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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.”
