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. Earlier, 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.”
Okay, that wasn’t exactly the response Abby had been expecting.
“No,” Abby cut in. “I’m not—“
Betty Jo’s perfectly shaped eyebrows shot up.
“I mean, we’re not—“
Betty Jo cocked her head to the side, her smile even wider. “Uh huh,” she said getting off the bed. “That’s what Tucker said too.” She pointed to the pile of clothes on the bed. “These are for you, and, I gotta say, for a woman he claims he’s not sleeping with, he sure as hell knows your size. They should fit...perfectly.”
Betty didn’t give Abby a chance to say anything as she continued, that husky voice of hers sounding like honey over burnt toast.
“We’re in the restaurant having breakfast. Do you want me to wait?” There was also a pair of golf shoes on the floor.
Throat dry, Abby barely got her words out. “Um, no. It’s fine. I’ll meet you guys down there.”
“Okay,” Betty Jo answered lightly.
Abby watched her cross the room and pause at the door. Betty Jo glanced over her shoulder, a wicked glint in her eyes that put Abby on alert. There was a reason the woman was in the news all the time, and it wasn’t just because she was dating one of the most famous movie stars ever.
“So, about Tucker and you just being friends…”
Abby watched her warily. “Yes?”
Betty’s face broke wide open into a grin. “It’s okay honey, I didn’t believe him either.”