Tucker (The Family Simon 1)

“You live in a hotel?” she whispered as they approached the elevators.

“It’s a mix of owners and guests.”

“Wow. You must think my place is so…” she blushed.

“Your place is great, Abby. It’s just real estate.”

The ride up was quiet and Abby had no idea what changed, but suddenly she was nervous as hell. Tucker’s cell pinged, and he grabbed it with his right, while his left kept hers firmly in his grasp.

Glancing downward, she fixated on her smaller hand in his. At his long, tapered fingers, the masculine width and the darkened skin.

The pale white line on his ring finger.

Abby exhaled. Her stomach jumped and her heart began to beat faster. How had she never noticed that before? The stark reminder of the absence of his wedding ring was somehow so much worse than if he still wore the plain gold band she’d seen before.

When had he stopped wearing it? What did it mean? Did it really matter?

The glaring emptiness on his finger was something she didn’t want to look at. It was a reminder of an unfinished past, and she glanced up sharply, just as the elevator came to a halt and Tucker shoved his cell back into his pocket.

“My brother, Jack. I’ll call him later.”

The doors slid open, and Tucker took a step and paused. “Abby?” Gently he tugged her forward and nodded to his left. “This is me.”

Lights were on low, showcasing a home that was masculine with bold blue walls, dark mahogany leather, and framed artwork in reds, whites and blue. The apartment was open concept and her eyes swept the entire area, resting on the granite island in the kitchen.

It was understated luxury, made up of raw masculine components. It was all Tucker.

He was watching her, and she bit her lip nervously. She knew he’d never lived here with his wife—he’d told her that much. But still…she thought of all the other women he’d brought back here. The models. The heiresses. The freaking yoga instructors. And for the first time since she’d started this—whatever it was—with Tucker, she felt scared.

“Hey,” he said, voice rough. “Is something wrong?”

YES! I love you. I love you more than I should and I’m scared shitless here.

She shook her head and whispered. “No.”

“Come here,” he said, tossing his jacket onto the sofa behind him. Several feet back, the floor to ceiling windows showed an uncompromised view of Central Park. Stars and city lights twinkled, haloing Tucker and making him seem almost, not real.

She dragged her eyes up to his. Watched the subtle flare in his nostrils. The way his eyes went dark because he was aroused. He wanted her. He wanted her right now.

But he didn’t love her.

Is that enough for me?

“Abby.”

The tone in his voice grabbed her hard, and, mouth dry, she walked toward him, not stopping until his arms were around her and she rested her head against his chest.

For a long time, the two of them stood like that. Tucker holding Abby and Abby listening to his heartbeat. It felt so damn right to be here with him.

“Are you okay?”

She shook her head, still not sure she could speak without sounding like an idiot. And shit, were those tears poking the corner of her eyes? What the hell was wrong with her?

Tucker’s hand slipped under her chin, and he forced her gaze up to his. “I’ve never brought anyone back here.” He paused, his thumb stroking gently. “I just wanted you to know that.”

Something broke apart inside Abby. Something hard and hot and heavy. She stood on her tiptoes, hands buried in that thick hair that had been teasing her all night. She opened her mouth and kissed him as if she was starving.

She kissed him as if she could somehow communicate her need and want and…