Whoa! Scary thought.
She was pretty sure that for Logan, she was a novelty: his fantasy girl. But he wasn’t the monogamous type, and he’d tire of her soon enough. She would do well to remember that, because it would be so easy to get hooked, and she would be in for a fall if she allowed herself to get addicted to the way he made her feel.
She should step back now before it was too late.
He switched off the engine, jumped out, then came around and opened the door. The small courtesy surprised her, but she clambered down. After what they’d shared, she didn’t know what to say, so she decided to say nothing. As she turned to head to the house, he stopped her with a hand on her arm.
In the light from the street lamps, he appeared serious. “We need to talk.”
“I know.”
“You’re not working tomorrow. Meet me for lunch.”
It was her day off, but how did he know she wasn’t working? Something to find out later, when her brain was functioning better.
She nodded.
“I’ll pick you up here at one.”
“Okay.”
The skin on her back prickled as she walked up the drive, the hairs on the back of her neck rising. She shut the door behind her and peered through the glass, waiting until he got in the cab and drove away.
Her body was replete, sleepy, and she tiptoed back to bed. This time she was asleep as her head touched the pillow.
Chapter Eight
If they were going to talk they had better be somewhere public. It was the only way Logan could guarantee he’d keep his hands off Abby. His fantasy girl was turning out to be addictive. But they needed to sort out how far she was willing to let him into his daughter’s life.
The thought pricked at him. He was still pissed off at her for not telling him sooner, although the blow job had gone a long way to earning his forgiveness. Hey, so what—he was shallow. And if the blow job wasn’t enough, the sex afterwards had been out of this world. His dick twitched at the memory.
He’d gotten her to touch herself again while he fucked her, and she’d come screaming. He’d had to clamp his hand over her mouth so she didn’t wake the neighborhood. He grinned at the memory.
Now, he gave her a sideways glance as they followed the restaurant hostess to their table. It was hard to believe she’d let herself go like that. In fact, looking at her now—it was almost impossible. She was so…perfect. She wore a navy blue skirt suit with a white silk shirt and two inch heels. Her hair was back in that bun thing and he had the urge to reach across and pull it down around her shoulders. Her makeup was minimal, and she wore small pearls in her ears. Her looks screamed “boring.”
But she wasn’t. Underneath that prim exterior was his wild woman, burning to get out. What had turned her this way? Was it having the baby alone? Or had she been like that before Jenny? He tried to remember back to that one night they’d had together eleven years ago. She’d been everything he ever fantasized about in a girl. Even before prison. Beautiful, full of life and laughter. And she’d wanted him, had melted in his arms.
Never underestimate how much of a turn on it was to be desired. She’d stared at him across the room as though he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. He’d been powerless to resist.
“Your table, sir.” The hostess held out a chair for Abby, and Logan seated himself opposite—out of reach. No touching until the talking was out of the way.
He ordered a bottle of wine and sat back, fingers tapping on the table as he studied her, trying to work out what made her tick. “Tell me,” he said. “That night, eleven years ago. Why did you have sex with me? I’m guessing it wasn’t usual behavior for you.” Though he was pretty certain she hadn’t been a virgin—he’d have noticed. Wouldn’t he?
She pursed her lips as if deciding what to say. Not a good sign. “I was drunk. For the first and last time.”
What the fuck?
“You’re telling me the only reason you had sex with me was because you were drunk.” He could hear the outrage in his voice. And he’d been thinking she’d taken one look at him and fallen wildly in love. Yeah, what fucking fairy tale was he living in? But it was clear, from his instinctive reaction, that that’s exactly what he’d believed…or hoped.
She nodded solemnly. “Sorry, but it’s the truth. It was my eighteenth birthday. My friends organized it. We were supposed to be going out to dinner, or at least that’s what my parents thought. It wasn’t even my dress—they bought it for me as a birthday present. I would never have gotten something like that on my own.”
“I remember,” he said. It had been black and sparkly and hardly there, showing off her long slender legs and a vast amount of cleavage.
“You would never have even looked at me if I’d been dressed in my own clothes.”
God, even she thought he was shallow. But maybe she was right.