As the waiter left, Grant gently asked, “Are you all right?”
She sniffed and nodded. “So then they discharged you?”
Grant sighed, smiling grimly. “Yeah. I’m not fit to serve anymore, I guess. I sure have messed up my life.”
Sophie could not stop herself from weeping and used her napkin to dab at her eyes.
Grant clasped her hand in his. “Why are you crying?”
“It’s just awful,” she choked out. “I know how much you loved the Navy. I just have to watch you on Rog’s ship to know how much you loved it.”
A lump formed in Grant’s throat as she continued.
“I bet you were a great sailor.” She didn’t know if she was crying for his losses or for hers.
Grant quickly withdrew his hand, angrily jamming it in his lap. He looked away and squared his jaw with resolve, determined not to cry. He had never allowed himself to cry about the damn discharge, and he wasn’t about to start now.
They sat in silence. Watching Grant valiantly fight off tears reminded Sophie of something—another time, another situation—but she couldn’t place it. She tried to pull herself together.
“Let’s pay the check and get the hell out of here. I’ve lost my appetite,” Grant said.
Unfortunately, Marat was suddenly nowhere to be found. Grant miserably returned his gaze to Sophie. “Well, now I’ve made you cry. Great, just great. This is probably the worst date you’ve ever been on.”
She’d never felt as close to a man as she did right now. “No—”
“And I definitely do not feel better after talking about the past. In fact, I feel worse. Is this what therapy is supposed to be like?”
She shrugged crossly. “What the hell do I know? They took away my psychologist license, remember? Thanks for reminding me about that, by the way.”
They glared at each other, but within moments softened into smiles.
“If you think you’ve got the corner on the market on messing up your life, well, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet, Madsen. I am the queen of self-destruction.”
Grant stifled a laugh. “Yeah, you were popped for guns and cash, yo. You’re a real gangsta badass.”
Sophie began giggling. Her laugh was infectious, and Grant found himself chuckling too. Ah, life. If you don’t laugh, you cry. And sometimes, if you’re with the right person, you laugh while you cry.
Marat finally showed up, tentatively handing Grant the bill and temporarily halting their laughter.
“You have impeccable timing, Marat, just like a batter for the Cubs.”
The waiter just gave Grant a curious stare. “I thank you for visiting us tonight. Enjoy your evening.”
While Grant was mentally calculating the tip, Sophie lovingly feasted her eyes on her man, parolee McSailor. He’d said he didn’t feel any better after describing his crime, but perhaps he would soon. The more she learned about him, the more Sophie trusted Grant. Their burgeoning emotional intimacy only increased her physical desire for him, and she definitely knew a way to make him feel better.
She felt her face flush, thinking about the queen-size bed in his new apartment, just waiting to be christened. As Grant stuck some cash in with the bill, Sophie suggested, “How about we buy a few things for your apartment?”
He looked up at her. “What, like towels and soap?”
She nodded. “And sheets.”
Their eyes locked, and Grant felt a stirring down below. Maybe he was feeling better after all.
21. Fit
Sophie snapped the flat sheet out in front of her, making it billow over the queen-sized mattress before Grant caught it in his sure grasp on the opposite side of the bed. They gently let it float down, then smoothed it over the fitted sheet. That task complete, they stared awkwardly across the bed, and an edgy vibe filled the room.
“They’re perfect.” Grant nodded toward the sage-green, leaf-patterned sheets. “Thank you so much for buying them.”
“You’ve already thanked me about ten times.” Sophie grinned. “I was happy to buy them. It’s my little housewarming gift to you.”
She thought back to the department store they’d visited after dinner. It was obvious Grant liked the sheets and towels she picked out for him, but he seemed to hesitate. Nervously murmuring that he needed to find an ATM, he’d scurried away, leaving her standing alone with the bedding near the cash register.
He’d returned to find her beaming as she proudly presented the items, already purchased and bagged.
“You didn’t have to get me a gift, you know.”
“Well, I couldn’t find a congratulations-on-your-first-apartment-after-prison card,” she said with a smile.
His hearty laugh dispelled the tension. Grant felt full of gratitude. All he wanted to do was to be with her—hold her in his arms and ply her with kisses.
He set one knee on the bed and swiftly crawled across the mattress. Kneeling on the bed with bare feet, he met her eye-level.
His presence mere inches from her, the strength of his body next to hers, the warmth in his eyes, the curve of his lips, his laugh—it all flooded her senses. Placing her hands on his shoulders to ground herself, Sophie leaned into him.
Clutching her slender hips, he drew her into in a yearning, sensuous kiss. Her knees pressed against the bed and her hands slid down his back, massaging and kneading his taut muscles. As their kiss deepened, they intuitively moved together: Grant pulling her forward and Sophie following his lead up onto the bed, both kneeling on the mattress now while their hands groped each other hungrily.
Grant pried his lips from hers only to nuzzle his mouth near her ear, planting feathery kisses down the curve of her neck until his moist lips landed on her bare shoulder, rosy and freckled from the afternoon sun. His mouth continued its journey, languishing along her collarbone and sliding up along her neck, causing her to tilt her chin and revel in the sensation of him devouring her. Sophie closed her eyes and sighed with pleasure as his mouth grazed over her skin, heating her with his warm breath.
When he slid the spaghetti strap of her light-blue camisole down her shoulder, Sophie began to unbutton his lightweight madras shirt. She simply had to get it off of his body. Their undressing had a driving, frantic quality, and each eventually realized it was faster to remove their own shirt. Sophie crossed her arms over her waist and lifted her top over her head while Grant shrugged out of his now unbuttoned short-sleeve shirt.
Only when they faced each other, their shirts carelessly tossed to the beige carpet beside the bed, did they pause. Eyeing Sophie’s lacy strapless bra, Grant cleared his throat.
“You’re so beautiful, Sophie …” His voice trailed off, but he forced himself to begin again. “It’s, um, it’s been a dry spell for me. I’ve been locked away in a men’s prison for more than two years.”