Incriminating Passion

by Ann Voss Peterson

  “My career is not my life. At least I don’t want it to be. Not anymore.” He captured her arms and turned her to face him. “When I signed on in the district attorney’s office, I did it because I wanted to fight for justice. I wanted to make the world better, safer.”

  He loosened his grip. Sliding his hands down her arms, he grasped her hands in his. “These last few years I’ve felt like a factory worker, just one cog in the assembly line, pushing criminals through the system, making deals, going after the win, right or wrong. I lost myself, Andrea. I lost what it was I wanted in the first place. You helped me find it again.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. District attorneys are supposed to advocate on behalf of the people. For right. For justice. You’re giving me the chance to do that again.”

  Frustration burned in her blood and seared her heart with each beat. Powerlessness. “You have to listen to me, John. You can’t—”

  He pressed his fingertip to her lips, stopping her protest. He smoothed his fingers over her cheek and pushed them into her hair. Cradling her head in his hand, he pulled her toward him.

  Her lips parted as if of their own accord. She wanted his kiss, needed it. But she couldn’t give in. She couldn’t let herself need him. And she couldn’t let him sacrifice himself for her. “Why, John? Why do you want to destroy everything you’ve worked for? Why do you have to be so damn selfless?”

  “Selfless? Hardly.” A gentle smile curled his lips. “By protecting you, I’m doing exactly what I want, exactly what I need. Hell, I’m being more selfish than I’ve ever been in my life.”

  His words raced through her in a rush of heat. Emotion swamped her, pulling her down into the warmth, into the softness. She closed her eyes and let herself fall, let herself drown.

  He lowered his mouth to hers. His lips brushed hers. So soft, so gentle, yet underneath she could feel his need. Powerful and barely restrained.

  She opened her mouth. His tongue tangled with hers. Danced. Caressed.

  His hands brushed over her back. Slipping under her sweater, they skimmed her skin.

  A groan lodged in her throat. She wanted to be naked. To feel his skin against hers. To have nothing between them.

  Raising her arms, she let him push the sweater over her head. Cool air fanned hot skin. Her fingers found the buttons of his shirt. One by one, she slipped them from their holes. When she reached the bottom of his shirt, she spread the fabric open.

  In one movement he shrugged the shirt off his shoulders and down his arms. It fell to the floor along with her sweater.

  She moved her hands over the warm, smooth skin of his chest. Her fingertips combed through his chest hair and found the ripples of his stomach muscles. Then she moved them lower. She grasped his belt. Working the leather through the buckle, she unfastened it. Then the button on the top of his slacks. The zipper came next, easing it down to expose his briefs. To expose the bulge of his desire. His pants hit the floor, belt buckle chiming on the wood. She slipped her fingers under the waistband of his briefs. Stretching the elastic, she pushed them down.

  She’d never been this aggressive with a man, this forward. But she couldn’t stop herself. She didn’t want to stop. She wanted to be close, to be warm, to feel everything she’d never let herself feel. To go where she’d never dared. His kiss stoked the fire in her. The touch of his skin drove her mad. She took his length in her hands. She stroked the smooth, hot flesh.

  “Whoa.” He caught her wrist, stilling her hand’s motion. “My turn now or this will be over before it begins.”

  Moving his hands over her back, his fingers found the clasp of her bra. One move and it was open, sliding over her arms. His hands covered her breasts, kneading, caressing.

  Unwilling to wait any longer, she unzipped her jeans and pushed them over her hips and down her legs.

  He moved his hands down her sides, over her hips. Grasping her buttocks, he lifted her, fitting her against him. Desire meeting desire.

  She wrapped her legs around him.

  He carried her to the rug in front of the fire and lowered her onto it.

  She clung to him. Need pounded through her. Urgency. As if what was between them was all too tenuous. As if it all might slip away at any moment and leave her with nothing. “I want you inside me,” she whispered. “I need you inside me.”

  His lips moved against hers, then scattered kisses down her neck. Over her breasts. His tongue swirled around a nipple and he took it into his mouth.

  Warmth cascaded through her. A moan broke from her throat.

  He moved to the other nipple, tasting, teasing, driving her mad with need. She moved against him, stroking him with her body. “Please, John. I need you too much.”

  He positioned himself over her. With one long, slow movement, he filled her, stretched her.

  She opened for him.

  He moved inside her, slowly at first, then with more force, more urgency.

  She grasped his shoulders, trying to get closer, trying to pull him deeper, trying to make him part of her.

  Her muscles tightened. Her entire body spasmed with pleasure. And as she held him close, as she felt the tremor wrack his body, she knew she was lost to him.

  He drew back and looked into her eyes. A smile curled his lips and wound its way to her heart. He lowered his head and kissed her. His lips took. Claimed. Promised things she’d never let herself believe possible.

  But she believed. With ever fiber in her body, she believed. Because right now in his arms, everything was possible. Everything was right.

  ANDREA PULLED her sweater on over her head and took one last look at John. He lay curled on his side, asleep, his arm still stretching out where it had cradled her head after they’d made love. He looked so peaceful, so defenseless. As if he was the one in need of her protection instead of the other way around.

  Her chest ached. She could hardly breathe. Making love with him was more wonderful than she’d ever imagined. He was passionate yet tender. Protective yet demanding. And he filled her up and left her aching for more at the same time.

  If only the rest of the world would cease to exist and she could stay here curled in his arms forever. Maybe then she’d be satisfied. Maybe then this ache of need that seized her chest whenever she looked at him would go away. Maybe then she could be strong.

  But that wasn’t to be. The rest of the world wasn’t about to go away. And the need in her would never—could never—be filled. Making love with John had made that clear. Because standing here looking at him now, she needed him more than ever.

  There was only one thing she could do, only one choice she could make. And it was time she made it.

  “I love you, John,” she whispered. “More than I can handle. And that’s why I’ve got to do this. For your good. And for mine.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  John walked through the sterile hall of the Public Safety Building—the building that housed the medium-security Dane County jail. His shoes clicked on the freshly waxed floor, echoing the urgent beat of his pulse. He had to talk to Andrea. He had to make her listen. And he didn’t have a moment to waste.

  He opened one door and stepped into the sally port. Once the first door closed behind him, he waved at the camera looking down at him from the corner. “John Cohen. I’m on my way to the visiting rooms to meet with Andrea Kirkland.”

  A buzz sounded as the lock released. He grasped the knob of the second door, pulled it open, and entered the hall outside the small visiting rooms.

  When he’d awakened to an empty cabin at dawn this morning, he’d known immediately where she’d gone. A call to the jail had confirmed he was right. She’d returned to Madison. She’d driven straight to the jail and turned herself in.

  Although the result would have been the same had she stayed with him, he’d wished she’d waited. He wished she hadn’t chosen to go through it all alone. He wished she trusted him enough to let him be there for her.

  He wanted to be there
.

  Last night, he hadn’t known for certain how important she was to him until the words came out of his mouth. But as soon as he heard them, as soon as he’d seen the tears well in her eyes, as soon as he felt his own heart overflow, he’d known he’d do anything for her.

  He had only to convince her to let him.

  He opened the door of one of the tiny visiting rooms. Stepping inside, he closed the door behind him and lowered himself into the plastic chair positioned on one side of the Plexiglass.

  He’d set up a meeting with her via cell phone on the drive down. He’d asked the sheriff’s deputies running the jail to deliver Andrea to the visiting room when he’d arrived. Now he had only to sit back and wait. Wait and worry.

  Finally the door on the other side of the Plexiglass opened and a sheriff’s deputy ushered Andrea inside the cubicle. She wore a standard-issue prison jumpsuit, the too-long arms cuffed at the wrists to keep from covering her hands. She looked at him with tired eyes. Hopeless eyes.

  A pang twisted in his chest.

  She sat in the plastic swivel chair. Placing her elbows on the stainless-steel countertop, she picked the closed circuit phone from its cradle and held it to her ear. “Hello, John.” Her voice was low, almost husky. But unlike the sexy quality the huskiness had conveyed last night, today it merely served to mask her obvious fear. “You shouldn’t have come.”

  “Like hell. I wish you hadn’t felt you had to do this alone.”

  “It was better this way.”

  He clutched the phone so hard the plastic creaked. “Damn it, Andrea. I know what you’re trying to do. But you don’t have to protect me. You’re the one who needs protecting.”

  She pursed her lips. “Maybe I’m doing both, John.”

  He sucked in a deep breath. She wasn’t like her mother. She was strong—stronger than anyone he’d ever known. Why couldn’t she see that? “I was hoping last night changed your mind. That you saw how good we were together. That you realized how strong you were in my arms.”

  “I do feel strong in your arms, John. That’s the problem. I have to be strong on my own.” She glanced at the cinder-block walls and thick Plexiglass that enclosed them. “Now I have no choice.”

  He opened his mouth to talk some sense into her, to make her see. He closed it without uttering a word. It wouldn’t do any good to go down that path again. The more he insisted she was strong, the more she would protest. And the last thing he wanted to do now was drive her further away. “At least tell me you called Runyon.”

  “I let him go.”

  He let out a groan. “Why? You’re facing a murder charge, for God’s sake. You need an attorney.”

  “I don’t have the money for his retainer. You heard Joyce. What the police didn’t freeze, her lawyers have tied up with a lawsuit.”

  “I’ll give you the damn money.”

  “Absolutely not. I have to take care of this myself. I’ll use the public defender’s office.”

  “You’re protecting me again, aren’t you?”

  Her lips flattened into a line. “I’ve gotten you in enough trouble.”

  “If I’m in any trouble, it’s because I chose to put myself there.”

  “To protect me. And I’m not going to let you do it any more. I can take care of this myself, John. I’ll be all right. Really.”

  He wanted to believe her. And if she was talking about swimming free of a submerged car, dodging bullets in the streets of Chicago or escaping a burning house, he might even buy it. But Mylinski had given him a hint of the evidence against her. And even though he only knew the Cliff’s Notes version, it was enough to know this wasn’t the case for an overworked public defender. And it sure as hell wasn’t something she could handle on her own. “If you won’t let me pay for Runyon, I’ll resign from the DA’s office and represent you myself.”

  Her eyes flew wide. “You can’t—”

  “I can. And I will.”

  “No.” She leaned forward, gripping the phone so hard her knuckles turned white. “You can’t throw your career away. I won’t let you.”

  “Like I told you last night, before you came along, this career didn’t mean a damn thing to me. You’re the one who gave my career meaning. You’re the one who gave my life meaning.”

  She shook her head.

  He had to make her understand. He had to make her see the truth. “Without you I wouldn’t have a career worth saving.”

  She shook her head again. “But it is worth saving. That’s the point. You’re worth saving. I’m not going to drag both of us down.” She returned the phone to its cradle. Swiveling her chair to the side, she stood. The deputy opened the door. She paused, looked over her shoulder and mouthed the words I’m sorry.

  ANDREA FOLLOWED the deputy back to her cell. When she’d thought of jail, she’d always pictured a small barred cell, concrete floors, a cot and a toilet with no seat. The reality of jail was quite different.

  She walked into the room she shared with around twenty women. Bunk beds lined the back wall, a television hung from the ceiling and hard molded plastic seats were anchored to tables which dotted the floor. At the front of the room, a small booth was separated from the rest of the room by thick glass. In this room, a deputy sat, watching the inmates around the clock. It was like living in a crowded fish bowl.

  She lowered herself to her assigned seat and wrapped her arms around herself. Seeing John had been even harder than she’d imagined. It seemed cruel not to be able to touch him, to hold him, to wrap her arms around him and press her lips to his.

  But it was for the best. She knew that better than she knew her own name. In some part of her mind, she’d thought that by giving in last night, by making love with him, she might sate her need for him. She couldn’t have been more wrong. Seeing him today had proved that. She should be grateful for that Plexiglass between them. Touching him could only make matters worse.

  For him and for her.

  The shuffle of footsteps on the hard floor cut through her thoughts. She looked up at a large woman staring down at her. The other inmate lowered herself into the seat next to Andrea and forced a magazine into her hands. Leaning back, she paged through a magazine of her own.

  Andrea looked down at the magazine. “Thanks, but I don’t want to read right now.”

  “Open it.”

  “I’m sorry, I—”

  The woman glanced at the female deputy sitting in the glass booth. Then she scowled down at Andrea. “I said open the damn magazine.”

  The last thing Andrea wanted to do was make this woman angry. There might be a deputy watching, but there had to be corners of the large room the deputy couldn’t quite see. Especially in the dimmed light of night. She lifted the magazine in her hands and flipped open a page. “Now what?”

  “Now you listen to me, bitch,” the woman ground out through clenched teeth. “I have instructions for you. Instructions you damn well better follow.”

  Andrea braced herself, ready to back down if she could. She’d heard stories about jail turf wars on television, and she wanted no part of them. “I’m listening.”

  “Ask to meet with the DA. Say you’re willing to take a plea.”

  “A plea?” She didn’t know what she’d expected the woman to say, but this certainly wasn’t on the list of possibilities. “What do you know about my case?”

  “I ain’t answering any questions. You just do what you’re told.” The woman pushed thick brown hair out of her eyes and glanced at the deputy once again. Apparently satisfied the guard wasn’t paying attention, she turned back to her magazine. “This is what you’re going to do. Plea to murder. First degree, second degree, whatever the hell they offer, you take it.”

  “Who sent you?”

  “Someone you don’t want to piss off. Just plead guilty to capping your old man and you won’t have to worry about who sent me.”

  “But I didn’t kill him.”

  “You think I care? You plead guilty or John Cohen is goin
g to meet with an accident.”

  Andrea’s blood ran cold. “John? What does this have to do with John?”

  “Just do as you’re told or he’s dead. And that’s one murder that will be your fault.”

  THE DOOR to John’s office flew open and Kit Ashner bulled her way inside. “Cohen, we’re celebrating and you’re buying the drinks.”

  John looked up from the file he was studying with bleary eyes. The last thing he wanted to do was celebrate. He’d barely gotten two winks of sleep since he’d seen Andrea in jail. When she’d rejected his help.

  When she’d rejected him.

  He wasn’t even supposed to be in the office. Dex had made that clear when he’d informed him of the suspension. But he couldn’t bear knocking around his house alone one more day. So he’d come to the office despite Dex’s orders. Hell, he had nowhere else to go. And the really sad part was that with Andrea shutting him out of her life, he couldn’t see that changing any time in the future. “Why not come right in, Kit? Don’t be shy.”

  Kit ignored the jab and slapped a hand on the file folder in front of him, snapping it closed. “Chantel said you were here. I thought you were supposed to be on vacation.”

  Vacation. Yeah, right. Dex’s way of keeping the rumor of scandal out of the office, at least until he knew if it was warranted or not. He gave his best impression of a nonchalant shrug. “You know me, Kit. It’s a working vacation. So what’s the cause for celebration? Did you see the tape I left for you?”

  “Didn’t have time. I’m finishing up a trial. Closing arguments tomorrow.”

  “Make time, Kit. It’s dynamite. And if any of my leads pan out, I’ll have more for you.”

  She waved her hand in the air. “Don’t worry, Mylinski came by to get the tape.”

  “Good.” John heaved a relieved breath. Mylinski would follow up as he’d promised. If Putnam was guilty of anything, Mylinski would find it.

  “So are you going to help me celebrate?”

  He forced his attention back to Kit. Andrea was in jail for a crime she didn’t commit, and she refused to let him help. He was reduced to sneaking around in order to investigate what leads he had. Other people followed up on investigations he wanted to handle himself. The hole in John’s stomach lining probably rivaled the Grand Canyon by now. And Kit wanted to celebrate. “Why celebrate? What happened?”