His Fantasy Girl (Things To Do Before You Die)

By: Nina Croft

But the memory of that one night with her had kept him sane through the horror of prison. He’d thought he was a tough guy and could handle anything, but that first night, when the door clanged shut, locking him in that tiny cell, he’d really believed he might not be tough enough. So he’d pushed away reality and thought about her instead, her sweet mouth, her soft breasts, her tight, hot pussy wrapped around his dick. She’d got him through the worst year of his life.

“Every night for that whole year, I’d lie in my bunk, and I’d have these fucking fabulous fantasies about her. She kept me sane.”

“You never looked her up?” Josh asked.

He shrugged. “What was the point? I reckoned she’d either be a disappointment or she wouldn’t. And if she was as good as I remembered, what the fuck was I supposed to do? I wasn’t ready to settle down.” Probably never would be. “It was a lose-lose situation, so I didn’t even look.”

“And now?”

He thought about dying without ever seeing her again. “Now I’m going to go hunt down my fantasy girl. See how those fantasies compare to reality.”

The muscles in his belly tightened, and he recognized that he was afraid.

There was no way any real woman could match up to his dreams.

He’d finally have to let her go.

And then what?

Chapter One

Abigail Parker smoothed down the skirt of her gray suit and slipped into her black, low-heeled pumps. A quick glance in the mirror showed she was ready to go. She didn’t need to leave for work for an hour yet, but Jenny was due home from school any second and Abby wanted to spend some time with her before she had to go.

These moments were precious, and she always made sure they had some quality time together, whatever shift she was working. The last ten years had been difficult, but Abby was finally getting to where she wanted to be.

The doorbell rang and she headed out of the kitchen and down the hallway.

She opened the door and took an automatic step back. The man standing on the doorstep was tall, nearly a foot taller than her five-foot-four, so she had to crick her neck to look into his face.

She didn’t know him…did she?

Surely she’d have remembered.

He was the most stunning man she had ever set eyes on, his midnight black hair pulled back into a ponytail, revealing sharp cheekbones and silver-gray eyes. The black and red ink of a tattoo edged out of the neckline of his T-shirt, and more snaked down the length of his right arm. He wore black jeans that clung to his long legs and he looked lean and mean and…vaguely familiar. Something about him tweaked at her memory, but she couldn’t work out what. She returned her attention to his face. He still hadn’t spoken, but was returning her scrutiny, a small frown pulling his brows together as though she wasn’t who or what he’d expected.

Then he smiled; a tilt of his sensual lips, and flutters started in her belly. Most unexpected.

“Abigail Parker?” His voice was low and husky, the words a question.

Where had she seen him before? London was a big city, and she met lots of people through her work, but if she could concentrate for a moment it would come to her. At the same time, a little niggle of foreboding suggested perhaps she was better off not remembering. A smile like that could mean nothing but trouble. And she did not do trouble. She never did trouble. She was practical, sensible, and the few dates she did have were with nice men, not tattooed bad boys who only had to smile to melt the panties right off a good girl.

And why was she even thinking about panties melting?

No man had affected her like this. Not ever.


Well, okay once. But that was a long time ago and best not thought about.

She returned her attention to his face and found him watching her, one eyebrow raised, and she realized she hadn’t answered his question. She licked her lips and wiped her palms down her sides. “I’m Abigail Parker.”

Midnight black hair. Silver eyes. The dark slash of his brows. Where had she seen him before?

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

His question dragged her from her thoughts. He sounded a little…pissed off, as though the meeting was not going as planned and he wasn’t quite sure how to proceed.

“Should I remember you? Mr.…?”

He gave a slightly rueful smile. “I guess not.” Faint amusement twinkled in his eyes, and he gave a slight shake of his head. He looked past her into the hallway. “Can I come in?”

Her reaction must have shown in her face because he gave a short laugh. “I take it that’s a no.” He rubbed a hand over his jawline, faintly shadowed with a day’s growth of beard. Something in the movement tweaked a chord in her memory, but the answer stayed just out of reach. “Shit, this is difficult.” He took a deep breath. “Okay, so the thing is…we used to know each other.”

“We did?” She was getting a really bad feeling, was in fact having to fight the urge to slam the door in his face and run and hide under the bed.

“Well, maybe ‘know’ isn’t the right word.” His lips quirked. “Unless we’re talking in the biblical sense.”

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