man invading the space. That energy snapped.

Wrapped me like chains.

My insides twisted and my heart battered against my ribs.

Carefully, I peeled the fabric up.

Oh god, was the man pretty.

Massive arms and wide, wide chest.

Abdomen this work of art, divine divots and masculine lines.

The whole of him was covered in ink, and I had the urge to trace the lines with my fingers. Maybe follow the designs with my tongue.

Standing up, I shifted his legs around and managed to get him mostly onto the bed.

“Jeans,” he grumbled low.

Anxiety held me before I sucked in a steeling breath then climbed onto the mattress because apparently, I’d lost all self-control.

Self-preservation gone poof with a flash of that smile.

Straddling his legs, I ticked through the buttons of his fly.

I tried not to die right there when I started to drag them down.

If I thought the top half of him was pretty…

I averted my gaze because Jesus, Mags, when did you become a pervert?

That was so not my speed.

I managed to get his jeans the rest of the way off without stealing another peek.

Like I might catch fire, I fumbled off the bed, rushing for safer ground.

I looked down at him. The man’s gorgeous chest rose and fell in spastic quakes.

He was already asleep.

Guess he hadn’t been affected, after all.

I started to slip from his room, then froze with the gruffness of his voice. “Stay.”

“Rhys.”

“Please.”

Crap.

I chewed my lip, contemplating this craziness. I made the quick decision and acted on it before I could talk any sense into myself.

“I’ll be right back.”

I was already tossing my dress to the floor by the time I’d cut through the bathroom and into my room. I pulled open the top drawer of the dresser, and I quickly changed into sleep pants and a t-shirt, careful to make sure everything was covered.

I darted back into his room. I left the bathroom door open a crack so a sliver of light could shine through.

My way back to sanity.

Then I was back to standing at the edge of the opulent bed.

The humungous bed covered in rich linens and silky sheets.

But it was the man lying in the middle of it that stole the show.

Country to the core. Rough and raw. Tough and rugged.

It was clear the man was no stranger to working with his hands.

And I liked it…liked that unbridled intensity. The fact he was so different from the men in LA.