Sophie chuckled. “He’s not, but he’s, um, he’s coming around.” Her voice dropped as she confessed, “My dad doesn’t exactly know what I’m doing with this money.”
This kind, beautiful woman made Joe’s heart swell with pride. “Thank you, Sophie,” he said. “But I can handle the fees. I’m sure they won’t be too bad. How about you pay off your student loans?”
She looked surprised, and Joe continued. “Grant told me about those. He was hoping the loans might convince you to move in with him someday—you know, to save money.”
A faint smile brushed her lips. “Are you sure you have enough money to cover it?”
“No worries. I have a rainy day fund.”
“But it’s not raining.”
Joe grinned. “Even better.” He glanced out at the calm river, feeling the ship rock gently beneath them, and his grin faded. “It may not be raining now, but it sure hasn’t been smooth sailing for you or Grant. You’ve both survived quite a storm.”
Sophie knew she and Grant still had a long way to go to recover from all they’d endured, but she had a sense that together they could do it. Bonnie-and-Clyde style, she told herself, smiling happily.
Grant brought the boy over and stood behind him, resting his hands on the teen’s shoulders. “Sophie, I want you to meet my nephew, Ben.”
So, here was Logan’s son. She gazed into yet another set of arresting eyes. What was it with the men in this family and their gorgeous baby blues? Logan’s voice floated into her mind: I spent the day with my son. He just turned fourteen in July.
“Hello, Ben.” Sophie smiled, suppressing her sadness.
“Hey,” he murmured, looking embarrassed. Glancing at his uncle nervously, he nodded toward her sling. “Uh, Carlo … um, he did that to you?”
“Yes. But I’m going to be fine.”
Biting his lip, Ben sniffed. “That’s, um, good.”
Grant squeezed his shoulders and advised, “You better get back to work.”
Ben sighed. “This sucks.”
“Yep,” Grant nodded, “Being the chief toilet cleaner does have its drawbacks. But maybe if you work hard, you can get promoted like I did.”
Ben shuffled off dejectedly, and Grant called after him, “See you tomorrow!” Then he grabbed Sophie’s hand. “Let’s get out of here. Rog said I could take the day off, and I want to leave before he changes his mind.”
“Oh!” Sophie cried. Sage-colored sheets awaited them both. She asked Joe, “Will I see you again?”
“After I book my flight home, I’ll stop by to get my stuff,” he promised. Reading the eagerness in their flushed complexions, he added, “I’ll, uh, knock first.”
Sophie’s cheeks bloomed crimson, and Grant laughed. “Good idea.” Clasping her hand tightly in his, he told her in his silky voice, “Come on, Bonnie. Let’s go home.”
41. Con-habitation
Jerry Stone drummed his fingertips impatiently on his government-issued metal desk, feeling more and more irritated by the second. It was three minutes past nine o’clock. Taylor was late.
He growled as he surveyed the office. The drab cornflower-blue paint peeled from the walls, the grimy blinds were swathed in a thick layer of dust, and the linoleum floor was cracked and warped. He hoped Marilyn Fox would never see this shithole. He’d have to keep her away from his office—either that or redecorate.
Muttering under his breath about the nonstop drama surrounding the first two parolees scheduled for this morning, he opened the door, letting himself out into the hallway. Greeting him was the typical bustle of the DOC on a Wednesday morning—parolees filing into various offices or shuffling down the corridor to get drug tested, uniformed officers discussing the latest Cubs game over a cup of coffee, administrative assistants typing away—but still no sign of his particular parolee. Was somebody returning to prison today?
Finally he noticed a slender pair dash around the corner and head in his direction. They were moving quickly, though it seemed Madsen wouldn’t let Taylor break into a run and thus jar her injured elbow. He regulated their pace with a protective hand on her uninjured right arm.
At last they stood in front of their PO—panting, biting their bottom lips, fidgeting, and averting their eyes from his hostile glare.
His arms folded, Jerry glanced at his watch and growled, “Nine-oh-five, Taylor.”
She swallowed hard and slowly raised her eyes to meet his.
“It’s my fault, sir,” Grant said. “If anyone has to get in trouble for Sophie being late, it should be me. It’s my fault.”
“No, it’s not!” Sophie protested.
“Whose fault was it then?” Jerry asked her. “Why were you late?”
“Um, it took …” Sophie’s voice faded, and Jerry watched with fascination as her exquisite porcelain skin flushed with color. He was also intrigued by Madsen squirming next to her. “It took, um, longer than we thought—than I thought it would take, um, to get dressed.”
Jerry narrowed his eyes, trying to sniff out what was going on between the two.
Sophie felt her pulse race even faster as she recalled their morning …
After an evening of passionate lovemaking, they’d fallen into a deep slumber. Only Grant’s alarm clock had prevented them from oversleeping.
To keep her bandaged wound dry and stationary, Grant had helped her shower. He’d attempted to be focused and gentlemanly about lathering her body, but he’d been completely turned on by her, glistening in the pounding stream of water. Somehow he’d managed to wash her hair and help her step out of the shower, but by the time he’d toweled her off and stood before her in the bedroom, clutching her lacy bra and underwear in preparation to dress her, he’d lost all resolve.
She looked into his blazing blue eyes, and there was a suspended hush in the air. Apparently their prior coupling had not quenched their thirst for each other; on the contrary, their scorching sex-fest had left their throats dry and parched.
They needed to get to their PO, lest they return to lockup, but both felt a hot craving to lock onto each other instead, never letting go. Their brains acknowledged a pressing need to hustle to the courthouse, but their hearts desired to press their bodies together even more urgently.
Emotion trumping logic, Grant caressed the back of her neck and drew her face to his, their lips crashing together with a palpable, bruising force. Tongue on tongue, three hands groped for each other’s skin. The only piece of clothing between them was Grant’s boxers, which he’d slid on after the shower. Their deep kisses made their desire an insatiable compulsion.