“Yes. I was never allowed one as a child—my father hated the mess.”
“Grunt,” he called to the dog, who whined and nudged Abby in the stomach. “He’s not very well trained. Grunt, come!”
The dog reluctantly turned and loped off, following Logan. She stepped closer and watched as Logan opened a door to the back garden and the dog bounded out. Logan closed the door and turned back to her. For a minute he studied her, head cocked on one side, a question in his eyes.
“What?” she asked.
Chapter Four
She sounded vaguely belligerent, as though she was gearing herself up for a fight. Pity. He had no plans to fight her. He hadn’t meant to go back to the police station. He’d been shocked and pretty much horrified when he’d found out what exactly she did for a living. He’d grown up distrusting the police, and things had only gotten worse when they’d locked him up on a rap most people would have walked away from.
But that didn’t change the fact that he wanted her, and he wasn’t used to not going after what he wanted. He was ninety-nine percent sure she wasn’t setting him up, though he had no clue what she thought they needed to talk about. She’d managed not to talk to him quite happily for eleven years. Unless she had some fantasies of her own, and his visit had stirred them up. He liked that idea, and he was willing to play along. He’d even chat with her afterward.
But not right now. Right now, he had no plans to chat. On the drive over he’d been tossing around a few of his more repetitive fantasies, deciding which to…tackle first, and he’d gotten hot and uncomfortably hard.
Christ, even in that uniform she’d turned him on. Now that was a surprise.
Him fancying a copper—it was beyond inconceivable. “It’s funny,” he said, “I can usually spot the police a mile away, but you…”
“Me what?” The belligerence was still there.
“Well, let’s just say I would never have guessed it. And I’m willing to overlook that little character flaw. Are you hungry?”
She shook her head. Good. Neither was he. “Come through.”
He led her from the kitchen into the large sitting area. Through the French windows, he could see Grunt as he raced around the garden sniffing everything. Logan pressed a button on the wall, and curtains slid across to cover the glass. He didn’t want Grunt trying to get in on the action. Abby halted in the doorway, looking warily into the room as though it were some sort of den of inequity.
She really wasn’t his type; he liked his women a little on the uncontrolled side. Abby Parker was neat, her clothes conservative, not a hair out of place. Though that wasn’t how he remembered her that night. And he’d spent enough time going over it in his mind. She’d been wild, which made this Abby an enigma, and a challenge. He liked challenges.
Could he make her lose control?
“Come in,” he said. “I’ll get us both a drink. Scotch okay?” She’d drunk tequila that night, though she didn’t look much like the tequila type anymore. He spent a lot of time at the club guessing what people drank. He usually got it right. Miss Priss over there probably drank lemonade.
He didn’t wait for her to answer, just poured them both a scotch and waved her to the sofa. She took the chair instead, back straight, knees together. She accepted the glass but put it down on the table beside her without taking a sip.
She cleared her throat.
He was wavering between scenarios with her on top, with her breasts in his face, or a blow job, though on top might be easier to negotiate. Or on her back on the dining table, or bent over the sofa… Maybe he’d save that for later.
She was obviously considering what to say, how to start, but he really didn’t think he’d have too much trouble persuading her to his alternate plan. Yesterday she had melted for him. Within minutes she’d been hot and wet. His dick twitched, and his balls ached. Time to move this along. Before she got around to saying whatever it was she was working herself up to, because while he couldn’t begin to guess what she wanted, his intuition told him it wasn’t going to be anything good.
She licked her lips, and his dick jerked again. His pants were uncomfortably tight but hopefully he’d be out of them soon. He almost didn’t want to start. He’d been fantasizing about this for so long. What if it was a disappointment? What if he couldn’t make her come? In his fantasies, she’d come for him hard and frequently, usually screaming his name.
Fuck. What if she did say no? He swallowed his scotch in one go and put the glass down next to hers. Then he strolled around the back of her chair, stepped up close.
She was staring fixedly ahead. “So,” she began. “I—”
“Shush,” he murmured.
“No really, I’ve got to—”