His Fantasy Girl

by Nina Croft

  She needed more, but she didn’t want this to end, and she held herself still, trying to stave off the orgasm that hovered just within reach. Tension radiated from his body; he was close, and she wrapped him tighter, holding him still. He raised his head and gazed down into her face. She didn’t want him to say anything to spoil the moment so she reached up and kissed him, stopping his words with her mouth and tongue. As he pressed down onto her, rotating his hips, the first sweet ripples of her orgasm shivered through her. He took control of the kiss as her back arched, and he ground softly against her until the pleasure rolled over her like a tidal wave, swallowing her up, dragging her under.

  I love you.

  The words echoed through her mind, but she kept them locked inside, not wanting to scare him off. She lost herself for a while, was vaguely aware of him coming inside her, the press of his body on hers, the taste of him still in her mouth.

  Finally he went still, gave her one last kiss, rolled off her and onto his side, pulling her with him so she lay with her back flush against him, his hand cupping her breast.

  She was hovering on the edge of sleep when she caught his whispered words against her skin.

  “Good-bye, fantasy girl.”

  Her heart ached and her eyes pricked, but she held herself very still, and finally she slept.

  When she awoke, she was alone.

  The fantasy was over.

  Time to find a way back to real life.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Josh looked rough. Worse than rough, and Vito was no better.

  Logan was guessing he wasn’t the only one stressing about their life-changing vows, regretting the decisions they had made while bobbing around in that lifeboat, puking and contemplating dying.

  Coming face to face with death had a way of changing a man, making him think about how things might have been different. But the problem was you couldn’t rely on your brain to work the way it should at times like those. Couldn’t rely on the decisions you made being the right ones. The sensible ones. But then, since when had he been interested in being sensible?

  “Things to do before you die. Whose fucking idea was that anyway?” Josh said, throwing back the whiskey and slamming his glass down on the table. Logan reached across and filled it from the bottle in front of him and topped off his own at the same time. Vito’s was still full.

  “I think it was yours,” Logan said.

  “Never. Not in a million years would I have put myself in this situation. Besides, I had a broken leg at the time, and two broken ribs. Why would the two of you listen to a man who was in pain and obviously not thinking straight?”

  “I take it things are not going well with your…wife?”

  “Things are going shit. And I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to drink.”

  “How about you?” Logan asked Vito.

  “I’m not drinking. I have a gut feeling that drunk, I will make a decision that I will later regret. So I’m staying sober.”

  “Give us some good news,” Josh said. “How’s your fantasy girl? Everything you dreamed of?”

  Everything and more.

  But he kept the words to himself. It did no good thinking about that. Eventually, the pain would go away.

  An image of Abby flashed in his mind, so prim and proper, followed by another of her coming apart for him so sweetly. So fucking gorgeous. He drained his glass, the whiskey a warm buzz in his head. “Nothing like I remembered.”

  “Sorry, mate.”

  The Abby of his dreams had been a fabrication. The real thing was so much more genuine. Of more substance. A good person, much too good for the likes of him. He shrugged. “Some things should be left alone.” But then he would never have found Jenny. However much pain he was experiencing right now, he wouldn’t want her not to be in his life. She’d changed him. Always before, he’d run away from commitment, but with Jenny there was no running away. Maybe if he’d known her earlier, from when she was a baby, he might have turned out a different man, a better man, and he’d have been able to give Abby the life she deserved.

  “Seems like we’re all fucked royally,” Vito said.

  “Yup.” Josh agreed. “Let’s get pissed.”

  Vito took a deep breath. “Fuck this.” He picked up his drink, swallowed the contents in one go and pushed his empty glass toward Logan. “Fill it up.”

  Three hours later, Logan watched them lurch from the bar. The club had closed an hour ago, and Mark was driving the pair back to where they were staying.

  The bottle of whiskey was empty, as was the second.

  Maybe he should feel better that it wasn’t only his love life that had turned to shit, but he found himself wishing that the other guys could have found their dreams, even if he hadn’t. Christ, maybe he was turning into a nice guy.

  He needed tequila. Abby had tasted of tequila that very first night they had met. Pushing himself up, he wobbled, resting his hand on the table to steady himself. Abby should be here to see this. Get her own back for last night. Maybe he should call her.

  But no, they weren’t seeing each other again, except for with Jenny, or to talk about Jenny. He could do this. He lurched to the bar and banged on it. A waitress was filling up the shelves. She glanced up, her eyes widening. “What can I get you, boss?”

  “Tequila.”

  She glanced around as if looking for someone to give her permission. When no one materialized, she shrugged and got down a bottle and a glass. She made to pour it, but he held out his hand. When she hesitated he snarled, “Give me the goddamned bottle, Angie.”

  He took it back to his office and threw himself onto the sofa, clutching the tequila to his chest. He’d made love to Abby for the first time on this very sofa. He’d woken up here the morning after and known he’d found something special.

  Then he’d fucked up.

  Like he always did.

  He should never have let her run. He should have taken her home, stuck to her like glue, and maybe things would have turned out differently. He would have turned out different. Now it was too late, and he had to let her go.

  He unscrewed the top from the tequila, sniffed it, brought it to his mouth, but changed his mind and lowered the bottle again. Even if he wasn’t good enough for Abby, he was going to do his best to be a good father, a responsible father. And that didn’t involve drinking himself into oblivion at three in the morning, however much he wanted the pain to go away.

  He should go home, but half an hour later he was still lying on the sofa, clasping the bottle to his chest, when Rory slipped through the door. He crossed the room and stood looking down at Logan, then he tugged the bottle from his fingers. He shook his head as he placed the tequila on the table.

  “Angie,” he called out, and the waitress must have been loitering just outside, because she peered around the door.

  “Yes, boss?”

  Logan swung his legs around so he was sitting upright. His head hurt, and he pressed a finger to his forehead while he cast her a disgusted glance. “Did you call my dad on me?”

  “Of course she did,” Rory said. “Get me a scotch, darling, and a jug of coffee for the boy.”

  She gave him a quick smile and disappeared. Logan eyed his father. “I’m not a boy.”

  “So stop behaving like one.” Rory sat at the far end of the sofa and studied him, head cocked to one side. “Though maybe you needed this. You did have your somewhat wild youth cut short. So which particular sorrows are you drowning tonight?”

  “I’m not drowning any sorrows.”

  Angie came back at that moment, placed a pot of coffee and a mug in front of him and a large scotch in front of Rory. She poured the coffee and backed away. “I’ll be leaving now.”

  “Okay, we’ll lock up.” Rory sipped his scotch and watched him for a moment. “How’s Jenny?”

  “Fine.”

  “And her mother?”

  Logan flashed a look at his father, but Rory’s face was expressionless. “Also fine.
”

  “So are you two seeing each other?”

  Nosy bastard. “Of course we are. We saw each other when I collected Jenny a couple of days ago.” He picked up his coffee, hoping the conversation was over. No such luck.

  “Drink your coffee,” Rory said. “I want you sober before we have this conversation, because I’m not saying it twice.”

  Logan stifled the urge to storm out, since that would be childish. Besides, part of him was interested in what his father had to say. Rory had never been in the habit of dishing out parental advice—not to him anyway. He drank his coffee, poured himself another, and drank that. By the time he’d finished the second, his head was clearing. He put down the mug and leaned back, staring Rory in the face. His dad didn’t look away. “Say what twice?”

  “How do you feel about Abby?”

  Not what he was expecting. “It doesn’t matter what I feel.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because she’s too fucking good for me.”

  Rory raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

  “Really.” Anyone could see that. “So I am doing the noble thing and backing off. She can find a nice man and have a nice life.”

  “Bullshit”

  “Bullshit?” Of course it wasn’t bullshit.

  Rory slammed his empty glass down then stared him in the eye. “At least have the guts to admit that you’re shit-scared.”

  He frowned. “I am?”

  Rory ignored the question. “And if you’re not scared it’s because you’re being a total pussy and playing it safe. Maybe you’re not good enough for her. Or maybe you’re too good. She’s certainly not the sort of woman I would have expected you to fall for.”

  “She’s perfect.”

  “Of course she is…not. No one is perfect. Not me, not you, and certainly not Abby.”

  He searched for a flaw in that statement. “Declan was perfect.”

  “And look where that got him. Close to imploding.”

  “True.” Logan poured another cup of tepid coffee and gulped it down. He had a hunch his dad was right, and he did need to be sober for this conversation. “Don’t you think it’s a little late to start handing out fatherly advice?” he asked Rory as he placed the empty mug back on the table.

  “Probably. With you I never tried. Never thought I had the right. Besides, you were always a contrary little brat. Tell you one thing and it was a guarantee you’d go the other way.” He grinned. “Actually, I liked that in you. You’re like me. Too much like me. Which doesn’t mean I have to sit by and watch you make the same mistakes.”

  “It’s not a mistake. She wants different things. She wants a good life and a man who’ll stick by her and provide a stable home for Jenny.” And how he fucking hated the thought of some other man doing that.

  “And you can’t do that?”

  The question stopped him short. Could he? A shiver of fear ran through him. What if he did all that, offered her everything, all of him, forever, and she still walked away? How long would it take her to realize that he really wasn’t good enough? If he gave her everything and she dumped him, would he ever recover?

  For God sake, he hardly had a good track record.

  At least this way he was getting out before he got in too deep.

  Though who was he kidding? He was as deep as he could go.

  “Like I said. Why not fucking admit it?” Rory cut through his thoughts. “You’re shit-scared. You think if you let yourself fall in love, eventually Abby will dump you like your mother did. Isn’t that the case?”

  The words so mirrored his own thoughts that his mouth dropped open. Rory let out a short, humorless laugh. “I married your mother because of you. She was never what you might call lovable, but she was fucking gorgeous. It’s not a basis for marriage. I married Judith because she could give me what I needed—respectability. But never love. I understand why—I never considered I deserved love and believe me, in my case I had good reason. I did some fucked up crap when I was young. But you…” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve never been good at this shit.” He took a deep breath. “What I’m trying to say is that you are in no way to blame for the stuff that went down when you were a kid. Just as I suspect Abby is in no way to blame for how she’s turned out.”

  “She’s fucking perfect,” he growled.

  Rory grinned. “Of course she is. So you’ll back off and let her find someone equally perfect? Hell, maybe you can be a fucking bridesmaid at their wedding.”

  “Bastard.” He exhaled loudly.

  “How much of a coward are you, son?” Rory stood up. “Enough from me. Except—don’t fuck this up. I like her. And anyway, now that we’ve got Jess in the family we need someone nice to balance it up.”

  Logan watched as he walked away.

  Okay, step one. Accept that he was, in actual fact, shit-scared. Scared that he’d offer himself up and she’d find him wanting. That he’d fall in love…

  As the word crossed his mind, he had a revelation, almost equal to the one he’d had in that boat when his life had flashed in front of him and he’d realized he might die without ever setting eyes on his fantasy girl again.

  It was too late.

  Way too late.

  Because he was already in love with her. She was no longer a fantasy; she was his one-time chance at a real-life happy ever after.

  Only if he had the guts to go after her, and if he was willing to take the risk and put his heart on the line.

  For a brief moment he considered changing. Making himself into the sort of man she’d always wanted. A suit and a tie. A sensible car and a haircut. But he quickly banished the thought. Besides, Abby thought he was perfect, she’d told him so. She might have been drunk at the time, but weren’t people supposed to tell the truth when they were drunk?

  Hell, he wasn’t anywhere close to perfect. But maybe they were perfect for each other.

  And he knew where he was going to approach her. Right in front of her upstanding friends and colleagues. Time for her to decide what really mattered, and if there was any place for him in her perfect life.

  All or nothing.

  Abby was working at her desk, willing the time away so her shift would end. She longed to get away from here and be alone while she put herself back together again. While she did her best to forget how good Logan McCabe could make her feel, put him in a box and label it “Jenny’s dad” and somehow convince herself he could never be anything more.

  She truly believed that deep down, Logan cared for her, but it wasn’t enough. If it had merely been that he didn’t want to commit because he liked playing the field, she might have tried to persuade him otherwise. But it was much more than that.

  Over the long days, she’d relived all their time together, along with what she knew of his past. And she’d finally got it. He was scared. Scared of commitment. Scared of loving someone and having that love thrown back in his face.

  And really, it was hardly surprising considering his crappy childhood and his horrible mother. Rory probably hadn’t helped either. She was just glad Logan had opened his heart to Jenny. That must have been an act of courage for him.

  Now she was going to make it easier for him and take a step back. Logan was Jenny’s father and that was all. As for her and Logan, she would maintain her distance and ensure they were never alone. Eventually, she would stop hurting.

  And she’d make it clear here at work that there was nothing between the two of them except Jenny. She’d be so circumspect they wouldn’t be able to fault her, and the next time a vacancy came up in the detective bureau, she would get the job. That might be some compensation.

  Logan had been a glitch in her road to perfection, but if she worked hard enough she could get back on track.

  But she didn’t want to be back on track.

  And she didn’t want to be perfect.

  She wanted Logan. There was a constant ache in her heart because she couldn’t have him. She rested her forehead against
the cool metal of the desk and closed her eyes.

  A door opened and the sound of raised voices drifted down the corridor. Abby lifted her head, her breath hitched, and a frown formed between her brows.

  Was that Logan’s voice? If it was, he didn’t sound happy.

  What was here doing here?

  Had he been arrested for something?

  The thought flickered through her mind, and she tossed it out. No way. Logan was a good man. And besides, he had that whole calm-in-the-face-of-adversity thing.

  So if he hadn’t been arrested, what was he doing here?

  Without conscious thought, she was on her feet and heading down the corridor. She pushed open the swinging doors leading into the reception area, her gaze locked on Logan’s back, her heart speeding up. She gave herself a little shake, dragged her gaze away, and tried to make sense of the scene in front of her.

  The sergeant on duty had a bewildered expression on his face as though not entirely sure what was going on—so she wasn’t alone. Jack stood in front of the desk, facing Logan, and a whole crowd of uniformed and plain clothes police were watching them avidly.

  She turned her attention back to Logan, and the ache in her chest eased a little, as though just being in the same room was enough to banish the pain. A smile tugged at her lips, and she forced it away.

  Distance.

  “Sergeant Parker.” She jumped as someone spoke from behind her. Her boss stood with his eyes narrowed on her, his hairy brows drawn together. “What’s going on?”

  “I really don’t know, sir.”

  At the sound of her voice, Logan spun around, and for a second she drank him in. Today he was all bad-boy menace in black leather, his hair pulled back, stubble darkening his cheeks, eyes slightly bloodshot and…she looked lower…he had a huge bunch of crimson roses clutched in his hand. A little flicker of hope sparked to life inside her.

  Jack edged in her direction, and Logan turned to him with a frown, looming over the other man, a sneer on his face. Oh God, she hoped he wasn’t going to punch him. “You don’t get to have her, Jack. And you know why? Because she’s mine.”