“Did you bring me a gift?” Ben asked.
Logan looked down. “Uh, I wasn’t sure it would be safe to approach you, so, um, no.” He licked his lips nervously. “But next time, okay?”
Crestfallen, Ben nodded. His father hadn’t been around for his fifteenth birthday either, and he was slowly learning not to get his hopes up. “You, um, decided it was safe to talk to me? No cops around?”
“I’m more worried about the feds than the fuzz at this point.”
“The feds?”
“They’re watching you, Ben. Don’t you know that?”
“They don’t care about me,” he scoffed.
Logan looked at his son like he was a complete idiot. “Of course they do. You’re Enzo Barberi’s grandson, for chrissake. The feds were parked right outside Angelo’s place last night for your party.”
Ben’s light-blue eyes widened, then quickly narrowed. “You were there?” His tone was wounded. “But you didn’t come inside?”
“Of course not! I would have been arrested on the spot!”
“But Carlo says the police aren’t really after you anymore. He says you’ve just lost your edge—that you’re too scared to be involved in the business. That’s why you don’t show your face.”
Logan clenched his fists, infuriated by his cousin. But was it really a misrepresentation? Logan was supposed to meet Carlo in an hour to pull a job. And he’d been feeling sick about it—not because he was scared, but because he was disgusted by the whole thing. He was relatively certain Carlo would use him as muscle, meaning he would have to rough up anyone standing in their way, even if it meant murder. There had already been enough killing in Logan’s thirty-five years. There was enough blood on his hands.
“Do you actually think I would hide myself away from you unless it was absolutely necessary?” Logan asked. “I’ve missed a whole year of your life, and you’re my son! I hate this, but I have no choice.”
Ben sniffed. “You didn’t seem to care about that when you got in trouble with the cops.” Logan watched his son look away. “Just like Uncle Grant. It’s not like he cared about me when he went away to prison.”
So, Grant had never told Ben about Logan’s involvement in his arrest. Logan felt simultaneously relieved and ashamed. Quietly he asked, “How is your uncle?”
“Fine,” the teenager responded petulantly. “At least he got me a gift.”
Logan exhaled forcefully. “I said I’d get you one, all right?” Biting his lip, he added, “Did Grant say anything about where he lived?”
“Nope,” Ben replied. “We didn’t get to talk much before Carlo showed up. He and Uncle Grant got sort of pissy with each other.”
“Did anything happen?”
“Dunno. I went back to my party and let them work out their little bitch-fight.”
Logan was taken aback by Ben’s snarky tone. His son was turning into a pint-sized punk.
“Why do they hate on each other?”
“That’s a conversation for another day, Ben. How did Grant find out about your party?”
“Oh. He said he ran into Mom on an architectural cruise. That’s where he works now or something.”
“Really.” The wheels in Logan’s mind started turning. “Listen, I should go, but before I leave, I want to ask you why you were at Aaron Caldwell’s house.”
“Were you spying on me?”
“You’re damn lucky the feds didn’t trail you there,” Logan replied. “Answer my question. Why the hell were you on a drug dealer’s doorstep?”
Staring defiantly into his father’s disapproving glare, Ben answered, “None of your business, Dad.”
Logan took a menacing step forward, making the difference in their heights more obvious. “It is my business,” he countered. “I’m your father.”
“I don’t have a father,” Ben insisted, his voice filled with fury and hurt. “He left a long time ago.”
“But I’m here now,” Logan pointed out. “And I don’t want you around drug dealers.”
“That’s rich, Dad. You’re on the run from the police, and you’re telling me to obey the law. Classic.”
His son’s sarcasm made Logan’s throat tighten with regret. Swallowing guiltily, he stared at his only child. “You’re right. I have no room to tell you how to live your life. Just please, try to learn from my mistakes. Being a fugitive, in trouble with the cops—it’s no way to live.” He ran a hand through his cropped jet-black hair and sighed. “I always wanted a better life for you.”
Ben had no idea what to say.
Clearing his throat, Logan murmured, “I gotta go. Be careful, kid.” Then he slunk out of the men’s room, disappearing from his son’s life again. Ben jammed his hands into his pockets and gazed into the mirror for a second before returning to his buddies in the game room. His father had left him once again.
* * *
As soon as Grant walked into his apartment, he was overwhelmed by the enticing aroma of garlic and spices. His stomach growled as he closed the door and glided around the corner, following his nose toward the heavenly scent. All vestiges of fatigue and stress vanished the second he saw her.
Sophie stood by the kitchen counter, chopping a cucumber while she swayed her hips to the Gap Band’s infectious “You Dropped a Bomb on Me.” She hadn’t heard him over the din of the radio, and he held back laughter as her carefree dance moves filled his kitchen with energy and grace.
She turned to grab a towel and nearly jumped out of her skin when she caught him standing there, watching her with amused eyes, his hands on his hips. “Oh!” she squeaked, quickly reaching over to turn down the radio. “You’re early!”
He chuckled while moving toward her, drawn in by the endearing flush of her cheeks and the striking figure she cut in her silky black pantsuit. “And you’re adorable,” he responded, leaning in to plant a feathery kiss along the curve of her neck, sending goose bumps cascading down her arms. His warm breath lingered on her skin for a moment before he lifted his head.
His hand rested protectively on the small of her back as he gestured to the feast she was compiling on the counter. “What’s all this? Smells incredible, by the way.”
Her eyes sparkled. “I wanted to do something nice for you, to thank you for being my personal employment agency. So, I’m cooking you a Mediterranean meal.”
“My favorite food! I can’t wait to try it.”
“Well, don’t get too excited. It’s my first time making these dishes, so they might be a total disaster. And I’m not done yet. I didn’t expect you home so soon!”
“Yeah, Rog didn’t make me swab the deck tonight. But I still got kind of grubby on the ship.” He glanced at his watch. “How about I take a quick shower before we eat?”
“Yes!” she responded enthusiastically. “That would give me some time to finish up.”
“Wow. Are you trying to get rid of me, Bonnie?” He grinned.
Sophie blushed. “Not at all, Clyde. It’s just that I want this dinner to be perfect and having you here, hovering over me, is kind of, um, distracting.”
“Say no more,” he advised, leaning in to graze his lips across her warm cheek and holding her spellbound with his tantalizing touch.
As Grant headed for the shower, Sophie felt her cheek and neck on fire from his lingering kisses. Slowly she turned her attention back to the cucumber, sighing happily.
* * *
“That was simply amazing,” he murmured appreciatively while surveying the table covered by remnants of their feast: rich garlic hummus with pita and slices of cucumber and tomato, then shish kebabs featuring succulent lamb, grilled onion, and green pepper, along with fattoush salad drizzled with lemon vinaigrette.
Sophie beamed. “I’m so glad you liked it. Are you ready for dessert?”
“Whoa, dessert too?” He clasped her hand in his, and the electricity that crackled between them only intensified. “What kind of dessert did you plan? Food or flesh?”
Her mouth dropped o
pen, and he felt enticed by the parting of her pink, luscious lips. Heat stirred below his belly as she slowly slid her tongue across her bottom lip, leaving a moist trail.
“Hmm,” she mused. “I had planned some baklava to end our Mideast feast, but it sounds like you have something else in mind?”
Keeping hold of her warm hand, Grant rose from the table, drawing her out of her chair. “Maybe later for the baklava,” he suggested. He gently cradled her other hand in his and they faced each other, inches apart. His fingers slid softly over her smooth hands, which rested by her side.
“The flesh kind of dessert then?” She tilted her face up and leaned in to meet his smiling lips with her own. Their kiss started as tentative and sweet, an exploratory union holding the promise of deeper passion. Grant let go of one hand to cradle the back of her head, his hand pressing into her strawberry tresses while his lips bore down on her mouth.
Between gradually intensifying kisses he whispered, “Your delicious dinner was a wonderful thank-you gift.”
Snaking her hands up his back and cradling them over his broad shoulders, she gazed into his eyes and pledged, “My thank you is just getting started, McSailor.”
He raised his eyebrows and his typically cool eyes smoldered. Abruptly he squatted and hoisted her body in one swift movement.
Sophie squealed as he slung her over his shoulder.
“I’m taking you to my bed, woman,” he announced.
She continued giggling, feeling blood rush to her face. “Oh, McSailor, you’ve got me. I’m at your mercy.”
“Glad you see things clearly,” he responded as he took sure strides into the bedroom, his precious cargo slung like a sack of potatoes across his back. The bed was neatly made—traces of his military training—and he gently unfurled her body from his, resting her on the leafy sage bedding. He feasted his eyes on the rosy skin of her arms and neck.
“As sexy as you look in that getup, I’m going to have to strip it off of you right now.”
“Well, what are you waiting for?”
He grinned. “Ah, I love a feisty Bonnie lass.” Crawling onto the bed, he undid the clasp of her halter top while simultaneously planting a scorching kiss on her lips.
She pulled down her halter top, exposing her bare breasts. No bra! He swiftly lifted his light-blue polo shirt over his head, then straddled her reclining form.
He slid his long fingers up her ribcage, kneading and massaging her firm breasts and hardening nipples with his adept touch. Feeling his hardness near her, on her, around her, she desperately wanted him in her, and she reached down to unzip his jeans.
He was zoned in on the flesh cradled in his hands, however, and he would not be deterred. Her breath hitched as his tongue swirled across her sensitive skin. She gave up on removing his pants and allowed her arms to fall by her side, useless.
Grant paused and peeked up, smirking. “Is my little chef tired from all her cooking today? Just leave the work to me. I’ll take good care of you.”
She grinned as he scooted himself toward her feet while he peeled off her pantsuit. Always a gentleman, he popped off the bed to hang the pantsuit carefully on a chair before returning to his beauty.
Grant admired her black panties. “You are one sexy woman, Sophie Taylor.”
She sat up and grabbed the waistband of his unbuttoned jeans, noticing the tightening bulge beneath the zipper. “And you are wearing entirely too many clothes, Grant Madsen.” She helped him shimmy out of his jeans, then beckoned him back to the bed. He sat on the sheets and she cuddled up on top of him, her long legs wrapped around him as they continued kissing, reveling in their closeness.
Moving easily together, she helped him shed his boxers a split second before he removed her panties. Having spent several evenings naked in each other’s company, their self-consciousness was gone.
Grant nestled himself into the covers, resting on his back and panting with anticipation, as Sophie unrolled a condom over his rock-hard erection. There was no need for words as they synchronously flowed together, reading each other’s intentions through hungry looks or sensuous touches. He reached down to her core and let his fingers do the talking as he prepared her for entry, reveling in her delectable moans.
Crawling up his body, her eyes glowed with desire. The faint smile on her lips disappeared the moment she guided him into her wetness. Her lips separated and a staccato gasp stole the air around her as he filled her completely.
She rested her weight entirely on top of him and he bucked into her, his hands all over her glorious body as they thrust together. Somehow managing to corral his roving hands with her own, she held on for dear life as he took her screaming upward to the height of arousal—higher, faster, climbing to a soaring zenith as both reached a shuddering peak. They held onto their high for a magnificent moment, suspended in time. Then their bodies collapsed into each other, and Sophie tried to catch her breath, her lungs heaving and quivering against his strong chest.
Their eyes met again and she gave a brilliant smile, watching beads of sweat form on his forehead and enjoying the feel of him below her and inside her. “I love your widow’s peak,” she said, still trying to resume normal respiration.
“You do?”
“Very much,” she confirmed, shifting up to kiss the peak softly. “And I love the cute little mole you have over here.” She moved her mouth to plant a sweet kiss on his right temple. “I find your luscious, full lips irresistible.” He lifted his head to meet hers, and their tongues danced and dipped playfully.
“But most of all,” she continued, “I adore your beautiful eyes. I could get lost in those sparkling sea-blue eyes, McSailor.” She leaned forward and feathered a soft kiss on each eyelid in turn.
She finally rolled off him to rest by his side. They were contentedly quiet for a few moments until she remembered a question she’d been meaning to ask.
“So, how was your meeting with Jerry this morning?”
The high he’d been riding swiftly bottomed out with a crash, his lilting romantic fantasy abruptly ruined by his dark family reality. She noticed him tense instantly.
“Hey,” she softly cried, reaching out to cup his chin with her hand. “What’s wrong, Grant?”
Staring into her eyes, he knew what he had to do. This gorgeous woman deserved to know the truth about him and his family. She’d given herself to him, and he needed to be totally open with her. It was only fair.
“I …” He cleared his throat, his voice raspy from their intense lovemaking. “I need to tell you something, Sophie.”
Watching a resigned expression darken his features, suddenly she didn’t want to hear what he had to say. She didn’t want anything ruining their perfect connection: lying here naked, snuggled close, relishing in post-coital bliss.
“Shh,” she responded, lifting herself up on one elbow and laying her index finger on his lips. “I’ve been thinking about us, and I realized it’s unfair for me to be mad at you for withholding information, when I myself have not been entirely forthcoming.”
“Huh?” Grant replied.
“I feel closer to you than anyone in my life,” she said, a slight tremor in her melodious voice. “Yet I realized there’s a significant piece of my past that I never shared with you. I want to tell you what happened to me, Grant. I need to tell you why I went to prison.” She couldn’t help but turn her eyes downward as her face reddened with shame.
Reading the pain in her body language, Grant gently brushed his fingers across her cheekbone. “You don’t have to tell me, Sophie.”
“Yes, I do,” she responded with increasing confidence, raising her eyes to peer into his once again. “I need to be completely honest with you if I want to make this relationship work. At least that’s what my shrink told me. I just hope, um, I hope you’ll still want to be with me when you know the truth.”
Grant flinched upon hearing her words, shocked that she’d been experiencing the same doubts as he had—fears that if the truth was reveale
d, one of them would leave. He felt deeply saddened that she thought he would cast her aside so easily. He would never allow that to happen.
He grasped her hands in his, stroking the soft skin of her palms lovingly. “Sophie, no matter what you tell me, I would never leave you. Don’t you understand?” He waited until she met his eyes. “I love you.”
She drew in a sharp breath and felt the sting of tears as her heart thumped furiously. Oh God! Her eyes glistened. “I love you too,” she declared. She was sure of it.
He squeezed her hands in his. “Don’t you see? We love each other, and we won’t let anything come between us, okay?”
She nodded. “Okay.”
He gently leaned forward and kissed the tip of her nose, tasting the salt of her tears. They studied each other for a moment before she plunged ahead, determined to tell her story before she lost her courage.
“I was seeing a client in my practice,” she began. “He was court-ordered for treatment related to a, uh, an addiction.”
Grant nodded and drew her hand to his mouth to kiss it encouragingly.
“My client was a well-known criminal,” she continued, feeling her cheeks flush. “Well-known to everyone except for me, that is. I don’t know how I could have been so stupid.”
Grant frowned and smoothed his fingers down her long blond tresses. He carefully tucked a strand of strawberry hair behind her ear, then resumed caressing her cheek.
Sophie sniffed. “I’d been meeting with him for more than six months, and he wasn’t getting any better. I wasn’t helping him. Then this one session, he was telling me an awful story about his childhood—I was trying to comfort him—and he—he … kissed me. He did other things to me too. And …” She gazed down in shame. “And I let him. I liked it.”
“It’s okay, Sophie.”
“No, it’s not, Grant. It’s not okay! I was his psychologist! I shouldn’t have let it happen. I exploited the situation. I broke every ethical guideline in the book.”
“That’s why you went to prison?” he asked incredulously.
“No, what I did could have put my license in jeopardy, but it couldn’t have put me in prison.” She sighed. “There’s more. He stashed stolen money in my office. When I found the cash—there was a lot of it—I freaked out, and I called him and yelled at him. He was going to come pick up the money but before he got there, the police arrived. They had a search warrant. I tried to tell them the money was my client’s, but when they searched the office, they found … they found …” Her voice trailed off, and she seemed miles away.
With Good Behavior [Conduct Series #1] Page 28