Page 60 of His Fantasy Girl

“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.”

“Oh no, I wouldn’t. But it’s sweet—you’re worried I won’t respect you in the morning.”

A knock sounded on the door and he went and collected the tray of coffee, kicking the door closed behind him. He brought the tray back, put it on the table, and sat down in the opposite corner of the couch. After pouring for them both, he handed her one, wrapping her fingers firmly around the mug. “Drink.”

“Okay, maybe I am a little drunk. But I like it.”

“Why are you drunk?”

She heaved her shoulders in a huge shrug. “Crap day.”

“What happened? Is Jenny okay?”

“She’s fine. I’d hardly be out getting drunk if she wasn’t.”

He exhaled. “No, of course not.”

“She’s at my mum’s. Actually, my mum and dad’s.”

“So what went wrong today?”

She pushed out her lower lip in an exaggerated pout. “I didn’t get my job. I wanted to be a detective. I’ve always wanted to be a detective, and they said I couldn’t.”

“You can’t?”

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