Tucker (The Family Simon) (16 page)

“Cowboy?” Dean asked, sipping his wine and smiling as a lady slid in beside him for a picture.

Tucker ignored him, didn’t take his eyes off of Abby, and she didn’t have to look into the mirror to know that her cheeks were red. Hell, every inch of her was hot and twitchy—which was pretty damn inconvenient considering they were in the middle of The Black Dog.

Dean finished signing the woman’s chest, posed for one more picture before elbowing his agent. “Cowboy?”

Tucker took a sip of beer and shrugged, though that satisfied smile was still on his face.

“Tucker here likes horses,” Abby said playfully.

“No I don’t.”

“No?” She asked, sliding a beer bottle to the guy on the other side of Tucker. He was one of Dean’s buddies and, at the moment, was chatting up her roommate, Lisa.

“Let me rephrase,” Tucker replied. “Not all horses are created equal.”

“Who doesn’t like horses?” Dean asked, glancing back and forth between them.

Abby’s mouth was dry because the way Tucker was looking at her right now, she knew that he was hot. She knew that he was hot and bothered. She knew that he was wound up—that the sexual tension they’d danced around the entire evening was getting to be too much.

“You do know that I grew up in Wyoming, right?”

Tucker glanced at Dean. “Really?”

“Yep. I’ve ridden my share of horses.”

“Good to know.” Tucker stood and splayed his hands on the top of the bar. He leaned close, so that only Abby could hear him. “I just prefer to be ridden is all.”

She tried to swallow. Or maybe she didn’t. Who the hell knew?

The only thing that Abby was sure about right now was that she hadn’t been alone with Tucker since Monday. And like a virus that was inside her, infiltrating her cells—leeching into her bones—she needed him.

“Are you almost done?” He asked, moving back an inch, so that she could breathe.

Abby glanced up at the clock behind the bar. It was nearly eleven and the kitchen had just closed, but the crowd was still busy.

“Go,” Lisa said hopping onto the bar, and swiveling her butt around until she dropped beside Abby. “I’ll help Mick out. It’s the least I can do for spilling the beans and all.” She scrunched up her nose. “Which I’m so sorry about, it just kind of fell out of my mouth.”

Abby spied Mick chatting with Pete and Old Joe. If she was going to sneak out now was her chance. “Okay,” she whispered. “Thanks Lisa.”

She grabbed her jacket and purse from beneath the bar, pulled a Lisa and hopped overtop until she was standing between Tucker and Dean.

“Shit,” Dean said stepping back. “That’s the fastest turn around I’ve seen since—” he poked the guy beside him “—Jake here, stole the puck off Louinski and took it all the way back to score.”

“What?” Abby asked a little out of breath. Her brain was too fuzzy to work things out. Kind of hard to do when all she was thinking about was Tucker Simon.

“Never mind,” Dean chuckled. He shook Tucker’s hand. “I like your girl.” And then he moved out of the way so that they could leave. Tucker shrugged into his suit jacket and grabbed her hand.

They’d just cleared the bar when he turned and slid his other hand up to her jaw, holding her in place. Helplessly she stared up into his eyes and opened her mouth to accept a bold, hot kiss that had her toes curling and her stomach clenching in less than five seconds.

Jesus, that had to be some kind of record.

Tucker tore his mouth away. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Okay,” she managed to say.

“My place?” Tucker asked, waiting.

Abby nodded while Tucker hailed a cab. Less than twenty minutes later, they were let out in front of a beautiful old building on Central Park South. Overlooking the park, it was prime real estate, but then, had she expected Tucker to live anywhere else but in a place like this?

“Mr. Simon.”

“Patrick.” Tucker nodded to the doorman, and then grabbed Abby’s hand. They walked into the Essex House and Abby felt more than a little out of place. An elderly couple was checking into the hotel, the woman dressed to the nines. Abby could see the glitter of diamonds on her neck from several feet away.

“You live in a hotel?” she whispered as they approached the elevators.

“It’s a mix of owners and guests.”

“Wow. You must think my place is so…” she blushed.

“Your place is great, Abby. It’s just real estate.”

The ride up was quiet and Abby had no idea what changed, but suddenly she was nervous as hell. Tucker’s cell pinged, and he grabbed it with his right, while his left kept hers firmly in his grasp.

Glancing downward, she fixated on her smaller hand in his. At his long, tapered fingers, the masculine width and the darkened skin.

The pale white line on his ring finger.

Abby exhaled. Her stomach jumped and her heart began to beat faster. How had she never noticed that before? The stark reminder of the absence of his wedding ring was somehow so much worse than if he still wore the plain gold band she’d seen before.

When had he stopped wearing it? What did it mean? Did it really matter?

The glaring emptiness on his finger was something she didn’t want to look at. It was a reminder of an unfinished past, and she glanced up sharply, just as the elevator came to a halt and Tucker shoved his cell back into his pocket.

“My brother, Jack. I’ll call him later.”

The doors slid open, and Tucker took a step and paused. “Abby?” Gently he tugged her forward and nodded to his left. “This is me.”

Lights were on low, showcasing a home that was masculine with bold blue walls, dark mahogany leather, and framed artwork in reds, whites and blue. The apartment was open concept and her eyes swept the entire area, resting on the granite island in the kitchen.

It was understated luxury, made up of raw masculine components. It was all Tucker.

He was watching her, and she bit her lip nervously. She knew he’d never lived here with his wife—he’d told her that much. But still…she thought of all the other women he’d brought back here. The models. The heiresses. The freaking yoga instructors. And for the first time since she’d started this—whatever it was—with Tucker, she felt scared.

“Hey,” he said, voice rough. “Is something wrong?”

YES! I love you. I love you more than I should and I’m scared shitless here.

She shook her head and whispered. “No.”

“Come here,” he said, tossing his jacket onto the sofa behind him. Several feet back, the floor to ceiling windows showed an uncompromised view of Central Park. Stars and city lights twinkled, haloing Tucker and making him seem almost, not real.

She dragged her eyes up to his. Watched the subtle flare in his nostrils. The way his eyes went dark because he was aroused. He wanted her. He wanted her right now.

But he didn’t love her.

Is that enough for me?

“Abby.”

The tone in his voice grabbed her hard, and, mouth dry, she walked toward him, not stopping until his arms were around her and she rested her head against his chest.

For a long time, the two of them stood like that. Tucker holding Abby and Abby listening to his heartbeat. It felt so damn right to be here with him.

“Are you okay?”

She shook her head, still not sure she could speak without sounding like an idiot. And shit, were those tears poking the corner of her eyes? What the hell was wrong with her?

Tucker’s hand slipped under her chin, and he forced her gaze up to his. “I’ve never brought anyone back here.” He paused, his thumb stroking gently. “I just wanted you to know that.”

Something broke apart inside Abby. Something hard and hot and heavy. She stood on her tiptoes, hands buried in that thick hair that had been teasing her all night. She opened her mouth and kissed him as if she was starving.

She kissed him as if she could somehow communicate her need and want and…

Her love.

It was as if she needed him to know what she didn’t have the balls to say and how fucked up was that, considering she knew he could never return her feelings?

With a groan, Tucker broke off their kiss. “Unless you want me to bend you over the sofa and have at it, I suggest we head that way.”

Flushed, Abby nodded, letting him take her hand and lead the way to his bedroom. A low slung table near the fireplace caught her attention and she stumbled as they passed it.

There were photographs, but one in particular caught her attention.

Tucker. A much younger looking Tucker smiling down at a woman as they sat on the edge of a boat. A cute, little blond thing.

It was Marley. Of course it was Marley.

“Coming?” Tucker said gently.

For one second, Abby could have turned around and marched her ass out of his apartment. She could have told him this wasn’t going to work. She could have told him that she had lied to him. That she was in love with him and headed for heartbreak.

She could have done the whole self-preservation thing. That would have been the smart thing to do.

But she didn’t.

Abby followed Tucker into his bedroom. She let him undress her. She let him pull her hair out of its tie and run his fingers along her scalp. She let him kiss her. Touch her. Make love to her.

And it felt so good to be with him. She reveled in the feel of him. In the taste and energy in him. She fed from him and told herself that things would be all right. That when the time came for this to end—when he finally realized her lie—the pain would be worth it.

She lied to herself.

Because she was that weak.

Chapter Nineteen

“Tucker Simon. I have a bone to pick with you.”

Jesus. H. Christ.
Was he going crazy? Had he forgotten she’d be here?

Tucker glanced at his brother Jack, tossed back the last bit of scotch in his tumbler and turned to face the ice queen behind him. Sonya Devonish.
Great.

The tall, platinum blonde had poured herself into a little black number that didn’t leave much to the imagination, and neither did her glacial death stare. The woman was more than a little pissed off and was going to cause a scene.

“This should be good,” Jack said, leaning against the bar, not even bothering to hide the grin on his face.

The brothers were attending a benefit for endangered species. Held in the Terrace Room at the Plaza Hotel, it was a yearly event that brought together artists, musicians, and a lot of society types with deep pockets. Proceeds went to the Simon Foundation, which in turn used them to fund projects that protected wildlife habitats, not only in Florida but all over the United States.

Beau was in attendance with Betty—though they were off somewhere with Shane Gallagher. The up and coming artist had donated several pieces of artwork for the silent auction and was in New York City with Betty’s sister, Bobbi.

Tucker’s parents had been unable to attend this year because of a scheduling conflict, but that was probably a good thing considering what was about to occur. Tucker’s bullshit meter was dialed to low and God knows his mother hated public scenes.

Tucker eyed Sonya. Was this going to be loud, or was she going to use some sort of decorum?

“I left messages.” She paused dramatically, throwing her hands into the air. “Many, many, messages.”

Shit. This was going to be epic, he could tell. And he didn’t get it. Not really. It wasn’t like they were exclusive or had shared anything other than a sexual relationship—if relationship was even a word that applied to what they’d shared. And it wasn’t just Tucker’s call—Sonya had been more than upfront about it as well. She cared more about his pedigree and having a Simon on her arm than she did him. Anything else didn’t interest her.

“Sonya, I’ve been busy.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit, Tucker.” Her European accent was more pronounced and her voice was a tad higher than normal.

Yep. Epic.

Jack snorted and asked the bartender for another round. Good call. Tucker was going to need it.

Sonya put her hands on her hips and thrust those large breasts of hers out until he thought the damn things were going to slip out of her dress and give the patrons something to talk about other than art and money.

“You’ve been busy with a girl. I’ve seen the pictures. Who the hell is she?”

Tucker groaned. Christ. Here we go.

The morning after Abby spent her first night at his place, the paparazzi had caught her leaving The Essex House in the morning. He was pretty damn sure Patrick had tipped them off. The doorman had always rubbed him the wrong way. Always seemed a little too nosy. Not that it mattered, he knew it was going to happen sooner or later and sure enough, over the last few weeks pictures of
Tucker Simon’s mystery woman
had surfaced in a few of the rags as well as a couple society papers.

The good thing was that Abby hadn’t been weirded out by it, and they’d managed to avoid more pictures by being careful. After the first photo had appeared, he’d called Marley’s parents and while the conversation was awkward—telling them that yes, the woman they’d met in Florida was more than just a friend—he had to let them know. He owed them at least that much. It had been a difficult conversation, and he still felt like a shit about it.

So far no one had gotten a name, but Tucker knew they’d been lucky, and he had a feeling their little bubble was about to burst.

“I’m waiting for an answer,” Sonya said, eyes flashing, chest heaving and her expensive heels tapping the floor like a staccato drum.

Tucker’s jaw clenched and even though his stance was relaxed, there was no mistaking that his anger was stirred. “Sonya, we both know you’re only here because it kills you to think that I find someone more interesting than you. Little secret? Most every woman on the planet is more interesting than you. And since I’m pretty sure the feeling is mutual, why don’t we call it even and leave it at that. This isn’t the time or place.”

Anyone with half a brain would have taken the warning and retreated. Tucker Simon was slow to anger, but when roused, his temper was legendary. And the fact that the spoiled heiress ignored the warning signs didn’t bode well for her.