His Fantasy Girl Page 7

  Logan sat in the leather chair, his feet on the desk in front of him. He had paperwork to do—his least favorite job—but he hadn’t been able to concentrate since Abby’s phone call.

  She wanted to talk to him

  He wanted her to suck his cock.

  Somehow he had to bring her around to his way of thinking.

  He couldn’t believe he wanted her again already. He hadn’t been this randy since he was a teenager. But at the same time, he couldn’t deny a hint of curiosity. What the hell did they have to talk about?

  He really hoped it wasn’t some sort of police business. That would totally piss him off. The clubs were clean. He was clean, and if she thought to try and prove anything else, she’d be sorry.

  However much he wanted that blow job.

  Finally, the phone rang. It was Mark on the door. “There’s a copper here to see you.”

  So she’d turned up in uniform. He hoped that wasn’t a bad sign. “I’ll be right out.”

  He pushed himself up and headed for the main door. It was open, but Mark barred the way. Abby stood behind him, impatience stamped on her face. “I’m not here to arrest him, just let me in.”

  “We’re closed.”

  “I’m not here to drink either. He’s expecting me.”

  “Mark,” he said and the bouncer turned around. “It’s okay.” He tipped his chin to indicate the other man should leave them, and waited until he’d disappeared into the club.

  Abby huffed, obviously annoyed at being kept on the doorstep. She was in uniform, crisp and neat, her hair in that bun thing, not a strand out of place, her hat clasped in her hand, flat black shoes gleaming on her feet. She could be posing for a fucking recruitment poster, she was so goddamned perfect. He had an overwhelming urge to mess her up.

  “Is this a business call?” he asked.

  She glanced down at herself and shrugged. “No. It’s my lunch break and I didn’t have time to change. In fact I don’t have much time at all so could we go inside. Please.”

  He studied her for a moment longer, to piss her off. Her lips were slightly swollen from his kisses, and he had a sudden image of her on her knees, mouth open, his dick at the ready. “Come in.”

  He stepped aside and gestured for her to enter, leading her through the huge, almost empty room. Some of the clubs opened during the day for lunch, but not this one. They were closed until eight that evening. A few people were around, cleaning, stocking up the bar, but the place was quiet.

  He headed for his office opposite but halted when he realized she was no longer following him. He turned to find she’d stopped in the middle of the room.

  Her glance flickered to the black door and back to him. “Could we stay out here? I really do need to talk to you.”

  “And you can’t do that in my office? You think we might find something more interesting to do?”

  She shuffled her feet. “Maybe.”

  At least she was honest and wasn’t trying to deny the attraction between them. It occurred to him that maybe she thought the uniform might provide some sort of protection against him. He had told her that he hated coppers; perhaps she believed it would turn him off. In fact he found the whole idea of stripping her out of it a total turn on. And if he did persuade her into the blow job, she could keep the uniform on and put that sexy little hat on her head. He almost groaned at the image.

  “Logan?”

  It was the first time she’d called him by his name, and he liked it. Glancing around, he gestured to one of the booths situated on the edge of the room. He sat down, and she slid onto the leather seat opposite.

  “You want a drink?” She looked like she needed a drink. Whatever it was she had to say, she wasn’t happy about it, and his curiosity grew.

  “No.” Her tongue poked out, and she swiped her lower lip, leaving it glistening. He was pretty sure she wasn’t aware of the effect it was having on him. “I’m on duty.”

  “How could I forget?”

  She placed her hat on the table, straightened it, and rested her hands primly on her lap. For someone in a hurry she was sure taking her time about this.

  “So,” he prompted.

  She licked her lips again. If she really wanted to talk, she should stop doing that.

  Finally, she took a deep breath. “You have a daughter.”

  Chapter Six

  For a second the words didn’t make sense, and Logan presumed he must have misheard.

  She cleared her throat. “Actually, we have a daughter. Her name is Jennifer, and she’s ten and she would like to meet you.”

  He went still as he studied her across the table, trying to unravel the words. He had a ten-year-old daughter. Was she fucking kidding?

  When he didn’t speak, because he really couldn’t think of anything to say that would make any sense, she continued, talking fast, “I know this must be a shock.”

  “You reckon?” He shook his head. “You expect me to believe that I have a ten-year-old daughter and all of a sudden you’ve decided I need to know. Excuse me if I’m a little skeptical.”

  A pulse beat under the white skin of her throat. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a photograph. She glanced at it and her expression softened briefly. Placing the picture on the table, she nudged it toward him with one finger.

  He didn’t want to look; he had no clue how he was going to deal with this. She had to be lying. But why? Had he set this charade in motion when he went to see her? Some sort of revenge plot? His brain was numb and in no shape to come up with a plausible answer. He caught her gaze as she nipped her lower lip between sharp white teeth. Finally, he forced himself to look down and stared.

  The photo showed a head and shoulders shot of a young girl with dark hair and huge gray eyes. She was the spitting image of his half sister Tamara at that age. He was six years older than Tamara and could remember her well. “Jesus.” He ran his hands through his hair. Other than that, he could think of nothing to say. He had no doubt that he was looking at his daughter. What he couldn’t understand was why she was telling him this now? Why the hell had she never told him before?

  He glanced up from the photo to glare at her, and she winced visibly. “I’ll understand if you don’t want anything to do with us,” she said.

  Some of the numbness wore off, replaced by an icy trickle of rage. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “No, of course not.” She licked her lips again, a telling gesture; she was nervous. Good. Though this time it did nothing to him at all.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Why what?”

  “Why tell me now?”

  “I told you—Jenny wants to meet you.”

  Christ, his ten-year-old daughter, who he hadn’t even known existed until seconds ago, wanted to meet him. How did he feel about that? Fucking furious. “I’m surprised you didn’t tell her I was dead.”

  A flush washed over her face, and something flashed in her eyes.

  “Christ, you thought about it didn’t you?”

  “I…” She took a deep breath. “Look, I can see you’re angry—”

  “Really. Why the fucking hell would I be angry? Maybe because you kept the fact that I had a daughter secret from me for ten years, and now you walk in here and expect me to take it calmly.”

  “I tried to tell you.”

  “Obviously not very fucking hard.”

  He saw the first flickers of anger in her eyes. “When I found out I was pregnant, I came here to see you. I didn’t even know your full name, just this place. They told me you were in prison. That you’d been convicted for assaulting a police officer.”

  Of course. He’d been arrested the day after he’d first met her, had been denied bail, and sentenced to eighteen months. He’d gotten out on good behavior after twelve, but he would have been inside when she had the baby.

  “I was eighteen,” she continued, “My father is a lawyer, and I was supposed to be starting law school that autumn. So yes, visiting my ba
by’s father in prison was a little outside my comfort zone.”

  “And after that?”

  “It seemed easier to…ignore your existence. It never occurred to me that you’d want to know. We had a one-night stand. There was nothing between us.”

  “Except a baby.”

  She went silent, tracing an invisible pattern on the tabletop with her fingertip. Finally, she looked up. “I did what I thought was right for my daughter.”

  Yeah, because having a man like him for a father was obviously a shitload worse than no father at all. He couldn’t believe the bitterness that washed over him at that thought. He was used to people taking a look at him and presuming he was a badass. It had never bothered him before. Hell, he’d taken a certain pride in it.

  “So why didn’t you tell her I was dead? That would have been nice and clean. No nasty, unsuitable ex-con of a father to explain away.”

  “I won’t lie to you. I thought about it. I was still thinking about it when you came to see me.” She rubbed at her forehead dislodging a strand of mahogany hair, ruining the perfect exterior. He had an urge to yank out the pins, mess her up further. “But it isn’t fair on Jenny to lie. She has a right to know. And one day she’ll find out. So I checked you out, and when I found out you hadn’t been in any more trouble, I—”

  “Decided to tell me the good news.” Jesus, how much had she checked him out? He was a wealthy man. Was that what it was about—money? But he didn’t think so, however angry he was. “What about me?” he asked. “Was it fucking fair on me? Did you ever think about that?”

  Her eyes widened, no doubt at the anger in his voice. Then she slowly shook her head. “No. It was never about you. Always about Jenny. I don’t know you…didn’t know you. I had to think about what was best for her. And I have to tell you, if you’d been to prison again after that first time, I would not be here now.”

  Part of him could understand that, but most of him was seriously pissed off. What the hell right did she have to judge him? And find him wanting?

  “I’m her mother. It’s my job to protect her.” She picked up her hat, and he realized that she was leaving. She’d dropped this bombshell and now she was going to calmly walk way.

  “I have to get back to work,” she said.

  Maybe it was for the best. Maybe he needed some time to let this sink in, to think it through before he said anything else, because he suspected that right now he might say something he would ultimately regret.

  “Call me when you decide what you want to do.”

  What the hell was there to decide? “I want to meet my daughter.”

  “Well, call me when you’ve calmed down, and we’ll discuss it.”

  He gritted his teeth; he was goddamn calm.

  “My number is on the back of the photo,” she said and slid out from the booth. He sat back and watched her walk away, hat clutched in her hand. As she reached the door, Rory entered. He held the door for her and spoke softly. She snapped something back. Logan couldn’t hear what she said, but whatever it was made his father raise his eyebrows.

  Finally, the door closed behind her.

  Logan sat back in his seat, his mind whirling. He wasn’t quite sure if he’d imagined the encounter. Picking up the photo, he studied it some more. No, she was definitely real.

  He glanced up to see Rory standing beside the booth.

  “What did you say to her?” Logan said.

  “I asked her what the fuck she was doing here.”

  Logan shook his head. “And she said?”

  “She said ‘go to hell.’” He grinned. “You know I might quite like her…if she weren’t a cop. So what put her in such a pissy mood? And what was she doing here?”

  Logan handed him the photograph. “It seems I have a daughter.”

  Rory studied the picture for a few seconds and whistled. “Holy shit.” He shook his head. “You and the police sergeant?”

  “Well, she wasn’t a police sergeant back then.” No, she’d been an eighteen-year-old girl. Could he really blame her for the choices she’d made? Hell, yeah, when those choices included cutting him out of his daughter’s life. He could sort of understand why she had done it, but he wasn’t ready to let go of his anger just yet.

  He’d make a bloody good father. Wouldn’t he? Truth was, he had no clue. He’d never even thought about a family. Never wanted one woman enough to settle down. He’d always presumed he would never marry. After all, he was hardly surrounded by role models.

  But he’d grown up to the age of ten—the same age his daughter was now—barely knowing his father. Though he’d been aware of Rory’s existence, his mother had made sure that they didn’t spend time together. She’d even told him that Rory didn’t want him, had never wanted him, which might well have been true at the time. All the same, Rory had made the most of a bad situation, and when Logan had finally gone to live with him, he’d never doubted that his father wanted him around.

  What did his daughter think? That somewhere she had a father who didn’t give a shit, who’d never wanted her. He’d make sure she knew different. He might make a crappy father, but his daughter would know it was Logan who was lacking. Never her.

  “I need a drink.” He stood up and crossed to the bar, pulled a bottle of single malt scotch and a couple of glasses from the shelf below, and carried them back to the booth. His father had taken a seat and was still studying the photo as Logan slid in opposite and poured them both a drink.

  “I don’t think there’s any doubt she’s a McCabe,” Rory said.

  “No. She looks like Tamara.”

  “She looks like you.”

  They sipped their drinks in silence for a minute. Logan emptied his glass then refilled both. He looked at Rory and something occurred to him. “You realize this makes you a grandfather.”

  Rory choked on his drink. “Bugger.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So what happens next?”

  “I meet her.” A cold, hard lump settled in his stomach. What if she took one look at him and ran for cover?

  “Is her mother okay with that?”

  “I presume so. Apparently she wants to meet me. That’s the only reason Abby told me. Otherwise I would never have known.”

  “Is that all she wanted? Not money?”

  “How the hell should I know? We haven’t exactly gotten around to discussing details yet.” His dad was a cynical bastard. Anyway, he supposed he should pay something toward her maintenance. How had Abby coped alone all these years? Had her family helped? He knew absolutely nothing about her, though she’d obviously managed to carve out a career for herself, which couldn’t have been easy.

  Shit, the mother of his daughter was a police woman. No wonder she was wary of letting him into their lives. He picked up the photo again and studied it. There was nothing of Abby; she was all McCabe. Had that pissed her off?

  God, he had a daughter. It was beginning to sink in.

  Would she like him? Or would she take one look at him and decide he should have stayed away. Maybe he should have a haircut or something. And he couldn’t believe he was thinking like that.

  “Her name is Jennifer,” he said. “Jenny.”

  “Nice name.”

  He poured more scotch. It wasn’t every day you found out you were a father. What if she hated him? “I’m scared.”

  “Daughters are scary things.”

  “Thanks, grandpa.” He pushed himself to his feet.

  “Where are you going?” Rory asked.

  “To phone the mother of my daughter.” At the last moment he grabbed the bottle of scotch and took it with him to his office.

  “Well, tell her I take back what I said.”

  He stopped and stared down at Rory. “And what did you say?”

  “That she should stay the fuck away from my son.”

  “A little late for that.”

  “Well, I wasn’t in possession of all the facts.”

  “Neither was I.”

 
; Two days since she’d told him. It seemed like forever.

  Abby couldn’t say the reveal had gone badly, though it hadn’t gone as she’d expected either.

  If she was honest, she’d thought he wouldn’t be interested. That he’d maybe accuse her of wanting his money or something, and she’d been all ready to throw that back in his face. She wanted nothing from him. They’d managed up until now and would manage in the future.

  But he genuinely wanted to meet Jennifer, and if she wasn’t mistaken, he fully intended to be part of her life.

  How did she feel about that?

  I don’t know.

  Her thoughts had taken on a surreal quality, her life spiraling out of control. Oh God, she hoped this was going to work and she wasn’t making a mistake of gargantuan proportions.

  “Are you okay?” her mum asked.

  “Yes. No. I don’t know. Ask me in a few hours’ time.” When this was all over. Logan was coming to Sunday lunch. She’d thought that their first meeting would be better for Jenny among her family and familiar surroundings.

  “Is he really that bad?”

  “No. Yes. I don’t know.”

  Her mum laughed. “You know, I’m looking forward to meeting him. The boy who sent my perfect little girl off the rails.”

  “He’s hardly a boy. And I was never perfect.”

  “Yes, you were, but I understand why.” She gave her a quick hug. “You were being what you thought we wanted you to be. And I’m really sorry we put those pressures on you.”

  “And I’m sorry I screwed up.”

  “You didn’t. What happened was for the best, and I don’t regret anything.”

  When her father had insisted Abby have an abortion and go on with her legal studies, her mother had finally, after years of toeing the line, stood her ground. She’d left Abby’s father and stayed with her daughter. Abby would always feel guilty about that, but at the same time, her mother seemed happier now than she could ever remember her being during Abby’s childhood. Her father had been a criminal lawyer from a good family who’d done the right thing and married his pregnant hairdresser girlfriend. But her mother, and later Abby, following her lead, always felt that they had to be on their best behavior. Always smart, always well-behaved…