Page 22 of His Fantasy Girl

“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,wehave 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.”

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