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  Abby pushed back so that she was straddling Tucker and opened her legs slightly, loving that his eyes immediately went there. She was hot and wet and right now, in this moment, she was his. She wanted him to see all of her.

  As her fingers trailed down her breasts, the ache inside her started to throb something fierce. It spread out like tiny fingers of exquisite pain, settling low in her belly and deep within the folds of her sex.

  Tucker inhaled sharply when she ground herself against his erection. His eyes went flat and the pure, loaded look of lust on his face when she rose slightly—when she spread her legs even more—was enough to get her off.

  “What are you thinking?” he said, eyes still on all that soft, open and—because of that visit to the damn spa—totally bare flesh between her legs.

  Her fingers were now on her nipples, tweaking them as she began to rock into him. “I’m thinking that maybe you’re right.”

  Tucker dragged his eyes back up to her. “About what?”

  Slowly, she gyrated, loving how his big hands clutched her hips as if he never wanted to let her go.

  “The country thing,” she said softly.

  “I’m not following.” A sheen of sweat appeared across Tucker’s forehead, and the veins in his neck stood out. He rolled his hips and grinned wickedly when she gasped.

  “Country music.”

  Teeth clenched, Tucker looked up at her as if she was losing her mind. “What about it?”

  Abby stretched her arms above her head raised herself a bit more. “You might be right about my taste in music.” She licked her bottom lip and grabbed his cock, smiling when he hissed. “But it’s not Chicken Fry that I’m thinking about right now.”

  She guided the tip of his cock, fingers wrapped around the base, not stopping until she felt him.

  “It’s not.” His words sounded strained and boy did Abby know the feeling. She felt as if her body was coming apart and he wasn’t inside her yet.

  “No.” She slowly sank down onto him and threw her head back, hair falling down her shoulders.

  “Jesus Christ, you feel so fucking good,” Tucker murmured. “So fucking good.”

  Abby began to move. “Right now I’m thinking of that cowboy song.”

  “Cowboy song.”

  “Yeah,” Abby stared down into Tucker’s eyes as she rocked into him. Slowly his hands moved from her hips until he cupped the underside of her breasts. Licking her lips, she increased the tempo. She was so close to the edge that she knew this wouldn’t last long. Already she could feel an orgasm building—tightly coiled and ready for release.

  Bending over slightly, she kissed the corner of his mouth, and cupped his face between her hands.

  “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy,” she whispered.

  I’m gong to save you, cowboy. The thought echoed in her mind. It was there and then it was gone. There were no more words. There was hot, slick skin. Passionate sounds of pleasure. There were two bodies connected.

  There was only Abby and Tucker.

  And as they came together, chests heaving, hearts pounding, legs entwined, Abby thought that maybe things couldn’t be more perfect. Sure there were things to work through. Things she didn’t want to think about right now. But when she was here with him, connected on this level…feeling his body and soul melt into hers?

  She thought that maybe, just maybe, she would be the one to save Tucker Simon.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The meeting had run way too long as far as Tucker was concerned. Christ, he had the deal in the bag for Kendrick, but the marketing reps for the product they’d just signed on to promote sure as hell liked to hear themselves talk.

  It was Wednesday evening, and he hadn’t seen Abby since he’d left her place Monday morning. That was two days too long. Forty-eight hours filled with meetings and not much else. He’d been at the office early and home late and well, he didn’t want to crowd Abby, so he’d played it cool. He didn’t want to seem too eager, but man he needed to see her sweet face.

  He was in the mood for a cold beer, the best wings in town, and Abby Mathews. Actually, if she wasn’t working, he’d say to hell with the beer and wings, and he’d take Abby home and let her do that cowboy riding thing again.

  He grinned as he hit the pavement outside his office building. Yippee-ki-ay. He hailed a cab, and nearly twenty minutes later ,stepped inside The Black Dog.

  He spied Mick behind the bar, chatting up a little blond pixie—Abby’s roommate?—but the dark hair and brown eyes he wanted to see weren’t there. The place was packed, the sound system blasting some old Stones song, and as he sidled up to the bar, he frowned. His stool was taken.

  Shit.

  Mick glanced up then and pointedly looked at his watch. He shrugged and grabbed a mug from behind him. After filling it with Tucker’s usual Guinness, he said something to the little blond and walked toward Tucker.

  There was something in his eyes that rubbed Tucker the wrong way, but he accepted the mug and took a long drink before setting it back down on the bar. Mick was a big guy—like linebacker big—but as far as Tucker was concerned, Mick could glare at him all he liked. Tucker wasn’t the type to be easily intimidated.

  Growing up a Simon didn’t leave much room for that.

  “You’re late,” Mick said.

  “Had a meeting.”

  “Heard about Kendrick. Congrats.”

  “Thanks. He’s the real deal. Dream client.”

  “That’s what Abby says.” Mick’s eyes narrowed as he stood back and squared his shoulders.

  Tucker shoved his hands into his front pockets. “Where is your sister?”

  “Around.” The answer was pointed. Closed off. And was underlined with a healthy dose of pissed off.

  Ah, Tucker thought. It’s on.

  “Is there something you want to say to me, Mick?”

  All around them people moved, the crowd fluid as they approached the bar for drinks or met friends at already crowded tables. Tucker didn’t give a shit. He would throw down right here if he had to.

  “I got a lot that I want to say to you, pretty boy, but I’m not so sure that this is the time and place.”

  The woman sitting on the stool in front of Tucker twirled around in her seat. She was an attractive brunette, dressed professionally—lawyer type if Tucker was to guess. Her blouse was unbuttoned a little too low and the loopy look in her eyes told Tucker she’d been sitting in his spot for a couple hours. The woman was half-lit and on the prowl.

  With an appreciative smile on her face, she looked Tucker up and down. “Damn, you are pretty. Buy you a drink?”

  Tucker ignored her and clenched his hands together. He and Mick got along—or they had when Tucker had obeyed the older brother’s command to stay the hell away from his sister. But there was always something there, some kind mistrust that Tucker didn’t like. Mick Mathews didn’t know Tucker, not really, and he sure as hell had no right to stare him down as if he’d done something wrong.

  But what if he had? A sliver of unease slid through him.

  Just then Abby appeared from nowhere, her ponytail swinging around her neck, her warm eyes shiny when she spied Tucker. Shoving her brother out of the way, she leaned across the bar.

  “Where the hell have you been? You’re late, Mr. Simon.”

  The tension in him eased and he smiled. “Sorry. I’ve been running late ever since I got back from Florida.”

  Abby glanced to her side. “I see Mick’s already got your beer?”

  Her brother plunked his hands onto the bar beside his sister. None of them seemed to care that they were in the middle of a bar. None of them seemed to care that the woman on the stool was still very much interested in their conversation. As were the two men on the other side.

  The third bartender, Pete, however, shook his head and moved to the other end of the bar.

  “What the hell is going on between the two of you?” Mick growled.

  “Jesus, Mick.” Abby swore u
nder her breath and shoved her brother again. “Will you stop being such an asshole?”

  “I know about your trip to Florida,” Mick replied.

  “How?” But Abby didn’t have a chance to finish.

  Mick jerked his head, and they all turned to Lisa, who seemed a bit flustered and more than a little embarrassed.

  “Whatever, Mick,” Abby replied, grabbing a rag from underneath the bar. “It’s none of your business. It’s not like I’ve ever checked in with you before. What am I? Fifteen?”

  This was not the way Tucker wanted things to be with her brother. He nodded to Mick. “Why don’t we have a chat?”

  Tucker knew the guy was only looking out for his sister. He got that. But he also wasn’t going to put up with the kind of bullshit that Mick Mathews thought he could spread around.

  “A chat?” Abby looked like she was going to explode. Her eyes moved from Tucker back to her brother. “Seriously?”

  “Sounds good to me,” Mick replied. “I’ll be back,” he barked to no one in particular, though the blonde woman raised her glass in cheer.

  “Tucker,” Abby said. “What the hell?”

  Tucker undid his tie and slipped out of his suit jacket. He handed them to Abby, though his fingers trailed across her wrists, and he didn’t let her go.

  “You’re lucky your brother gives a shit. And because he does, I have to ease him into the fact that we’re seeing each other.”

  “You guys are being ridiculous. You know that, right?” She shot a look toward Mick. “I would have told him myself, except this is my first shift since I got back from Florida. I mean, I knew he’d be a little over-protective. Especially with Mom and Dad in Arizona for five months, but still...I don’t know what the big deal is. God, he never said anything about Tony.”

  “Your ex.”

  She nodded.

  “Why would he? The guy was a knob.”

  Abby tried not to smile, but she took his stuff and carefully folded Tucker’s jacket. “You and Mick are a lot alike, you know?”

  Tucker didn’t answer but turned around and headed for the back room where the dart board and two pool tables were located. Mick was waiting for him with his arms folded, his tall body leaning against one of the pool tables. He might look relaxed, save for the intense eyes trained on Tucker—they were anything but. He looked like he wanted to use something as a punching bag.

  Namely Tucker’s face.

  “What are you doing with my sister?” The words were controlled, hell, they even sounded conversational. But he wasn’t fooling anyone, and as soon as Mick uttered those words, the two guys playing pool on the adjoining table decided it was a good time to head to the bar and buy another round.

  Tucker wasn’t intimidated. He dealt with oversized, testosterone laden men all the time. Hell, take away his suit and tie and he was just as bad-ass as Mick Mathews.

  Where the hell were Cooper, Teague, and Maverick when he needed them? It had been a long time since he’d gotten out of hand. Maybe it was time to let some shit fly. From the looks of it, Mick was itching for it.

  Tucker smiled at the thought, but then pushed it aside. It really wasn’t the time or place. Besides, he wasn’t a twenty-year-old college kid anymore. He was a long ways from that.

  “Look, Mick. I get where you’re coming from,” Tucker replied. “I have a sister, too. But Abby isn’t a kid and neither am I.”

  “You didn’t answer my question. What exactly are you doing with her?”

  “We’re friends.”

  “Friends who go away together.”

  Okay, things were getting delicate, but Tucker didn’t see any other choice but to meet him head-on. “Look. Abby and I have been friends for a long time now and well, things have changed between us. We’re…” How could he put this? “Hanging out.”

  “Hanging out.”

  He nodded. “Yep.”

  Mick’s eyes flashed, and he took a step closer. “She’s not the type to just hang out, and you, my friend, are going to hurt her.”

  Tucker rolled his shoulders and unclenched his hands. “I’m not going to hurt her. We’re both adults, Mick, and we know what we’re doing. I get your concern, I’ve got a sister too, but she’s also a twenty-six-year-old woman. And in case you haven’t noticed, Abby can take care of herself.”

  Mick was silent for a few seconds. “She’s different from the women you bring here.”

  “Yes she is. A lot different.”

  Mick opened his mouth but didn’t get the chance to say anything. Abby strode between the two of them, eyebrows raised.

  “Okay, if you guys are done holding hands, I could use some help out there. The Black Dog seems to have attracted several New York Rangers and everyone is pretty much going crazy.”

  “Rangers?” Mick asked.

  “Yes,” Abby replied, knocking Tucker with her hip. “And some guy named Dean is asking for you.”

  “Ah,” Tucker said. “They’ve got the night off, and some of the young pups were looking for a place to hang. I told them where to find the best wings in town.”

  “Thanks,” Abby said softly, a slow smile spreading across her face. Mick snorted, and Abby’s eyes slid back to her brother. “I’ll see you behind the bar, and we’ll have our own little chat later. Trust me.”

  Tucker watched Abby return to the main room, aware that most of the male heads turned and followed her progress. And why wouldn’t they? The girl rocked a pair of jeans like nobody’s business.

  He had to work to keep the grin off his face. Work to keep the images of Abby out of his head, the ones where those fine jeans were nowhere in sight. Giving his head a shake, he turned back to Mick.

  “So are we good?”

  Mick scowled. “I don’t think you’re any kind of good for my sister. And I don’t think she’ll come out of whatever the hell it is you guys are doing without getting hurt. Jesus, guys like you think you can have whatever you want.”

  Anger snapped Tucker up good. “Wait a minute. What the hell do you mean, guys like me?”

  Mick’s eyes were black. “You’re Tucker-fucking-Simon. Women are a dime a dozen to you. When have you not gotten what you’ve wanted?”

  “The day my wife’s plane went missing and she didn’t come home.”

  Silence followed his words and Tucker shoved a hand through his hair, pissed off, but not real sure what he was pissed off about anymore. The fact that someone like Mick Mathews didn’t think he was good enough for his sister? Or the fact that Mick Mathews just might be right.

  “You’re damaged goods, Simon. I know it. And so do you,” Mick said roughly. “That little girl in there means a lot to her family. She means a lot to me. And I know that even if your intentions are good, even though she wants you in her life…you’re no good for her, and you’ll hurt her.”

  A muscle worked its way along Tucker’s jaw, but he remained tightlipped.

  “When it happens, I will kick your ass.”

  Tucker’s eyes narrowed as anger hit him in the gut. “You could try.”

  Mick left without another word, and it took a few moments for Tucker to calm down. With a groan, he rubbed the stubble along his jaw and turned back to the bar.

  Again, he had to ask.

  What the hell had he gotten himself into?

  Chapter Eighteen

  Funny how a few hockey players could change the energy in the bar. The Black Dog had gone from being boisterous and loud, to being boisterous and really loud with a dose of frenetic energy that touched everyone. Sure, they’d had their fair share of celebrities in the place, but to most of the people in the bar tonight, Dean Kendrick and the rest of his buddies were like gods.

  Abby shook her head as she grabbed another bottle of vodka from the stock room, along with two bottles of red wine.

  Smiling, she wove through the crowd, winking at Old Joe, a Wednesday night regular who flirted outrageously. The guy was on the wrong end of seventy, short, round, bald and widowed, with no fa
mily close by. But he was the sweetest little old man ever and he liked his extra spicy chicken wings almost as much as he liked his Guinness. Abby had known him for years—back when he still had salt-and-pepper hair—and he’d always been, Old Joe.

  She handed the bottle of vodka to her brother without saying a word—still pissed at his attitude—and headed toward the far end of the bar with the wine. Dean Kendrick was sitting next to Tucker, and he’d ordered a bottle of California red.

  The star center for the Rangers was something else. His hair was on the long side, his eyebrow was pierced and a tattoo crawled up his neck. His eyes were pale blue and his killer smile told Abby that he could give Old Joe a run for his money when it came to the flirting thing.

  He was also funny as hell, and, considering all the hype surrounding him, surprisingly down to earth. She had the feeling he acted like a player, but in reality he was just enjoying the game, so to speak. The women. The attention. The notoriety.

  She handed him a fresh glass of wine. He’d meet his match one day. He just wasn’t quite ready for it yet.

  “Thanks gorgeous,” Dean said with a smile.

  Ignoring him, Abby leaned her hip against the bar and looked at Tucker. God, she wanted to bury her hands in all that thick hair and kiss him silly.

  “So how’s it goin’ Cowboy?”

  Tucker’s nostrils flared. His eyes flattened and that beautiful mouth of his curved into a smile.

  “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.”