Home > Beneath the Stars (Falling Stars #4)(8)

Beneath the Stars (Falling Stars #4)(8)
Author: A.L. Jackson

The urge to apologize was overwhelming. To explain what couldn’t be explained.

I knew it’d hurt her. Not returning a single one of her calls. I’d heard it clear in her honeyed voice that had whispered her worry through the line when she’d left a handful of messages over the last six months, her concern stark, all mixed up with this fear and confusion of who I was.

Like she’d known she should stay away but didn’t know how.

Might have been a dick move, but I figured the least I could do was dodge that bullet for her.

Hell, I was the one who’d fired it in the first place.

I’d known from the get-go I never should have taken her there. Never should have put her in that position. Not when she’d made me feel the way she had.

We climbed the five steps, and our feet echoed on the marble tile as we stepped inside. The house was this rambling, white gleaming show of extravagance.

Maggie paused in the middle of the foyer that was half the size of my mama’s house back home, the girl taking in the two-story wall of windows that overlooked the Atlantic Ocean.

Over the mesmerizing ebb and flow of the waves that could barely be heard from where we stood.

“It’s beautiful.” Her voice was filled with all the awe that surrounded the girl.

Her peace.

Her beauty.

My insides shook.

I just kept lookin’ at the stunning line of her profile where I stood three feet behind her and off to the side. “Yeah.”

She peeked over her shoulder. Charcoal eyes flashed. Like they were sketching me. Soft, soft pencil-strokes that wanted to write their own story.

“Isn’t it funny how looking at the sea makes you feel so small? Like how all your problems suddenly seem insignificant in the grand scheme of things?”

There was something knowing in the way she said it. In the tilt of her head that took me in like she was readin’ me. Like her spirit had direct access to mine and there wasn’t a fuckin’ thing I could hide.

Before I could respond, she turned away and heaved her bags back onto her shoulders. “Do you know which room is mine?”

I shook myself from the stupor. Pulled my shit together because I couldn’t be losin’ control again. “Yep. I got you covered, Sweet Thing. Right this way. Hope you’re okay with spending the next three months bunked right next to me. Sharin’ a bathroom, too.”

Shea Stone had made the suggestion to put all the families with children on one wing and those without on the other.

I should have complained.

Found a way to explain why it was a bad idea.

Maybe told a tale or two about how I actually loved the idea of being woken up every night by crying babies.

Supes fun.

I hadn’t.

Those eyes flared.

Concern and attraction.

She seemed to steel herself and lifted her chin. “I guess I’m going to have to be, aren’t I?”

“Good.” Angling around her sweet body, I headed for the grand staircase that curved as it made its way for the second floor, my heavy boots echoing loud against the shiny floors. I hoisted the ridiculously heavy bags higher onto my shoulders and lifted the wheeled suitcase so I could carry it. I tossed a glance at her as she started up behind me. “You need any help?”

Maggie all but rolled her eyes. “I think I’m plenty capable of carrying a couple bags upstairs. You and my brother are going to have to give it up.”

A grin pulled at the corner of my mouth. “And what are we supposed to give up?”

“Treating me like a child.”

Against my better judgment, which clearly was lackin’, my eyes raked her. Head to toe.

“Don’t look much like a child to me. Besides, my mama would have my ass if I didn’t act like a gentleman.” I let the tease wind into the last.

She edged farther up the staircase, and I guess I didn’t really realize all that beauty had brought me to a complete standstill until she was right there, in front of me, brushing by with a whisper of that seductive voice as she passed, “And just exactly how does a gentleman treat a woman, Rhys Manning?”

It rang of shy seduction.

A surge of that energy erupted in the air.

A silent boom that held enough power to blast through my insides.

Something that wrapped me whole and thudded my heart in an errant beat.

Fuck me.

I was pretty sure Maggie Fitzgerald had been sent to torture me.

A penalty.

Punishment.

She’d made it to the top landing by the time I finally regained coherency from the spell she had me under. I forced myself into action, hurrying behind her like a panting dog with his tongue hangin’ out.

Hell, was pretty sure my tail was waggin’, too.

When she got to the top, I called, “To the right, Sweet Thing…and then you’re gonna be the second door on the right.”

She headed that way, and I’d caught up to her by the time she made it to her room. Before she had the chance to step inside, I let loose the grumble of a confession. “That’s what I was tryin’ to do, you know?”

She paused at the threshold to look back.

Girl slaying me with a glance.

A riot broke out in my guts. This war of regret and guilt at odds with the hope and need she sparked.

Bad, bad combination.

What the fuck was she doin’ to me?

“What?” she asked.

“Respect you.”

Disbelief filled her expression before she turned and moved into her room, the disappointment in her mumbled words echoing off the walls as she dropped her bags and took in her surroundings, “Is that how friends show respect? Ignoring them for months?”

Shutting the door behind me, I set her things on the floor, and then I gave into that bit of bad behavior by easing up behind her where she’d gone to stand in front of the flowy, translucent drapes that covered the balcony doors. She’d nudged them open a fraction to look out at the view of the ocean below.

Rays of glittering light streaked through.

Illuminating the girl like a dream.

Lust jumped into my bloodstream and seeped all the way to my bones.

I had to suppress a groan. It didn’t matter that my mind hadn’t strayed from her for the last six months, that she’d affected me in a way she couldn’t, knew full well taking of this sweet, shy, innocent girl would be nothing short of savage gluttony.

My dick needed to simmer the fuck down.

Still, I was inching forward. Drawn into her space. Filling my senses with that sweet, sweet scent.

Jasmine and vanilla.

My voice was gruff when I leaned in and whispered at her ear, “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

A chill rolled down her spine and that tight body trembled.

Took my all not to press my front to her back. Not to reach out and trace the path of that shiver with my fingertips.

“But you did,” she whispered.

Girl shocked me by turning around to face me.

Stealing my breath and a bit of that sanity, too.

“But you did,” she repeated. “I was worried about you.”

“Didn’t want you to be.”

She scoffed out something that sounded like frustration. “You can’t just make that decision for me. Whether I care about you or not.”

My head barely shook. “You and I both know that whatever went down on that dance floor was crossing a line that can’t be crossed. I’m not the kind of guy you should care about. I’ll only end up hurting you. That night should have been proof enough. Only thing I’m good for is a good time.”

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