His Fantasy Girl (Things To Do Before You Die)

By: Nina Croft



“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.

Top Books