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.
“I will decide the time and place.”
Tucker studied her for a few moments, eyes cold, mouth tight. What the hell had he ever seen in her? There was no warmth. No caring. No connection at all. The sex hadn’t even been all that great. Pretty pathetic, the more he thought about it, but he supposed that’s why their fling had worked. It was easy to do when feelings weren’t involved.
But something had changed for him. Abby had happened.
Movement caught his eye—a woman heading his way. A woman with long, red-brown hair that flowed freely, just the way he liked it. A woman with creamy shoulders. A woman who took his breath away in a burnt orange dress—the perfect foil to all the black that surrounded him—and eyes that hit him like a punch to the gut.
Speak of the devil.
Someone had called in sick, so Abby had worked past her shift until her brother Josh could come in and cover. Up until now, he wasn’t even sure she’d be able to make the benefit. Truthfully, Tucker had been willing to blow the event off and spend the night sitting at the bar with her, but at Abby’s insistence he’d come on his own, and she told him she’d do her best to make it.
Tucker’s heart sped up. The wait was totally worth it.
Abby smiled at a waiter who offered her some champagne, but shook her head politely, eyes moving over the room, looking for him. He took a moment, just to enjoy the sight of her and then frowned.
Dean Kendrick blocked his view as the star Ranger bent close to talk to her. Tucker’s eyes narrowed when Dean put his hand on Abby and said something that made her laugh.
“You’ve got to be joking.”
Sonya’s harsh voice brought his eyes back to her, and he hoped like hell she was done because he was already moving on. He didn’t have time for her crap.
“I’m not doing this,” he said, voice clipped.
And then Sonya swore. She swore like a trucker and turned to him, an ugly red flush creeping up her neck.
“That is the woman you’ve been f*cking?” She sounded incredulous.
Her voice was shrill and he winced at her crudeness. “I know her,” Sonya continued. “She’s the bartender from that dump you insisted I go to. Oh my God, Tucker. You’re banging the bartender?”
Someone gasped, although Tucker wasn’t sure who it was because he saw red. Hell, he saw every f*cking color in the spectrum.
He stepped toward Sonya, his voice low, barely able to hold his shit together. And if they weren’t in the middle of the Terrace Room—if it wasn’t the Simon name on the bill—he wouldn’t have cared. He’d have ripped Sonya Devonish into pieces.
He was that angry.
He felt someone’s hand on his arm and shot a look to Jack that had his brother holding his hands up and backing away.
Tucker looked at Sonya, his dislike and anger evident as he slowly unclenched his hands. “You’re going to leave this benefit right now, even if it means I have to drag you out of here myself. Got it?”
Her flush deepened, but she didn’t budge. “Were you f*cking her when you were f*cking me?”
That’s it. He was done. Tucker had never come close to wanting to slap a woman before, but this one, with her crude talk and nasty insinuations had him considering it.
He took another step closer, but Jack was suddenly in his face. “Don’t make a scene, Tucker. I’ve got this.”
Tucker looked at his brother and then back to Sonya. “I suggest you listen to Jack, because he’ll be a hell of a lot nicer than I will.” Tucker gave Jack a quick nod and turned on his heel, pushing past a small crowd near the bar.
Kendrick still had his arm on Abby, and Tucker’s mood went from bad to worse. The guy was just a little too friendly for Tucker’s tastes. Hell, the week before they’d attended a Ranger game and Dean had come up to the VIP lounge afterward—something he rarely did—and Tucker had a sneaking suspicion it was because he knew Abby was there.
Tucker hadn’t mentioned it, but a man knew when someone else was interested in what was his. And Dean Kendrick would be all over Abby if she wasn’t with Tucker.
When he reached them, his temper was in check.
“Dean. Nice to see you made it out. The family appreciates it.”
Kendrick glanced to his side, surprised. “Hey, Tuck. I’m glad I could make it. Thanks for the invite.”
“No problem.” Tucker checked his watch. “Big game tomorrow. You shouldn’t stay too late.” Male posturing? Maybe. But Tucker needed Dean to move away from Abby in the worst way possible.
Dean’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Ah, yeah, I guess. Early road trip out to LA in the morning.”
“All right then.” Tucker moved aside and for a moment, no one moved. He felt Abby’s eyes on him but didn’t take his off Kendrick.
“We were in the middle of a conversation, Tucker,” Abby said.
“I know,” Tucker replied, “But Dean here needs to go.”
“Are you kidding me?” Abby’s eyes widened as a hint of pissed off crossed her face.
Tucker wished he was. He wished he didn’t feel all the stuff going on inside him. And maybe he was acting like a f*cking Neanderthal, dragging his knuckles along the floor, but he couldn’t help it.
Dean cleared his throat, shook his head slightly and then smiled at Abby. “Okay. I guess I should be getting home. Nothing like getting to bed before nine on a Wednesday evening.” He shot a dark look at his agent. “But hockey comes first.”
He bent and kissed Abby’s cheek, and if Tucker was all sorts of twisted up before, right now he was ready to bounce something off the wall, and Dean Kendrick’s head looked pretty damn good.
“I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into Tucker. But remember what I said?” Abby said softly.
Dean chuckled. “Will do.” He nodded to Tucker. “See you at our meeting next week, Mr. Simon.” And then he disappeared in the crowd.
“Okay, what the hell was that all about?”
Tucker’s eyes moved from the back of Kendrick’s head to the flashing brown eyes that stared up at him. Okay, she was pissed. Seems as if he was two for two tonight.
“Nothing,” he said. “The guy needs his rest.” Weak, he knew, but it was all he had.
“Bullshit. You were rude to him. You were more than rude. You were unprofessional and rude. Dean Kendrick is probably your biggest client and one of the nicest guys I know. He doesn’t deserve to be treated like a five-year-old the night before a big game. And considering he was doing you a favor by showing up to this charity shin-dig, you owe him an apology.”
Wait. What?
“How the hell would you know if Dean Kendrick is nice or not? You’ve met him, what, twice? Maybe three times?”
“First of all, that has nothing to do with it, and secondly, you don’t know everything there is to know about me.” Something flashed in her eyes and for a second Tucker thought that maybe they were arguing about something totally different.
“Dean is into art, Tucker. Art. He’s into sketching and painting and we’ve had more than a few conversations about it.”
“When the hell have you had time to have conversations with Dean Kendrick about art? He’s a hockey player in the NHL, for Christ sake. Since when does he have time for someone like you?” Okay was he crazy? Or just losing it? Had he missed something?
Abby’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. And then she took a step forward and thumped him in the chest. She thumped him hard enough to move him back an inch or so, and there was a collective gasp from the crowd that surrounded them.
So much for not making a scene.
“I can’t believe you just said that. What do you mean someone like me? You don’t think I’m good enough for Dean Kendrick?” Abby blew out a loud breath, tugging a strand of hair from her face.
“I heard her, you know.” Abby bit out. “I’m sure everyone in this place heard her. Sonya Devonish. Is she right? Am I just a bartender that you’re f*cking?”
Shocked, Tucker stared down at a woman who had gone way beyond pissed. Hell, they were so far into unknown territory right now that he had no idea how to get them back. How had his evening nosedived into the toilet in just under ten minutes?
“Abby.”
“Don’t Abby me. This whole thing was a mistake. It’s all a mistake.”
Tucker didn’t give a flying f*ck that they were in the middle of one of the Simon Foundation’s biggest fundraisers. He didn’t care that all around them, people pretended to have conversations while trying not to look as if they were listening in on him and Abby.
He didn’t give a shit about any of that, because all of a sudden he was filled with something that made his chest tight. Something that heated his blood and pressed onto his heart.
It was big and it was green and it was ugly.
He was jealous as hell, and it was time that he faced the fact that Abby Matthews was in his life. That she’d somehow bled into parts of him that he thought were protected. Parts of him that he thought were dead.
He didn’t have time to analyze or think about the facts. He needed to get her alone.
“Come with me.”
“What? No way. I’m not going anywhere with you. I don’t even know why I came to this thing.”
But he didn’t give her the option. He scooped her up, tossed her over his shoulder—a f*cking caveman move if ever there was one—and headed toward the lobby.
He ignored all the gasps, the whispers and pointed fingers. He ignored the look of holy-f*cking-shit on his brother Jack’s face. It was hard, but he ignored the squirming woman on his shoulder and the screech when he pressed his hand into her ass to keep her steady.
He even ignored her attempts to bite him.
He ignored all of it and walked out of the Terrace Room and headed toward the elevator. Once the doors closed behind him, he slowly let her down, his eyes on the frantic pulse at her neck.
Abby opened her mouth to speak but he shook his head and something in his eyes got to her, because nothing came out. He moved forward until he crowded her into the wall, until he could practically hear her heart banging against her chest. Until he could smell the shampoo in her hair and the musk on her skin.
He placed both of his hands on either side of her and before she could say a word, he silenced her with his mouth.
Tucker Simon kissed Abby Mathews long and he kissed her hard. He kissed her as if she was the air he breathed or the life in his veins. He inhaled her. He devoured her. And when he finally dragged his mouth away, both of them were panting.
For a few seconds, the only noise he heard was the roaring of his blood as it pounded in his ears. He didn’t hear the bell ring or the elevator doors slide open. He didn’t even hear the slap of her hand across his skin, but the burn of her palm on his cheek was enough to snap him out of whatever the hell it was that had taken him over.
“I hate you,” she whispered.
And then she was gone, sliding past him and the startled couple waiting to get into the elevator.
The look in Abby’s eyes tore at him and suddenly the green-eyed monster was nothing compared to what gripped him now. Because what gripped him now was fear. Fear that he’d blown it. Fear that, once again, he was losing something.
Something that he thought maybe he’d grown to love.