Beneath the Stars (Falling Stars 4)

It was all flirty playfulness underscored by self-loathing.

“That picture was nothing, Rhys. There’s no reason for you to feel guilty over it.”

Okay. Maybe the picture meant something. But the article surrounding it? Total B.S. I’d rolled my eyes when Royce had asked me about it. He’d been worried I’d be upset or harmed by it in some way, which was ridiculous.

The only thing I worried about right then was Rhys.

“Don’t want to drag you into my mess, Maggie.”

“Life is messy, Rhys. It doesn’t matter who I’m with or who I care about. They are going to have messy bits. Just like I have mine.”

“I just wish mine weren’t so ugly.” Pain infiltrated his words, and he blew out a sigh.

“I think it’s safe to say we all do. And all of us make mistakes.”

Except he no longer felt like one.

His head shook in soft disbelief, in slow affection, in the warmest kind of greed.

I struggled to breathe around it.

His need and intensity and the sadness that continued to ooze from his spirit.

“I just want to be here for you, Rhys. In any way that you’ll let me.”

He rubbed a hand over his face, and I shifted a bit, drawn to the man who writhed in turmoil even though he was sitting still.

“What happened today that dimmed your light? That picture couldn’t have bothered you that much. You’ve been photographed with women a million times.”

His smile was grim. “Yeah. But none of those women were you.” He edged forward a fraction, the man towering over me in the chair.

Big and bold and brutal.

He peered at me through the shadows. Desperately. Like he was trying to sear his truth into my psyche. “There are people who don’t care for me much, Maggie. People who look for any reason to make my life hell. People who don’t mind hurtin’ the ones I care about to get to me.”

Shock reared me back. “Someone’s after you?”

Surrender shook his head. “No, Sweet Thing. Not after me. They already have me.”

I’m standing still.

What he’d said the other day suddenly made sense.

Unable to stop myself, I shifted onto my hands and knees. Needing to get closer. Like the man had caught me by the soul.

“Why?”

Like he felt the same, he moved, too, sliding down the front of the chair until he was sitting on the floor.

His booted feet were planted on the carpet, his knees spread wide as he rested his arms on top of them.

Three feet separated us.

A world. A chasm.

A breath. A whisper. The simplest, sweetest kiss.

My stomach tightened, and I tried to rein the thoughts that stampeded. Urges that pounded through the atmosphere and became something palpable.

Swirling and spinning.

A call I wanted to heed.

“Already told you, I have a tendency to hurt the ones I love most.”

Agony twisted through his features, and then he drove his fingers through his hair. He yanked at the longer pieces, and anguished laughter ripped up his throat. “Growing up, only thing I ever wanted was to be the good guy. Decent. Make the world a better place than it was. Make my parents proud.”

Grief covered him when he lifted his face to look at me. I crawled toward him. Just an inch. Carefully. Recklessly.

“I’m sure your dad was proud of you, and I know your mom is. I’ve seen her look at you, Rhys. How could she not be proud of you? Look at you. Look at who you’ve become. Look at all you’ve achieved.”

He choked over his misery. “I tried to, Maggie. Tried to make them proud. My daddy…he always told me how proud he was of me.”

Sorrow twisted his mouth, though a grieved smile made its way to it. His stare went far away.

Like he was back in that time. His words came like a quieted confession. “He used to tell me I was strong as a horse. That I could stand up and fight for anyone who needed it.”

I moved for him. Unwilling and unable to keep the distance. I was on my knees between his legs when my fingertips grazed over the raging beat of his heart from over the flannel button-down he wore.

It ran wild.

Unhinged.

Untamed.

“Stallion.” The full meaning of it came as a whisper from my tongue.

God.

The weight of it was brutal.

How he tossed it around like banter.

Like a joke.

I knew then he really meant it as an insult.

I felt the mockery of what he’d made of his father’s love in a way that might destroy me. But like I’d realized before, Rhys Manning was worth the pain.

We met each other’s gazes, and I nearly crumbled when a tear slipped from his eye and streaked for his beard.

This unruly, savage beast with the softest, kindest heart. A heart that was so broken I wasn’t sure how to hold all the fractured pieces.

I let my thumb trace the moisture, riding up until I was cupping his rugged, gorgeous face. He curled his hand around my wrist. Like he didn’t know whether he wanted to shove me off or hold me closer. “I tried, Maggie. Tried to protect them all. Tried, and I failed, and there’s this hole…”