She was going to have to tell Sienna Parker and Lana Dempsey that she’d failed miserably. Over drinks, the three best friends had discussed the man Sienna had walked into the club with, and Lana had dared Sienna to go after him after Sienna insinuated that Lana was afraid to go after her coworker, Sean O’Neill. Then they’d turned on her. Both of them knowing that Kate had the hots for Jericho.
Kate was tired of the nickname “Sister Kate,” and she’d grabbed at the dare with both hands.
She looked away in disappointment.
“Makes me want to get into your genes,” Stan persisted, laughing at his pun.
Kate opened her mouth to tell the letch off, but Jericho’s deep, mesmerizing voice interrupted her.
“Watch your mouth, Stan, or I’ll bring you up on charges of sexual harassment,” Jericho threatened. He was suddenly looming over the little creep’s shoulder.
Kate gasped at his sudden presence and Stan flushed.
“Sorry, Kate. Just trying to make a very lame joke.”
Jericho dismissed Stan and turned to her. “Kate, could I see you in my office?”
“I should get back to the lab.” The disappointment was too much to bear. She just couldn’t sit across a desk from him and pretend as though his ambivalence didn’t affect her.
“It’ll only take a few moments.”
Stan took the opportunity to leave, and Kate faced off with Jericho. Why did the full force of the man make her heart beat like a hummingbird trapped in her chest?
Taking a measured breath, Kate shoved her hair behind her shoulders. She wasn’t into self-deception. Nor would she insult her own intelligence by writing off her scrutiny of the deputy district attorney to her scientist’s honed observation skills. It hadn’t been the scientist in her who’d noted that DDA Jericho St. James’s fine, aesthetic face, slash of cheekbones, and sculpted mouth made him almost ridiculously handsome. And it hadn’t been the scientist who’d jolted when his fiercely intelligent caramel eyes locked with hers, nor whose nerves faintly hummed when the glow from the overhead lights picked up warm threads of tawny highlights in brown hair as thick as melted chocolate.
“There wasn’t any need to protect me, Mr. DDA. Stan’s unarmed.”
“Unarmed?”
“Yeah, can’t cross wits with the witless.”
“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 coworkers.
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 DDA 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?