His Fantasy Girl (Things To Do Before You Die)

By: Nina Croft

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 think 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.


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.”


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.


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.

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