Emily Hulse, a twenty eight year old psychotherapist, had been engaged by the parole board to assess a prisoner in the local jail, who was due for parole.
She was trained to treat mental and emotional problems, with psychological methods, and her recommendation would assist the parole board in coming to a decision on whether to free on license, Blake Anderson, the prisoner who she was to interview.
Blake Anderson had been jailed for ten years, and having served five, was up for parole. His record of rapes, and abuse of Women stretched a long way back.
Emily had spent all night reading his criminal record, and police reports, before their first appointment. She read transcripts of interviews with his victims, especially the most violent ones, and her preconceived perception of him was that he was and extremely violent man. He'd abused, and raped scores of Women, but only a few married ones had reported their ordeals.
He was to be escorted from the jail, in handcuffs, to her office.
When he arrived, she was taken by surprise at his good looks, he was quite a handsome thirty year old Man.
Her smile was warm, but brief, as she turned to him, after saying goodbye to the previous patient.
Bake Anderson came handcuffed to a prison guard, but she asked for the cuffs to be removed, and the guard to wait outside, on call for any emergency.
She held out her hand, and grasping his, said, "Hello, my name's Mrs Hulse, you are Blake Anderson, correct?"
He nodded, feeling her warm palm in his, as he moved closer to her, close enough to feel her heat, to inhale her scent.
"Please sit down, there," she pointed to a chair, "And make yourself comfortable," she said.
He watched her, closely, as Emily related her qualifications to him. "I have a doctorate in psychology, and I am a qualified therapist, whatever you say to me, stays in this room, and is only used to help me make my report back to the parole board, do you understand?" she asked him.
Blake Anderson nodded.
Emily had done interviews with prisoners before, sometimes in jail, and sometimes in her office.
Emily's first session with Blake Anderson started with discussing his childhood. She tried to find out why he'd had the tendency to humiliate Women, abuse and rape them. She watched the way he responded to her questions, the way he breathed.
He sat in front of her, watching her cross and uncross her legs, as she questioned him.
Emily studied him intently, and when he looked up at her, smiled at him, as if she knew what effect she was having on him.
Emily took notes as he answered, but found herself constantly distracted by his demeanour, his piercing eyes. He seemed far more relaxed than she did, his answers were unhesitating, and concise. She felt herself blush, every time, especially when he asked things about her, her life.
The first time he'd interjected her questioning, was when he asked, "Are you married?"
She answered, nervously, "No, I'm a widow, my husband was killed in a car crash." "I'm sorry," he replied, "I didn't mean to pry, to upset you," when he saw her shuffle uncomfortably in her chair.
After asking him more questions about his home life, he interjected again, "Do you live on your own, do you have children?"
"I don't have children, we decided to wait until I got my doctorate, the highest level of university degree, and my husband was killed before we decided to try for one," she explained. She went on, "I live alone, in an big old house at the end of town, it's secluded, and quiet, the way I like it," she informed him, instantly regretting volunteering that kind of information.
Emily and Blake looked at each other, for a few seconds. His gaze was penetrating her, before he spoke, "Err, may I ask you a personal question?"
"Yes, as long as I can answer it, if it's too personal I might refuse," she chided him.
"Is there a man in your life?" he asked.
Emily smiled, and replied, "No."
"Really, I'm surprised, I would have though that a beautiful woman such as yourself would have plenty of guys asking you out?" he said.
"They do, but I don't want anyone yet," she explained. "I've not had a relationship with a man since my husband was killed," she informed him. "To tell you the truth, I don't need a man in my life," she said, shifting uncomfortably in her chair.
He watched her for a few seconds, studying her before saying, "As a psychologist, have you noticed how liars always start with, "To tell you the truth?"
Emily blushed, as she realised she was lying, blushed, because he had caught her out, she did need a man, inside her, loving her, she had been a long time without one.
Blake Anderson watched her, taking in her beauty, the light from the windows highlighting her blonde hair. She was attractive, in her late twenties, well kept, and smartly dressed. The conservative clothes she wore still allowed her body to be elegantly displayed. Even her questioning had a sexy elegance to it. She was rather patronising at times but to him, still a very sexy woman.
Blake Anderson carried on surreptitiously interrogating her, "How old are you, twenty six, thirty?" he asked.
"You shouldn't ask a woman's age," she admonished, "But I'm twenty eight." She was uncomfortable, being cross examined by him, constantly shifting in her chair, crossing and uncrossing her legs, repeatedly exposing her fleshy thighs.
When his allotted time was up, she called the guard in, who immediately handcuffed him to his wrist.
Emily thought it was an unnecessary precaution, as to escape, or cause her trouble would jeopardise his chances of freedom. "See you next week," she called as the guard led him out of her office.
Except for the fact that he was a prisoner, a convicted rapist, Blake Anderson, who she had just interviewed, was everything Emily admired in a man. Handsome, well built, articulate, dark cropped hair, and a healthy complexion.
An expert at getting inside a person, Emily found no evidence of violence, or aggression, in him, he'd seemed docile answering politely every question she put to him.
On the day of Anderson's second visit, Emily felt the warmth of the afternoon sunshine seep through the windows. As she conducted her interview, with the client before Blake Anderson, she unfastened the top button of her blouse. As she tried to remain focussed on her present client, her thoughts were far from the task in hand. All she could think of, was the man she would be meeting in a few minutes, the prisoner Blake Anderson. The man whose piecing eyes, and good looks, had her trembling with anticipation. Although he was a prisoner, and she was assessing him for his potential release, it didn't stop her having unethical thoughts about him.
He had invaded her thoughts all week, and she had laid in bed, at night, re reading over and over his case notes.
Although her top button was undone, Emily's attire was still conservative. Prim and proper on the outside, but on the inside she was aflame with desire. Emily knew she was being stupid, getting all worked up over the attractive prisoner who was due in her office soon. What would people think of the prim and proper psychologist, if they could read her mind?
"What would he think?" she asked herself. She quickly went back to the task in hand, trying to put him out of her mind.
On Blake's second visit, which overran by ten minutes, Emily began unconsciously responding to him, when he suggested things to her.
