by Renee Dyer
“Sure. Thank you.” Even her voice is angelic. Fuck, did I just think that? Ok, Tucker, get your head back in the game, man. She’s just another chick. Just. Another. Chick. Get the groceries, get back in here, and find out how much time you have before the husband comes back. Mentally chastising myself the whole way to the car, I try to block out the images of her smile and those hazel eyes, but I can’t. Dammit. Maybe after I get up in there I’ll feel like myself again. This shit with Victoria has me all messed up. That’s got to be it.
After about ten trips, her vehicle is finally unloaded and closed up. She has been steadily unpacking all the bags. Her counter-tops are covered in food and I’m practically drooling. Bad idea to skip breakfast this morning. I’m starving and being this close to real food is making me salivate. I need to say something before I look like a drooling animal. “Your house is gorgeous.” And so are you.
“Thank you. And thank you again for bringing my groceries in. That was very kind of you. I’m sure your Grams would be very proud. I’ll write those directions for you in one minute. I just need to get this frozen stuff put away. Un… unless you’re in a hurry? I’m sorry, I should have asked that.”
“No, no hurry. Take your time. My name is Tucker, by the way.” I’m shocked she hadn’t known. Not that everyone knows who I am, but typically people her age do.
“I know who you are, Mr. Stavros. My name is Adriana,” she says reaching her hand out to me. I reach my hand out to her and swear I feel a little jolt when we shake. It must have been static electricity. So, she does know who I am. Playing it cool I see.
“You can call me Tucker. No Mr. Stavros necessary. I didn’t think you knew who I was. People are normally much more animated when they realize who I am.”
A light giggle leaves her lips and almost drops me to the floor. “I bet they are. My mom always taught us that famous people are no different than we are. You’re just in the papers. Besides, you aren’t the first famous person I’ve met.”
I don’t get a chance to respond. At that moment my stomach chooses to give a loud rumble of protest to the lack of food from the morning. Adriana tries to cover her laugh with her hand. “Are you hungry?” she asks around a snort. Yes, she snorts and it’s sexy as hell. Why am I reacting to her this way? Normally I would find that annoying. With her, I want to sit her on her counter and bury myself balls deep. The thought has my lower brain waking up. Not good.
“Don’t worry about it. I can get something on the road.”
“Don’t be silly, Tucker. I haven’t had breakfast yet, either. I have a big cookout to get ready for and wanted to miss the grocery store crowds so I set out before eating. Give me thirty minutes and I can have a breakfast ready that should satisfy even the monster calling out from your stomach.” She laughs and snorts again. I try to protest and she puts her hand up at me. “It’s the least I can do for you bringing in all those groceries. Scrambled eggs okay?” I nod my head yes. At this point, I would eat anything that isn’t fast food and my damned stomach is talking so loud she’s laughing and snorting at me again. I can’t help but smile and laugh with her.
Adriana quickly finishes putting away the frozen and cold groceries. It takes everything in me to keep from getting hard watching her bend over. Her ass truly is perfect and I have to shove my hands in my pockets repeatedly to keep from reaching out to touch it to see if it’s as firm as it looks. Each time she bends over her hair falls over her like a veil, hiding her face. I can’t place the color. It’s amazing. I’m guessing she spends a lot of time at the salon to get it just so. I know it’s some form of blonde, but there’s a red tint to it. I’m intrigued by it, but too much of a guy to ask about it. I want to wrap by hands in it and bring her to me– bring her face to my face and kiss her stupid because she’s had me feeling stupid since I first saw her. I still feel stupid watching her bounce from area to area in the kitchen preparing breakfast. She moves like lightning. This is definitely her space. Before I know what’s going on, she’s cooking home fries with cut up onions and green peppers, scrambled eggs, preparing toast, and asking me if I like coffee. When I respond yes she goes on telling me that she’s a tea drinker herself. Just like that, she’s a tornado. When she’s done I also have fresh squeezed orange juice as well as some fresh fruit to go with my food. She must have known I have a big appetite because she makes me a huge plate. And I’ve done nothing but watch her, envisioning the naughty things I want to do to her.
“I hope this is enough.” I look at my plate and laugh. It looks like enough to feed about four grown men, but I’m sure I’ll have no problem eating it all.
“This looks great. Lead the way to where we eat.” As good as the food looks, I can’t help but watch her walk. She truly has the best ass I’ve ever seen. And she has such a great sway to her hips
Chapter Five
Adriana & Tucker
I can’t believe I’m making breakfast for Tucker Stavros. He is hot. All six foot four of him. Black hair, olive skin, blue eyes… Holy Christ, those eyes. They’re bluer than the clearest skies. And the way he fills out those jeans and t-shirt…
When I first saw him I thought maybe I was still sleeping. There was no way I was awake. Tucker Stavros could not be standing in my driveway, in front of me, looking like he just stepped out of a magazine. My eyes, of their own accord, traveled the entire length of him, taking in the muscles so evident through his t-shirt. Why do well defined men always wear white t-shirts? Is it so we’ll stare? I can see his muscles brushing the shirt and tattoos are visible through the fabric. My imagination runs wild picturing him without the t-shirt on. Or anything else. The early morning sun suddenly feels much too hot and I lick my parched lips. I watch his eyes follow my tongue and I know I need to get inside away from this man. He is far too much temptation for a woman with the lack of experience I have. He’d eat me alive and, right now, I’m not sure I’d mind.
I need to run.
I know mom said they’re people, too. I’m trying to be cool, but I’m freaking out. He doesn’t seem to notice. I just need to stay busy. Those eyes and lips… Jesus… They look even better in person than on TV. Wait till I tell Mickayla. She’ll never believe it. Maybe I can get him to take a picture with me before he leaves. Would he think I’m one of those crazy fans if I ask? Foods done. Guess I need to give him his plate.
“I hope this is enough.” Can I get on that plate for you? Where the hell did that come from? I’m so sorry, Alex. I didn’t mean it.
“This looks great. Lead the way to where we eat.” Man, that smile. He has the best lips and those dimples… why do I feel so warm whenever he smiles? And what was up when we shook hands? Static electricity? Yeah, that’s it. From all the plastic bags. . . Of course.
Thanking God that I cleaned the house all week for the cook out, not that I ever let it get dirty, but sometimes leave my photographs all over the table, I’m glad that the table is now free of clutter. “You can sit anywhere you like, Tucker.” It’s an eight seat table that Alex and I planned to have a big family eating around. Now, it seems a bit grandiose.
“How about I sit across from you so we can look at each other while we talk? I’ve always found that most pleasant.” There’s that smile again. And that warmth. Hmmm…
“Sure. What would you like to talk about?”
“I’m going to sound like an egotistical star, but how did you know who I am? The movies, the show or the… tabloids?” At the mentions of the tabloids, I notice his face changes. It’s a look of sadness. I’ve always felt bad for stars and how they are harassed.
“I guess a little of all of those. My mom is huge into romance movies. Her, my sister, and I do ladies night out every couple months. Well, we used to before my sister moved to New York. Now it’s just mom and me. We normally go to dinner and a movie. Your movies have been a few of those. I watch your show because I love all things paranormal, but I have to be honest when I say that Supernatural is my favorite. And, yes, while in the grocery stor
e, I have seen your face on the tabloids. I don’t read them so as to what the articles actually say, I wouldn’t know. I feel bad that you guys are always hounded.”
“Thank you for that. In the spirit of honesty, I love Supernatural, too. Some of the stuff on that show is funny. The writing is brilliant. Plus, the Impala is one of the most bad ass cars ever. I’m jealous I can’t drive a car like that on my show. They film not too far from where we film, so I’ve got to hang out with members from that crew a time or two. They’re pretty awesome people.”
I feel myself relax knowing I haven’t offended him.
“I like what they’ve done with your show. It’s a new idea. I’m curious to see how it plays out. The problem is that there are so many vampire shows and now there’s the new Dracula show coming out, too. You guys will really have to keep the story interesting. Do you worry about that?” I didn’t mean to ask it, but I’m curious.
“Of course I do. But, enough about me. My life is out there every day for people to find out about. What about you? Where’s your husband?” Tuckers asks with genuine curiosity.
“My… my hu..husband,” I stammer.
“Yeah,” Tucker says motioning towards the pictures of Alex and me smiling on the walls. I look down at the ring I still have on my hand, trapped by an innocent question. A question that has just opened the gates of hell and thrown me into the fire.
“He’s gone,” I say with far too much sadness in my voice, afraid my heart just crumbled all over again. Yet again, I kick myself for being too weak to let go of Alex. For not being able to take down the pictures. For not being able to take off his ring. Now, I’ve left myself vulnerable to a complete stranger who’s watching me intently trying to figure out what’s going on.
I see a light go on in Tucker’s eyes. I can see he thinks he knows what I mean. “Oh, is he on tour right now? Iraq or Afghanistan? When will he be back?”
Damn. Guess it’s truth time. I won’t lie, I can’t. Alex isn’t and never was in the military. It would be so much easier if that was the answer. There’d be a chance of him coming back. I’d had hope that life would get better. But, he’s never coming back. Having to say what I’m about to say feels like losing him all over again. I take a deep breath and square my shoulders to get ready for the pain that I know is going to shoot through my heart. “He… he’s dead. Car accident… little over a year ago,” I squeak out.
Crickets.
Yep. It’s a conversation ender.
“I’m so sorry to hear that.” I can tell he means that. He seems like a nice guy. I look into his blue eyes and see that he is trying to show me how sincere he is with what he’s saying. Time to put on my happy face; the face I’ve rehearsed a million times this past year.
“How’s your breakfast?”
*******************
The food smells amazing and I dig in as soon as we sit down. Realizing I probably look like a Neanderthal, I stop inhaling the food and strike up some conversation. As much as I want to get in between her legs, I have a feeling I need to finesse her first. She isn’t falling for the “I’m famous” line I’ve been able to use in the past. She sees me as a human being. It’s refreshing and sexy as hell. It makes me all the more determined to get her naked. She said she has a cook out today so that means I’m definitely on a time table. Time to strike up some conversation. She asked what I’d like to talk about.
I know this will sound wrong, but I want to know if she read about me in the tabloids. They always write such bullshit about me. I hate the fucking paparazzi. Hopefully she doesn’t take this as me stroking my ego. I’d love for her to stroke something else for me. I ask her how she knows about me. It’s a tough question for me. The question that makes me sound like an egotistical prick to most people, but the question that gets me the best read on most people, too. That is, if they’re honest with me. There lies the problem… honest people. They’re hard to find. I’m hoping she knows about me from TV or my movies, but I’m not stupid, I’ve been fodder for the tabloids.
I’m frowning as I finish asking, but I can’t help it. The tabloids really bother me. Only an inkling of what they ever print has any kind of truth to it. And even that gets twisted so that they can make it more entertaining for the readers.
Looking up at her, I’m relieved when she tells me she saw me in a few of my movies. Apparently her mom is a big romance movie lover. Her mom, sister– I now know she has a sister– and her go to dinner and a movie, ladies night out. She watches my show because she loves paranormal stuff. I dig that. Supernatural is her favorite show. Surprising that she didn’t feel the need to lie to me and say my show was her favorite. Again, refreshing. Even more refreshing… she doesn’t read tabloids and she feels bad that stars get hounded. Sexiest woman ever. Beautiful, smart and she doesn’t seem to like the paparazzi. I dig that.
I can’t help but admit to her that I’m a Supernatural fan, too. It’s true. That show is fucking funny. And who doesn’t love the car? That Impala is bad ass. Wasn’t saying that to let her off the hook, but when she smiled it made my heart skip a beat. Literally. Freaky shit.
Then she surprises me again by asking if I’m concerned if our show will be able to keep up with all the other vampire shows. She just met me, she’s made me breakfast, and she’s concerned about my show. Is she a fucking saint? Does she know I’m going to start leaning this conversation toward getting her naked? Ok, time to get this conversation away from me and over to her. I need to know how long before the hubby is home. Time frame.
When I ask about her husband the look on her face nearly stops my heart completely. I don’t know why what I’ve asked is wrong, but it is. It feels like I just got sucker punched in the gut. Her brilliantly shining eyes from moments ago have gone vacant. Shit. What have I done?
“My… my hu… husband,” she stutters out, her breathing erratic. What’s going on? I look around again to ensure I’m not crazy. There are pictures all over of her and a man smiling happily. On her left hand she’s wearing a wedding ring. Ok– not losing it, Stavros. I motion to the pictures. She looks around the room with such incredible sadness in her eyes I want to take her in my arms and comfort her. That’s crazy. I don’t even know her. She’s looking at her ring. Nothingness now. There’s nothing in her eyes. It’s like she just checked out.
She tells me he’s gone. Gone where? I’m sitting here contemplating where he’d go that would make her so sad. Then it hits me. He must be in the military. He’s on tour. She must be worried sick about him. That’s why she’s so upset. Makes sense. So, I ask. I didn’t think the look on her face could get any worse. I was wrong. Her whole body looks like it’s going to crumble in on itself. I’m getting ready to go to her, to see if I’ve sent her into shock, when she whispers, “He… he’s dead. Car accident… little over a year ago.”
My heart stops this time for a beat or two. Tucker, you’re an asshole. Here I’ve been trying to get in this woman’s pants and she’s grieving the loss of her husband. She was nice enough to make you breakfast and the whole time you had a hidden agenda. Fucking Asshole! Grams would be so disappointed. Say something to her. You understand loss. Something, asshole.
I tell her I’m sorry to hear that and I truly am. I can feel her grief reverberating across the room, engulfing me. She’s lost in the pain. Just saying he’s dead has sent her into a tailspin. Should I go to her? I’m a stranger. I don’t know if I’ll make it better or not. I look at her again and see she’s looking at me. Her breathing is more even. She’s studying me and suddenly, as if nothing has happened, she smiles and asks, “How’s your breakfast?”
The fuck? Can you say whiplash? Well, if she wants to pretend she didn’t just have a mini panic attack then I guess it’s the least I can do for the meal she made. And the fact you’ve been mind-fucking her since you saw her. It doesn’t matter that you didn’t know she was a grieving widow. You know you’d still stick her if she let you, you filthy bastard. My mind is throwing too many horrible thoug
hts at me to keep up with. Hopefully she doesn’t take my hesitation as a sign that I think she’s a nutcase. Putting on as sincere a smile as I can, I look her straight in the eyes– those mesmerizing eyes– dammit, I’m doing it again. Down boy. “Breakfast is delicious. Thank you. I’ve had entirely too much fast food the last few days.”
A simple raise of her eyebrow is all the reaction I get from her. Normally people pry. Ask a million questions. They’d want to know why I’m living off fast food. Why I’m not eating healthier. She doesn’t ask anything. Doesn’t pry. Just keeps eating. Again, I find her company refreshing. Comforting. I don’t think I’ve ever found a woman other than my mother or Grams comforting. The feeling shakes me to the core.
“I can make more if you’re still hungry after. It’s nice to have someone to cook for.” It’s cute the way her gaze shifts to the table and a slight blush creeps to her cheeks like she’s embarrassed to offer to cook for me. I start to get hard. What about her doesn’t turn me on? Thinking back, I’m trying to remember if I’ve ever had this reaction to a woman before.
“You like to cook?” The words slip out before I realize I’m asking a question. Curiosity is winning out. I want to know everything I can about this beautiful woman sitting across from me. Wish she was sitting on me. The smile that crosses her face stops my wayward thoughts dead. All I know in this moment is I don’t want to leave after breakfast. I would give anything to stay and learn as much as I can about her. I’m intrigued. And it all started with her perfect ass. I’m in trouble.
