With Good Behavior [Conduct Series #1]

by Jennifer Lane

  “Your father?” His eyebrows arched skeptically. “I find that hard to believe. He didn’t seem to be Grant’s biggest fan.”

  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.

  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 ta
ctic. “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.”

  Fear gripped Grant. “What? You can’t do that!”

  Jerry wondered why he hadn’t previously mandated therapy for Grant. Although the parolee surely had no desire to delve into his destructive family dynamics, they were precisely why he needed counseling. Arching one eyebrow, Jerry stood up and moved swiftly around his desk. “You’re telling me what to do now, Madsen?”

  Sophie cowered as the PO sat on the edge of his desk, leaning forward to challenge Grant.

  Glancing at the handcuffs swaying from the officer’s belt, Grant sat up a little taller and cleared his throat. “No, sir. I’m not trying to tell you what to do. I—I—I’ll go to therapy, sir.” But he couldn’t stop himself from adding, “This sucks.” He sounded just like sixteen-year-old Ben.

  “Maybe you can see the same shrink Taylor goes to,” Jerry offered. “If he’ll have her back.” He frowned at Sophie. “Dr. Hayes left a message yesterday that you didn’t show up for your session.”

  She gasped. “My therapy appointment! I forgot all about it!” Looking first at Grant, who appeared panicked, and then at the officer, she begged, “Please, Jerry, don’t send me back. I didn’t miss it on purpose. It’s just with everything going on—”

  “Relax, Taylor.” This was exactly the response Jerry was looking for. She still took the threat of returning to prison seriously. He didn’t want these parolees to think they could manipulate him just because he had a soft spot for them. “I’m not sending you back inside for that slip-up. I know you were in the hospital yesterday, and therapy was probably the last thing on your mind. But don’t let it happen again, or I won’t be so nice.”

  “Yes, sir.” Sophie nodded, and Grant exhaled with relief. She had hated it when her clients didn’t show up. She’d have to call Hunter immediately to apologize.

  “At least you’ll have Madsen to help you get to your next appointment,” Jerry said, thinking for a moment. “Maybe you can schedule back-to-back sessions to make sure you
both get there. Hell, maybe you two should do couples therapy instead—kill two birds with one stone.” Or monitor two parolees with one Jerry Stone.

  Both Sophie and Grant looked at him with startled expressions.

  “Yeah,” Jerry mused, liking the idea more and more. “Couples therapy. If you’re going to try to cohabitate, you’re really going to need it.”

  “B-b-but I—I—”

  “Don’t even try to argue with me, Taylor,” Jerry ordered. “Weekly couples counseling for as long as you need it.”

  “And how long will that be, sir?” Grant looked pained.

  “Knowing you two, I think you can count on being in counseling for the length of your parole.” Grant’s subsequent look of misery made Jerry’s day.

  Rising from his desk, Jerry suggested, “Let’s see if you both can stay in the forty percent who don’t return to prison, okay? I really don’t want to complete all that paperwork. Now, any questions?”

  A stunned silence enveloped them.

  “Well, off to your whiz quiz then, both of you.”

  Grant waited for Sophie to rise before he stood. Although still miffed about his impending therapy, Grant felt a world of gratitude toward his PO. Jerry was largely responsible for him not being behind bars at the moment, and he wondered if he might also have had something to do with him and Sophie having a chance together. Their relationship had blossomed despite all the obstacles in the way.

  Fidgeting, Grant said nervously, “We’ll see you next week, sir.”

  “Don’t be late.”

  As Grant led Sophie of the office, she paused and looked back at Jerry. “Thank you for not giving up on us, sir.”

  With that farewell, Bonnie and Clyde exited. Jerry wondered if Taylor would heal from her physical wound, if Madsen would heal from his emotional scars, and if they would make it as a couple. There were many uncertainties, but one thing he knew: The drama was not over with this couple.

  Standing outside on the courthouse steps about twenty minutes later, Sophie breathed in the fresh summer air. The sunlight buoyed her spirits, and finally she spoke to Grant—her first words since leaving Jerry’s office.