Page 25 of Untamed
I move a little closer, testing her with a brush of my body against hers as I say, “I think you underestimate how very memorable you are.”
8
Ruth
It almost feels like Tucker’s flirting with me for real, and I’m feeling a little flustered, which is bad news. I need to remember this is all a show, get with it, and play my part.
The problem—one of many—is, I’m not a great flirt. I never have been. I’m not sexy or seductive or good at charming men.
If I had the time to be amused—and if my future didn’t depend on it—I would probably find my current situation hilarious. No one is less equipped for this task than me. But somehow, I have to at least seem romantically interested in and connected to the man standing so close, all I’d have to do to feel the front of his body against mine is take a deep breath.
So that’s what I do. Pulling in enough air to expand my lungs and bring my breasts to his chest, I attempt a flirtatious smile. “It’s my hair, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Definitely.” But Tucker isn’t looking at my ‘memorable’ hair. His eyes are locked on the spot where our bodies connect.
Basically, he’s staring at my tits.
I can’t really blame him. I shoved them against himwithout warning.
Also, they’re glorious.
Pregnancy did some not so fun things to my body, but it also took my original B cups to a full D. On the days when I’m feeling a little depressed over stretch marks and cellulite, I try to look on the bright side. The bright side being my newly majestic boobs.
“You think maybe we should hug or something?” Now that I’m here, I probably shouldn’t waste the proximity. I don’t know how long it’ll take me to work up the nerve to be this close to Tucker again.
“Yup. Yeah. Definitely.” He’s still staring. “I can do that.”
He doesn’t move, though. And after the way he acted over putting his arm around me, I’m going to guess it’s because my general permission might not be enough for him to feel comfortable just touching me.
So I decide it’s up to me, and close the remaining distance—the few inches gap from my tits to my tummy—wrapping both arms around his back. I’m not a super tall person, so I can’t put my head over his shoulder. The only option is to rest my cheek against his chest, putting it right over his heart.
Then I stand there.
I’m about to pat him on the back, because I’m not sure what else to do, when Tucker’s arms come around me. Solid and strong and warm, they pull me even closer. One hand comes to cradle the back of my head, tucking it tight to his pec as he leans down, resting his chin against my crown.
This is… Actually kind of nice.
I can’t remember the last time someone hugged me like this. It might have been since before my mother died, which is kind of depressing.
It’s also kind of sad, and my throat ends up achy and tight. I press my face tighter to Tucker’s shirt, squeezing my eyes shut, because there’s no freaking way I’m going to cry right now. I’m not interested in having that conversation with this guy. TuckerBradshaw might be way nicer than I expected. He might be a goofball who is actually kinda good with kids. He might even be a consent king. He’s still not the kind of man a woman shares her feelings with.
To be honest, I’m not convinced any of them are.
I don’t know how long we’ve been standing here, but probably beyond the point of Tucker trying to figure out why in the heck I haven’t let him go. I finally feel like I’m under control, and am just about to step back, when his doorbell rings. The sound makes me tense up immediately.
“Relax.” His voice is low and soft. “It’s probably just a delivery.”
I hope to God it’s that. With my luck, his mom magically figured out what’s going on and flew back from wherever she was to confront us. I’ve never watched Deidre Bradshaw’s shows or read through any of her magazines or cookbooks, but everybody knows who she is.
And who she is, is a little scary. Not because she seems mean, but because she’s so successful. She’s built an empire I can’t even begin to fathom. I have no doubt a woman capable of doing all that is more than capable of seeing right through me.
I take a deep breath, stepping back to put some distance between Tucker and me, and go to find my daughter while he answers the door. I always keep an ear out, so I know she’s close by and hasn’t done anything terrible. But instead of making a beeline for her toys in the great room like I thought she would, she’s actually moved to the front of the house, wandering her way through the formal dining room and living room.
I’ve just reached where she’s inspecting an artful array of expensive-looking decor arranged on the living room coffee table when I hear a feminine voice and consider shitting my pants.
I quickly scoop up my daughter, looking for a spot that will keep us hidden.
But I’m too slow.
