The father of her daughter.
She’d almost turned right around and walked out. She tried to tell herself that you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. But if you did, Logan McCabe had a title something along the lines of Fifty Shades of Hot. He was sex on legs. Long legs, lovingly encased in faded denim that hugged his thighs and emphasized the bulge at his groin, which she was sure was getting bigger. She tried to keep her gaze away, but it kept flicking back all on its own. She was certain she must be bright red, with steam coming out of her ears.
And she was also pretty sure he was perfectly aware of the effect he had on her. His silver eyes gleamed with amusement, but at the same time his face held a hint of menace—she was guessing he hadn’t been impressed by her reaction yesterday. Whatever the reason, the combination was terrifyingly intoxicating.
She was finding it hard to believe they’d had sex together. More than once. They hadn’t been able to get enough of each other. Her body melted at the memory. She had to get a grip before she turned into a messy puddle on the floor. Maybe her reaction was just her body remembering—how had he put it so eloquently—that she’d fucked his brains out on that long ago night.
The annoying thing was, he was so not her type. She didn’t go for bad boys. She liked nice, smart men in suits and ties. Men who were courteous and polite, and who didn’t look her over as though mentally stripping the clothes from her body.
She followed him across the huge room toward a door in the far wall and tried not to stare at his ass. Though maybe, while there was no one around to see, she should look her fill and get over it. Somehow he’d transformed her back into her eighteen-year-old self. These days, she had a super-responsible job, was famous for nothing fazing her, yet here she was positively drooling over the most unsuitable man she’d ever encountered. Just because he’d been the first man to give her an orgasm. The only man to give her multiple orgasms. Her sex flooded at the memory. God, why did she have to remember that? Even at twenty-one he’d known his way around a woman’s body, had pleasured her with his mouth, his hands, his huge… He’d been sensational, seeming to get off on her pleasure.
What had he learned in the long years since?
Stop thinking about sex.
This wasn’t about her. It was about Jennifer. Had she made a huge mistake coming here? But really she’d had no excuse. Her last chance to back out had vanished when she’d done a quick background check on him this morning and discovered he had been in no further trouble, was in fact an upstanding member of the community—even if he didn’t look it.
Her only hope now was that he wasn’t the sort of man who would be interested in a ten-year-old daughter. With a bit of luck, he’d listen to her and tell her to go to hell.
Except that still left the question unanswered—why had he come to see her yesterday? She’d racked her brains and come up blank.
In front of her he moved with the lithe grace of a predator, a smooth glide. Under the bright lights his hair gleamed almost blue-black. Her gaze snagged on the black and red tattoos snaking around his arms as far as his wrist and others peeked out from the neckline of his T-shirt. He hadn’t had that many tattoos eleven years ago.
He pushed open a door and stepped inside. Abby hesitated and then followed, finally turning to face him. He stood, hands shoved in his pockets, the look of amusement back in his eyes.
She hated that she was so transparent.
She took a quick look around the room. It was an office, with a big mahogany desk and a long black leather sofa. And suddenly it came to her. This was where Logan had brought her all those years ago. She’d had sex on that sofa. More than once. Oh God, why couldn’t he have taken her somewhere else? It had been his father’s office back then—a fact indelibly imprinted on her mind, as it was his father who had caught them the following morning, fast asleep and naked. If she remembered rightly, his father had been amused. She’d thought she might spontaneously combust.
“I’m glad you came.” Logan dragged her back to the present. “I hoped you would—once you got over the shock. It must have been a surprise, me turning up on your doorstep after all these years.”
Yes, it had definitely been a surprise.
Time to move this along. She’d get her bit out before she lost her nerve, then if he was still talking to her, she’d ask him why he had come to see her. “Mr. McCabe—”
“Logan,” he interrupted.
She licked her lips. “Logan.” What the hell was she supposed to say? She’d rehearsed this conversation so many times and now her mind was complete and utter mush. “I’m Abigail—Abby.”
His lips quirked. “I’m quite aware of that…Abby.”
She wiped her clammy hands down the sides of her skirt, exhaled loudly, and opened her mouth to tell him. Then lost her nerve. “Why did you come to see me?” Not what she was supposed to say.