Tucker

by Juliana Stone

  Dean’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Ah, yeah, I guess. Early road trip out to LA in the morning.”

  “All right then.” Tucker moved aside and for a moment, no one moved. He felt Abby’s eyes on him but didn’t take his off Kendrick.

  “We were in the middle of a conversation, Tucker,” Abby said.

  “I know,” Tucker replied, “But Dean here needs to go.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Abby’s eyes widened as a hint of pissed off crossed her face.

  Tucker wished he was. He wished he didn’t feel all the stuff going on inside him. And maybe he was acting like a fucking Neanderthal, dragging his knuckles along the floor, but he couldn’t help it.

  Dean cleared his throat, shook his head slightly and then smiled at Abby. “Okay. I guess I should be getting home. Nothing like getting to bed before nine on a Wednesday evening.” He shot a dark look at his agent. “But hockey comes first.”

  He bent and kissed Abby’s cheek, and if Tucker was all sorts of twisted up before, right now he was ready to bounce something off the wall, and Dean Kendrick’s head looked pretty damn good.

  “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into Tucker. But remember what I said?” Abby said softly.

  Dean chuckled. “Will do.” He nodded to Tucker. “See you at our meeting next week, Mr. Simon.” And then he disappeared in the crowd.

  “Okay, what the hell was that all about?”

  Tucker’s eyes moved from the back of Kendrick’s head to the flashing brown eyes that stared up at him. Okay, she was pissed. Seems as if he was two for two tonight.

  “Nothing,” he said. “The guy needs his rest.” Weak, he knew, but it was all he had.

  “Bullshit. You were rude to him. You were more than rude. You were unprofessional and rude. Dean Kendrick is probably your biggest client and one of the nicest guys I know. He doesn’t deserve to be treated like a five-year-old the night before a big game. And considering he was doing you a favor by showing up to this charity shin-dig, you owe him an apology.”

  Wait. What?

  “How the hell would you know if Dean Kendrick is nice or not? You’ve met him, what, twice? Maybe three times?”

  “First of all, that has nothing to do with it, and secondly, you don’t know everything there is to know about me.” Something flashed in her eyes and for a second Tucker thought that maybe they were arguing about something totally different.

  “Dean is into art, Tucker. Art. He’s into sketching and painting and we’ve had more than a few conversations about it.”

  “When the hell have you had time to have conversations with Dean Kendrick about art? He’s a hockey player in the NHL, for Christ sake. Since when does he have time for someone like you?” Okay was he crazy? Or just losing it? Had he missed something?

  Abby’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. And then she took a step forward and thumped him in the chest. She thumped him hard enough to move him back an inch or so, and there was a collective gasp from the crowd that surrounded them.

  So much for not making a scene.

  “I can’t believe you just said that. What do you mean someone like me? You don’t think I’m good enough for Dean Kendrick?” Abby blew out a loud breath, tugging a strand of hair from her face.

  “I heard her, you know.” Abby bit out. “I’m sure everyone in this place heard her. Sonya Devonish. Is she right? Am I just a bartender that you’re fucking?”

  Shocked, Tucker stared down at a woman who had gone way beyond pissed. Hell, they were so far into unknown territory right now that he had no idea how to get them back. How had his evening nosedived into the toilet in just under ten minutes?

  “Abby.”

  “Don’t Abby me. This whole thing was a mistake. It’s all a mistake.”

  Tucker didn’t give a flying fuck that they were in the middle of one of the Simon Foundation’s biggest fundraisers. He didn’t care that all around them, people pretended to have conversations while trying not to look as if they were listening in on him and Abby.

  He didn’t give a shit about any of that, because all of a sudden he was filled with something that made his chest tight. Something that heated his blood and pressed onto his heart.

  It was big and it was green and it was ugly.

  He was jealous as hell, and it was time that he faced the fact that Abby Matthews was in his life. That she’d somehow bled into parts of him that he thought were protected. Parts of him that he thought were dead.

  He didn’t have time to analyze or think about the facts. He needed to get her alone.

  “Come with me.”

  “What? No way. I’m not going anywhere with you. I don’t even know why I came to this thing.”

  But he didn’t give her the option. He scooped her up, tossed her over his shoulder—a fucking caveman move if ever there was one—and headed toward the lobby.

  He ignored all the gasps, the whispers and pointed fingers. He ignored the look of holy-fucking-shit on his brother Jack’s face. It was hard, but he ignored the squirming woman on his shoulder and the screech when he pressed his hand into her ass to keep her steady.

  He even ignored her attempts to bite him.

  He ignored all of it and walked out of the Terrace Room and headed toward the elevator. Once the doors closed behind him, he slowly let her down, his eyes on the frantic pulse at her neck.

  Abby opened her mouth to speak but he shook his head and something in his eyes got to her, because nothing came out. He moved forward until he crowded her into the wall, until he could practically hear her heart banging against her chest. Until he could smell the shampoo in her hair and the musk on her skin.

  He placed both of his hands on either side of her and before she could say a word, he silenced her with his mouth.

  Tucker Simon kissed Abby Mathews long and he kissed her hard. He kissed her as if she was the air he breathed or the life in his veins. He inhaled her. He devoured her. And when he finally dragged his mouth away, both of them were panting.

  For a few seconds, the only noise he heard was the roaring of his blood as it pounded in his ears. He didn’t hear the bell ring or the elevator doors slide open. He didn’t even hear the slap of her hand across his skin, but the burn of her palm on his cheek was enough to snap him out of whatever the hell it was that had taken him over.

  “I hate you,” she whispered.

  And then she was gone, sliding past him and the startled couple waiting to get into the elevator.

  The look in Abby’s eyes tore at him and suddenly the green-eyed monster was nothing compared to what gripped him now. Because what gripped him now was fear. Fear that he’d blown it. Fear that, once again, he was losing something.

  Something that he thought maybe he’d grown to love.

  Chapter Twenty

  Abby tore out of The Plaza Hotel and jumped into the first taxi that she saw. She was so angry and confused and angry that she could barely give the taxi driver her address. Light bulbs flashed in her face as paparazzi shouted at her for a smile. A wave. A name!

  A smile? A goddamn smile?

  She wanted to cry and she had no idea what the hell had just happened.

  “Are you okay, Miss?” the taxi driver asked as he pulled away.

  Hell. No.

  “I’m great,” she answered woodenly, eyes on her hands. “Never been better.”

  She said no more because there were no words. How could she vocalize the paralyzing emotion inside of her? She didn’t say anything to Lisa when she walked through the door of their apartment. She gave her roommate the hand and headed for her bedroom, the beautiful dress she’d been so excited for Tucker to see catching the door when she slammed it shut.

  Some incoherent sound welled up from her chest, and she yanked on the material so hard that the dress ripped. Staring down at the tattered end, she sank to the floor, shaking, the ball of emotion in her chest threatening to break free.

  What. The. Hell.

  She’d been lookin
g forward to this night all week and now? Now it was done and over, and it hadn’t even begun. It had crashed and burned and—her hands flew to her cheeks—it had crashed and burned in en epic way.

  “Oh God,” she whispered.

  Abby Mathews didn’t do meltdowns. Not even when Allison Getty had snapped inappropriate pictures of Abby in her underwear and sent them to members of their high school football team. Not even then.

  Jesus, she’d just had the most intense fight ever, right in the middle of the Terrace Room at the Plaza. What would Tucker’s family think?

  A knock sounded at her door and she froze.

  “Abby, you gotta let me in.” It was Tucker.

  Seconds ticked by, seconds that turned into minutes.

  “Abby, please. We need to talk. I…we really need to talk.”

  She glanced up at the door and felt a spark of heat hit her in the chest. Something was still alive inside her, and it was that something that forced Abby to her feet. It was that something that let her open the door.

  And it was that something that twisted hard, until she had to look away from him. Moving out of the way, she let Tucker into her bedroom and then closed the door again.

  “I’m surprised Lisa let you into the apartment.” Good. She sounded normal. Calm even.

  “A hundred bucks will do it,” he answered and her eyes shot up to his.

  “Just kidding,” Tucker said softly. “I told her that I wasn’t leaving and I’d sleep on the front doorstep if she didn’t let me in.”

  “She should have left you out there.”

  “It’s cold.”

  “I know.”

  “Actually, it’s November so it’s more than cold. It’s freezing.”

  “Good. Even better.” Abby tugged at a knot in her hair, afraid to ask but just as afraid not to. “What the hell just happened, Tucker?”

  He cleared his throat. Ran his hand through the hair at his nape, hair that he’d let grow out. Hair that only last night she’d gripped between her fingers when they’d made love.

  Damn. They’d been so close. As close as a man and woman could be without…

  Without saying the three words that could bring them even closer. I. Love. You.

  Suddenly overwhelmed, Abby turned away and muttered. “Never mind.”

  When does he have time for someone like you?

  Those had been Tucker’s words. Words that pretty much said it all. Someone like you. Someone who doesn’t matter. And that’s exactly what this was about. At least for her.

  Abby was smart enough to know there was a whole lot more going on than a few choice words that hurt. Ever since that first night that she’d stayed over at Tucker’s, she’d been walking on glass. Afraid to be happy. Afraid of not being happy. Afraid of being afraid.

  Afraid of loving him.

  Afraid of never being loved in return. It was exhausting, pretending that everything was perfect, because perfect was nothing more than an illusion. She loved this man and he— She had no idea what was going on inside his head.

  “Hey.” His voice was low and had that bit of roughness she loved. She felt his warmth at her back and closed her eyes, wishing that she could melt into him and forget it all. But she couldn’t. Abby had her pride.

  His hands were on her shoulders. “I acted like an asshole.”

  “Yep.”

  “But Kendrick pissed me off.”

  She wiggled out of his hands and turned around so that she could face him. “Why?”

  His dark eyes studied her for the longest time, and then he shrugged. “I don’t like him touching you. I was…I was jealous.”

  “Jealous,” she repeated. That something inside her flipped around causing her heart to speed up and her face to burn. She had to shut that stuff down right now, because jealously didn’t mean any more than a loss of control. It wasn’t love. It was the fear of losing a possession.

  “He had his hand on you, and I didn’t like it.”

  “So you decided to throw me over your shoulder like fucking Tarzan and tear out of the Terrace Room of The Plaza Hotel in front of, I don’t know, 350 guests?”

  “400.”

  “What?” she snapped.

  “There were 400 guests.”

  Silence fell between them, and then Abby spoke, clearly and concisely. Mick would have been proud. “I can’t do this anymore.”

  “Abby.” He moved forward, but she moved back a step. “What the hell are you saying? I acted like a dick. I admit it. I was jealous as fuck and acted like a goddamn fifteen-year-old.” Tucker’s face was dark and intense, and he crowded her until the back of her legs pressed against her bed.

  Couldn’t he see what was inside her? Why couldn’t he see?

  “You’ve surprised me,” Tucker said, almost to himself.

  “What do you mean?”

  Jesus. Just tell him to leave and get it over with.

  His hand was now in her hair, and it took everything that she had not to lean into his touch. His other hand crept up and cupped her jaw, his thumb rolling over her bottom lip in a slow, sensual way.

  She was falling. There was no other way about it. She would fall into a puddle at his feet, and he could stomp all over her.

  “You, my friend, have knocked me on my ass.”

  “Take your hands off of me, Tucker. I can’t think straight when you’re touching me.”

  He grinned at that but didn’t let go. Instead he lowered his head until he was so close to her that she could count every single eyelash if she wanted to.

  “Abby, I was jealous as fuck because I don’t want another man touching you. I don’t want another man looking at you, and I sure as hell want to know if you’re having conversations about art with Dean Kendrick.” He drew in a ragged breath and Abby watched him, her heart pounding crazily. He had to see what was in her eyes. He had to know.

  “This thing between us has gone way past casual. It’s so far past casual that I’m…”

  “You’re?” Hope flared inside her. She couldn’t help it.

  “I’m thinking things that I never thought possible again. Ever.” His hands slid back along her jaw and he dipped his head so that his warm breath fell against her earlobe.

  “I’m thinking of the future. I’m thinking of a future with you in it.”

  Startled, Abby blinked rapidly. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that the last month has been incredible. I’m saying that when I wake up in the morning and you’re not there I don’t like it. I’m saying that the highlight of my day is when I come to the bar and watch you work, or meet you for dinner and then we go back to my place and have lots of hot sex.”

  She was breathless. There was no air inside her.

  “I’m saying that watching the way your eyes shimmer when you’re about to come because I’m inside you is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” His mouth moved up her jawline so slowly that her toes curled by the time he made it to her lips.

  And then he murmured against her.

  “I’m saying that I want you to come up north to the cottage with me to celebrate Thanksgiving with my family and that when we come home…”

  God, she couldn’t think straight. “What?” she whispered into his mouth.

  “I want you to move in with me.”

  ***

  >“So you’re heading up to Canada with Tucker?”

  Abby cleaned out the lemon tray and nodded. “Yep.” It was the Tuesday night before the long weekend and the bar had been hopping. New York had seen its first snowfall and the city was coated in several inches of the white stuff. It was crisp and clear, and, for now, clean outside.

  With Christmas decorations twinkling from windows and Thanksgiving two days away, most of the city was in a good mood. Heck, Abby was in a great mood. She’d be in an even better mood once they were closed up, because she was off until after the holidays.

  She glanced up at her brother Mick, whose frown was as dark as the thick waves on top
of his head.

  “Jesus, Mick, have you looked like that all day or did someone just now shit in your cornflakes?”

  “Very funny.”

  She shrugged and grabbed the lime tray.

  Her roommate Lisa, slid up to the bar and sat her butt down. She was still nursing a beer, peeling the label back while she waited for Abby to finish.

  “Did she tell you that she’s moving in with him?” Lisa said quietly, eyes still on the label of her beer bottle.

  Abby’s head shot up, and if looks could kill, Lisa would be minus a head right now. She knew her roommate was worried that things were moving too fast between Abby and Tucker, but still, this was Abby’s decision, not Lisa’s. Besides, it’s not as if she was giving up her apartment. That would be stupid.

  “Abigail—“

  “Don’t start, Mick. I’m a big girl.” She narrowed her eyes as she glanced across the bar at Lisa. “And I haven’t made up my mind yet, but…”

  “But,” Mick prompted.

  “I’m thinking about it.”

  Mick tossed his rag onto the bar. “What the hell do you see in that guy? Jesus Christ, I know he’s pretty. I know he’s filthy rich, but Abigail—“

  “I hate when you call me Abigail.”

  “It’s your name.”

  “You sound just like Dad.”

  Mick grabbed her hand—gently—and she looked up at him, eyes shining, heart bursting inside her.

  “I love him, Mick.” There. She’d said the words out loud. “I love him,” she said again.

  Mick’s hand fell away. “Wow. I knew you were in deep, but I sure as shit didn’t know you were all in.”

  Abby let the tray fall back into the sink. “I’ve pretty much loved Tucker Simon since that first night he walked into this bar.” She nodded toward Lisa. “He sat there, he smiled up at me and I just…I just knew that he would change my life.”

  Oh. God. To hear the words come out of her own mouth. To own those words…that was life changing.

  For a moment there was silence, and then Mick spoke gruffly. “His situation is complicated.”

  She nodded.