“I know that your favorite color is orange.”
Abby’s eyebrow shot up. “How would you know that?”
“The bag you always bring to the bar is orange, your watch is orange, the laces in your running shoes are orange and you wear those little orange studs in your ears.”
“Wow,” Abby said softly, not really knowing what else to say. Something inside her tightened. Something fluid and emotional. Something that had no business rearing its head right now. She pushed it back.
“I know that even though you’re a classic rock kind of girl, you have a soft spot for country music.”
“Do not.”
“Do so,” he shot back, hands now pushing him into her. “Do you want to know how many times I’ve caught you lost in space thinking about stuff…like maybe sketching me in the nude—“
“Tucker, I don’t like country music.”
“Bullshit. Do you know what you do when you’re thinking of’—he edged his cock deeper between her legs—Hank?”
“Hank?”
Tucker grinned and jerked his hips. “Hank.”
“Oh,” Abby giggled thinking back to that first embarrassing morning at the hotel. “Hank.”
“When you’re concentrating or lost in thought, you hum that Chicken Fry song. Every single time. Chicken. Fry.”
“I don’t…” but her voice trailed off, because she did. “That doesn’t mean I like country music. It just means that I like that song.”
“Whatever, Mathews. I’ll get you to cross over to the dark side. Just wait and see.”
“So country music?”
“Yeah,” he grinned. “They don’t call me cowboy for nothing.”
“I’ve never heard anyone call you cowboy.”
“No?”
She shook her head. “Nope.”
“We need to fix that.”
“Do you know what I think?” she said softly, moving her hips in such a way that Tucker growled like an animal, hands clasped to her.
Abby pushed back so that she was straddling Tucker and opened her legs slightly, loving that his eyes immediately went there. She was hot and wet and right now, in this moment, she was his. She wanted him to see all of her.
As her fingers trailed down her breasts, the ache inside her started to throb something fierce. It spread out like tiny fingers of exquisite pain, settling low in her belly and deep within the folds of her sex.
Tucker inhaled sharply when she ground herself against his erection. His eyes went flat and the pure, loaded look of lust on his face when she rose slightly—when she spread her legs even more—was enough to get her off.
“What are you thinking?” he said, eyes still on all that soft, open and—because of that visit to the damn spa—totally bare flesh between her legs.
Her fingers were now on her nipples, tweaking them as she began to rock into him. “I’m thinking that maybe you’re right.”
Tucker dragged his eyes back up to her. “About what?”
Slowly, she gyrated, loving how his big hands clutched her hips as if he never wanted to let her go.
“The country thing,” she said softly.