The Family Simon: Tucker Part 22

"I..." He blew out a hot breath.

Say something.

Tucker looked tortured. There was no other word for it.

She whispered, "it's okay."

He made a sound that came from deep inside his soul.

"Abby."

And then his mouth was on hers and she wrapped her hands in that long hair of his and gave him what he needed. Love.

She kissed him, pouring every ounce of feeling that she had into that kiss. When his tongue plunged inside her mouth, she answered in kind. It quickly became an aggressive, almost frantic joining.

Their lips. Their bodies. Their minds and their souls.

Tucker whipped the covers off of them and the cool air hit her hot, sweaty skin, but it didn't matter. It was brighter outside, and she feasted on the sight of him. How his muscles strained as his arms cradled her, how the tendons in his neck corded when he raised himself over her.

When he slid inside Abby, when she felt that hot, throbbing length of him buried inside her body, she pulled him close. If she could have crawled inside him she would have. She would have done anything for him. She bucked her hips and met his thrusts, their mouths once more entwined.

There were no words. No soft moments, no slow sensual caresses. There was only need and want and a connection that she didn't want to ever break.

As Tucker's thrusts became harder, faster. As her insides began to pull and her o.r.g.a.s.m pressed hard. As their sweat soaked bodies slid against each other-their rhythm perfect, the friction erotic-Abby strained against his mouth, her heart full and near to bursting.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Over and over she heard those words inside her head.

Only afterward as she laid in his arms, both of them trying to catch their breath did she think that maybe one of them had said those words out loud.

Chapter Twenty-three.

Thanksgiving came and went, but it was one of the best Thanksgivings Tucker could remember. The snow had come early to Northern Ontario, so the annual Simon family football game was a no go. However, they'd cleared the ice between the boathouse and the sh.o.r.eline, and a pretty animated game of shinny had entertained everyone for most of the afternoon. Heck, even his mother had thrown on a pair of skates.

Tucker grinned. Who knew that his girl was such an ace on the ice? But then, every day something about Abby surprised him.

She talked in her sleep.

She won the football pool every G.o.dd.a.m.n week.

She never matched her socks. Like ever. She'd wear black and white zebra print on one foot and brown and gold cheetah print on the other.

She was addicted to The Walking Dead and he didn't get that at all. Christ, every character on that show looked as if they needed to spend a G.o.dd.a.m.n week soaking in a bathtub. How the h.e.l.l she thought the redneck with the crossbow was hot, he'd never know.

And her sketches were the most beautiful things he'd ever seen. In fact, he'd shown a few to a friend of his in the business and Abby was now working with a writer on a proposal for a series of children's books.

Things were moving along. Progressing. And Tucker couldn't remember ever feeling so excited about the unknown. About a future with someone.

Abby had moved into his apartment the second week in December. Sure her brother Mick had been a grouch about it-said they were moving a little too fast for him. But her other brothers, especially the youngest Josh, were great and her parents were really good people.

Her roommate Lisa spent more than her fair share of evenings with them for that first month, but after a while, it had slowed down and now she only showed up Friday nights for wine and a movie.

Abby said it was because she had a new guy, though Lisa wasn't talking and he knew that it was driving his girl crazy, because she wanted to know who it was.

Tucker was fine with Abby having her girls' nights. He usually made himself scarce-G.o.d forbid he got roped into watching The f.u.c.king Notebook-or met some of the guys from the agency for beer and darts at The Black Dog.

They'd fallen into a routine and things were good. They were better than good.

Yep. Tucker was one lucky son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h to have found Abby, and there was no way in h.e.l.l he was letting her go.

He glanced down at his cell. Fingered the number in the call display-the last one to call his phone-and tried to quiet the anxiety he was trying real hard not to feel.

He'd approached Marley's parents a few weeks before about starting the process to have her declared legally dead. It had been the hardest decision he'd ever made, but after nearly four years, it was time. At least for him.

The conversation hadn't gone smoothly. In fact, it had been pretty awful. He cared about these people, a lot, but their pain was still so palpable, their dislike of his new relationship so toxic, that he'd had to leave and he hadn't heard anything since. He got that they were still in pain. h.e.l.l, he couldn't imagine what it must be like to lose a child, but he didn't understand why they couldn't see that he had to move on.

That he had moved on.

He supposed he could pet.i.tion the court for a death certificate himself instead of waiting out the seven years, but he'd rather do it with their blessing.

He glanced down at his cell. So why were they calling him now? It was Valentine's Day and he had plans. Big plans.

With a sigh, he pocketed his phone, deciding he'd call them back in the morning and ordered a drink from the bartender. Tucker had just finished a meeting with a sponsor for one of his newest clients, Jason Spender, a wide receiver for the Bronco's, and he had about an hour to kill until Abby met him. He was taking her out for dinner to a fancy little bistro and then to the airport.

He chuckled to himself, already visualizing her expression when he told her they were flying to Costa Rica for a week of sunshine, hot s.e.x, and only themselves for company.

Yep. Big plans.

s.h.i.t.

"You gonna tell me what that silly a.s.s grin on your face means?"

Tucker's head whipped up so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash. He was out of his chair, hand clapped on the man's shoulder before the guy could say anything else.

"Jesus Christ, Teague. What the f.u.c.k?" He stared at his twin in shock. "How the h.e.l.l did you...what are you doing back here, stateside? I thought you were still in South America somewhere, or G.o.dd.a.m.n Africa."

Teague Simon slapped him on the back, in that rough way that guys do before sliding onto the barstool beside Tucker.

Tucker couldn't wipe the silly-a.s.s grin off his face. G.o.dd.a.m.n but he missed his brother, and he motioned for the bartender to bring them another round. Dressed in faded green cargos, combat boots, a thick cable-knit turtleneck and a worn, black leather jacket, the guy looked all kinds of dangerous. With more than a week's worth of stubble on his jaw and hair that looked like it needed a cut weeks ago, he didn't exactly look like he belonged in the upscale bar.

He looked...

"Christ, Teague. You look like s.h.i.t."

Teague snorted and downed his tumbler in one long draw. He raised his gla.s.s, indicating he wanted another and leaned on the bar, his dark eyes intense as they looked back at Tucker.

"I feel like s.h.i.t. But that's pretty much par for the course these days. It's been a crazy few weeks."

Tucker sipped his whiskey. His brother was a photo-journalist, one usually found in the most dangerous parts of the world. Be it war in the Middle East, famine in Africa or organized crime in Mexico...he was there. He was one of the best at what he did and highly sought after, but from what Tucker could see, it was starting to show on him.

Teague's eyes looked...haunted.

"Do Mom and Dad know you're back?"

The family had been disappointed that Teague had been unable to make it home for Christmas and in fact, Tucker had caught his mother sniffling over some old family photos more than once.

Their son's dangerous escapades were starting to wear on them as well, and he knew that his mom wanted Teague home on American soil. She wanted Teague settled with a wife and a pack of kids, but that wasn't likely to happen. Teague Simon was like a lone wolf. He just did better on his own.

"Nah." Teague shook his head. "I'm only in New York for a few hours and no time to head to Florida. Waiting for a flight out to Egypt."

"Egypt?"

He shook his head. "Yeah."

"Dangerous s.h.i.t going on in that part of the world."

"Someone's got to go, Tuck. Someone needs to tell the stories. The real stories."

Tucker didn't say anything. He'd never really understood his brother's need to live life on the edge. To be in places where life and death were separated by chance and luck.

Nope. Tucker didn't understand it, but he sure as h.e.l.l respected it. As far as he was concerned, his brother Teague was one of the most fearless men he knew.

"How did you know I was here?"

Teague slipped off his jacket, smiling at a woman a few seats down and then stretched out his long arms. "Your secretary. Told me you had a meeting here and that I'd find you in the bar." Teague winked. "She knows you well and she's d.a.m.n cute."

Tucker's eyebrows rose. "She's too young. Christ, she's barely out of college."

"Yeah," Teague said with a grin. "But still. She's pretty d.a.m.n cute although..." his grin widened. "...she's not as hot as the woman in the picture on your desk. I take it that's your Abby?"

Tucker nodded. Busted.

"That's her."

The brothers sat in silence for a few moments and then Teague spoke gruffly. "I'm happy for you. After Marley...well, I just didn't think you were ever going to climb out of that pit." He shrugged. "At least not all the way."

The bartender brought them another round, pointing to the woman whose hungry gaze was still on Teague. The brothers accepted the drinks and while Tucker nursed the gla.s.s, Teague slammed his back.

"Do you love her?" Teague asked.

Tucker glanced at his brother and then nodded. "Yeah. I do."

"That's good." Teague paused and shot him a sideways glance. "Have you told her yet?"

Christ, his brother knew him well.

"No." He thought of his big plans and smiled. "But that's all gonna change tonight."

Just then his cell buzzed and he whipped it out, the smile still in place. It had to be Abby. But his smile faded when he saw Kate Danvers name again. Marley's mother. An odd sensation washed over him. A weird sort of de je vu.

"That your girl?" Teague asked.

"No." He glanced up to his brother. "I'm going to have to take this. When's your flight? Do you still have some time?"

"Go," Teague glanced toward the blond who'd bought them a round. "I'll be here when you get back." He shoved away from the bar and chuckled. "Besides, I need to meet this Abby woman. See if she's as hot in real life as she is in that picture on your desk."

"Don't be getting any ideas about her," Tucker warned.

"It's not me you have to worry about. Has Cooper met her?"

"Yeah."

"And how did that go?"

"How do you think?"

Teague's grin was contagious. "As f.u.c.ked up as this world is, I love that some things never change."

Tucker hit return call on his cell and moved to the lobby of the hotel, where the reception was better and the noise was minimal. Outside it was snowing, big old snowflakes falling down in soft gusts, bathed in the streetlights that lit up the night.

He didn't think the phone rang. Didn't remember hearing a ring and yet all of a sudden there was his mother-in-law's panicked voice in his ear.

"Tucker Simon, I have been calling you for hours. Why haven't you answered me?"

"I..." s.h.i.t. What the h.e.l.l was going on? "I'm sorry, Kate. I was in a meeting and my brother just flew into New York for a few hours. We were catching-"

"I don't care about that. Tucker haven't you seen the news?"

A shrill undertone colored her words and that p.r.i.c.kly sensation was back. Big time.

"No. I..."

He had a bad feeling about this.

"Like I said, Kate. I was in a meeting and only saw you called now."

"Tucker," she wailed in his ear. "They've found her."

For a moment, Tucker felt as if he was sitting in a cold, sterile room at the end of a very long hallway. There were echoes, not sounds really, just hard noises banging in his head. All the colors of the world bled into one, a dull, grey palette, that was sickly and awful.