His Fantasy Girl

by Nina Croft

  It?

  Abby opened her mouth to explain why she was really here, but he placed a finger over her lips, stopping the words. “We can talk later.”

  Maybe he had a subconscious inkling that he wasn’t going to like what she said. All the same she had to put a stop to this now. She suspected, though she couldn’t quite get her head around it, that Logan was about to attempt to re-enact some of those fantasies. And that so could not happen. Fantasies were just that. They had no place in the real world. Not his and not hers.

  “I—”

  He took a step closer, cutting off her words, so close the heat of his body radiated through the layers of her clothes, and the musky, male scent of him filled her nostrils. He was lowering his head. He was going to kiss her. This wasn’t happening. Oh God, why had she never considered this happening? She took a step back, and he followed her. Another, and the backs of her knees banged into the edge of the sofa.

  His other hand came up so he was cupping her face between his palms. She couldn’t quite define his expression, but it made something warm and needy uncoil inside her.

  He was going to kiss her, and she couldn’t let that happen, couldn’t let him believe she was available to fulfill some decade-old fantasy. The only way this would work was if they could be cool and detached about it.

  He was coming closer, lowering his head, his gorgeous lips parting…

  Stop right there.

  She pulled away, ducked sideways, and put the sofa between them.

  His eyes narrowed, but he still had that glint in his eyes. He was confident of her; she could see it in the lazy amusement in his expression.

  She licked her lips and swallowed. “We need to talk.”

  “We will. Later. Right now we need to have a little trip down memory lane. Don’t tell me you don’t want to, Abby. Don’t tell me that you aren’t hot and wet for me under that prim little outfit.”

  She gritted her teeth. “I am so not…”

  He raised an eyebrow and glanced down. She followed the direction of his gaze; her nipples were hard little peaks, clearly visible through her bra and sweater.

  Traitorous nipples.

  They ached to be touched. It had been a long time that was all. Too long. She’d had boyfriends in the past, but the last few years had been hectic, juggling her little girl and her job, so she’d pushed that part of her life aside to think about later and never gotten around to it.

  He moved slowly, as though not quite sure of her, despite his words, as though she might run. And she thought about it, really she did, but she wasn’t confident her legs would carry her. She gripped the back of the sofa to steady herself.

  She didn’t want this. Did she?

  Maybe just once.

  But sex would complicate matters.

  Jennifer. Think of Jennifer.

  She swallowed but didn’t move as he came up behind her.

  “This was one of my earlier fantasies.” He leaned in close, whispering the words in her ear, sending frissons shivering across her skin. “So, you’re the governor’s secretary.”

  “I am?”

  “A cliché I know, but I didn’t have a lot to work with. Apparently, when you found out I was in prison, you were inconsolable—”

  “I was?”

  He kissed the side of her neck, and prickles ran down her spine. “Devastated. So you got a job at the prison to be close to me. Anyway, the governor has been called away, and we’re alone at last. You want me…” His arm slid around her waist, one hand splaying across her belly, and he pulled her back against the heat of his body. Oh God. He was already rock hard, and his erection pushed against her ass, and her insides turned hot and molten. He was so big, and heat flooded her core, soaking her panties. “And, baby, you can have me, but we have to be quick, because he might come back at any moment.” His tongue licked the side of her neck, and fire burned down through her body to settle between her thighs.

  He nipped her earlobe between sharp teeth, and somehow her ass moved of its own accord—traitorous ass—pushing back against his erection, and he made a low growling sound deep in his throat. His other hand came around her, palming her breast, rubbing at the engorged nipple, sending darts of pleasure to her sex.

  “Christ, I love your tits. There’s no time to undress, but other times I’d suck them, lick them, rub my dick between them, until I came all over you. And afterwards, we’d do it all over again.” He pinched the nipple and she gasped, biting her lower lip to try to maintain some last, small vestige of control. She stared down at that tattooed arm, the big hand, long fingers squeezing her breast, and the air was sucked from her lungs, leaving her breathless.

  The hand on her stomach slipped beneath her sweater, pushing inside the waistband of her skirt. The caress of his rough palm against her bare skin did weird things to her insides. She pressed back against him, feeling him all the way along her spine, her ass, her head against his shoulder. His hand shifted lower and the button popped off her skirt, allowing him access.

  “Sorry.” He didn’t sound sorry. “I need to see if you’re as turned on by this as I am. Are you turned on, Abby?”

  She would have liked to say no, but at that moment his fingers slipped inside her panties. There was no hesitation as he burrowed between her thighs. “Oh yeah,” he murmured into her ear, his voice laced with satisfaction. Then his fingers slid between the folds of her sex.

  Oh God.

  “Holy shit, you are so wet.” He rubbed one finger over her, and her knees buckled. The arm around her held her up, and she heard his soft chuckle in her ear. “You like that?” He didn’t seem to expect an answer which was just as well. He slid his hand further into her panties, his finger finding the opening to her body and shoving inside, hard, so she gasped. “Your pussy feels like I imagined, hot and wet, and tight. It’s going to feel so good wrapped around my dick. You want my dick in your tight little pussy, Abby? First though, I need you to come for me. In my fantasies you always came for me, over and over again, screaming my name. You going to scream my name?”

  God, she couldn’t even remember his name, couldn’t remember her name, or why she was here, or why she shouldn’t be doing this…

  He pushed two fingers inside, stroking her inner walls, but that wasn’t where she needed him. Her clit throbbed, so swollen and sensitive that if he would touch her there she knew she would—

  He swiped the pad of his thumb lightly over her and she let out a little squeak. Withdrawing his fingers from inside her, he circled the swollen nub until she almost screamed with need, teasing her, while he sucked and kissed her neck. Her hips were rotating in little circles, right up until the point he flicked a finger over her, and she went instantly still.

  “You like?” he murmured.

  She shook her head, unable to answer, but this went way beyond liking. He chuckled against her skin as though he understood what she was thinking, then his fingers moved, pushing inside her again while he massaged the little nub with the heel of his hand. She clamped her eyes shut tight, as the pleasure coiled up tighter and tighter inside her until she thought she couldn’t take any more. He pressed harder and finally she snapped, shattered, breaking her into a million pieces, lights flashing behind her closed eyes.

  She was hardly aware as he pulled his hand free, stepped back from her, gripped the hem of her skirt and tugged it up over her hips. A hand in the small of her back pressed her down across the back of the sofa, as a thigh pushed between hers, spreading her legs. Fingers gripped in the top of her panties and she knew any second he’d rip them from her and she’d be exposed, ready, desperate…

  He went still. “Fuck.”

  “What…?”

  A knock sounded on the door, directly in front of her. The handle turned as Logan grabbed her shoulders, stood her up, and pushed down her skirt. She reached out resting her hands on the back of the sofa, took a deep breath.

  “Looks like the governor’s back, sweetheart.” Logan’s tone held a w
ry amusement. “Why the fuck didn’t I lock that door?”

  Her legs were shaking and little tremors of residual pleasure raced through her body.

  A man appeared in the open doorway. Déjà vu. Tall and handsome, he was an older version of Logan, minus the tattoos: Rory McCabe, Logan’s father, and the same man who had caught them last time.

  Could this get any worse?

  “Am I interrupting something?” Rory asked.

  “Yes,” Logan snapped.

  “No,” she said at the same time. No way could she go through with this now. She’d have to go away, build up her defenses, arrange to see Logan in a public place, and then she’d tell him about Jennifer. But right now she was so out of here.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled, “but I’m late for work. I have to go, I…” She clamped her lips closed. There was nothing else to say. She shuffled around the sofa, giving Logan a wide berth, grabbed her handbag from where he’d dropped it, and headed to the door—fast. Rory McCabe stepped aside for her. Nearly out, but as she went through the door, she couldn’t resist one quick peek back. Logan was watching her, hands shoved in his pockets, a thoughtful expression on his face.

  She really didn’t want to know what he was thinking. Instead she made a dash for freedom.

  Chapter Three

  Logan stayed behind the sofa, where the fact that he was about to burst out of his jeans would perhaps go unnoticed. She’d come looking for him. He’d really thought she’d never turn up here. A grin tugged at his lips.

  Rory closed the door and turned to face him, brows drawing together. “You look pleased with yourself.”

  Logan probably looked like a grinning idiot. So, maybe she wasn’t the wild woman he remembered, but she’d felt good in his arms, hot and wet and so sweet.

  “Who was that?” Rory asked. “She looked vaguely familiar.”

  That was interesting. Somehow he doubted Rory would remember her from eleven years ago, which meant he had seen her someplace since. Had she come looking for him before this, and maybe chickened out or simply not found him? “An echo from the past.”

  “And what did your echo want?”

  Logan ran a hand through his hair. He’d presumed she’d had a rethink after he’d left yesterday. Decided she wanted to see him again. Now in hindsight¸ he wasn’t so certain. She’d said she needed to talk to him, but he hadn’t exactly given her a chance. Just jumped on her. But Christ, how many long nights had she kept him company, how many times had he jerked himself off to her image in his head. He knew it was partly because she’d been the last woman he’d slept with before his life had turned to complete and utter shit, but it was also more than that. They’d shared something pretty special and he’d meant to track her down and do it all over again. How, he didn’t know, as she’d only told him her first name, but he would have found her somehow. Except he’d never gotten the chance. “I don’t know what she wants.”

  Except she’d wanted him.

  Against her better judgment he was guessing. He was coming down from the shock of seeing her and his curiosity was rising. Shit, his fantasy girl. “Something,” he said. Hopefully helping him relive a few of his fantasies. If Rory hadn’t turned up he’d be deep inside her right now. That thought wasn’t helping his hard-on go away. “But we didn’t get around to discussing it.”

  Rory sat himself down on the sofa and rested his head back, while Logan poured them both a scotch. He handed one to his dad, took the seat behind the desk, and sipped his own drink.

  “Where the hell have I seen her before?” Rory muttered, eyes narrowed in concentration.

  Rory knew a lot of people, many of them seriously dodgy. Logan hoped that wasn’t the case with Abby, as he’d sworn off dodgy years ago. No way was he ever getting involved in anything related to his father’s old life.

  Rory McCabe was now totally legitimate, but that hadn’t always been the case. The family business had been started up by Rory’s father and built on illegal gambling, drugs, and prostitution. Rory had decided to go straight after marrying his second wife, Judith, a rich American socialite who had refused to have anything to do with him unless he turned his life around. Declan, Logan’s half brother, had been groomed to take over and show a respectable front to the world. Logan hadn’t resented his getting the position—Declan did it so well. Logan was never going to convince anyone he was respectable and he had no intention of ever trying. He knew what people saw when they looked at him.

  He was a product of Rory’s first marriage to an exotic dancer who he’d knocked up. They’d married because of Logan but couldn’t stand each other and had quickly separated. Logan had lived with his mother until he was ten, used as a bargaining chip to get money out of his father. Finally, Rory had gotten so pissed off he’d made her a one-off offer she couldn’t refuse and he’d gone to live with him. He occasionally saw his mother. Made sure she was okay. She wasn’t all bad. She’d just hated Rory more than she loved him. He could sort of understand that, but the whole experience had left him with a less than rosy view of marriage.

  He’d called his father Rory, not Dad, right from the start. But he liked him. They were similar and got on well together. He’d welcomed Logan into the family, and he’d never felt like an outsider. But no one had ever tried to make him perfect like Declan. By then it had been way too late anyway.

  He knew Rory felt guilty about his time in prison. Rory had never done time, though not for want of trying on the law’s part. All through Logan’s childhood, they’d harassed the family, looking for anything they could use against Rory. Well, they’d never gotten anything on him; he was too canny. Unlike Logan, who’d been a total hotheaded asshole and deserved everything he got, if only for his stupidity.

  He didn’t blame anyone but himself.

  Rory had written the nightclubs over to him when he’d gotten out, and he’d immersed himself in making them successful. He wasn’t a businessman like his brother, or rather like Declan had been. Mr. Perfect Businessman had recently had a midlife crisis, and about time. He was now off exploring the world on a Harley with the love of his goddamn life. It made Logan grin every time he thought about it. He didn’t believe in happy ever afters, but if anyone could make it, Declan and Jess would.

  “Does she have a name?” Rory asked.

  “Abigail Parker.”

  Rory shook his head. “No. Rings no bells. Fuck, where have I seen her before?”

  Logan wasn’t worried; he had a hunch she’d be back, and if she wasn’t, he knew where to find her. He had to go out of town today—he had a meeting in Glasgow about a club he was on the point of purchasing—but as soon as he got back, he was paying her a visit.

  “It will come to me,” Rory said.

  “You’re losing it, old man. Senile decay.”

  Rory grinned. “Fuck you. You wait. I have a memory for faces and this will come back to me.”

  “Well, let me know when it does.”

  He had plans for Abby Parker.

  Life was good and about to get a whole lot better.

  He flew back to London the following afternoon. He wanted to check in at the club and after that, he was falling into bed. The night before, the new manager of his new club in Glasgow had taken him on a tour of the nightlife so he could take a look at the competition. He hadn’t gotten back to his hotel until the early hours, and he’d been too keyed up to sleep.

  Unfortunately, his plans were put on hold. His father met him as he walked through the main room to his office.

  “Come on,” Rory said. “I want to show you something. We’ll take your car.”

  Rory refused to say anything else—he could be fucking annoying that way—but he had a sort of self-satisfied smirk on his face as he gave directions through the city.

  “What the hell?” Logan said as they finally parked outside New Scotland Yard, the home of the metropolitan police—not his favorite people, and the last thing he needed right now. He had bad memories of this place. They’d brough
t him here after his initial arrest, when he’d known he’d fucked up bad.

  No, he didn’t need this. What he needed was sleep, followed by a visit to his fantasy girl.

  “Come on,” Rory said.

  Logan sighed but followed his father around the front of the building and through the main entrance into a large reception area with a desk at one end. A group of people stood in front of the desk, but Rory made no effort to approach, just stood to the side of the doors they’d just entered. Logan still had no clue what the hell was going on.

  “I told you I’d remember where I’d seen her.”

  Was he referring to Abby? Had she been arrested for something? “What the hell are you talking about?”

  The group parted, and he caught sight of the uniformed officer behind the desk.

  At that moment the officer—a sergeant, by the stripes on her sleeve—raised her head and stared straight back at him. Her blue-green eyes widened, and his only consolation was that she looked as shocked as he felt.

  “You are fucking kidding me,” Logan muttered.

  Rory shook his head. “I wish I was.”

  “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  From the look of horror on his face, you would have thought he’d just discovered she was a serial killer. Across the room he stared back at her, accusation in his silver eyes, and maybe something else. Disappointment?

  Must be a shock to find his prison fantasy girl was a cop.

  She felt a twinge of guilt followed by disbelief at her reaction—she had nothing to be ashamed of. It wasn’t as though he wouldn’t have found out anyway. It was hardly a dirty little secret. She was proud of what she was. She couldn’t remember ever wanting to be anything else.

  The sad thing was, he hardly looked out of place in a police station—but on the wrong side of the law. Dressed in black leather trousers, black boots, and a black shirt, sleeves rolled up, open at the neck, showing the edges of his tattoos, he radiated bad-boy menace.