Page 17 of Star Rucked Lovers

They padded back into the bedroom, the cool air a stark contrast to the steamy warmth of the bathroom. Myst slipped on a plush robe while George pulled on his boxers. She watched him as he moved around the room, his muscles flexing beneath his tattoos, his hair damp and disheveled. He was ruggedly handsome, yes, but there was also a comforting presence about him, a solidity that she found herself drawn to.

George caught her staring and raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “See something you like?” he asked.

Myst laughed, feeling her cheeks flush slightly. “Maybe,” she admitted, crawling onto the bed and sitting cross-legged.

He joined her, stretching out on his side, propping his head up with one arm. His eyes traced patterns over her face, as if he were trying to memorize every detail. “You’re beautiful, Myst,” he said softly. “Inside and out.”

She felt her heart flutter at his words, her cheeks flushing slightly at the compliment. “And you’re not so bad yourself, George Dennis,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. She reached out, tracing the line of his jaw with her fingertips, feeling the rough stubble against her skin.

George captured her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm before entwining their fingers together. “You know, when I first met you, I never imagined we’d end up here,” he admitted, his thumb absently rubbing circles against her hand.

“Neither did I,” Myst confessed. “But I’m glad we did.”

They shared a soft smile, their eyes locked onto each other, the connection between them palpable. It was more than just physical attraction; it was a meeting of souls, a recognition of something deeper and more profound.

“So, what now?” George asked, his voice tinged with both hope and uncertainty.

Myst took a deep breath, her gaze never leaving his. “Now, we take it one step at a time. We explore this... whatever this is between us. And we see where it takes us.”

George nodded, his expression serious. “I like the sound of that. But... what about your life? Your career? I don’t want to complicate things for you.”

Myst’s expression softened, and she leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. “You’re worth the complication, George. And as for my career... I’ve always been private about my personal life. We’ll figure it out. Together.”

George’s face broke into a wide grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Together,” he echoed, pulling her down beside him. Myst snuggled into his embrace, her head resting on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

Chapter Six

Myst hopped off theferry dock onto the cobblestone path outside the Tower of London, her black boots clicking against the stone as she spun around to face George. She clasped her hands behind her back, narrowing her eyes in mock seriousness as he approached.

“Welcome, sir, to the illustrious Tower of London,” she declared, her voice lilting with theatrical pomp. “I’ll be your tour guide today. Prepare to marvel at my encyclopaedic knowledge of… well, absolutely nothing.”

George grinned, his hands stuffed casually into the pockets of his coat. The brisk winter wind had tousled his sandy hair, and the faintest flush coloured his cheeks. “Nothing, huh? Sounds promising,” he teased, arching a brow. “I hope the price of admission isn’t too steep.”

“Oh, it’s free,” Myst replied with a dramatic wave of her arm, leading him toward the entrance. “But I do accept tips in the form of compliments. Something like, ‘Wow, you’re so incredibly talented and humble, Myst,’ or, ‘My life is better when you’re around.’ You know, standard stuff.”

“Right,” he said, chuckling as he followed her through the arched gate. “You drive a hard bargain, but I think I can manage that.”

Inside, the ancient stone walls loomed around them, carrying whispers of history and shadows of intrigue. Myst tilted her head and squinted up at one of the towers. “Did you know this place used to be… uh… some kind of mega-prison?” she guessed, gesturing vaguely. “Pretty sure kings locked up all their enemies here. Or maybe just people who annoyed them.”

“Is that right?” George folded his arms, clearly enjoying her wildly inaccurate commentary. “And what about that building over there?” He nodded toward another structure.

“That?” Myst waved dismissively. “Oh, that’s the… er… dragon stables. Where they kept their pet dragons, obviously.”

“Obviously.” George’s deep laugh echoed against the stone walls, and Myst couldn’t help but grin at the sound of it; rich, unguarded, and entirely infectious.

They meandered through the exhibits until they reached the Crown Jewels. Myst pressed her face closer to the glass case, her pale blue eyes wide. “Look at that sparkle! Who even needs that many diamonds?”

“Reckon you could pull it off,” George said, leaning slightly over her shoulder. His voice dropped into an exaggerated stage whisper. “Should I ask if you can borrow something? Maybe a tiara for your next gig?”

“Don’t tempt me,” Myst murmured, biting back a smile. “Although my crown would probably have to come with a microphone attachment.”

“Very on brand,” George quipped. “What about me? Think I could rock the royal look?”

“Absolutely. A sceptre would really complete your ‘rugby royalty’ aesthetic,” Myst shot back. She turned to him, her eyes sparkling nearly as brightly as the priceless jewels behind the glass. “Who needs fame when we can just steal these and live out our days on the run, Bonnie and Clyde style?”

“Tempting offer,” he said, smirking. “But I think I’ll stick to rugby for now.”

Later, perched on a riverside bench, Myst balanced a paper tray of fish and chips on her lap, trying not to let any stray grease touch her coat. George was beside her, sitting back with one long leg casually stretched out, his own tray already half-empty.

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