Page 10 of Star Rucked Lovers

“Most people don’t pay attention,” George replied. “But I’m not most people.”

“Clearly,” she teased, the light returning to her eyes. “Most people wouldn’t survive a night in those cameras.”

“Yeah, well,” he said, leaning back with a dramatic sigh. “Not all heroes wear capes. Some of us just wear green and gold.”

“Rugby hero,” she said again, but this time her tone was different, softer, almost tender. She reached up, tucking a stray strand of dark hair behind her ear, and smiled at him in a way that made his chest tighten. “You’re full of surprises, George Dennis.”

“Right back at you,” he murmured, unable to look away.

The air between them shifted, charged with something unspoken but undeniable. Myst’s hand lingered on the cushion between them, close enough that George could feel its warmth. For a fleeting moment, he thought about closing the distance, about what it would mean to take that step. But instead, he stayed where he was, waiting, hoping, for her to make the call.

Myst’s laugh was soft, almost a whisper against the quiet hum of the suite. She leaned back into the plush couch, her knees tucked beneath her, watching George with that half-smile that had undone him from the moment they met. “Alright, rugby hero,” she said, tilting her head, her dark hair spilling over one shoulder like silk. “What’s it gonna take to get you to stop looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” George asked, his voice low and gravelly. He was perched on the edge of the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped like he was bracing for impact. He wasn’t entirely sure when the room had started feeling smaller, or warmer, but it had.

“Like I’m some kind of mystery you’re trying to solve,” Myst replied, her pale blue eyes narrowing playfully. But there was something else there too, something quieter, more vulnerable, tucked just beneath the surface.

“Maybe youarea mystery,“ he shot back, his lips curving into a slow smile. “And maybe I like solving things.”

“Careful,” she warned, leaning forward just enough to close an inch or two of the space between them. Her voice was teasing, but her gaze held steady, locked onto his as if daring him to look away. “You might not like what you find.”

“Somehow, I doubt that.”

The words came out softer than he intended, and the weight of them hung in the air between them, heavy but not uncomfortable. George felt his pulse quicken, the steady thrum of his heart suddenly louder than it had any right to be. He should’ve looked away, or laughed it off, but instead, he stayed where he was, rooted in place by the sheer pull of her.

She moved first, closing the distance in a way that felt effortless, natural. One moment she was sitting there, her hand resting lightly on the cushion between them, and the next, her fingers were brushing his arm, tentative but warm. The contact sent a shiver up his spine, and before he could stop himself, he reached for her, his palm sliding over hers, holding it like it was something delicate.

“George,” she murmured, her voice barely audible now. It didn’t sound like a question, or even a statement. More like a name she was still getting used to saying, testing how it felt on her tongue.

“Yeah?” His throat felt tight, his voice rougher than usual. She was so close now that he could see the faintest freckles across her nose, the way her lashes cast tiny shadows on her cheeks.

“Nothing.” She shook her head slightly, her smile softening as her free hand found its way to his chest. Her fingers curled around the fabric of his shirt, tugging gently. Not enough to pull him closer, but enough to let him know she wanted him to be.

“That doesn’t seem like nothing,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. But the humour in his voice was fleeting, quickly replaced by something deeper as he leaned in, just enough for their foreheads to brush.

“Don’t ruin it,” she whispered, her breath warm against his cheek. And before he could respond, she closed the gap completely, pressing her lips to his.

The kiss was slow at first, tentative. A careful meeting of worlds neither of them fully understood yet. But it didn’t stay that way for long. George’s hand slid up her back, his fingers tangling in the waves of her hair as she shifted closer, her body molding against his. The taste of her lingered on his lips: something sweet and unexpected, like honey and citrus.

“God, Myst,” he muttered against her mouth, his voice breaking slightly as she climbed into his lap. Her weight settled against him, light and grounding all at once, and the feel of her small hands roaming across his shoulders sent heat coursing through him. One of her hands slid down to the hem of his shirt, and without thinking, he helped her yank it over his head, fumbling the cufflinks free before tossing it somewhere behind them.

“Rugby hero indeed,” she teased, her words breathless as her fingertips traced the lines of his chest, lingering over old scars and the taut muscle beneath. But her smile faltered slightly as her eyes flicked back up to meet his. There was still laughter there, but also hesitation; just enough to remind him that this was new territory for both of them.

“Am I supposed to say thank you?” he joked, though his tone was softer now, matching hers. His hands rested lightly on her hips, and he couldn’t help but marvel at how perfectly she fit there, like she’d been made to sit exactly where she was.

“Maybe later,” she replied, dropping her forehead to his shoulder with a quiet laugh. For a moment, they simply stayed like that. Her arms draped loosely around his neck, his hands steady against her sides, as the intensity ebbed and flowed between them.

“Hey,” he said after a while, his voice quieter now. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, lifting her head just enough to meet his eyes again. Her smile returned, smaller but no less genuine. “I just… I don’t want to mess this up.”

“Me neither,” he admitted, his thumb brushing idly along the curve of her waist. And it was true, he didn’t. Whatever this was, whatever it could be, he wanted it to matter.

For now, though, they didn’t need to figure it all out. For now, they had this, the quiet, messy, beautiful in-between, and neither of them was ready to let it go just yet.

Chapter Four

Myst stirred, the softweight of a woolen throw slipping from her shoulder as a low groan escaped her lips. Her body felt stiff, her neck bent at an awkward angle, and it took her a few seconds to orient herself. The couch. She was on the couch.

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