His Fantasy Girl

  When fantasy and reality collide…

  There’s nothing like a near death experience to make a guy reassess his life. And that’s exactly what nightclub owner Logan McCabe decides to do, starting with looking up the girl he spent one wild night with eleven years ago, right before his life turned to crap. He spent a year fantasizing about her. Now he’s ready to see how reality matches up.

  Abigail Parker is a perfectionist. She’s only strayed from the straight and narrow once in her life, on her eighteenth birthday. It was supposed to be one wild night with a totally unsuitable man before she settled into her sensible future. Instead it changed her life forever.

  Logan might still be the sexiest man Abigail has ever seen, but a dirty-talking, tattooed, ex-con is the last thing she needs in her perfect life. He claims she’s his fantasy girl, but what he doesn’t know is she’s also the mother of his ten-year-old daughter…

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Nina Croft… Losing Control

  Out of Control

  Taking Control

  Dark Desires series

  Break Out

  Deadly Pursuit

  Death Defying

  Temporal Shift

  Blood and Metal

  The Spaniard’s Kiss

  Bittersweet Blood

  Bittersweet Magic

  Bittersweet Darkness

  Operation Saving Daniel

  Betting on Julia

  The Descartes Legacy

  If you love sexy romance, one-click these steamy Brazen releases… Over the Top

  Delicious Temptation

  A Moment of Weakness

  Lovers Restored

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2015 by Nina Croft All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  2614 South Timberline Road

  Suite 109

  Fort Collins, CO 80525

  Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

  Brazen is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC. For more information on our titles, visit www.brazenbooks.com.

  Edited by Candace Havens

  Cover design by Heather Howland

  Cover art from 123RF

  ISBN 978-1-63375-449-2

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition October 2015

  For Rob…my hero.

  Prologue

  Things to do before you die…

  In the distance, the ship burned, listing in the water like the great bloated corpse of some sea monster. The sea had settled, the rage of the storm dying to nothing, and the lifeboat swayed gently in the ebb and flow. Back and forth…

  “Oh, shit.” Heat washed over him. Logan McCabe slapped his hand over his mouth and lurched to the side of the boat. There was nothing left in his stomach, and he hung there staring down at the dark, treacherous water below.

  Never again.

  Pushing himself back up, he sank onto the bench seat, eyes narrowing at the looks of amusement directed his way. “I fucking hate boats,” he growled, swallowing the sour taste in his mouth. “I’m never going on a goddamn cruise again.”

  The man sitting to his left let out a short laugh. Vittorio D’Ascensio appeared amazingly cheerful considering it was his multimillion-dollar cruise ship rapidly sinking beneath the Mediterranean. But things could have been much worse. At least everyone was accounted for, and Vito hadn’t wanted the ship anyway—he’d been in the process of trying to sell it to Logan when the storm had struck. That’s what had brought Logan here. He wanted to expand his business out of nightclubs and had thought a cruise line might be an interesting addition.

  Never going to happen.

  Vito reached inside his orange life vest and pulled out a silver flask. He offered it to Logan. “I take it the deal’s off?”

  “Too damn right, the deal’s off.” Logan unscrewed the lid and took a swallow. The smooth scotch—double malt if he wasn’t mistaken; nothing but the best for Vito—flowed down his throat, soothing his stomach. Then the boat rolled again and he clamped his lips closed to stop the scotch coming back. When he was sure he wasn’t going to puke again, he took another swig and leaned his head back. “I feel like crap.”

  “And I thought you were a tough guy, McCabe.” The man on his other side held out his hand. Logan handed him the flask and gave him a quick once-over. Josh’s face was pale, lines of pain bracketing his mouth, his broken leg stretched out in front of him, held straight by the makeshift splint.

  “Well, I was too busy carrying your sorry ass to safety to think about throwing up earlier,” Logan replied.

  “Yeah, thanks for that.”

  As head of security for the ship, Josh had found Vito in the chaos, meaning to ensure he got to safety, but the Sicilian had refused to leave until everyone else was away. Logan had battled side-by-side with the two men, directing the last of the passengers off the ship before nearly getting cut off by the flames.

  Logan didn’t make friends easily; he was a loner at heart, but something about facing death together forged a bond. Once the shock of near death, and the euphoria of actually surviving, had faded, they’d talked. And as they talked, something changed. What started as a joke—things to do before you die—took on a more serious tone. Everyone had regrets. Now, each of them vowed to choose the one big regret of their lives, and after this was over, they would go home and do something about it.

  “Come on, McCabe, time to choose,” Josh said. “We’ve told you ours.” Josh had a wife he hadn’t seen in over five years; he intended to change that.

  “Now it’s your turn,” Vito added. Unlike Josh, Vito had no wife, because his bride-to-be had run out on him mere hours before their wedding. Vito planned on finding out why. “One thing you’re going to go back and change.”

  Logan hugged the blanket around his shoulders and gazed across the sea. Far off to the east, the sun was finally rising, lighting the sky with the new day. The wind had dropped to nothing, and everything had an eerie stillness in the half-light.

  Did he have any regrets?

  It was so long since he’d seen her. In reality, anyway—even after all these years, she still visited his dreams. He closed his eyes and her image flashed up in his mind. Heart-shaped face, blue eyes, long, mahogany hair. His fantasy girl.

  “I had this one-night stand,” he started. “Eleven years ago. It was…good.” It had been the hottest night of his life. “The next day I was arrested—long story. I spent a year in prison and never saw her again.”

  But the memory of that one night with her had kept him sane through the horror of prison. He’d thought he was a tough guy and could handle anything, but that first night, when the door clanged shut, locking him in that tiny cell, he’d really believed he might not be tough enough. So he’d pushed away reality and thought abou
t her instead, her sweet mouth, her soft breasts, her tight, hot pussy wrapped around his dick. She’d got him through the worst year of his life.

  “Every night for that whole year, I’d lie in my bunk, and I’d have these fucking fabulous fantasies about her. She kept me sane.”

  “You never looked her up?” Josh asked.

  He shrugged. “What was the point? I reckoned she’d either be a disappointment or she wouldn’t. And if she was as good as I remembered, what the fuck was I supposed to do? I wasn’t ready to settle down.” Probably never would be. “It was a lose-lose situation, so I didn’t even look.”

  “And now?”

  He thought about dying without ever seeing her again. “Now I’m going to go hunt down my fantasy girl. See how those fantasies compare to reality.”

  The muscles in his belly tightened, and he recognized that he was afraid.

  There was no way any real woman could match up to his dreams.

  He’d finally have to let her go.

  And then what?

  Chapter One

  Abigail Parker smoothed down the skirt of her gray suit and slipped into her black, low-heeled pumps. A quick glance in the mirror showed she was ready to go. She didn’t need to leave for work for an hour yet, but Jenny was due home from school any second and Abby wanted to spend some time with her before she had to go.

  These moments were precious, and she always made sure they had some quality time together, whatever shift she was working. The last ten years had been difficult, but Abby was finally getting to where she wanted to be.

  The doorbell rang and she headed out of the kitchen and down the hallway.

  She opened the door and took an automatic step back. The man standing on the doorstep was tall, nearly a foot taller than her five-foot-four, so she had to crick her neck to look into his face.

  She didn’t know him…did she?

  Surely she’d have remembered.

  He was the most stunning man she had ever set eyes on, his midnight black hair pulled back into a ponytail, revealing sharp cheekbones and silver-gray eyes. The black and red ink of a tattoo edged out of the neckline of his T-shirt, and more snaked down the length of his right arm. He wore black jeans that clung to his long legs and he looked lean and mean and…vaguely familiar. Something about him tweaked at her memory, but she couldn’t work out what. She returned her attention to his face. He still hadn’t spoken, but was returning her scrutiny, a small frown pulling his brows together as though she wasn’t who or what he’d expected.

  Then he smiled; a tilt of his sensual lips, and flutters started in her belly. Most unexpected.

  “Abigail Parker?” His voice was low and husky, the words a question.

  Where had she seen him before? London was a big city, and she met lots of people through her work, but if she could concentrate for a moment it would come to her. At the same time, a little niggle of foreboding suggested perhaps she was better off not remembering. A smile like that could mean nothing but trouble. And she did not do trouble. She never did trouble. She was practical, sensible, and the few dates she did have were with nice men, not tattooed bad boys who only had to smile to melt the panties right off a good girl.

  And why was she even thinking about panties melting?

  No man had affected her like this. Not ever.

  Liar.

  Well, okay once. But that was a long time ago and best not thought about.

  She returned her attention to his face and found him watching her, one eyebrow raised, and she realized she hadn’t answered his question. She licked her lips and wiped her palms down her sides. “I’m Abigail Parker.”

  Midnight black hair. Silver eyes. The dark slash of his brows. Where had she seen him before?

  “You don’t remember me, do you?”

  His question dragged her from her thoughts. He sounded a little…pissed off, as though the meeting was not going as planned and he wasn’t quite sure how to proceed.

  “Should I remember you? Mr.…?”

  He gave a slightly rueful smile. “I guess not.” Faint amusement twinkled in his eyes, and he gave a slight shake of his head. He looked past her into the hallway. “Can I come in?”

  Her reaction must have shown in her face because he gave a short laugh. “I take it that’s a no.” He rubbed a hand over his jawline, faintly shadowed with a day’s growth of beard. Something in the movement tweaked a chord in her memory, but the answer stayed just out of reach. “Shit, this is difficult.” He took a deep breath. “Okay, so the thing is…we used to know each other.”

  “We did?” She was getting a really bad feeling, was in fact having to fight the urge to slam the door in his face and run and hide under the bed.

  “Well, maybe ‘know’ isn’t the right word.” His lips quirked. “Unless we’re talking in the biblical sense.”

  Her mouth dropped open and her eyes stretched wide. “What? No way. I think I would have remembered.” But that bad feeling was getting bigger, swelling, and any second now she was guessing it was going to burst all over her.

  “It was a long time ago,” he said.

  No. Freaking. Way.

  She wanted to squeeze her eyes tightly shut and put her hands over her ears. Because she knew what was coming next and she didn’t want to hear it. And she was suddenly quite aware of why he looked so familiar. Finally, she managed to croak out a question. “How long?”

  “Eleven years.” He studied her, his head cocked to one side. “I’m guessing it’s coming back.”

  She stared at him—well, at his chest, where his T-shirt strained tight over the swell of muscles. Why? Why was he here after so long? What could he possibly want? Whatever it was, she couldn’t deal with it right now.

  “Logan McCabe.” The name came out as a whisper.

  She’d had sex with this man. And multiple orgasms. She was tied to him by tethers he knew nothing about. Did he?

  It was weird that she’d been thinking about him lately, but in abstract; she’d never expected him to turn up on her doorstep.

  She had to get rid of him.

  Right now. Before disaster struck.

  “Look, I’m sorry, but I have no clue what you want after all this time.”

  He gave a casual shrug. “Just to talk.”

  “What can we possibly have to talk about?” Actually a whole load of stuff, but she needed preparation for that, a clear head, advice from a lawyer, and maybe a couple of hundred years to think about it. “I can’t. I really can’t. I have to leave for work. Right now.”

  When he just stood there, staring down at her, she gritted her teeth and resisted the urge to push him off the doorstep.

  His eyes narrowed. Then he pulled a card from his back pocket and handed it to her. She took it automatically, her eyes straying to the road, expecting to see the car pull up any moment.

  “Call me,” he said. “Or come by the club. When this has sunk in, I would like to…talk to you.”

  When she didn’t answer, his nostrils flared and something flashed in his eyes. “You remember the club? The place where you picked me up and fucked my brains out.”

  He turned and strolled away, hands shoved in his pockets.

  “Ouch.” The tension oozed out of her, and she leaned against the doorway, closed her eyes, and released a ragged breath.

  When she opened them, he was gone.

  By the following afternoon, Logan still hadn’t gotten over his feeling of… What? Maybe that was the problem. He had no clue how he felt. The meeting certainly hadn’t gone as he’d imagined, but then again, what had he expected? He realized, obviously too late, that he hadn’t given any thought to his fantasy girl’s feelings in all this. Hey, she was his fantasy girl. She was supposed to act in an appropriate fantasy-like manner.

  She wasn’t supposed to look at him as though he was all her nightmares rolled up into one big pile of dog crap that she couldn’t wait to scrape off her sensible shoes. And that was only after she’d finally recognized hi
m—which had taken far longer than it should have done considering they’d had hot, mind-blowing sex every night for a year.

  In his dreams.

  He’d spent last night lying awake, going over the meeting, trying to decide what his next move should be, if any. But Josh and Vito would have a field day if he gave in this easily. And he was one hundred and ten percent convinced she wouldn’t be calling, or turning up at the club, any time soon.

  She was nothing like he remembered, and certainly nothing like the sort of woman to indulge in his kinkier fantasies, which was a pity and a dash to his hopes. For a moment, he’d thought he’d gotten the wrong Abigail Parker. Josh’s security company had found her for him. Logan had only had the name Abigail and her date of birth—she’d told him she’d been celebrating her eighteenth birthday that night—but Josh had said that was enough. Logan had asked for a name and address. Perhaps he should have asked for more. But when he’d examined her closely, the basics were all there. The dark mahogany hair, though it was caught up tight in some sort of bun thing, and the big blue eyes. Her mouth…

  But he somehow remembered her as bigger. She was medium height, about five-five in her low heels, and she had a trim figure in a gray skirt that reached past her knees and a white shirt, buttoned up tight. Prim and proper. Especially when she’d pursed her lips and looked him over as if trying to work out what a tattooed, ex-con like him was doing on her pristine doorstep.

  At first he’d been amused when she so obviously had no clue who he was. Then he’d been pissed off. Once she had finally recognized him, she had gotten rid of him so fast it should have been funny.

  Except he wasn’t laughing.

  People had always looked at him and made assumptions about the sort of man he was—most of them bad and many of them correct—and it had never bothered him before.

  And it shouldn’t bother him now. So why the hell—

  “Are we boring you, boss?”

  The question dragged him from his thoughts, and he frowned. He realized he’d been staring at the toes of his boots where they rested on the chair opposite, when he should have been watching the woman on the stage. But it had taken him all of about five seconds to decide she wasn’t suitable. They were a classy nightclub not a seedy strip joint. The dancers were there to provide a little glamour not a service for the customers.