Logan raised an eyebrow. “You said you needed to talk to me.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Here I am.”
She wasn’t ready for this, was still in turmoil from seeing him earlier, seeing his expression of utter dislike. That had gone, smoothed away, or maybe he was hiding it beneath the expression of vague geniality that didn’t really go with the black leather and tattoos. Her gaze drifted down over his long, lean body. The shirt was tight across his broad shoulders, hanging loose over the black leather pants. She shifted her focus lower, to the pants molded to his hips and thighs—
“Abby?” Jack spoke from beside her and she jumped. She needed to keep her wits about her. Her eyes flashed to Logan’s face. He was smirking as though he’d noticed her checking him out. Really though, how could he miss it. She cleared her throat. “It’s okay, Jack. I do need to talk to Mr. McCabe.”
“You want me to stick around?”
“No, I can handle this.”
“She’s very good at handling me. Aren’t you, Abigail?”
Jack’s gaze sharpened and Abby sighed. Logan was being a prick. Again. “I’ll be fine, Jack. I’ll see you tomorrow. Mr. McCabe is an…old friend.”
Jack gave a curt nod, and she watched as he walked away, then turned her attention back to Logan.
“Mr. McCabe? Very formal. I take it your friend there doesn’t know I had my hand down your pants yesterday.” He leaned in closer so his breath feathered her skin. “That you were hot and wet for me, and I made you come.”
Low blow.
She swallowed. “Strangely enough, no I didn’t mention that to him,” she said. “What do you want?” She wasn’t buying into the talking thing; she was guessing he had something else on his mind.
“Ask me nicely and I might tell you.”
She shot him a dirty look but didn’t even attempt to “ask him nicely.”
He shrugged then raked his gaze over her body, taking in her clothes or, most likely, her lack of uniform. “You’ve finished for the day?”
She nodded.
“I’ll give you a lift.” He glanced around at their surroundings. “This place gives me the creeps.”
She didn’t want to go with him. She wasn’t ready for the confrontation right now. Tired from the long shift, she wanted to go home. But Logan didn’t wait for an answer, just jerked his head in the direction of the car park at the back of the building. For a second she contemplated making a mad dash in the opposite direction, but that would be pathetic, so she hitched her handbag onto her shoulder and followed him. His ass in black leather was as impressive as it had been in faded denim, but really she shouldn’t be thinking like this. She was sure Jack had a great ass as well. Funny that she’d never really noticed it in the ten years since they’d met. She made a mental note to check it out next time she saw him.
Logan stopped beside a sleek black Ferrari. Wow. It suited him perfectly—long and lean and dark and no doubt a very fast mover. He opened the door, and she took a deep breath and climbed in. Inside it smelled of expensive leather and spicy cologne and a musky, male scent she knew was all Logan McCabe. Just the smell of him sent tingles to her belly. She was better than this.
He got in beside her, and suddenly all the oxygen seemed to be sucked out of the car and she couldn’t breathe. She swallowed, forced air into her lungs, and concentrated on slow, steady breaths. She waited for him to ask where she was going, but he started the car without speaking. The engine positively purred as he drove out of the car park and into traffic. It was slowing down now, after nine, and most people in this part of the city were already home. He drove fast but within the limit. She had no clue where they were going, but couldn’t bring herself to break the silence. Finally, he spoke.
“So you’re a cop, Sergeant Parker.”
“Yes.” She didn’t elaborate; she didn’t have to justify what she was to him.
She’d been on the force for nearly ten years, had learned how to deal with the most difficult of characters and keep her cool. How did this man get to her? Could it be because none of those others had had their hands in her panties? None of them had made her come. Oh God, would she ever forget the feel of those long fingers, pushing inside her. She eyed up his hands resting lightly on the steering wheel. They were beautiful hands, with olive skin and long fingers, short nails. The tail end of a tattoo trailed over the back of one, but she couldn’t make out what it was.
“You’re very quiet. I thought you’d be interrogating me by now.”
“Interrogating you about what?”