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“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.”
