Read Online Tucker (The Family Simon) by Juliana Stone - Free Book Online

eyebrow shot up, “so busy?”
    Christ. Here we go.
    “Mom,” Tucker began, but he was cutoff by a low whistle.
    “Who the hell is that?” Cooper asked as they all gazed across the room.
    “Cooper, language,” Eden murmured.
    Betty Jo was grabbing two champagne glasses from a waiter, and sure, she looked amazing as ever, but it was the woman beside her who had Tucker’s attention. And he was pretty damn sure she had everyone else’s too.
    Abby.
    She looked unbelievable and not at all like the Abby he was used to. This Abby looked as if she’d just stepped out of the pages of some society magazine.
    Dramatic makeup. Hair styled so that it fell over one shoulder in rippling waves of dark chestnut. Mouth glossy and full. Dressed in a strapless blood red cocktail dress that hugged her figure in a way that was meant to garner attention, Tucker snuck a look at his cousins. Rick was smiling at her and Cooper’s gaze was locked onto Abby as if she was a piece of candy he wanted to lick.
    Tucker took a step forward. No way in hell was Cooper getting close to Abby. If anyone was going to lick her, it was gonna be him.
    “Who the…who is that woman?” Cooper asked again.
    Tucker threw his cousin a warning look which only made Cooper’s smile widen.
    “Why that’s Tucker’s new friend, Abby,” his mother replied in her slow southern drawl. “And she’s such a delight. Smart as a whip, funny as all get out and she can hold her own with Betty, which—” she glanced at Beau and winked—“isn’t the easiest thing to do.”
    Beau snorted. “You got that right.”
    “I like a woman with a sense of humor,” his mother said softly.
    “Really,” Cooper replied. “I can’t wait to meet her.”
    Something hot and dangerous pulsed inside Tucker, and for a second, he visualized his fist connecting with Cooper’s perfect fucking nose.
    He didn’t act on it, and he sure as hell didn’t pay any attention to it.
    What he did do was set his empty beer bottle on the bar and, with a curt nod toward his mother, headed for the lady in red.

Chapter Eight
     
    “Here’s some champagne. It will help loosen you up.”
    Abby accepted the glass from Betty Jo, her palms sweaty and her fingers wooden. It was a miracle she didn’t drop the slender flute, and for a few seconds she concentrated hard so that she wouldn’t.
    Nervous didn’t come close to describing what was going on inside her stomach. Heck, it was like a convention of butterflies had gone bat-shit crazy. How the hell had she let Betty Jo talk her into wearing this dress? This makeup?
    She glanced lower. These shoes?
    They had come-fuck-me written all over them and with the slit nearly up to her hip they were there for everyone to see. That’s if anyone’s eyes made it past the top of her dress which, at the moment, barely supported her breasts. And she didn’t want to think about how low the back was. In fact she’d asked Betty Jo twice if her butt crack wasn’t peeking out of the top of the gown.
    Never in her life had she worn a dress that didn’t allow for a bra or underwear. Never. But thanks to Betty Jo Barker, Abby was going commando. And thanks to the hotel spa, she was smooth in places she’d never been smooth before.
    Holy. Hell.
    Back in Betty’s room when she’d glanced in the mirror, she hadn’t recognized herself. Not that she wasn’t impressed with the results. She knew she looked good. Really good. Like she could walk a red carpet beside Betty Jo and maybe hold her own.
    That was pretty damn good.
    But looking sexy and fitting into that skin were two different things. She just didn’t know if she could carry off the look. Didn’t know if she could walk the walk.
    Abby had always been a jeans and T-shirt kind of girl. Even back in New York, she wasn’t much for the night clubs unless they included a rock band or the blues. Hence, the T-shirt and jeans…maybe the occasional skirt—but never anything like this.
    Oh God. And she always