Tucker

by Juliana Stone

  After she disappeared into the bathroom, Tucker made his way out to the patio and sank onto a chair that was in the far corner, buried in the shadows. Overhead, the night sky was crystal clear, and a million stars shone down on him. A breeze moved languidly, bringing with it the smell of the ocean—a scent he was familiar with—one that he loved.

  He inhaled deeply and felt the weight of it as his lungs filled with the open air and unmistakable tinge of the ocean. It moved something inside him. Something he’d been trying to bury for years, it seemed.

  Damn, but it still hurt.

  Someone told him once that smell was more powerful than memory. That smell could bring back the most intimate or minute detail. It was true. The smell of the ocean always reminded him of home, family, and ultimately, Marley.

  He knew it was a bad idea to come back here. He knew that the memories might be too much. That maybe he wasn’t strong enough to deal with them.

  A grimace crossed his face. Damn family. He’d always had a problem saying no to them, even though his first instinct when he’d received his cousin’s invite was to toss it.

  Slowly he sipped his whiskey and, after throwing his ball cap onto the patio floor, rested his head back so that he could see the sky better.

  Where the hell was the Big Dipper?

  He stared up at the stars for so long that they blurred and only looked away when his glass was empty. He poured himself another and was just about to settle back when a sound caught his ear, and he glanced over to the patio doors.

  Abby.

  After a few moments, she crossed the tiled floors and paused a few feet away.

  “It’s beautiful out here,” she said softly.

  “Yeah,” Tucker answered, though his eyes didn’t follow hers as she glanced up at the million dollar blanket of stars.

  The breeze picked up again, lifting her hair into the air, and she giggled as she tried to tug it behind her ears. The white tank-top she wore was pressed tight against her body and those long legs—hell, they went on for miles.

  Her laughter dried up when she looked his way, and she crossed her arms over her chest, though she wasn’t able to hide her erect nipples. From the cold? Or was she feeling what was brewing inside him?

  Mouth dry, Tucker dragged his eyes away and downed his tumbler in one long swig. He was tight. Angry. Tired and confused.

  He was also horny as fuck and right about now was wishing it was Sonya standing a few feet away wearing next to nothing. Because he sure as hell would have had Sonya bent over the chair and maybe then he’d get some relief from the tension that rode him so hard.

  What the hell did that say about him? Five minutes ago, he’d been thinking of Marley. His wife. Five minutes ago, he’d been remembering things…things that he was afraid to forget.

  Now, one glance at Abby and it was gone.

  Anger spiked inside him, and suddenly he needed to hold onto it with a desperation he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

  “Did you need something?” he asked, his voice sharp.

  She tightened her arms across her chest but didn’t look away. In fact, her gaze was direct.

  “No,” she answered slowly, drawing that one word out. “I just wanted to say goodnight and to make sure that you were okay.”

  He lifted his tumbler in a mock salute. “I’m better than okay.” He paused, noting the way she bit her bottom lip—a nervous gesture—and maybe it was the devil that had him tonight, or maybe he was just being a prick, but he forced a smile and reached for the bottle.

  Maybe he just didn’t want to be alone after all. “Want a drink?”

  She shook her head.

  “Are you sure?” He leaned back and watched the shadows cross her face, moving erratically in the breeze.

  “Yes,” she said eventually. “I’m sure.”

  He wasn’t used to this awkward silence between them. Damn, he was going to ruin things. He took a sip from his glass, his eyes on hers and never wavering.

  “I didn’t take you for a Rangers fan.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He nodded at her tank top—the one that stretched tight across her breasts. “Every single one of your brothers are diehard Flyer fans, which is odd considering you’re New Yorkers.” He shrugged. “I guess I thought you’d be the same.”

  Her head fell, but she kept her arms crossed over her chest, partially obscuring the New York Rangers logo. “Oh.” She cleared her throat. “No, I’m the lone Ranger fan. I…I thought I was sleeping by myself or else I would have brought more…” Again she cleared her throat. “Appropriate…stuff…to wear to bed.”

  Her toes curled into the patio tiles and with the wind running through her hair, the shadows playing across her face—all that skin on display—she sure as hell didn’t look like the Abby he knew.

  This Abby could grace a goddamn Ranger calendar, and it would sell like hotcakes.

  “I just signed Dean Kendrick as a client.” The admission slipped out before he could stop himself, but when her eyes went big and that delectable mouth opened wide, it was worth the slip. Hell, he hadn’t shared the news with anyone yet but considering her choice of sleepwear, it was somehow appropriate to share it with her.

  Kendrick was the new face of the Ranger franchise and as a three time all-star center, he’d been a dream to sign. The guy had buckets of talent, charisma, and that extra bit of something that was hard to describe as anything other than golden. Tucker had been working on him for the last few months, and now that he was on board as a client, his roster was looking damn fine. Made being an agent sweet as hell.

  “Wow,” she said moving forward, a big smile on her face. “That’s awesome, Tucker. My god, Dean Kendrick?”

  She paused a few inches away. “I’m really happy for you.”

  His eyes dropped to her breasts—briefly—before he yanked his head up and took a good long swig of whiskey. “Thanks,” he said as he set down the empty glass. He’d been happy too—for about five minutes. But then, like everything else in his life, the joy he’d felt when he’d closed the deal had vanished like water down the drain. It had swirled around for a bit and then…nothing.

  He didn’t need to see a shrink to know that he was in trouble—that if he didn’t turn things around, there was a chance that he’d just disappear. He’d disappear like Marley. One morning he’d kissed her goodbye and that night she was gone.

  The thought was morose, and he gave himself a mental shake.

  “We should hit the bed. Golf in the morning,” he said gruffly.

  “Golf?” Her eyebrow shot up.

  “Shit, did I forget to tell you? We’re playing a round before the rehearsal dinner. It’s a family thing.”

  “Oh Tucker, I don’t have the right clothes for golf.”

  “Don’t worry about it. We’ll hit the pro-shop and as for clubs, I’m renting, too.” His brows furrowed. “You do play, don’t you?”

  She didn’t answer right away and then shrugged, a soft smile on her face. “A little.”

  “Good. We’re buddying up with Beau and his brat of a girlfriend. Don’t let her scare you.”

  Abby’s eyes glistened as she stared back at him, and he got the impression she was trying to figure something out.

  “Betty Jo Barker, isn’t it? Model turned actress?”

  He nodded.

  “She…she seems interesting.”

  Abby had no idea. “Yeah,” he answered. “Interesting, infuriating, opinionated and …” He groaned. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea after all.”

  “It takes a lot to scare me, Tucker,” she murmured.

  He held her gaze for a few more moments, thinking he should say something or do something, but then she turned and headed inside. She was nearly to the patio doors that led into the suite when he spoke.

  “Abby?”

  She stopped but didn’t turn around. “Hmm?”

  “I like your pajamas. Ranger wear is always appropriate.”

  “Good
to know,” she said softly and then disappeared inside.

  Tucker glanced back at the half-empty bottle of whiskey. He could finish the bottle which meant that he most likely would play a shit round of golf, for which his brother Beau would never let him hear the end of…

  Or he could pack it in and try to get some sleep.

  Except Abby was in there, in that hot little Ranger outfit, and there were no benefits to be had. Hell, if he didn’t get his shit together, there would be no friend to be had either.

  Tucker fell back into his chair, sank into the shadows and reached for the bottle. It was gonna be a long night, but he decided to keep company with his good buddy Jack. He didn’t want to think about his family, or Abby, or even Marley. He just wanted to lose himself in the stars and the smell of the ocean—even if it was only for tonight.

  He filled his tumbler once more as the shadows enveloped him.

  Chapter Four

  The smell of coffee woke Abby. A roasted blend and something else…caramel?

  Or was it the smell of clean, fresh soap?

  Whatever it was, it was nice, and she sighed, sinking deeper into the mattress. Inhaling that lovely scent once more, she relaxed for a moment as whatever the heck smelled so good infiltrated her nose and wove its way through her body. She was warm, heavy from sleep and content.

  A noise sounded, something that didn’t belong—waves?—and she rolled over, nearly falling out of bed. For a moment, she had no idea where she was.

  Pushing a tangle of hair from her eyes, her vision slowly came into focus, and when it did, her mouth went dry. It went so dry that she couldn’t swallow. Her insides quaked and fire raced across her skin.

  She’d been right about the coffee. Yep. There it was, right in front of her. Great big honkin’ mug of java.

  But it was attached to a hand, and that hand was attached to a muscular arm that glistened with drops of water as if fresh from the shower. Of course, there was an accompanying wide expanse of flesh and since she was weak—and let’s not forget confused—it drew her eye.

  And—holy hell—suddenly, she was wide awake.

  A hot thrust of lust (sheesh, was she a poet now?) had her girlie parts singing Hallelujah—shouting, praise the Lord and whispering God bless Tucker Simon.

  Hot Damn, she had a freaking Baptist Choir going crazy inside her body, and Abby glanced away from his bare chest—from all that hard, damp, and defined muscle—pushing away the image of her tongue on those picture-perfect abs.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she held her breath as her mind scrambled to catch up to what her eyes had just seen. Sure, she was used to waking up with Tucker on the brain but never…never so up close and personal.

  She froze. Wait. Was she still dreaming?

  Cracking an eye open a smidge, Abby angled a peek and everything inside her went squirrely.

  Nope. That there was one hundred percent, tanned, toned, and freaking hot Tucker Simon—prime, USA Grade Tucker Simon—and he was looking down at her with an amused look on his face.

  “Morning sunshine. I’m done in the shower if you want to take a turn.”

  God, he was only wearing a towel.

  Slowly reality sank in, and she remembered where she was. Why she was here.

  Tucker wasn’t all naked and wet and yummy because they’d spend a hot, passionate night together. Nope. That so didn’t happen. (At least not outside of her head).

  Tucker was up and at ‘em because—

  “We tee off in an hour so you better get your butt in gear.”

  Wait. What?

  “Tee off?” She sat up fully and accepted the cup of coffee, hoping the scowl she felt didn’t show. If she had her choice, she’d bury herself beneath the covers and drift off into a world of Tucker Simon dreams.

  She watched him warily. Guess that wasn’t going to happen.

  He leaned his hip against the table beside the bed, long wisps of gauzy material floating around him as a fresh breeze rolled in from outside. Any other guy would look like an idiot but he didn’t. If anything, the soft white texture of the material that fell from the ceiling only helped to showcase just how hard and masculine Tucker was.

  Dragging her eyes from his, she took a sip of coffee and nearly choked as she forced it down.

  “You need to put some clothes on.”

  Shit. Did she really say that out loud? What the hell is wrong with me?

  “Sure thing, darlin’. Do I make you nervous?” His tone was light—teasing even—but Abby wasn’t in the mood for it. About one second after she’d caught sight of his nearly naked ass, she’d realized that this was a mistake. There was no way she should have come to Florida with Tucker, because she was going to make a fool out of herself.

  She could feel it.

  And that scared the crap out of her.

  “It’s not you that makes me nervous,” she retorted, trying to get her shit together. “It’s that damn towel. In case you’re not aware, it’s loose and I sure as hell don’t want to catch sight of your…”

  His eyebrow shot up.

  She swallowed hard. And then cleared her throat.

  “Your…thingy.”

  Oh. My. God.

  If the floor opened up and she fell through all the way to hell she wouldn’t care. In fact, she wished it would open up and suck her into another realm, because she did not just say--

  “My thingy,” Tucker said, his grin huge, his eyes practically dancing.

  Abby’s scowl deepened as she slipped off the bed and moved past him, careful to make sure she wasn’t anywhere near his—

  “My thingy?” he repeated.

  “Well, I don’t know you well enough to call it Hank.”

  He snorted.

  Jesus! Where was all of this coming from? She’d known Tucker for nearly a year, and he’d never gotten under her skin like this.

  He ran his hands through the wet hair that hung down into his eyes and when he pushed it back, his biceps tightened, his abs rippled—hell everything rippled—and for one precarious second, the towel slipped so low that she held her breath.

  But then he grabbed the edges, and she blew out a mess of hot air as he chuckled.

  “Close call,” he said with a wink. “Nearly had a peek at,” his voice lowered. “I don’t call him Hank. I call him—”

  “I don’t want to know.” She slammed the bathroom door shut behind her and leaned back against it, chest heaving, coffee sloshing up and over the mug in her hands.

  Tucker Simon was insufferable. He was a smart-ass, and trouble should be his middle name. For all she knew it was. Tucker Trouble Simon. TTS.

  She bit her lip and groaned softly.

  Oh god was he hot.

  And gorgeous.

  And totally lickable.

  “An hour, Abby.” His voice was muffled through the door.

  She stuck out her tongue and then took a good, long swig of coffee before locking the door behind her and turning on the shower.

  Tucker’s toiletries were on the counter—a brown leather bag though his toothbrush was left beside it. Something about seeing his stuff next to hers made her insides go all funny again.

  Give your head a shake, girl. It’s not as if she’d never shared space with a guy before. Once. In college. For about five minutes.

  But the twenty year old Daniel, an aspiring Arts major, was nothing compared to a man like Tucker. Her current ex? He didn’t even come close.

  Abby slipped out of her pajamas and decided not to think about any of it. Twenty minutes later, she was blow-drying her hair, eyeing the door because she knew she had to go back out there, and worrying her bottom lip because of it.

  Once she was done, she set the dryer onto the counter, careful not to touch any of Tucker’s stuff, and put on some mascara and lip gloss. After studying herself for a moment, she grabbed some liner and applied it. Good. Now her eyes popped without being too overdone.

  She unlocked the door and pushed it open an inch or so. Ea
rlier, she’d rushed into the bathroom like an idiot and her bra and underwear were in the walk-in closet, along with a fluffy white robe the hotel provided and everything else she needed.

  Widening the crack a bit more, she spoke hesitantly, “Tucker?”

  No answer.

  “Tucker?” she repeated inching her way out, towel clutched to her chest.

  But there was only silence, so Abby crept into the room and once she was past the bed, dashed into the walk-in closet. She slammed the door behind her, grabbed fresh underclothes and was about to reach for the robe when she paused.

  Someone was outside.

  “Hello!”

  The voice was female and Abby assumed it was the maid. She scooped the robe off its hanger and slipped into it.

  “Coming.”

  She stepped back into the room and froze when she caught sight of the brunette perched on the end of the bed. She’d never met the woman before—not personally—but she knew who she was. It was kind of hard not to; her face graced the gossip rags in the supermarket and was all over the internet and TV.

  Still, she was surprised at how gorgeous she was in person—the woman being none other than the infamous Betty Jo Barker, Beau Simon’s girlfriend.

  Clear blue eyes studied Abby for a few seconds before a smile slid across Betty Jo’s face. Her skin was like porcelain, her hair shiny and black, and her generous mouth was glossed over in a shimmery clear coat. She wasn’t overdone and looked natural, but there was no doubt the woman had that extra bit of something. Abby was pretty sure that Betty Jo Barker could walk around in a burlap sack and look amazing.

  Betty Jo tucked a long piece of hair behind her ear and leaned forward.

  “Well, hell, you’re a bit of a surprise.”

  At Abby’s sharp intake, Betty Jo held her hands up. “Trust me, that’s in a good way.”

  Her voice was husky, not at all what Abby expected, but the smile seemed genuine and Abby relaxed a bit. Wasn’t everyday that she found a bona fide celebrity in her room.

  “Hi,” she said hesitantly. “I’m Abby.”

  The woman nodded. “Tucker’s girlfriend.”