His Fantasy Girl

by Nina Croft

  “No. Funnily enough, shower scenes didn’t play a big part in my prison fantasies.”

  She didn’t want to even think about why not.

  “But,” he continued, “this seems like the perfect excuse to get my hands all over you.” He gave her another little push, and she was under the spray. She reached up and tied her hair into a knot, closed her eyes, and relaxed.

  She’d failed totally. She hadn’t told him about Jenny, and she hadn’t kept her distance. What a major cock-up. In more ways than one. She was just frustrated, that was all. Her body had needed this. It wasn’t as though she’d saved herself for him or anything. She’d had boyfriends, but the sex had never been particularly good. She found it hard to switch off, and it left her feeling a failure, and she hated that. In the end she’d given up. Her life was so busy, juggling Jenny with her career and lately studying for her detective exams. She’d hardly noticed the lack of men in her life. Or so she’d thought.

  Why him?

  She had no clue. He was the opposite of everything she needed, which was a father for Jennifer. Someone supportive of her career. Someone who wanted the same things out of life.

  At that moment his hands cupped her breasts, squeezed, and her eyes flew open. “It looked like you were getting too serious there,” he murmured.

  She glanced down as his soap-slick hands glided over her breasts, her skin tingling beneath his touch. He stepped closer, into the warm spray of water, so the droplets beaded on his thick lashes. His slippery hands continued their slow exploration of her body, down her rib cage, between her thighs, and she gasped. He massaged her gently, then his hands slipped around to soap her bottom, squeezing her ass cheeks.

  As she raised her head, he lowered his and they kissed as the warm water washed over them. He pressed along the whole length of her body, his erection hot and hard against her belly.

  “I want you again,” he muttered.

  Well, she wasn’t arguing.

  He sighed against her mouth, before drawing back. “No condom.”

  “Oh.”

  He reached behind her, turned off the water, and grabbed a towel. After drying her quickly, he rubbed the towel over his head. His long hair was damp and he pushed it off his face, grasped her hand, and tugged her out of the shower, through the open door and into his bedroom. It was a huge room dominated by a massive bed with a crimson cover.

  He looked from the bed, to her, and back again.

  “Hands and knees.”

  “What?”

  “I’m going to fuck you from behind. You okay with that, sergeant?”

  Her sex was tingling, heat pooling at her core. Her body obviously liked the idea. She crawled onto the bed, and for a second wondered where her body-consciousness had gone. She’d never before felt entirely comfortable naked. Now here she was crawling onto the bed, ass in the air, for a man she’d only ever actually met four times in her entire life.

  “Further,” he ordered from behind her, and she crawled another foot onto the bed.

  “Shit, that is pretty. Open your legs.”

  She parted her thighs. Raised her ass a little bit higher.

  “Jesus, I can see you all wet for me.”

  She heard the rustle as he tore open a condom packet, and held herself very still, waiting for the first touch.

  His hand came down on her ass in a resounding slap and she yelped, turning her head to glare over her shoulder at him. “Hey, don’t do that.”

  “You don’t like? In this particular fantasy, you liked it a lot. Sure you don’t want to try? Just a nice gentle pat.”

  Did she? This was definitely the last time she was going to get naked with Logan. Maybe she owed it to herself to try everything. Just once. “Okay, but not hard. Anyway, I thought you said you weren’t into kink.”

  He grinned. “Sweetheart, this is not kink. This is playing. Kinky would be if I was doing this dressed from head to toe in black latex and wielding a paddle.”

  She giggled. “Or a riding crop.”

  “You know your bottom does amazing things when you laugh. But this isn’t supposed to be funny. Now hold still.”

  She held her breath, but when the next tap came it was gentle and felt unbelievably good, so her ass lifted all on its own. He slapped her one more time and then one hand rested on her hip, holding her steady as he pushed inside. He was big and hard and filled her completely.

  How had she lived without this?

  Chapter Five

  Logan sat up abruptly. The room was dark but he could tell he was alone, the bed empty beside him. But the warm musky scent of sex lingered, and reaching out, he found the sheets still warm.

  By the time they’d finished, he’d been barely able to move, so sated he didn’t want to even try. He’d brought her again and again until finally releasing his own control and coming in a huge swell of pleasure that had crashed over him, leaving him limp and useless. Then he’d thrown the sheet over them, dragged her close, and listened as her breathing evened out. She’d been asleep in minutes.

  He’d lain awake a while longer trying to get his head around it. His fantasy girl, here in his bed. And she’d been every bit as good as he remembered. Better.

  Except for the policewoman part.

  That definitely hadn’t been part of his fantasies.

  He ran a hand through his hair. Where the hell had she gone? She wouldn’t sneak out on him, would she? There was no sound from the bathroom.

  He flicked on the bedside lamp. Yup, she was gone. Then a door banged downstairs. Pushing off the sheet, he got to his feet, found a pair of jeans, and pulled them on.

  He had an idea she was running. And for some reason, he didn’t want her to make a clean getaway. Funny, he usually made sure he went to the woman’s place so he could be the one to make a speedy escape when he was ready—usually about five minutes after the sex was finished. It was weird—and not particularly pleasant—to be on the other side.

  He went quietly down the staircase. A light peeped out from under the living room door and he pushed it open. She stood with her back to him, fully clothed, so she hadn’t planned on coming back to bed.

  He felt a little…used.

  He cleared his throat, and she jumped and whirled around, huge handbag clutched in one hand, cell phone in the other.

  “Where are you sneaking off to?”

  She stared at him, her gaze fixed on his naked chest. He liked the way she looked at him. So did his dick, coming to sudden life. Somehow he didn’t think she was going to stick around for another of his fantasies. Pity.

  “Home,” she said. “I have an early shift.”

  “Wait. I’ll drive you.”

  “There’s no need. I called a cab. It will be here any second.”

  He studied her for a moment. For a woman who’d just experienced multiple orgasms, she didn’t appear very relaxed. “Are you running away, sergeant?”

  “There’s nothing to run away from. We had a good time, but it won’t happen again. We have nothing in common.” She hesitated, nibbled on her lower lip, and gave a small shrug. “As you pointed out, I’m a police officer and…”

  “…and I’m an ex-con?”

  She shrugged again. “More along the lines of you’ve made it very clear you hate cops. I’m a cop.”

  “Maybe I’m willing to make an exception. Anyway, I don’t have to like you. I’m not looking for long-term or happy ever after. I don’t believe in that crap. And you don’t have to like me. All we have to do is accept that for some reason we have fucking awesome sex together. You remember that bit, sergeant? You remember the bit where you came all over my face?”

  She pursed her lips and sniffed. “Well, maybe I need more out of a relationship.” Her eyes widened and she backtracked quickly. “Not that we have a relationship or anything.”

  He chuckled. “You don’t think I’m the sort of man to have relationships?”

  “Honestly?” she asked, clearly making no attempt to keep the inc
redulity out of her tone. “When I saw you yesterday, you were half buried beneath the biggest pair of breasts I have ever seen.”

  His lips twitched. “I was interviewing dancers.”

  “Really?” She arched a brow, but was saved from saying anything more by the sound of a car horn from outside. Presumably her taxi. “I have to go.”

  For a second, he considered stopping her, arranging to see her again. But he had a hunch she wouldn’t be too receptive to that idea. For now, he’d let it go. He knew where she lived and where she worked. He stepped aside as she approached the door and let her pass, though his fingers itched with the need to reach out.

  He followed her into the hall. “I had a good time, sergeant,” he said as she stepped through the front door and into the night. “Perhaps we can do it again sometime.”

  He thought she wasn’t going to answer, then her muttered words floated back to him as she hurried down the gravel drive. “Not a chance in hell.”

  Abby managed two hours sleep. She thought about trying for another half, but she wanted breakfast with Jenny before she left for school.

  Jenny was at the table along with Abby’s mother when she dragged herself into the kitchen. As always, she looked at her daughter with awe, finding it hard to believe she had produced this exotic creature. Now, after seeing Logan again, it was clear exactly where Jenny got her looks—she was the image of her father, from her shoulder length glossy black hair to her silver eyes rimmed with black, her strong nose, and her wide mouth. Abby had never noticed the resemblance before. Or maybe it was truer to say she’d avoided the comparison, and it hadn’t been hard as the years passed and there was nothing to remind her. Now it was like a slap in the face.

  And Jenny was going to be tall. At ten she was already taller than most of her class, with a lanky frame she would eventually grow into. No, there was no doubt who her father was—she was a mini Logan minus the tattoos and, hopefully, the badass attitude.

  “Morning,” Abby mumbled and dropped into a chair.

  Her mother shoved a mug of coffee in front of her, and she breathed in the scent.

  “You got in late,” her mum said. “I thought you finished at eleven.”

  “I had to see someone. We got to…talking and…” She shrugged. She couldn’t exactly get into details, not with Jenny sitting opposite. Her mum gave her a weird look, maybe taking in the red rash of stubble burn along her collarbone and throat. She hugged her robe tighter around her. More stubble burn decorated her inner thighs—luckily her mum couldn’t see that, or the faint bruises on her breasts. Logan hadn’t been rough, but he hadn’t been gentle either.

  How had she matched up to his fantasies?

  She rested her head on her hand and let the conversation wash over her; they were discussing some project Jenny was doing at school.

  Finally, Jenny turned to her. “I’ll be late home tonight.” She got to her feet and picked up her school bag. “Sara’s dad is taking us skating.” She placed an inordinate emphasis on the word “dad,” and Abby winced.

  Jenny came around the table, gave her a peck on the cheek, though she suspected there was more to come.

  “Maybe if my dad knew about me, he could take us skating one day,” Jenny said.

  A picture flashed in her mind, Logan shepherding an unruly bunch of ten-year-olds around the local roller-skating rink. Somehow the image wouldn’t gel. Not for the first time, she wondered if she’d done the right thing going to the club, seeking him out. After the way he’d left the day he’d turned up on her doorstep, she was pretty sure Logan wouldn’t have looked her up again, however powerful his epiphany.

  “Maybe,” she said.

  Jenny beamed as though she’d gotten a result, then a car beeped outside and she ran out to meet her lift to school. A few of the local mothers took it in turns, though Abby’s mother took hers, as it was hard to work around her shift times. She didn’t know how she would have managed without her mum’s help. For a time, when she’d first found out she was pregnant, it had looked like she would have to try. Her father had refused any help unless she had an abortion, and that had never been an option.

  “Well, she’s tenacious, if nothing else,” her mum said. “So, are you going to tell her?”

  “I think so.”

  So far she’d kept the information vague with Jenny. It had been easier when she was younger. She’d accepted anything Abby told her, which was that she’d lost touch with her father, and he didn’t know about her. It seemed for the best, open ended, so later she could tell her…something else. Maybe the truth. But over the last year, Jenny had become fixated on the idea of her father, wanting to know everything, and she was getting harder and harder to put off with vague responses. Abby had been torn between telling the truth and telling a downright lie. She hated lies, but she wanted to do what was best for her daughter, and maybe a man like Logan McCabe was a worse option than no father at all.

  She’d still been undecided when he’d turned up on her doorstep. And she hadn’t been totally convinced when she went to the club, or when she had climbed into his car last night. But deep down, she knew it was the right thing to do.

  “Definitely,” she said. “I’ll go see him today.” Somewhere public, or maybe she’d go to the nightclub during her lunch hour. Stay out of the back office.

  “You want to talk about it?” her mother asked. “You never did tell us anything about him.”

  “I didn’t know anything about him. He was a one-night stand. My only ever one-night stand,” she added. This was her mother after all.

  “And you never tried to tell him back then?”

  “I did. When I found out, I went back to where I’d met him. I was going to tell him. He wasn’t there. He was in prison.”

  “Oh.”

  “Exactly. I didn’t try again. I thought that we’d be better off without a man like that in our lives. But Jenny wants to know him, and how can I keep it from her? One day she’ll find out, and I’d rather it came from me.”

  “You’ve been in contact with him?”

  Pretty much every part of him. Heat washed through her. “Yes, but I haven’t told him yet. We got…sidetracked.”

  Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “You saw him last night?”

  She nodded.

  Her mother gave her a long look. “Well, I hope you took precautions this time.”

  “Mum!”

  “Don’t ‘Mum’ me, Abigail Parker. You look well and truly shagged.”

  “Mum!” She was repeating herself but couldn’t think of a lot else to say.

  “And about time,” her mum said. “I’ve been worried about you, with just Jenny and your job. A woman your age needs a man.”

  “I haven’t got a man. It just… happened.”

  “Again. Just tell me one thing—that he won’t hurt Jenny.”

  “I don’t know.” She chewed on her lower lip. “He’s not a good man. But I don’t think he’s a bad man either. He’ll maybe want nothing to do with her.” She pressed a finger to her forehead. “We’ll have to wait and see. But I plan to tell him today.”

  Really she did mean to tell him. But by eleven she still hadn’t made the call. She realized she didn’t actually have a number for him and was going to have to call the club and hope they would put her through.

  “Are you okay?” Jack asked.

  She glanced up from the desk where she was working on the shifts for next week, when she was off desk duty and back to heading the emergency call team. She was looking forward to it; she liked to be out on the streets.

  “I’m fine. Just busy.”

  He perched himself on the edge of the desk. “So what did Logan McCabe want with you last night.”

  That got her attention. “You know him?”

  “No, not personally. But I worked on the money laundering case Declan McCabe brought in last year.”

  “Money laundering?” She hadn’t been involved with the case.

  “Some cartel was u
sing the family company to launder money. Declan McCabe stumbled across it and came to us. So I met the family. Declan was a good man, though he had no love of the police. Now, his father is a real piece of work—I got the impression he was pissed off at his son for involving us. He would rather have solved the problem himself.”

  Declan was the brother Logan had mentioned the previous evening, the one with the matching nipple ring.

  “Could he do that?”

  “Probably. He has the contacts. Rory McCabe’s father came over in the forties, carved himself out a piece of the East End, and held on to it by sheer bloody-mindedness. They were into everything—drugs, illegal gambling, prostitution…”

  “But not anymore?”

  “No. Rory took over and for a few years he was the scourge of the East End, but something changed and he decided to go straight, clean up the company. Declan was groomed to take over, and as far as I know they’re squeaky clean now.”

  “And Logan?”

  “He wasn’t involved with the case, though I met him once. He now manages the nightclubs. But he’s been inside, Abby.”

  It pissed her off that Jack was telling her this, as though she wasn’t capable of making her own judgments.

  “I know. And don’t worry—it was nothing important.”

  He looked as though he wanted to ask more, but he knew her well enough to recognize when to not push. “Well, keep away from him. He’s trouble.”

  She didn’t answer, but irritation flicked at her insides. Jack had admitted he didn’t know Logan, so how could he know he was trouble? Of course, there was the little fact that he looked like trouble. Big trouble. But that was beside the point.

  “So how about dinner tonight?” Jack asked.

  A refusal hovered on her lips, but she swallowed it down. Maybe that’s what she needed. A date with a nice guy, to put things in perspective. But she couldn’t face it tonight. “Perhaps next week.”

  For a moment his eyes widened, no doubt because he’d gotten even that much of a positive response. He smiled. “I’ll hold you to that.”

  When he’d finally gone back to work, Abby sat and stared at the phone for a full minute. Before she could seriously consider letting Jack into her life, she needed to clean it up a little. She picked up the phone and dialed the number of the club from memory. “Could I speak to Logan McCabe, please?”