C.J.'s Fate C.J.'s Fate C.J.'s Fate

by Kay Hooper

  The only problem was that Fate didn’t get mad.

  C.J. saw Brian start toward her once with a scowl on his pleasant face, and belatedly remembered all her big brothers and their protective attitudes. But then she saw Fate reach out a hand to stop the other man, saying something which was impossible for her to catch over the din of music and laughter filling the room. To her surprise, Brian—after a slightly puzzled look at Fate—apparently gave up his obvious intention of playing big brother.

  Several graceful whirls by her partner just then enabled C.J. to catch a few glimpses of Fate. He looked neither angry nor jealous. In fact, the solemn Indian-face was completely unreadable as he watched his supposed fiancée having a grand time without him.

  During the next hour, he calmly danced with nearly every woman in the room—with the exception of C.J. If her behavior disturbed him, he gave no sign of it.

  And that accomplished a part of C.J.’s objective. It made her mad. She let the anger have full rein, channeling the other bewildering emotions into that handy outlet. Watching with jealous eyes as he danced with an obviously bleached blonde, she decided angrily that the last thing she needed in her life—whether as lover or anything else—was a two-faced Indian lawyer with rotten taste in dancing partners.

  By midnight, C.J. was the life and soul of the party.

  Recklessly, she accepted one challenge after another, from a vacationing businessman’s request for a flamenco to the admiring ski instructor’s desire to learn how to tango. She laughed gaily, flirted lightly, and refused to search for Fate in the crowded room. No one could have guessed that it was all an act.

  He appeared magically out of nowhere sometime after one A.M. and calmly plucked her out of a noisy conga line.

  She struggled to break the firm grip on her arm and found the struggle useless, and was angry to realize that she was being towed from the room like a misbehaving child. He had her purse in his free hand, and she had to hurry to keep up with his long strides.

  “Damnit, let go of me!”

  “No,” he responded flatly.

  Startled, C.J. looked up at him and discovered that appearances could be—and quite often were—deceptive. Expressionless face notwithstanding, he was furious.

  It was yet another facet of the man, and C.J. was suddenly wary of this unsuspected side of him. As she stood silently beside him in the elevator, she felt ridiculously like a cross between a sulking little girl and a trainer whose sunny-tempered lion showed a sudden and alarming tendency to turn on her.

  But there was also an odd expectancy within her, a curious tension she couldn’t identify. She looked down at the firm grip on her arm as he led her down the hall to her room, and wondered vaguely why she felt no fear of his temper. No fear—only a deep and rather thoughtful satisfaction.

  That was absurd. She was absurd. And where had her own temper gone to? Why was she no longer angry?

  She didn’t object when he halted in front of her door and released her arm to hunt through her bag for the key. And she watched silently as he unlocked the door, opened it, and gestured for her to enter. Still without speaking, she went in.

  He tossed her bag onto the dresser and leaned back against the closed door as she turned to face him, his expression still unreadable. “Proud of yourself?”

  The quiet question touched a raw nerve, and she felt her temper returning. “You’re not my father or my brother,” she said irritably. “Don’t preach at me.”

  He ignored her comments. “What were you trying to prove, C.J.? That you could bewitch every man in the room? You proved it. That you could drive me out of my mind by making me watch you bewitch every man in the room? You proved it.”

  C.J. turned her back on him, pacing over to the window and staring out, unaware that the blackened pane clearly revealed her strained face to the man behind her. He didn’t sound as though he were out of his mind, she thought. In fact, she had never heard him sound quite so calm.

  That should have warned her. It really should have.

  She turned, feeling oddly defeated, intending to tell him to leave her alone. And found him two steps nearer and calmly dropping his tie on the dresser. When he shrugged from his black jacket and tossed it past her to land on one of the chairs, she suddenly found her tongue.

  “What—what are you doing?”

  Long brown fingers had the white shirt halfway unbuttoned. “You can’t seem to make up your mind about me, pixie, so I think it’s time I made it up for you.”

  His voice was casual, almost careless. But the purple eyes were gazing at her with an expression she instinctively recognized, and there was nothing even remotely casual in that look.

  Like a rabbit in a snare, she found herself unable to move as he came to stand before her. But she was shaking her head dumbly, and finally managed to whisper, “No.”

  “Yes.” Large hands rested on her bare shoulders briefly, then lifted to frame her face. “I’ve been as patient as I know how to be, but a man has only so much willpower. I can’t take anymore, C.J. I need you so badly….”

  The rough timbre of his voice, the note of unhidden longing, set flames racing through C.J.’s bloodstream. Silent and still, she watched as his head lowered slowly, blocking out the lamplight that cast a soft glow through the room. When his lips touched hers, her eyes fluttered closed, and a sigh came from deep inside her.

  For a long moment, she neither fought him nor responded to him. Every muscle was tight as the sane, slightly cynical C.J. tried to ignore the sensations tearing through her body. But as his lips moved gently, sensitively on hers, cynical C.J. lost the inner battle.

  With a mind and will of their own, her hands lifted jerkily, her arms slipped around his lean waist. Beneath her fingers, she felt the silkiness of his shirt and the firm muscled flesh beneath, and every silent, hard-won resolution shattered.

  Fate deepened the kiss immediately as he sensed her blooming response, no longer pleading but demanding. He released her face to crush her fiercely against his hard length, his tongue exploring her mouth with the stark thrust of possession. He seemed ravenous in his need to go on kissing her, as though he had wanted to do this for a very long time.

  She could feel the heat of his body burning her like a brand, adding fuel to the fire raging within her. Reckless excitement claimed her, seduced her, and C.J. no longer cared whether this was reality or insanity. It was what she wanted—needed—and that was all that mattered.

  Fate’s mouth left hers finally to plunder the soft skin of her throat. Hoarsely, he muttered, “Are you sure?” And then added immediately, “Don’t say no, damnit!”

  C.J. traced the rippling muscles of his back with a sort of wonder. “No,” she said throatily, “but don’t let that stop you.”

  A soft laugh escaped him. “I ought to leave you,” he rasped, his teeth toying gently with a diamond-studded earlobe. “I should wait until you’re sure—”

  His reluctant statement ended in a groan as C.J.’s hands found their way beneath his shirt, her fingers teasing his spine. She felt a shudder pass through his body, and instinctively pressed her own even closer.

  “Lord, I can’t wait,” he said thickly, his breath warm in her ear. “Tell me not to wait—not to leave you…”

  C.J. felt his fingers slide up her spine, fumble with the fastening of her dress, and was suddenly desperate to rid them both of the barriers of clothing that separated them. “Don’t wait,” she said, unable to say anything else. “Don’t leave me.”

  The clasp of her dress was released, the silky black material fell in a heap at her feet, leaving her nude but for the black sandals. He lifted his head to look down at her, glittering purple fire in his eyes. A strange, rough sound seemed to come from deep within his chest.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he breathed almost inaudibly, the purple gaze sweeping over lamplit curves, shadowed hollows.

  She had never in her life stood naked before a man, and C.J. was dimly surprised to find a shamel
ess pride in his admiration. She felt no embarrassment, no discomfort. There was only a growing satisfaction that this man found her beautiful, a wild, sweet pleasure in the hunger in his eyes.

  She pushed the white shirt from his shoulders, watching as he shrugged it away and let it fall unheeded to the floor. She felt oddly suspended, as though time itself had stopped and left this room and this moment the center of everything.

  And she knew then that this moment had been planned, intended, from the second she had looked up into his eyes for the first time. Had it been sheer luck that she had recklessly chosen him to become her mystery lover? Or had it been destiny?

  He had plucked her from behind her wall of abstraction within moments, teasing her, sparring with her. Awakening unfamiliar and nameless longings in her, teaching her to love him.

  And the instant awareness between them had grown, building on itself for days.

  She had wanted this, waited for it all week. It had been the driving force behind her sudden, feminine desire to make herself as beautiful as possible for him. It had not been temper which had caused her to buy the black dress; it had been him. He had awakened the woman in her, shown her the stranger in the mirror who was herself. And all week she had been preparing herself for this maiden voyage, this flight to test her wings.

  C.J. kicked off her sandals as he lifted her into his arms and stepped over to the bed. He lowered her gently on the turned-down covers, before straightening and beginning to rapidly remove the remainder of his clothing.

  And she lay still, watching him with drugged eyes, admiring the masculine beauty of strong limbs and powerful torso. Watching the thick black hair gleaming with blue highlights on his broad chest. Wondering dimly what it would mean to belong to this man…

  SEVEN

  WHEN HE LAY down on the bed beside her, C.J. held out her arms to him. His eyes flared with some fierce emotion as he accepted the silent invitation, his arms gathering her close. Warm, curiously shaking lips rained kisses on her face, her throat. One large hand slid upward to cup a throbbing breast, and she moaned softly when his mouth closed over its hardened, aching tip.

  Restlessly, her hands kneaded the muscle-padded shoulders, explored the hair-roughened chest. Her senses were filled with the scent of his cologne, the touch of soft hair and firm flesh, the dizzying feel of his pleasure-giving mouth. And somewhere near the center of her being, a coil wound tighter and tighter, filling her body with a sweet, mindless torture.

  His hands were moving, caressing, shaping her body with the enthralling, rapturous touch of a lover. With infinite patience, moving tenderness, he learned her body as though this would be his only chance. As though he feared that eternity would claim them both, and he would have only this memory to sustain him.

  The same need drove C.J. to learn what a man’s body was all about. This man’s body. Curiously, she explored with uncertain fingers, fascinated by hard planes and angles. Apparently understanding this moment of discovery for her, Fate shifted suddenly, rolling over to allow her the full scope of exploration.

  “Touch me, pixie,” he grated softly. “I need to feel your hands on me.”

  She hesitated for only a moment, raising herself on one elbow and meeting his fiery gaze a little timidly. But the encouragement shining in those purple depths gave her courage, and curiosity sparked an instinctive knowledge deep inside her.

  Tawny eyes darkened almost to black as she leaned toward him, her fingers sliding slowly over his chest. Hesitation disappeared at the first tentative touch; instinct took over. She bent her head, her lips finding the flat male nipple among the dark hairs, and she felt his hands raking gently through her curls, sending pins flying.

  His chest rose and fell rapidly beneath her touch, his harsh breathing audible. She felt his heart thundering against her, the beat keeping time with her own runaway pulse. Her hands slipped down over his flat stomach, feeling it quiver at the contact, hearing a hoarse sound that seemed torn from his throat.

  Lying against him, she could feel the rigid desire burning against her thigh, and felt awed and staggered by the wisdom of a Creator who could design so marvelous a creature as man. With a need beyond reason, she raised herself suddenly, her hand moving lower still to touch the throbbing need he felt for her.

  He shivered when she touched him as though her hand were a live wire, and then lay tautly still. Wonderingly, her fingers held him, caressing, inciting his body to ever greater response. Compelled by some fervent hunger unknown to her until this moment, she leaned over to touch her lips warmly to his pulsing flesh.

  Dimly, she heard a rasping groan and felt him shiver again, but her attention was focused almost entirely on what she was doing. She wanted to give him pleasure, and nothing mattered to her except that. And then a giddy sense of vertigo swept her, and she found herself once more lying in his arms.

  “Witch,” he whispered between kisses. “Beautiful, enchanting pixie…how I need you.”

  With growing urgency, he lavished her body with the touch of his hands, the hot, arousing brush of his lips. His caresses slid lower, over her breasts, her quivering belly, lower still. Reaching at last the warm center of her desire.

  C.J. gasped aloud, the fingers gripping his shoulder going white with tension. Eyes wide and startled at this new sensation, she moved restlessly, the splintering, aching pleasure building toward an impossible peak. She was empty inside, hurting with this strange, sweet pain, and she needed him desperately.

  “Fate!” She heard her breathless voice pleading with him, begging him to stop this sweet madness. And he rose above her, muttering words she didn’t try to understand.

  Her arms slipping up around his neck, C.J. gazed at him with hunger and infinite trust shining in her eyes, welcoming him in an embrace primal in its age and radiant in its sweetness. There was no fear in her heart, no hesitation, no shame.

  He seemed to hesitate for a moment, his eyes drinking in the sight of her awakened, yearning face. And then his body moved strongly, joining them together, possessing her in a way that no man had ever done before, would ever do again.

  She felt the breath catch in her throat, her wide, wondering eyes fixed on his taut face. And as he began to move, she moved with him, holding him, learning him. The tension shattered every nerve in her body, filled her senses until the world stopped in its orbit, ripping the sky with thunder, dissolving in rapture.

  She cried out with the blissful agony, hearing Fate groan her name raggedly. His mouth found hers in that heart-stopping moment, sealing their union in a kiss of boundless tenderness.

  The world gradually, slowly, reformed and went on its way, leaving two mortal beings to rediscover their earthly ties. But they were in no hurry. Indistinguishable murmurs fell softly in the lamplit room, bodies reluctant to lose this special closeness continued to lie closely together. Unsteady hands stroked dampened flesh, lips touched again and again like blind lodestones. And—characteristically—humor softened their gentle fall back to terra firma.

  “What are you doing?” C.J. murmured plaintively as the shoulder she had pillowed her head on began to make earthquake-like movements.

  “Getting the covers,” Fate answered with a soft laugh. “I’m obviously going to need all my strength to deal with you, pixie, and I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot by catching pneumonia.”

  He patted her hip before drawing the covers up around them, and C.J. reclaimed her former resting place with a sigh of satisfaction. “I should probably take exception to that remark,” she reflected with a yawn smothered against his neck, “but I can’t seem to.”

  “Ah. I’ve found a way to shut her up.”

  She punched him weakly in the ribs.

  “Don’t hit your lord and master, you little pixie.”

  “Listen to the man. He takes advantage of a poor, defenseless woman and then caps off his villainy by not even allowing her satisfaction. S’terrible. Just terrible.”

  “I got her drunk, too.”


  “She got herself drunk. Not that I was. Drunk, I mean.”

  “You’re getting your tenses all tangled up.”

  “No, just my pronouns.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Do you make mistakes like that in the courtroom?”

  “Constantly.”

  “Doesn’t bode well for the arm of the law.”

  “Who’s the lawyer here?”

  C.J. smothered another yawn. “Beats me.” Then she squeaked. “Now what’re you doing?”

  “Guess.”

  She batted his hand away. “You’re not decent!”

  “I need something to hold on to,” he protested, wounded.

  “Well, not that.”

  “Why not? You have a spare.”

  “Fate!” She choked and fought to swallow the giggle. “Is this what they call pillow talk?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Dinner table conversation is a lot cleaner.”

  “That’s because lovers have a conversation not intended for other ears,” he informed her loftily.

  “Like this one?”

  “Exactly.” He gasped suddenly. “What are you doing?”

  “Guess.”

  “Witch! If you don’t stop that, you’ll find yourself seduced for the second time tonight.”

  “Oh, was I seduced? I wondered what that was. There I was, minding my own business, and you started taking your clothes off.”

  “You offered insupportable provocation.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. You taught that ski instructor how to tango.”

  “Oh.”

  “Don’t do it again.”

  “Is that a command, Mighty Chief?”

  “Yes. And what’s with the mighty chief bit?”

  “I think of you as an Indian.”

  “Blood will tell,” he said.

  “You mean you are an Indian?”

  “Three-quarters Sioux, I’m told. As a matter of fact, I was named after an Indian ancestor. My father had already decided that I’d follow in his footsteps, and he thought the name would be very apt for a lawyer.”