by Karen Anders
“I don’t care. It’s time he learned that there’s zero tolerance for the mistreatment of women.”
That shut Kate’s mouth. Rich brown eyes, riveting in their intensity, held her immobile.
Professionally, Kate knew all there was to know about Jericho. He’d graduated from Columbia Law School with honors, was one of the most successful prosecutors in San Diego’s history, and was a tough and demanding taskmaster to her and her co-workers.
She followed him out of the courtroom and down the narrow hallway, passing numerous small offices. There was many a long day or night spent in those tight, enclosed spaces going over court testimony, discussing a multitude of other issues with one D.D.A. or another.
“Would you like some coffee?” Jericho asked as they rounded a corner. When he stepped beside her, she caught a hint of his masculine scent.
For an instant, she couldn’t concentrate on anything but the powerful effect of him, the lust that traveled through her system so that she had to close her eyes to keep her composure.
She was too aware, she told herself while she struggled against the hot sensations that curled around her whenever she was in this man’s presence.
“No. No coffee, thank you.” Frowning, she fought the rush of irritation at the easy way he had of dismissing her sexuality. It wasn’t fair that he wasn’t as affected by her presence as she was by his.
Behind a very neat desk, a young, pert receptionist sat behind a shoulder-high counter flanked by file cabinets, telephone switchboard and computer.
“Hold my calls, Sandy,” Jericho said.
Jericho pushed open the door and said, “After you.”
Kate walked in and looked around at a familiar sight. Disorderly piles of folders sat on a credenza against the back wall and were stacked on the end of his desk, leaving most of the massive wooden desk clear.
How, she wondered, could Jericho St. James be so tough in court, so scrupulous in his appearance, yet work in such a cluttered office?
She glanced over at him as he closed the office door. What lay beneath that cool, controlled prosecutor’s image? Fire?
He leaned against the door and folded his arms. “Have a seat.”
Kate ignored the words and set her purse down onto one of the chairs. His scrutiny made her nervous. Was he trying to figure out why she’d changed her appearance, or had he even noticed.
She walked around the room, looking at his plaques and framed certificates hanging on the gray walls. Besides his diplomas there were other honors that lauded his service and documented his membership in professional organizations. She noted the stark absence of photos of loved ones, no pictures of vacations, no sports trophies, no plants. His office gave her no idea of the inner workings of Jericho the man. He pushed off the door and walked to his desk, sitting casually on the edge, his intense gaze following her every move. Still, she knew all she wanted to know about him. She wanted him in her bed. She wanted to wrap herself around him, to kiss the provocative curve of his mouth. It irked her that she’d planned every aspect of her grand entrance and he hadn’t had one reaction to her new look.
“What did you want to talk to me about?”
“Your testimony was flawless.”
Kate turned toward him and narrowed her eyes. “Is that why you brought me here?”
“No. I wanted to let you know that your testimony won my case. But it could have gone differently if you hadn’t arrived on time. I would have had to explain it to the judge and the jury would have wondered if I was stalling. I have to be able to depend on you, Kate.”
“I’m sorry. I almost missed the bus.” Kate sat in one of the chairs while Jericho went behind his desk.
Jericho’s lips curved, but the smile wasn’t reflected in his eyes. “The bus?”
“I couldn’t get a cab,” she replied coolly.
Jericho shrugged out of his suit coat. “Don’t you have a car?”
Kate felt her breath go shallow while she measured the broad span of shoulders beneath his starched white shirt. Her eyes flicked downward. His waist was compact, his hips lean. The body, she decided, was as impressive as the face.
“Yes, I have a car.”
“Am I missing something here?”
“My car wouldn’t start this morning and I had to run for the bus.”
“That must have been some sight.”
For the first time since she’d met Jericho St. James she saw him look uncomfortable. “I shouldn’t have made that comment.”
“No. Tell me. I want to know what you mean.”
He was looking at her, trapping her in a masculine force field of crackling heat. He frightened her in his intensity, his eyes so hot and hungry. “You have great legs, Kate,” he said. “That dress…”
Because she had never seen Jericho like this, she stared at him, openmouthed, extremely aware of the way her nipples rasped against the fabric of her bra, the slide of the knit against her skin as breath heaved in her lungs. Her face was hot, her lips felt sensitive. Small tremors racked her body. The look in his eyes pulled at something deep inside her; a verdant, hidden place that budded and bloomed under his gaze, aching with nameless longing.
The door banged open and the D.A. bustled in. “Jericho….” he trailed off. “Sorry. Didn’t know you had someone in your office. How are you, Kate?”
D.A. Matt Roth sat in the other chair and Kate abruptly stood, unable to even process the D.A.’s question in regard to her health. Right now, she needed to get out before she punched Jericho out.
“There’s no need for you to leave,” the D.A. said good-naturedly. “I’ll only be a moment.”
“That’s okay, sir. We were finished.”
“Not quite, Kate,” Jericho said, shades of meaning coloring his words.
“We’re not?”
“Next time you need to testify for me, do me a favor and be on time.”
She nodded and backed out of the room, closing the door behind her.
She waited until she was a good distance away from his office before she swore vehemently under her breath. Heat infused her and it had nothing to do with Jericho’s sexy mouth or husky voice. It was a hot, blue-flame-special, steam-from-the-ears anger. How dare he pretend all this time to be unmoved by her? How dare he?
She burst out of the courthouse into the street, scanning the sidewalk for cabs as she marched to the curb. She faintly heard the D.A. call her name as he hurried up to her.
She’d show Jericho St. James. The resolve burned in her like fire. He would be hers. She would make sure of it.
She would tease him, entice him, and in the end when he was hers, she would make him beg.
2
JERICHO SAT IMMOBILE behind his desk after the D.A. left. He’d blundered, and blundered big. She couldn’t mistake his interest. It had been building in him for weeks. The fantasies of her had become more powerful until he was doing it during the day instead of dreaming about her at night.
She was seductive danger. He saw the potential in her. It was there like a whisper of sensation across his skin. He could see it in the curve of her cheekbone, the cool line of her neck. It wasn’t that Kate wasn’t experienced. He sensed she was. It was more that she hadn’t been awakened.
But therein lay Jericho’s dilemma. He could unlock the secrets of her body. He could feel it every time she came near him—through the starched lab coat and the dark-rimmed glasses and the flat-heeled shoes.
He sensed that Kate could be his body and soul.
It made him shake sometimes to know how much she wanted him. He could see it in her eyes.
But more dangerous by far was how much he wanted her.
She was unaware of how deep her sexuality affected him until only a few moments ago when he’d let only a fraction of it show. It had seeped out, unable to be contained because Kate in that red dress made him forget the danger and only concentrate on the sweetness.
She was still unaware that he’d go down on his knees for one taste
of her. But like a drug, one taste wouldn’t satisfy him. He knew his limit and he sensed with Kate that there wouldn’t be one. Better not to take that first sip.
But the dangers were still there, still viable.
Professional danger: In that he worked with her; it just wouldn’t be smart to mix business and pleasure.
Emotional danger: When he thought about her eyes, soft and tender for him, his chest tightened. It caused a vortex of need. And in its center stood Katherine Quinn.
The hard part? Resisting the irresistible, delectable, unawakened Kate Quinn.
The easy part? Hell, there wasn’t any easy part.
The impossible? Not losing himself in her if he was weak enough or stupid enough to even think about touching her.
KATE TOOK HER STAIRS two at a time. She was already going to be an hour late to the D.A.’s announcement party. Tonight the D.A. would name the person whom he’ll back in the upcoming elections. Support from D.A. Matt Roth was a strong endorsement indeed. When he caught up to her after she’d left Jericho’s office, he’d invited her as she’d fumed at the curb.
She almost ran into Danny Hamilton at the top of the stairs to her third-floor apartment.
“Whoa, there, Miss Kate. You could fall and hurt yourself real bad.” His hands steadied her.
Danny Hamilton smiled at her and Kate couldn’t help but smile back at his infectious grin.
Danny was twenty-five and the maintenance man for the building. He was as sweet as they came and mildly retarded.
“I fixed the leak in your bathroom. Weren’t nothing but a faulty washer. Now, I’m holding you to those chocolate-chip cookies you promised.”
Kate smiled. “Sunday soon enough?”
“Aw, how about tonight?”
He looked so crestfallen, Kate said, “I would Danny, but I can’t. I’ve been invited to a party and I’m spending Saturday with friends.”
He nodded. “That’s good, Miss Kate. You don’t get out enough, a pretty lady like you.”
“I’m running a little late, so I’ll see you on Sunday. I’ll save you the comics.”
He smiled and whistled as he went down the stairs. She slammed into her apartment already untying the red wrap dress. The phone rang as she peeled the clingy knit away from her arms.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Kate. I have Lana on, too,” Sienna said.
“He didn’t try to hide it,” Kate said, the anger starting to build in her again.
“If he wasn’t moved by that kicking dress, I’d say he has to be gay,” Lana blurted.
She smiled as her friend jumped to her defense. “Simmer down, Lana. He’s been hiding it all this time.”
“What do you mean?” Sienna asked.
“I saw the heat in his eyes and, oh, baby, was it hot.”
“That jerk,” Lana said.
“What are you going to do?” Sienna asked.
“Make him crazy for it,” Kate said with relish.
“Way to go, Sister Kate. Kick that nun’s habit to the curb,” Lana said.
“Oh, Jericho will be praying, all right. He’ll be praying for mercy when I get done with him.”
Both of her friends broke out in laughter, but Kate didn’t crack a smile. She was dead serious.
ONE HOUR INTO the announcement dinner, the ballroom was packed. From her vantage point at the top of the stairs, she caught eddies of color and bits of conversation from the elegantly dressed guests standing beneath the spill of light from crystal-rich chandeliers. Waiters carrying trays loaded with champagne flutes eased their way through the crowd. The air was permeated with designer perfume, punctuated here and there with laughter. Over the humming din she could hear the soft strains of a piano and sax.
She made her way down the staircase. The Grand Ballroom of the Wilmore Hotel was awash with brightness, reflecting the soft pink roses that wound around the two massive columns framing the entrance. And the bottom of each column was encircled with blood-red roses. It was a stunning contrast.
It took her only a moment to identify the man standing next to one of those columns. Her temper spiked. Her breath got trapped in her lungs. He was incredibly handsome and her heart kicked into a fluttering pace when he moved toward her. In a suit, he was irresistibly male. In a tuxedo, Jericho St. James held a magnetic quality that squeezed her heart until she thought it’d burst.
The austere contrast of the snowy-white shirt against the black tux should have made him look civilized and conventional. Instead it contrasted with his dangerous good looks, highlighting them. His dark hair curved around the satiny collar and made her knees go weak.
His eyes were purposeful, his look, intense. And it made her feel as if she were the only woman in the world.
His eyes traveled over her in a slow slide that made Kate’s knees weak. She’d purposely chosen the black dress for its dramatic baring of her midriff beneath see-through black mesh. The same material made up the whole back of the dress that plunged to her waist. A tight black skirt with sheer black thigh-highs finished off the effect.
As her black satin sandal hit the marble floor, Jericho came up to her. Kate smiled, remembering Lana’s instruction on enticing him to touch her in innocent ways. She’d practiced unclasping the diamond necklace around her neck and she did so now. With a soft cry, she tried to catch it as it fell.
But Jericho’s big hand easily caught it.
When she reached to take it from him, he said, “Let me.” He moved behind her and gently grasped the delicate chain. She couldn’t control the quick intake of breath when his warm hands touched the nape of her neck. He expertly clasped the necklace, sending goose bumps along her skin.
His hands lingered, but Kate pretended not to notice. She wanted nothing more than to lean into those elegant hands, the heated sensation intoxicating.
But she stepped away from him and turned.
“I had no idea you’d be here,” he said.
“The D.A. invited me after I left your office.” She shifted her gaze to the milling crowd.
“You’re late. Did you miss the bus?”
His teasing tone caught her off guard as she pulled her gaze from the couples locked in sensual embraces. His eyes danced. This wasn’t going to be easy. She almost wished for the cool, distant Jericho. Resisting this smiling, teasing Jericho would take all her willpower. “No. I took a cab this time. I was late leaving the office.”
“The conscientious Ms. Quinn,” he said, leaning in, his warm breath caressing her ear, making her insides clench.
She turned toward him, her eyes narrowing. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Just that you used to be predictable,” he groused.
“That sounds boring.”
“No, I’d call it safe. I could always count on that lab coat and those glasses. What happened?”
“I don’t want to play it safe anymore.”
“Being reckless holds tough consequences.” His voice was soft, but it sent chills through her entire body.
“Jericho, sweetheart, found you at last!”
Taken aback by the woman’s exuberance, Kate stepped away to avoid being knocked over by the woman hurrying up to them. Two men followed in her wake, one with gray hair, and the other, a younger version. She was somewhere in her late twenties with red hair that could only have come out of a bottle and was cut as short as a boy’s. Her curvy body accentuated by golden sequins was impressive. The be-ringed hand she’d closed over Jericho’s arm revealed long nails with blood-red polish.
She kissed Jericho full on the mouth then scolded, “You’re a bad boy to try to elude me. Tell me you know who’s going to be named as Roth’s successor.”
“I’ve been sworn to secrecy,” Jericho stated.
Making a moue of displeasure, the woman slid her arm through Jericho’s, then turned her attention to Kate.
“Well, if you won’t tell me, you difficult man, then you must introduce me to your lovely companion.”
“Of c
ourse,” Jericho said smoothly. “Katherine Quinn, meet Samantha Caldwell, the new crime beat reporter for the San Diego Times.”
“Call me Kate.” She took the hand Samantha offered.
Samantha turned to the two men. “This is George Mitchell and his son Ken.”
“Mitchell? That’s the name of my apartment building,” Kate said.
“Mitchell Downtown Apartments?” Ken said smoothly.
“Yes.”
“My father owns that building.” Ken Mitchell fit the image of the all-American boy. A tuxedo encased his tall, athletic body to perfection; the overhead lights turned his jet-black hair to gleaming ebony. But there was something about him that made her instincts instantly sit up and take notice.
“What do you do, Ms. Quinn?” Samantha asked.
Kate focused on the reporter. “I’m a criminalist.”
“Oo-ooh, a CSI type. How wonderful.” She leaned in, whispering like a co-conspirator. “I suppose you wouldn’t know who he’s going to support.”
“No, I’m sorry. He hasn’t confided in me.”
Samantha studied them. “You two seem so cozy. Work closely together, do you?”
The insinuation in her voice was clear.
Kate’s spine went stiff. “Just a minute…” Kate said in protest.
But Samantha talked right over her. “Now, I must have a dance.” She turned to Kate and smiled. “Don’t worry, dear,” Samantha soothed. “I don’t have designs on him.”
Samantha dragged Jericho out onto the dance floor and Kate watched for a short time. Needing sustenance, she grabbed a flute of champagne from one of the trays carried by the mingling waiters.
“Don’t worry about Sam. She really doesn’t have designs on your prosecutor. She has designs on me,” Ken Mitchell said with a self-satisfied smirk on his face.
Taking a sip, she watched Jericho move smoothly and effortlessly with the gregarious reporter. Who did the woman think she was kidding? If Samantha didn’t want Jericho for herself, Kate would eat her shoe. Ken Mitchell wasn’t blind or stupid, so that left arrogant.
“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” Kate said in an uncharacteristic outburst, wiping the smile off his face.