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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.”
“No?” She asked, sliding a beer bottle to the guy on the other side of Tucker. He was one of Dean’s buddies and, at the moment, was chatting up her roommate, Lisa.
“Let me rephrase,” Tucker replied. “Not all horses are created equal.”
“Who doesn’t like horses?” Dean asked, glancing back and forth between them.
Abby’s mouth was dry because the way Tucker was looking at her right now, she knew that he was hot. She knew that he was hot and bothered. She knew that he was wound up—that the sexual tension they’d danced around the entire evening was getting to be too much.
“You do know that I grew up in Wyoming, right?”
Tucker glanced at Dean. “Really?”
“Yep. I’ve ridden my share of horses.”
“Good to know.” Tucker stood and splayed his hands on the top of the bar. He leaned close, so that only Abby could hear him. “I just prefer to be ridden is all.”
She tried to swallow. Or maybe she didn’t. Who the hell knew?
The only thing that Abby was sure about right now was that she hadn’t been alone with Tucker since Monday. And like a virus that was inside her, infiltrating her cells—leeching into her bones—she needed him.
“Are you almost done?” He asked, moving back an inch, so that she could breathe.
Abby glanced up at the clock behind the bar. It was nearly eleven and the kitchen had just closed, but the crowd was still busy.
“Go,” Lisa said hopping onto the bar, and swiveling her butt around until she dropped beside Abby. “I’ll help Mick out. It’s the least I can do for spilling the beans and all.” She scrunched up her nose. “Which I’m so sorry about, it just kind of fell out of my mouth.”
Abby spied Mick chatting with Pete and Old Joe. If she was going to sneak out now was her chance. “Okay,” she whispered. “Thanks Lisa.”
She grabbed her jacket and purse from beneath the bar, pulled a Lisa and hopped overtop until she was standing between Tucker and Dean.
“Shit,” Dean said stepping back. “That’s the fastest turn around I’ve seen since—” he poked the guy beside him “—Jake here, stole the puck off Louinski and took it all the way back to score.”
“What?” Abby asked a little out of breath. Her brain was too fuzzy to work things out. Kind of hard to do when all she was thinking about was Tucker Simon.
“Never mind,” Dean chuckled. He shook Tucker’s hand. “I like your girl.” And then he moved out of the way so that they could leave. Tucker shrugged into his suit jacket and grabbed her hand.
They’d just cleared the bar when he turned and slid his other hand up to her jaw, holding her in place. Helplessly she stared up into his eyes and opened her mouth to accept a bold, hot kiss that had her toes curling and her stomach clenching in less than five seconds.
Jesus, that had to be some kind of record.
Tucker tore his mouth away. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Okay,” she managed to say.
“My place?” Tucker asked, waiting.
Abby nodded while Tucker hailed a cab. Less than twenty minutes later, they were let out in front of a beautiful old building on Central Park South. Overlooking the park, it was prime real estate, but then, had she expected Tucker to live anywhere else but in a place like this?
“Mr. Simon.”
“Patrick.” Tucker nodded to the doorman, and then grabbed Abby’s hand. They walked into the Essex House and Abby felt more than a little out of place. An elderly couple was checking into the hotel, the woman dressed to the nines. Abby could see the glitter of diamonds on her neck from several feet away.
