Sophie took blind steps back to the bed, drawing him with her by the suction of her lips, and somehow they managed to fall onto the sheets without jolting her arm. He helped her scoot back toward the pillows, resting his weight on his elbows while hovering over her. Their long, bare legs became entangled and a fine sheen of moisture from the shower coated their skin. Grinning against his probing mouth she reached into his boxers and took him in her hand, causing him to halt his flurry of kisses and inhale deeply, staring down at her with longing, half-lidded eyes …
“… is no excuse.” A gruff voice drew her out of her enthralling memory, and she found herself staring not into her lover’s cool gemstone eyes, but her parole officer’s heated brown ones.
“What?” she asked, turning to see if Grant could catch her up on the conversation. His shoulders were back, spine stiff, and his face bore the anxious expression of a man getting chewed out by a superior.
“I said,” Jerry repeated, “your injury is no excuse for being late. Don’t think just because you’ve been shot I won’t shoot your ass straight back to prison.”
Grant tensed, and Sophie gulped. “I’m sorry, Jerry. I won’t be late again.” But her response did not break the PO’s stern stare.
Sophie decided to try a different tactic. “I apologize for being late, but I hope you won’t hold it against me since you were late once too.”
Jerry’s bushy eyebrows arched as his glare intensified. “What the hell are you talking about, Taylor?”
“You were late for our meeting once last month,” she said. “You were, uh, coming from the hospital.” She noticed a shadow of grief cross Jerry’s face. “I’m sorry to bring that up, sir, but I’m sure you wouldn’t hold me to a higher standard than yourself?”
Grant tried to get Sophie’s attention, pleading silently for her to shut the hell up before their PO arrested both of them, but miraculously Jerry’s upper lip began to twitch toward a smile.
“Whenever I was late for psychotherapy clients, I figured I couldn’t be upset if they were late.” Sophie shrugged, wincing from the movement to her left arm. “The golden rule—that’s all I was thinking.”
Jerry shook his head. “Damn shrink parolee.” He opened his office door and ordered, “Both of you get inside, now.”
Grant looked startled. “You want me in there too, sir?”
“Yeah, I’ll see you two together. That way your tardiness won’t make me fall behind in my schedule. And I won’t have to listen to your bullshit twice, either.”
Grinning, Sophie allowed Grant to guide her into the office by the elbow. She still wasn’t sure what she thought about his chivalrous behavior. It felt reassuring to be ensconced in his protective shell, but she was not a delicate flower. And now that they were finally together, it certainly was not okay for him to take the blame for her mistakes—especially if that meant he might land himself back in prison. She couldn’t bear to be separated from him again.
Once the three were seated, Jerry pulled out their files and made a few notations.
“So,” he boomed. “Anything new to report? Well, besides one of you getting shot, the other killing a man in self-defense and getting arrested, and both of you being exonerated of murder?” He smirked.
“Uh, at least we’re not boring,” Sophie said.
“Hardly,” Jerry agreed.
Tapping her index finger on her chin, Sophie piped up, “Oh! I do need to tell you my new address, I guess.”
“Holland’s place spooks you now, huh? That’s okay. I already got your father’s address in your file.” Jerry nodded smugly.
“Um, Jerry? I’m not living with my dad.”
He tilted his head to one side and caught Sophie slyly glancing at Grant. It took him a second to understand their delight. “I see,” he said, holding up Grant’s file. “I can put the same address down for both of you now?”
Sophie nodded shyly, and Jerry rolled his eyes. So, the cons were con-habitating. The parolee dating service had produced a perfect con-nection indeed.
Grant felt a pleased grin on his face. His Bonnie was no longer over the ocean or over the sea. He had brought her back, he mused, and now she’s living with me. She would live with him! She would share his bed. Reliving their most recent experience in that very bed, he closed his eyes dreamily …
Hovering over her, stomach to stomach, he rested on his forearms, careful not to press against her injured elbow. One hand cradled the side of her face and the other smoothed her thick hair, fanning out the strawberry strands on the pillow. Her hand was doing amazing things to him down below. He had shimmied out of his boxers and there was nothing left between them. Truly.
“We don’t have … time,” he panted, kissing the tip of her nose.
“We’ll be quick,” she responded breathlessly, feeling the hard length of him brush her thigh. Stroking him, she remembered their encounter after the baseball game. “I’m just warming up the hot dog first.”
Grant shook his head. “Hon, my sausage has been cooked from the second I touched you in the shower.”
“Is that so?” she asked. “Well, my buns are toasted and ready.”
They burst out laughing, and in the midst of their good cheer, Grant slid on a condom. The hilarity passed the moment he held himself just above her, grazing her skin and teasing her quivering center. He gazed at her lustfully while her eyes reciprocated pleading desire.
Feeling simultaneously aroused, astounded, and amused by the beautiful woman in his arms, Grant murmured, “I love you, Sophie.”
“Christ, maybe I should just combine your files,” Jerry griped, bringing Grant back to the present. “You parolees used to work together and now you’re living together?”
“I think you should keep separate files because there are some differences between us,” Sophie said. “Like how many months of parole we have left, for example.” She batted her eyelashes, adding, “I’m not sure, but I think one of us will be done with parole long before the other.”
Jerry just sat back and watched.
Grant narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, and another difference is that I’ve had two drug tests already and Sophie’s had none.” He turned to Jerry, “Are you going to let that go, sir?”
“Hmm, I agree. That’s not right,” Jerry said. “You both will go get a drug test when we’re done here.”
Sensing that his retaliatory plan had backfired, Grant slumped in his chair. But Sophie sat up and protested. “I was taking pain medication in the hospital!”
“Make sure to give them your doctor’s name, then, and they’ll check it out,” Jerry advised, inwardly chuckling as Sophie glared at Grant.
“Hmph,” she retorted, slouching. Suddenly she sat up again. “What about therapy?” she demanded. “You made me go to counseling, but not Grant. Why is that? Do you think I’m a total nut job or something?”
Grant stared at her. What the hell was she doing?
Jerry smirked, watching them throw each other under the bus. They were surely making his job easier. “Not a total nut job,” he told Sophie. “But you have benefited from the counseling, haven’t you?”
Reluctantly she yielded. “Yes, sir.”
“Then perhaps Madsen could benefit as well. Once-a-week therapy, Madsen. It’s a condition of your parole.”