He made his way through the main room. The club was packed tonight, the lights dim, the air throbbing with the beat of the music. Carly was up on one of the podiums, looking classy in a black strapless dress and black heels. She gave an extra wiggle and blew him a kiss as he passed.
The bouncer opened the door to the VIP section as he approached. It was quieter in here, more subdued, the music lower, though the place was just as busy, and the small dance floor was packed. He saw Abby straight away and paused to study her. She was seated opposite two women, both blondes, in one of the plush red velvet booths that lined the walls. Mark stood in front of the little group, huge, arms folded across his chest, taking his scaring-off-potential-predators role very seriously.
She peered around Mark and caught sight of him, waggling her fingers. He moved forward, coming to a halt in front of her. Abby wasn’t dressed to party, but in a black pantsuit and white shirt—the sort of thing she usually wore for work. Her face was free of makeup, her hair in its usual bun, although some curls had come free. He was guessing the party was a spur of the moment decision rather than a planned outing.
Logan nodded to Mark, and the bouncer headed off. Abby sat up straight, pushed her shoulders back, and smiled. “Good evening, Mr. McCabe.”
His lips twitched. “Good evening.” He looked to her friends. Was she going to introduce them, or was she going to try to pretend there was nothing between them?
Because he wasn’t good enough.
But she waved a hand in their direction. “This is Melanie and Susannah. My friends.” The waving hand wandered in his direction. “And this is Logan McCabe, bad boy, ex-con, and father of my daughter. And I”—she tapped herself on the chest—“am Abby, police sergeant and fantasy girl.”
“Hi, Logan,” said the one called Melissa, then she shrugged. “Sorry, we wanted to take her home, but she insisted. I think she wants to talk to you.”
“No, I don’t,” Abby said. “Logan and I are best if we don’t talk. If we talk things go bad. So, no, I don’t want to talk to Logan.” She thought for a moment. “I think I want to dance with Logan.”
“Maybe we’ll go get you a coffee first.” Logan held out a hand, and she slipped her palm into his and rose a little unsteadily to her feet. He turned back to her friends. “Thanks for looking after her. I’ll send some drinks over.” He tugged Abby after him, pausing by the bar on the way. The barman appeared immediately, and Logan told him to send over a bottle of champagne. He steered Abby toward the main room, intending to take her to the office, dose her with coffee, and find out where Jenny was.
She balked when she realized where they were going, digging in her heels. “No. I want to dance.”
“Later.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Now. And after that I want tequila. Lots of tequila.”
The small dance floor was crammed. It would be an excuse to hold her close, which he needed because, the fact was, she was drunk, and he wasn’t going to take advantage of that. But surely dancing was allowed within his somewhat hazy code of ethics.
“Okay, one dance.” The music was slow, and he pulled her to him. Reaching up, she looped her arms around his neck and plastered her body against his. He slipped his hands beneath her jacket and dragged her even closer. They didn’t dance, just swayed to the music, and for a brief time he shut himself off and stopped thinking, accepting the feeling of rightness. The restlessness that had been plaguing him fell away, and he closed his eyes, lowered his head, and breathed in the scent of her hair…lemons and flowers.
Her breasts were pressed against his chest and her head tucked into the curve where his neck met his shoulder. He went still as she kissed him, nuzzling his throat, and his cock stiffened. She must have felt it because she raised her head and peered up at him through her lashes. Her eyes were dark blue, a flush stained her cheeks, and she slowly licked her lips.
“Have you any more fantasies, Logan?”
He groaned. Maybe it was time to get her off the dance floor. “Why don’t we go to my office, and I’ll tell you all about them.”
She flashed him a huge smile. “Excellent idea.”
He spoke to one of the waitresses and ordered coffee in his office before ushering Abby out in front of him. This time she went without a fight. She flung herself on the leather sofa and kicked off her shoes, reached up behind her and pulled the remaining pins from her hair so it fell in a messy tangle down her back. His Ms. Prim and Perfect was coming undone in front of him. She wriggled out of her jacket and tossed it behind her, then patted the seat beside her. “Come and join me.”
“I’ll wait for the coffee.”
“You don’t want me anymore.” She sounded woebegone.
“Not true. But you’re drunk and it would be taking advantage.”
She pouted. “I’m not that drunk. I’ll show you.” She got up, took a step, wobbled, and sat down again. “Oh.”
“See? Drunk.”
“I don’t mind if you take advantage.”
“You would tomorrow.”