by Kay Hooper
Monday and Tuesday were two more candidates for C.J.’s list of one lifetime’s very worst days. Fate continued to ingratiate himself with the girls and smother her with loving attention. He pulled out all the stops in his act of devotion, and it was driving C.J. to the brink of insanity.
And he left her at her door each of the nights with a kiss that kept her awake, alone in her bed, long into the morning hours.
On Wednesday, she was finally granted an opportunity to be alone. Fate excused himself after lunch, pleading important phone calls and leaving C.J. with a passionate kiss which should have branded her for life. She was staring after him dazedly when Jan reminded her that they had planned to go into Aspen to pick up a few last-minute things for the wedding.
Ruthlessly pulling herself together, C.J. said, “I think I’ll stay here. See you later.”
Tami gave her an arch look. “You’re just hoping Fate’s phone calls won’t take long.”
“I don’t blame her.” Ann sighed softly. “He’s such a sweet man, C.J. Anybody can see he absolutely adores you.”
C.J. managed a weak smile. “See you later,” she repeated. Sweet? she marveled silently. The man was about as sweet as a cruising shark. Not that her friends could see that; Fate had them thoroughly charmed. All they saw was a man head-over-heels in love with their friend. He was handsome and utterly masculine but not the least bit afraid to be gentle or silly, not the slightest bit self-conscious while uttering loving words….
She found herself thinking about him as she rode the elevator alone up to her room. In fact, he had never been totally out of her thoughts since the moment she’d met him. And that was scary.
She fought the knowledge that the man had charmed her as well as her friends, but lost the fight. He had charmed her. She had experienced more emotional ups and downs in the past three days than in her entire life, but there had been moments of sheer absurdity. And, to her surprise, she had discovered within herself a love of the absurd.
Fate made her angry, frustrated her, set her senses in a bewildering spin, shamelessly took advantage of the situation she had created. And he made her laugh. She had to stay on her toes with him; very little got past him.
And there was, she admitted to herself, a certain delight in that. Until now, she’d had very little experience in the art of verbal fencing. But now…
The sparring had taken place quite often in the last three days. Sweetly barbed words from her, smiling responses from him. Usually murmured in undertones, since her friends were nearby. Double-edged comments, ironic asides, sotto voce remarks.
C.J. thought with surprise that she had never felt so alive, so aware of everything around her. It was another scary thought; a change in her that Fate was responsible for. Fiercely, she pushed him into a corner of her mind and slammed the door on him.
She remained in her room only long enough to find a heavy book in her bag, then headed downstairs again. Due to happy skiers on the slopes on this sunny afternoon, the lounge was deserted.
At last—alone.
C.J. propped her feet on a hassock, smiled happily at the roaring fire in the huge stone fireplace, and opened her book. With a little luck, her friends would be gone for hours, and she could lose herself in history.
Time passed without notice as she absorbed the flavor and color of medieval England. The author of the book was a master storyteller, and dry facts leaped off the page vibrant with life.
She was only dimly aware of shadows passing around her from time to time. Voices bounced off her consciousness without making any noticeable dent. But then one voice began to irritate like a buzzing insect, annoy like a song one couldn’t forget.
“C.J.?”
She tuned it out.
“Hey, lady!”
She frowned and concentrated harder.
“Earth calling Miss Adams.”
She flounced around and away from the voice.
“I hate to disturb you, but the couch is on fire.”
The laughing male voice finally had the desired effect. With an exasperated sigh, C.J. slammed the book shut. Her glaring yellow eyes slowly traveled up the jean-and-sweater-clad length of a masculine body, settling at last on a solemn Indian face. “Did you want something?” she asked with awful politeness.
“Funny you should ask.”
She glanced at the broad watch on her slender wrist and then back up at Fate. “Look, I’ve only got another hour at most. Will you—”
“Another hour for what?” he interrupted.
“For enjoying myself before the girls come back, whereupon I will become the center of the all-time favorite indoor sport.”
“Which is?” His lips twitched.
She smiled very sweetly. “Watching C.J. make a total ass of herself.”
Fate laughed and sank down beside her on the couch. “Is that what you’ve been doing? I hadn’t noticed.”
“You should have. ‘It takes one to know one.’”
“Cruel. You’re a cruel lady.” He reached over to pluck the book from her hands. “What were you so engrossed in?”
With a certain perverse pleasure, she watched his eyebrows shoot upward and a bemused expression cross his face as he read the book’s title aloud.
“A Study of Medieval Times.”
“One of my favorites,” she told him limpidly.
There was an odd gleam in Fate’s dark eyes as he looked up from the book to meet her gaze. “What did you think of Miller’s Guide to the Medieval Age?” he asked casually.
“I…it was…fascinating.” C.J. couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d suddenly started talking to her in Middle English. Other than actual students of medieval history—precious few of them—she’d never met a man interested in the subject. “You…like medieval history?”
“All kinds of history.” He sat back, carelessly throwing his arm across the back of the couch. “As a kid, I wanted to grow up to be King Arthur; the interest grew out of that. Every elective I could work in during college was on the subject. I couldn’t decide whether to become a lawyer or a history teacher.”
“But law won.” C.J. was burningly aware of the long fingers resting casually on her shoulder.
“In the end. I come from a long line of lawyers, and I wanted to help people in trouble.” He shrugged, smiling wryly. “Idealistic maybe, but what the hell. I haven’t regretted it.”
“Tell me about it.” She smiled at his quizzical look. “I want to know—really. Your cases, clients.”
“The degenerates,” he said teasingly.
C.J. had the grace to blush. “Sorry about that. I was mad.”
“I know you were. I seem to have the knack of enraging you, pixie. You spit like a kitten at me.”
Not certain that she liked the comparison, C.J. frowned at him. “You were going to tell me about your work,” she prompted.
“Was I?” His fingers began playing with the curls around her ear. “I can’t imagine why. It’s dull, most of it. Boring research and trying to convince reluctant witnesses to testify and arguing precedents in courtrooms.”
“No Perry Mason dramatics?” she asked with mock disappointment.
His lips twitched. “So far, no. And no cases needing the genius of Sherlock Holmes to unravel. Just steady, plodding work.” He turned his gaze to the fire and the mockery fell away from him as he frowned slightly. “Although there was one case…”
C.J. listened, fascinated, as he told her of a man on trial for his life. A murder trial. Fate had spent months sifting through facts and statements from witnesses, prowling the area where the crime had taken place. Convinced of the innocence of his client.
He downplayed his own intelligence in discovering the real murderer, but C.J. wasn’t deceived. The real murderer had been totally unsuspected, and she knew that Fate’s task had been more than difficult. But a certain amount of courtroom dramatics and a novel-like last-minute revelation of uncovered evidence had cleared his client and pinpointed the real k
iller.
Asking intelligent questions, C.J. heard more about Fate’s cases during past years, and then they wound up talking about history. They discussed C.J.’s topic for her doctoral thesis, exchanged favorite little-known historical facts, argued over which ruler had done the most for his country and civilization as a whole.
It was like pulling teeth, but she even managed to get Fate to talk a little about his background. His family was “average,” he said. His younger brother was in college, his parents lived in Wyoming. His father was a retired lawyer, and his mother, also retired, a commercial artist.
They compared childhoods briefly, and talked about schoolday pranks and teenage miseries. Colleges were discussed, and how boring a job could sometimes be, and how irritating it was to have to cook for just one person.
They were no longer—could no longer be—two actors on a stage.
That fact didn’t hit C.J. until the next day. High winds made the slopes both uncomfortable and unsafe, with the result that most of the lodge’s guests remained inside. The place was by no means too crowded, but one had to take care not to bump into someone while moving through the halls or lounges.
C.J. and her friends were busy getting ready for the wedding on Saturday—to be held in the lodge’s lovely chapel—and Fate made himself amazingly useful. Kathy had invited him, days before, to be a part of the ceremony. So he would be ushering C.J. down the aisle a bit early—she a bridesmaid and he an usher.
It was Fate who suggested to Kathy that the entire lodge be invited to participate in the event, pointing out that everyone loved weddings and, besides, the guests would probably welcome a change in their routine. To C.J.’s surprise, Kathy approved of the idea wholeheartedly, and immediately posted a notice on the bulletin board in the lobby.
That instant acceptance of Fate’s idea caused C.J. to step back and take a new look at her friends. They all liked Fate. No—more than liked him. They loved him like a brother. In a few short days, he had won them over completely.
C.J. tried to think of him as simply an actor, playing out a role, but the serious man she had talked to the day before kept intruding. From the very beginning, she’d seen him as an attractive man, but the role he played had prevented her from seeing the man himself very clearly. Now she saw the man rather than the actor.
She was still fighting the attraction she felt for him, but she was no longer able to tell herself firmly that she wasn’t about to get involved with an obvious lunatic. The man who had talked to her about law and history had been a highly intelligent, perfectly sane man. The fact that the man clearly relished his role as a lover was, therefore, a puzzling mystery.
The only explanation C.J. could come up with was his own: lawyers were apparently frustrated actors at heart.
That oddly angering thought was in her mind on Thursday afternoon when Fate stepped from the elevator just as she was getting ready to enter it. Her arms were full of flowers—silk flowers—which she was going to take to the chapel on the top floor of the lodge. Fate paid absolutely no attention to the colorful burden as he caught her in an abrupt, bone-crushing hug, swinging her around and off her feet.
The elevator doors hissed softly closed as C.J. emerged from the bear hug more than a little breathless. “What was that for?” she asked dazedly. “You win a lottery or something?”
“Every human being,” he began, tapping her nose with his index finger to emphasize each word, “needs a minimum of three hugs per day. To ensure mental health.”
C.J. blinked with each tap. “Oh, yes? Do you dabble in psychology as well as law and history?”
“I don’t dabble in anything,” he corrected austerely. “History is a hobby. And every good lawyer studies psychology.”
“Every good lawyer shoots bull, too.”
“I’ve never shot a bull in my life.”
“Cute, Maestro. That’s cute. All you need is a stage and footlights to be right in your element.”
“Uh oh.” He slid his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels, head held to one side consideringly. “She’s mad at me again,” he announced, as though to a third person. “After twenty-four glorious hours of not being mad at me, I’ve done something to set her off again. Whatever could I have done?”
“Just being you is enough,” she said sweetly.
“Ouch.” He looked wounded.
“You’re making fools out of my friends—and me,” she accused, feeling herself building toward a full head of steam. That her anger was irrational in a situation she’d brought on herself, she didn’t consider. It was enough that the emotional upsets of the past days had taken their toll, and she wanted somebody to suffer the consequences. And since it was his fault, he could suffer.
“I did that?” he queried innocently.
“You know exactly what you’ve been doing. My friends think the sun rises and sets on you. They don’t know you’re an utterly unscrupulous, conniving, deceitful—”
“Into the trenches and guard your back, man,” he warned himself lightly. “She’s about to commence a pitched battle.”
“Stop laughing at me!” C.J. all but stamped her foot. “You should get an Oscar for this performance, d’you know that? You play the part of lover better than Romeo did. And I’m fed up with—”
“So that’s it,” he exclaimed softly, a spark of something very like satisfaction glowing in the purple eyes.
“So what’s it?” she demanded irritably.
“You’re mad because I’ve played my part too well. The courtship’s really beginning to get to you, isn’t it, pixie?”
“Don’t flatter yourself!” she snapped.
“Admit it—you’re beginning to believe that a passionate love affair wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all. I’ve got you so confused, you don’t know what you want.”
This time, C.J. did stamp her foot. “Quit twisting things around,” she snarled. “This whole idea was a bad one from start to finish, and you know it as well as I do.” She felt tears of frustration rise in her eyes, and was astonished by this display of weakness.
“Poor baby.” Fate was abruptly grave, remorse showing on his face and in his eyes. “I really have got you upset. Would it help to apologize on bended knees?”
“No,” she muttered, uncertain whether or not the remorse was real, but suspicious.
“How about if I apologize à la Valentino?” Without giving her a chance to respond, he suddenly caught her around the waist with one arm, bending her back until he was supporting most of her weight and she was very nearly horizontal from the waist up.
Blinking up at him and clutching his sweater instinctively, C.J. stared up at dark eyes dramatically narrowed to veil an imaginary desert sun, and choked back an irrepressible giggle. The sudden absurdity had drained away her anger, and she almost hated him for that. “You’ve been watching too many old movies.”
“Forgive me, my darling,” he pleaded in a heavily accented voice, splendidly ignoring her unromantic comment. “I would cut my throat before harming you, my treasure!”
Before C.J. could respond—fortunately—a laughing female voice intruded.
“Is this an X-rated movie, or can I watch?” Jan asked wryly.
C.J. found herself watching his profile as Fate turned his head to speak to her friend, feeling absolutely ridiculous dangling over his arm like a coat.
“I’m apologizing to C.J.,” Fate told Jan politely.
“Must have been some fight,” she observed. “Whatever did you do?”
“I’m not sure, but she was upset.”
“It takes an utter fiend to rouse C.J.”
“I’m crushed. What can I do to make it up to her?”
“Shower her with flowers and chocolates.”
“She’s got flowers,” he pointed out reasonably.
“You’ve crushed them. And they were for the chapel, anyway.”
“Were they? I wondered. Should I buy her some real ones?”
“Yes. And
chocolates.”
“Why chocolates?”
“She loves them.”
Still dangling, C.J. conjured a mental image of what she must look like. A still clip from one of Valentino’s movies came to mind. “Hello,” she murmured. “Remember me?”
Fate turned his head to stare down at her. “Hello,” he said in mock surprise. “What are you doing there?”
C.J. swallowed a giggle. “Beats the hell out of me.”
“You’ve taught her to swear.” Jan brushed past them to enter the elevator as the doors slid open to discharge three people. “Wonderful. I didn’t think she’d ever get the hang of it. Bye, now.”
Feeling herself turning red, C.J. watched the three people, who averted their eyes politely but didn’t bother to hide their grinning mouths. When they had disappeared from view, she returned her gaze to Fate’s face. “Is the show over?” she asked with infinite patience.
“Not until you forgive me.”
“For what?” C.J. had somehow lost sight of the original point of all this.
“For upsetting you. Am I forgiven?”
“I suppose. Will you let me go now?”
“That wasn’t a very gracious acceptance of my apology,” he pointed out critically. “Try again.”
“I forgive you. Now will you let me go?”
“Now promise not to get mad at me again.”
“I’m getting a crick in my back,” she evaded.
“Promise.”
C.J. wished suddenly that she had long fingernails so that she could dig them into his chest. “I never make promises I can’t keep.”
“Then promise you’ll try not to get mad at me.”
“And deprive myself of my only pleasure? No way. Will you please let me go before I’m convinced you’re more depraved than I originally thought you were?”
Fate sighed and allowed her to straighten, dropping his arm when she was in balance again. “As I believe I’ve remarked once before, you’re a cruel lady. I don’t ask for much, after all—”
“Of course not,” she interrupted ironically, giving the crushed flowers in her arms a disgusted look. “Just look what you’ve done! They’re ruined.”