by Nina Croft
He glanced at Jerry, his artistic manager, who sat beside him, in a crisp business suit. “No, not bored, just a little preoccupied.” With Ms. Prim and Proper.
Still the question made him think. This had once been one of his favorite jobs—interviewing dancers for the clubs. Christ, what man wouldn’t enjoy the show?
He studied the woman gyrating on the stage. She had impossibly red hair and impossibly huge tits only marginally covered by a sequined bikini top. Classy she was not. Nor was she prim and proper. She saw she had his attention and increased her efforts, gyrating to the low throb of the music. Reaching behind her, she tugged at the ties of her bikini top. Normally, at this stage he’d stop her and point out the whole classy nightclub thing, but he was worried.
What the hell was wrong with him?
Shouldn’t he be feeling something right now? Something other than pissed off at a woman he hadn’t seen in eleven years, and who wasn’t even here, and probably never would be.
The dancer was doing this clever move, which made her nipples sort of rotate. Very impressive. But somehow he wasn’t impressed. He looked down and contemplated the bulge in his jeans—not even a twitch. Once he would have taken the dancer up on the very clear invitation in her big brown eyes, just because he could, and because he loved women, all sorts of women, the more variety the better. And they would have both had a good time. Women liked him.
But the thought made him want to yawn.
Shit, he was only thirty-two. Wasn’t that too young for a midlife crisis?
He loved running the nightclubs and had been doing it for ten years, ever since he’d gotten out of prison. His father, Rory, had believed he needed to keep busy to stay out of trouble. Though it wasn’t needed; Logan had already decided he was never getting into trouble again. No way. But he’d loved the nightclub business from the start—the challenge, always something different going on, and an inexhaustible supply of gorgeous women to fuck. When had that lost its appeal? He couldn’t remember the last woman he’d—
“I take it this one is a no,” Jerry said, interrupting his thoughts. “Pity. I like her. Looks like a nice girl.”
Logan snorted, watching as Jerry got to his feet and crossed the room. He spoke quietly with the woman, who flashed Logan a look of abject disappointment, as though he’d broken her heart or something. She picked up her top, clutching it to her bosom, and spoke again. Jerry flashed him a look of amusement but nodded and helped the woman down from the stage. She tottered over to Logan, hovered in front of him. Actually, she did look like a nice girl; there was a hint of sweetness beneath the heavy makeup.
Across the room, the door opened and a woman slipped inside. Logan glanced over and did a double take. Abigail Parker. He almost laughed out loud, and suddenly he had an urge to high five.
Not cool.
Still, he couldn’t keep the grin from his face.
The nearly-naked dancer must have thought the smile was for her. She took a step closer. “I thought we might go for a drink,” she said, halting in front of him.
“Sorry, sweetheart, no can do.” She’d probably heard he was a sure thing. And maybe once he would have been.
He peered past her to make sure Abigail was still there. She stood inside the door, looking around as if unsure of her next move.
The dancer shuffled her feet. “I really need this job. I have a baby and a dog and…”
There was a hint of desperation in her voice and he glanced back at her. He hated that. He looked from her to Jerry, who shrugged. “Okay,” Logan muttered. “Take her on. But a week’s trial only.”
“Oh, thank you.” She leaned down, dropped the top and kissed him on the lips, squashing her breasts against him. Nope, still no reaction from his dick. He glanced over her shoulder to where Abigail stood. She’d finally spotted him, and an expression of… He couldn’t really define it. Pained horror, maybe, was stamped on her face. She caught him watching her and the expression was wiped clean. Then her tongue came out, swiping across her lips in a nervous gesture, and he felt a definite twitch.
And there was that urge to high five again.
He’d almost forgotten the nearly-naked woman clinging to him, but was grateful when Jerry took pity on him and tugged her free. “Go get dressed and I’ll go through the terms and conditions of the job.”
She smiled and hurried away.
Jerry crossed the room and flicked on the main lights. In the sudden brightness, Logan got his first good look at Abigail, a complete contrast from the dancer.
While she held herself with a certain confidence, as though used to difficult situations, there was an uneasiness in her face, a little line between her eyes. But she was here. That was all that mattered. Logan relaxed in his seat, put his feet back on the chair opposite, took a sip of scotch, and studied her some more.
“You want me to deal with her?” Jerry nodded in Abigail’s direction.
“No, you go sort out our new dancer.” He gave Jerry a sharp look. “Did you tell her to try the ‘I’m desperate’ and the puppy dog look?”
“I might have mentioned you’re a sucker for a sob story. But don’t worry. I’ll make sure she fits in.”
Logan shook his head. But Jerry was good at his job, so he put it from his mind and turned his attention back to more important matters.
When Abigail saw he was alone, she straightened her shoulders and headed his way. Logan took another sip of scotch and watched her lazily. She looked out of place. If he wasn’t mistaken, she was wearing the same gray skirt from yesterday, topped with a black sweater this time. Her dark hair was pulled into the same bun thing at the back of her head, showing off the perfect heart-shaped face, large blue eyes, and wide mouth he remembered. He had a sudden image of her on her knees in that immaculate outfit, her mouth wrapped around his dick, and he shifted in his seat.
Yes, everything was definitely in working order.
She came to a standstill in front of him, her gaze sliding over him, lingering on the tattoos that snaked down his arm, revealed by the short-sleeved T-shirt. Something flickered in her eyes. No doubt she was confirming her judgments of yesterday. But it didn’t matter, she was here.
Her gaze darted away then back, and she blinked a couple of times, shook her head, swallowed… He almost grinned and was about to put her out of her misery and offer her a drink, tell her he was really pleased to see her, when she spoke. “Mr. McCabe?”
Her voice was soft and low and sent a shiver down his spine that settled in his balls, flooding his groin with heat. And this time he did grin. The day was looking up.
“Call me Logan.” He allowed his gaze to wander over her slowly, taking in the thrust of her breasts beneath the black sweater. They were full above a slender waist and rounded hips. And he was betting they were real. They’d feel soft in his hands.
And his dick jerked again. He put his feet on the floor and shifted his chair so she wouldn’t see the reaction—he wasn’t a complete boor.
Her eyes narrowed. Up close, they were as beautiful as he remembered, a mixture of blue and turquoise like the Caribbean Sea.
She cleared her throat. “Can we talk?”
We can do a hell of a lot more than that. But he kept those words to himself. He didn’t want to scare her off. “We can do anything you like, sweetheart.”
She frowned at the endearment. Her lips tightened and her fingers gripped the handle of her extremely large handbag. “I need to speak to you about something. Something important.”
“You didn’t seem to want to speak to me yesterday.”
“You took me by surprise. That was all. It was…nice to see you. After so long.” She took a deep breath. “So can we talk?”
To be honest, he couldn’t think of anything they had to say to each other. But he was intrigued. More than that, he was hot and hard. And only a few minutes ago, he’d been worried his libido was dead. “Go on.”
Her eyes darted around the room, coming back to him. “Could we go
somewhere a little more private?”
That worked for him. They needed privacy for what he had in mind.
Maybe she was having the same idea.
Though if she was, she was hiding it well. He suspected that was wishful thinking on his part.
But perhaps she couldn’t help but imagine what they’d be like together again. He was more than willing to comply. He pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. She took a step back, then pulled herself up straight.
“We can go…” He allowed his gaze to wander over her figure, because he wanted to look at her, and because he also wanted to piss her off, a little payback for yesterday. “…talk in my office.”
Her eyes narrowed but she managed to force a smile. “Thank you.”
Chapter Two
Oh God, could this get any harder?
He was being a total prick. But could she blame him after the way she’d behaved yesterday?
She’d been wallowing in self-doubt from the moment she’d caught sight of him smothered beneath a pair of the biggest fake breasts she had ever come across, and not doing much fighting, either.
The father of her daughter.
She’d almost turned right around and walked out. She tried to tell herself that you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. But if you did, Logan McCabe had a title something along the lines of Fifty Shades of Hot. He was sex on legs. Long legs, lovingly encased in faded denim that hugged his thighs and emphasized the bulge at his groin, which she was sure was getting bigger. She tried to keep her gaze away, but it kept flicking back all on its own. She was certain she must be bright red, with steam coming out of her ears.
And she was also pretty sure he was perfectly aware of the effect he had on her. His silver eyes gleamed with amusement, but at the same time his face held a hint of menace—she was guessing he hadn’t been impressed by her reaction yesterday. Whatever the reason, the combination was terrifyingly intoxicating.
She was finding it hard to believe they’d had sex together. More than once. They hadn’t been able to get enough of each other. Her body melted at the memory. She had to get a grip before she turned into a messy puddle on the floor. Maybe her reaction was just her body remembering—how had he put it so eloquently—that she’d fucked his brains out on that long ago night.
The annoying thing was, he was so not her type. She didn’t go for bad boys. She liked nice, smart men in suits and ties. Men who were courteous and polite, and who didn’t look her over as though mentally stripping the clothes from her body.
She followed him across the huge room toward a door in the far wall and tried not to stare at his ass. Though maybe, while there was no one around to see, she should look her fill and get over it. Somehow he’d transformed her back into her eighteen-year-old self. These days, she had a super-responsible job, was famous for nothing fazing her, yet here she was positively drooling over the most unsuitable man she’d ever encountered. Just because he’d been the first man to give her an orgasm. The only man to give her multiple orgasms. Her sex flooded at the memory. God, why did she have to remember that? Even at twenty-one he’d known his way around a woman’s body, had pleasured her with his mouth, his hands, his huge… He’d been sensational, seeming to get off on her pleasure.
What had he learned in the long years since?
Stop thinking about sex.
This wasn’t about her. It was about Jennifer. Had she made a huge mistake coming here? But really she’d had no excuse. Her last chance to back out had vanished when she’d done a quick background check on him this morning and discovered he had been in no further trouble, was in fact an upstanding member of the community—even if he didn’t look it.
Her only hope now was that he wasn’t the sort of man who would be interested in a ten-year-old daughter. With a bit of luck, he’d listen to her and tell her to go to hell.
Except that still left the question unanswered—why had he come to see her yesterday? She’d racked her brains and come up blank.
In front of her he moved with the lithe grace of a predator, a smooth glide. Under the bright lights his hair gleamed almost blue-black. Her gaze snagged on the black and red tattoos snaking around his arms as far as his wrist and others peeked out from the neckline of his T-shirt. He hadn’t had that many tattoos eleven years ago.
He pushed open a door and stepped inside. Abby hesitated and then followed, finally turning to face him. He stood, hands shoved in his pockets, the look of amusement back in his eyes.
She hated that she was so transparent.
She took a quick look around the room. It was an office, with a big mahogany desk and a long black leather sofa. And suddenly it came to her. This was where Logan had brought her all those years ago. She’d had sex on that sofa. More than once. Oh God, why couldn’t he have taken her somewhere else? It had been his father’s office back then—a fact indelibly imprinted on her mind, as it was his father who had caught them the following morning, fast asleep and naked. If she remembered rightly, his father had been amused. She’d thought she might spontaneously combust.
“I’m glad you came.” Logan dragged her back to the present. “I hoped you would—once you got over the shock. It must have been a surprise, me turning up on your doorstep after all these years.”
Yes, it had definitely been a surprise.
Time to move this along. She’d get her bit out before she lost her nerve, then if he was still talking to her, she’d ask him why he had come to see her. “Mr. McCabe—”
“Logan,” he interrupted.
She licked her lips. “Logan.” What the hell was she supposed to say? She’d rehearsed this conversation so many times and now her mind was complete and utter mush. “I’m Abigail—Abby.”
His lips quirked. “I’m quite aware of that…Abby.”
She wiped her clammy hands down the sides of her skirt, exhaled loudly, and opened her mouth to tell him. Then lost her nerve. “Why did you come to see me?” Not what she was supposed to say.
Coward.
He took a step toward her and studied her, his head cocked. Then another step and another. As he circled her, she could sense his gaze playing over her body. Finally, he came to a halt in front of her. Reaching out, he pried her handbag from her fingers and dropped it on the sofa. She had to hold herself very still as his fingers stroked beneath her chin, before gently urging her head up so he could stare into her eyes. His were silver, and this close she could see the ring of black around the iris…so familiar. “I wanted to see you again.”
“After more than ten years?” She shook her head, pulling free. He didn’t try to hold her, and she took a step back. Obviously, she was being super slow witted. “Why now?”
He grinned, looking younger. The hint of menace vanished, and some of the tension eased from the room. “You could say I had an epiphany.”
“You did?”
“A near death experience. I realized I wanted to see you again.”
He still wasn’t making any sense. “We had one night together—”
“One pretty hot night.”
“Maybe, but all the same, why would you want to see me again? And why now?”
He looked her up and down as if deciding what to say next. “You were my fantasy girl.”
“Your what?” His fantasy girl? That sounded unlikely. She wasn’t the fantasy girl type, and he must have had thousands of women since. If the one he’d just been groping was anything to go by, Abby was hardly his usual choice.
That fact didn’t seem to be stopping him now. He trailed his knuckles down the skin of her throat, and a shiver ran through her. “You probably don’t know it, but I had a little misfortune shortly after our night together.”
Punching a cop was hardly a little misfortune, and she knew all about it. She’d gone to see him three months after their night together. This was the only place she knew to look for him. They’d told her he was in prison—for grievous bodily harm to a police officer. She’d walked away and tried not to t
hink about him ever again, which had been a little difficult, considering the circumstances.
“Anyway,” he continued, “I was inside for a year. And every night I dreamed about you. And me. Together.” He must have seen something in her face because he grinned again. “Yeah, baby, we got to know each other pretty well in that year.”
Ugh. He’d been jerking off to her memory. While he was in prison.
She should be horrified, but hell, she’d done the same. For weeks after that night, she’d dreamed of him, thought about coming back, offering herself for a replay. Right up until she’d realized she was pregnant, when the dreams had stopped and the nightmares began. It had literally torn her family apart, though in hindsight she knew that wasn’t such a bad thing.
“So,” he murmured, and somehow he’d gotten a whole lot closer. “I was in this accident a few weeks ago, and…you know, the whole life-flashing-before-your-eyes thing. Afterward, I got to thinking that maybe it was time I re-made the acquaintance of my fantasy girl. See what she was like in reality.”
At a guess: nothing like he remembered. That night had been time out. She hadn’t even been wearing her own clothes.
His hand still rested against her throat, and now it slipped around the back of her neck, burrowed into her hair and tilted her face up to his.
Move.
She needed to back off, tell him what she had come to say. She was betting that particular outcome hadn’t played any part in his fantasies. But he was going to kiss her—the intention was clear in his eyes—and somehow, there was absolutely nothing she could do to stop it. She was petrified in to position, every muscle locked up tight.
No. No. No.
She was stronger than this. Wasn’t she? But the words remained lodged in her throat.
“Do you know how many nights I dreamed of you and woke up so fucking hot and hard, and you weren’t there? The things I dreamed about doing to you—nothing too kinky, honest. I’m a simple guy. Okay, maybe some of it was a little kinky.” He grinned, swiped his tongue across his lower lip, caught it between his white teeth. “And now, here you are. I’m guessing I shocked you yesterday, but maybe later…maybe you were a little bit curious about what it would be like.”
