From the Moment We Met (20 page)

“Why do you say that?”

It was a second question, but she answered it anyway.

“Because you showed me this spot first. And when you talked about watching the sunrise it was right over there.” She let her gaze fall to the view beyond the truck, where she could see him sitting on his big back porch, staring out at the sunset while drinking a beer. “This is where you stood when you decided to buy the land, right?”

Tanner stared at her for a long, tense moment, and that’s when she saw it. Something between them shifted, went from real to raw.

Tanner felt it too, because when he spoke his voice was husky. “I stood right there and looked out on the valley and it felt like . . .” He cleared his throat and gave a small laugh. “I don’t know, but it was enough for me to dump every penny I had in my pocket on this land.”

Abby had a pretty good idea what he felt. It was what she’d felt all those years ago when she was with him.

Needing to lighten the mood, she grabbed the washer.

Ping.

Clink.

“Full disclosure, Jack. I want to know. Was that
Sports Illustrated
photo doctored?”

Tanner let out a laugh, then sat forward. “You can’t say a word, but yes, it was.”

He crooked one finger at her, asking her to lean in. She did. How could she not? Hard Hammer Tanner photoshopped?

When they were nose to nose, he said, “They had to make the ball bigger,” then sat back with a smug-ass grin on his face.

“Bullshit!” She poked at his chest. “I call bullshit!”

Tanner grabbed her finger and did a little in-your-face action of his own, bringing their mouths a breath apart. “Prove it.”

Suddenly, Abby didn’t want to play the game. She didn’t want to bounce the stupid washer. She wanted
him
to prove it. She wanted him to take her in his arms and not stop until everything was okay again. She wanted him to—

“Tell me the truth,” she whispered past the lump in her throat. She picked up the washer and, eyes on him, sank it. “Why didn’t you turn me in?” When his forehead creased in confusion, she went on, surprised at how much talking about that time in her life still hurt. “You knew I put the mascot in your car, you had a picture, but you waited until after the game to turn me in. Why?”

Because once upon a time Abby had thought she’d spend the rest of her life with this man. Actually, twice. In high school she’d chalked it up to being young and inexperienced. But in college, after the most intense weekend of her life, she was convinced. Two incredible days and nights spent in his arms, talking about the future, their hopes and dreams, was enough for Abby to know, enough to allow herself to fall. Allow herself to stop being so afraid and believe that maybe she had found a happy ending to all of the sadness in her life.

She had been ready to tell him that she loved him—only before she could, he dropped the bomb that he was moving to New York. Buffalo had chosen him as their first-round draft pick, and he chose to move on without much more than a good-bye.

Tanner cupped her cheek, and when he spoke he looked her in the eyes.
No bullshit
, he was saying.

“You told me how you had found your mom’s dress and how you were going to alter and wear it for homecoming. I figured I’d pretty much messed up any chance of being with you, but I wanted you to wear that dress.”

It hadn’t been just any dress. It was the dress her mom had worn when she’d been crowned homecoming queen. It was also the dress her mom was wearing when she told Abby’s dad she loved him.

“But not telling cost you the University of Alabama,” she whispered.

His thumb slid across her lower lip, and he gave a small smile. “I have no regrets, Abby.”

Abby had a hard time believing somebody would give up an opportunity that huge for her. A chance to live out his dream for a stupid high school dance and a stupid dress.

“Most guys wouldn’t see it that way.”

Tanner was quiet for a moment, just watching her. He didn’t budge, didn’t lose his smile, but the earlier lightness in his expression was gone. Abby could feel the frustration spark and grow in its place, until it filled the narrow space between them. They were face-to-face, and yet she suddenly felt like she was on the other side of the mountain.

“When are you going to see I’m not most guys, Abs? Not with you, I’m not.”

A mixture of understanding and sadness—sadness for her—flicked across his face, and Abby had the sudden urge to just give in, tell him she believed him. Believed he was different and that this time it could work out for her. Because when he looked at her like that, as though making a silent promise to never let go, Abby wanted to believe.

But no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t. Life didn’t work out that way for her. Never had.

So to protect herself from the heartache, she did what she always did when confronted with something that would only lead to disappointment. She pulled back until it didn’t hurt to breathe.

Resting on her knees, she held out the washer. “You didn’t shoot.”

Tanner picked the washer out of her hand, his fingers rough against her skin. Holding out the shot, he paused, his blue eyes so intense, yet so gentle she found herself holding her breath.

“And Abs, seeing you in that dress was worth losing ten scholarships.”

“You saw me in my mom’s dress?” she asked around the knot forming in her throat. “You came?”

His answer was to hold up the washer. “My shot. My question.”

Ping.

Clink.

“You ready?” he whispered gently.

She nodded, then shook her head, then felt like crying. She didn’t know if she’d ever be ready.

“I need to know the truth. This is important. Are you really a damn Seahawks fan?”

There went that grin of his, double-barreled dimpled and so damn reassuring she felt herself start to laugh. Felt all of the disappointment and sadness fade into something lighter. Something hotter. Something fun and flirty.

Tanner had that effect on her. Always had. Even when they were kids he’d had a way of easing the hurt, making her laugh instead of cry. He used to say his job was to make her smile.

And Tanner always took his job seriously. And so did Abby. And it was time to get down to business.

Stepping to the ground, she stretched her hands behind her to grab the zipper of her dress, slowly tugging it lower until she was pretty sure one roll of the shoulder was all that stood between her and the night air.

Tanner knew it too. All humor gone, he stared at her with a quiet intensity, his eyes glued to her chest as though willing her to drop the dress.

Desire poured over her, and with a quirk of the lips she asked, “Want to see?”

Want to see what? Confirmation he was the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet?

Fuck yeah, he did. Tanner had waited ten years for this chance again. Ten long years, and he wasn’t going to let his dick run the show this time. Giving in to the desire had cost him Abby twice, and Tanner didn’t want to repeat history. Almost as much as he wanted her to lose the dress.

He’d wanted her to lose the dress the second she’d walked out on her front porch and the breeze caught the bottom of the skirt. The dress was a soft yellow, outlining her every curve, and had little straps and a deep neckline showing way too much and not nearly enough. Then there were her shoes—Jesus, her shoes were tall and slinky and when worn with that dress, it was a design to mess with a man’s mind.

And being that Tanner was a man, and Abby was one hundred percent woman, his mind had decided to take up residence in his pants. He opened his mouth to do the right thing—which was not taking her in the cab of his truck—and ended up holding out the tumbler and saying, “Darling, ‘want to see?’ is a question. And according to
your
rules, a question requires a sink.”

Challenge flashed in her eyes and Tanner found himself smiling. Nothing was sexier than Abby when she was feeling competitive. When he was the prize, she was damn near irresistible.

Without warning, Abby gave a circle with one shoulder, so small it had Tanner sitting up straight and holding his breath, praying it was enough. And—
ah, man
, he was toast—it was.

The strap slid down her arm, inch by inch, and when it hit her elbow it came down to a simple matter of mathematics.

Mass plus velocity meant Tanner was about to see, once and for all, if the kick pants matched the pom-poms.

And thank God math skills did translate to the real world because, like clockwork, the dress slid to the grass in one glorious swoop, leaving her in those mile-high heels, tan skin, and enough hometown pride to make his heart swell.

He’d had his share of fantasies over the years involving Abby and her pom-poms, but watching her finger trace the scalloped edge of red lace on her bra, while she walked toward him in what he could only call do-me pumps, ranked right up there with playing mud football with her—naked.

Then she gave a little turn, showcasing the merchandise, and holy hell, the lacy panties she had on might be boy cut in the front, but they were all thong in the back and, when standing in the setting sun, incredibly and miraculously sheer.

Man, she was gorgeous. The biggest brown eyes he’d ever seen, full lush lips, a body that was compact but curvy in all the right places—and headed his way.

She smiled as she joined him on the tailgate, not stopping until she was straddling his lap with her bare backside firmly planted on his thighs. With a smile that had him about to blow right out of his jeans, she plucked the washer out of the glass, held it over the rim and—

Oh, hell.

She just dropped it in. No bounce, no rebound, no more games. She just sank the washer right in the tumbler with that sexy smile that pretty much said,
Fuck the rules
.

Tanner was on board immediately.

“Last question, so listen up.” A hard task when her breasts were right there, demanding all of his attention. “Which half do you want first?”

“Well,” he said, his hands exploring the edge of her panties until he felt smooth skin—skin that was so damn soft.

He didn’t stop until he had two palmfuls of the sweetest ass he’d ever held. Tightening his grip, he spun them around until she was trapped between the truck bed and his body, looking up at him a little shocked, a whole lot turned on. “I think I need to do some research before I can make a decision this important.”

He let his hand slide up and over her stomach, loving how her muscles quivered. “Some up close and personal research.”

“I was a research assistant in college.” Her hands fisted in his hair. “Maybe I can help?”

“Maybe,” he said against her lips, then kissed her, and he’d bet his land she’d gotten straight A’s as an assistant. She helped him right out of his shirt, tossing it over the side of the truck, then went to work on his pants, which he hoped led to the kind of assistance he really needed.

In fact, he was seriously considering asking Abby to be his assistant, so they could do this five or six times a day—ten on the weekends. And all the assisting would be done naked. And outdoors.

Yeah, naked and outdoors would be amazing.

She was amazing. Amazing and smart and stubborn and sexy and funny and—
Hello
—she was going for his zipper.

He may have groaned, maybe even said some nonsense aloud, but he sure as hell felt his eyes roll to the back of his head when her fingers brushed against the hard ridge of him. Before he could unscramble his brain, her elegant fingers, the ones he’d watched twice a week for the past year stroke the keys of her piano, made their way under the fabric of his briefs, running lightly over the tip, then shyly stroking him before giving a gentle squeeze.

“Abby,” he groaned, taking her mouth again.

There was nothing shy about the way she made him feel. And he was feeling a hell of a lot. Which was the only excuse he had for pushing farther into her hand, letting her know just what she did to him, and damn if she didn’t meet him halfway.

He nibbled down her neck, to her shoulder, loving the little breathy noises she made when he paused to suck her skin into his mouth and how she arched up into him, as though as hungry for his touch as he was for her taste.

“I forgot how . . . oh, my . . .” Her breath caught and she trailed off as he traced her nipple through the fabric with his tongue.

“You forgot what?” he asked against the wet lace.

“How much I like it when you do that.” She arched up.

He looked up at her and smiled. “I didn’t.”

He remembered every damn thing about her. How she liked to be touched, how she liked to be teased, and how, when she was in his arms, moaning his name, his whole world felt right.

“Do it again.”

“Yes, ma’am.” And he did. Using his teeth, he gave the fabric a gentle tug and,
would ya look at that?
She spilled right out over the top. So he did it to the other side and,
man oh man
, she was about the sexiest thing he’d ever encountered.