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

by Kay Hooper

  Still, she wasn’t ready to take the final step and admit that she loved him. Fear was definitely a large part of her reluctance. At times, she felt she could almost grasp that fear, almost shake it and find out what it contained. But then her mind would shy nervously away, prefering to live for today and not for tomorrow.

  It puzzled her, this reluctance to face herself. She had never been conscious of it before. That her relationship with Fate was responsible for it, she knew. But what was there about their relationship to frighten her? His love? That didn’t frighten her—it astonished her. She still found it difficult to believe that a man like Fate could fall in love with her. However, it would have taken a harder heart than hers to resist his wooing.

  Her love? It was certainly a powerful and somewhat unnerving emotion. People had killed for it, died for it. Written songs and poems and books about it. Attempted to explain it away, or laugh it off, or deny it. Debated it and scorned it.

  What love did to people! There were examples in the history that she loved. People driven to madness and murder, to suicide. People gambling everything on it, joyous when they won and despairing when they lost. People wandering the world in search of it. Queens resorting to trickery to achieve it. Kings abdicating for it. Ordinary people driven to extraordinary feats because of it.

  And there were, of course, all the different facets of love. A mother or father’s love for a child. The love of brothers and sisters. The love of friends. And the thousand-and-one other kinds of love: of ideals, of country, of animals, of dreams.

  And the strongest love of all, the love between a man and a woman. Some called it chemistry. It made saints of some and sinners of others. For some it was filled with romance, for others with tragedy. It lifted one to the very heights of ecstasy and dropped another to the depths of despondency.

  What had it done to C.J.?

  Constantly in Fate’s company, she had very little time to examine the question. But she considered it from time to time. Love had made her a stronger person, she thought. No longer on the outside looking in, she was now aware of life and living through every pore of her body. Her senses seemed to have opened up, showing her the sights, sounds, tastes, scents, and touches of a world she had only dimly seen before.

  Love had shown her the value of laughter, the wonder of the passionate side of her own nature. It had sharpened her wits and stirred her mind and awakened her body.

  Awakened…Love had awakened her.

  There was nothing to be afraid of in that, surely. Of course, she was no longer insulated, protected, by her own indifference. But Fate was there. Instinct told her that if she were required for some reason to walk through hell, Fate would take her hand and walk by her side, sharing the journey for good and bad. She would not have to ask him, he would demand. He would say it was his right and his responsibility, because he loved her.

  Then why—why—couldn’t she admit her own love aloud? It didn’t make sense! What was she afraid of? That his love would die as quickly as it had been born, leaving her adrift and alone? No, she was willing to take that chance.

  Why was she afraid?

  Between and around these questions and speculations, the wooing continued.

  And the pillow talk between them taught both things about themselves and each other, not the least of which was the fact that they were so mentally attuned to one another that it bordered on telepathy.

  “What are you doing, pixie?”

  “I’m trying to find—oh, there it is.” Her voice was muffled beneath the covers, until she emerged with a diamond earring held in one triumphant hand. “You made me lose my earring; I’ll never find the back, it’s too small.”

  Fate took it away from her and placed it on the nightstand, immediately drawing her close again. “Never mind. You look just as beautiful with only one earring.”

  C.J. snuggled up to his side, blinking sleepily in the lamplight. “You’re very good with the blarney,” she observed, one finger absently tracing an intricate path through the hair on his chest.

  “What blarney? I’m not Irish, and I’m not a flatterer. I’m an old cynical lawyer, my love, and I’ll thank you to remember that. I have a cold, analytical mind and a skeptical nature.”

  “Is this the man who woke me up with a naked serenade?”

  “Certainly.”

  “That’s very paradoxical, you know.”

  “Not at all. Human beings,” he said instructively, “are made up of contradictions. Take yourself, for instance.”

  “You just did.”

  “Don’t be crude, brat.” He made her squeak by swatting a delightfully rounded buttock.

  “Sorry.”

  “So you should be. Where was I?”

  “You were implying that I’m contradictory.”

  “Right. And you are. When we met, you were almost completely hidden behind a very thick layer of bland in-offensiveness.”

  “That’s an odd choice of words.”

  “But apt. You told me yourself that your friends had been needling you for twenty years. You took it because it didn’t bother you in the slightest. You watched everything that went on around you with very detached interest.”

  “I have a feeling that you’re about to attribute a drastic change in me to a slightly crazy Indian brave.”

  He ignored that. “I had never met anyone with a better defense system. And the fascinating thing was that it wasn’t deliberate. You weren’t hiding from anything, and you weren’t afraid to let your emotions run free. You had maintained an unusually close friendship with five other women for twenty years, and had been immediately adopted by the men in their lives; that in itself shows a large capacity for affection and understanding.”

  C.J. listened intently with the slightly surprised interest which one usually feels when another person reveals insights into one’s own character.

  “You were highly intelligent, innocent, without being naïve, and utterly and completely unself-conscious. You were wrapped up in your work and studies, but not lost in them. And yet—I think—the only time you ever truly came out of yourself was when something or someone offered you a challenge.”

  Oddly unsurprised at his perception, she murmured, “So I’m a mass of contradictions.”

  “You certainly are. And there’s something fascinating about contradictions, you know.”

  “Tell me about it,” she said wryly, thinking of his own impossibly contradictory nature.

  “Then, of course, came the catalyst.”

  She punched him in the ribs. “I knew it! You’re going to pat yourself on the back for that, aren’t you?”

  “Ha! Then you admit that there’s been a change in you since I came along!”

  “Nonsense,” she said loftily. “If I’ve changed at all, it’s because I was ready to change. You just happened to be standing around when it occurred, that’s all.”

  “Deny the fact that after twenty years of needling from your friends, it only took twenty minutes for me to get under your skin,” he challenged.

  “At that point, it only needed one last straw, and you were it,” she responded coolly.

  “Do you realize how much you’ve changed in less than two weeks?” he asked reflectively, ignoring her denial.

  “No. Tell me.” Her voice was mocking, but she was interested in hearing more of his surprising insights.

  “The protective layer is gone, for one thing. Your emotions are closer to the surface. You’re quicker now to laugh or get mad. You don’t feel guilty any longer for ignoring your studies for a little while. And the warm, passionate side of your nature has been allowed to break free. Do you know, by the way, just how utterly delightful you are in bed, pixie?”

  “Thank you,” she said politely.

  “You’re entirely welcome.”

  “I’m a quick study, I suppose?”

  “Very quick. You seem to have had a great deal of natural aptitude. One of your ancestors must have been a courtesan.”


  “Fate!”

  “That’s an honorable profession in some places.”

  “Not where I come from.”

  “Sorry,” he mumbled.

  “And how you can have the nerve to say something like that when I’m being attacked every time I turn around—!”

  “Not attacked—” he protested.

  “Yes, attacked! Last night, I was attacked in the shower, and I had soap in my eyes. And yesterday morning, you kept six people waiting in the lobby because you’d pushed the stop button and attacked me in the elevator. You even attacked me on the ski lift, and that was a sneaky trick, because I couldn’t very well get away!”

  “You love it,” he said confidently.

  “You’re utterly insane, Maestro.”

  “Let’s hear it for insanity, then. I’ve never been happier.”

  A little startled at the seriousness of his voice, C.J. traced an even more intricate pattern on his chest and murmured, “Really?”

  “Good Lord, haven’t I convinced you of that, at least?”

  “You seem happy, but…”

  “But what?”

  She moved restlessly at his side. “You seem to think there’s something special about me, and I don’t know what that is.”

  He was silent for a moment, one hand lightly stroking her arm and the other playing absently with her copper curls. Then, in a quiet voice, he said, “You take yourself too much for granted, sweetheart. When I’m with you, I have everything I’ve ever wanted, everything I’ve ever dreamed of.”

  “But—”

  “I wasn’t lying about what I told the girls that first night,” he went on in a whimsical voice, ignoring her interruption. “You looked up at me, your beautiful eyes startled and wary, your lovely face and hair and body hinting at the vital, passionate woman you were…and I felt as if the roof had caved in on me. And during the next twenty minutes, I found out everything else I needed to know.

  “Your mind was quick and lively. You were intelligent and humorous and oddly vulnerable. You were obviously self-confident in your abilities, calmly sure of yourself. You had a quick temper, but not a cruel one.”

  C.J. listened wonderingly, bemused by what he was saying, by the certainty in his deep voice.

  He sighed a bit roughly. “I’d given up on finding someone like you, pixie. Someone that I could laugh with and fight with and love. I could see that you weren’t interested in any kind of a relationship, that you had your future planned and there was no niche in those plans for a man. I was desperate to find some way of spending time with you, to make you aware of me. And then the idea of continuing with your mysterious romance hit me. I knew it was risky, because you would naturally think that I was acting. But I had to take that chance. I needed to be close to you.”

  “Hoist by my own petard,” she managed shakily.

  He chuckled softly. “You could say that. I could see that I had gotten under your skin at least a little that first night, so I kept trying. I was so convinced that we belonged together that I couldn’t understand why you didn’t see that, too. Then, when I got to know you better, I realized that you were afraid of something. Can you tell me what that is now, sweetheart?”

  C.J. made another mental grab for that elusive fear, and missed again. “No,” she whispered. “I don’t know what it is. I know it’s there, but I can’t see it clearly.”

  He gave her a brief hug. “We’ll work it out. I’ve waited too long for you to give up easily, honey.” Then, apparently realizing her need for laughter to chase away the fear, he went on lightly. “I’ll even be very un-macho and admit that it doesn’t bother me in the least that you know more about history than I do.”

  “You know more about law,” she pointed out, welcoming the change of subject.

  “A dull subject.”

  “And you play the guitar and sing.”

  “I read poetry, too,” he said with a self-congratulatory tone.

  She giggled. “And very nicely.”

  “I’m a whiz at chess.”

  “You distracted me.”

  “I excel at poker.”

  “You cheated.”

  “You’re only saying that because you’re a sore loser.”

  “No, because I got very cold without my blanket.”

  “Not for long.”

  She sighed sadly. “You took advantage of me. You’re always taking advantage of me.”

  “The Lord will get you for that.”

  “For what?”

  “Lying through your teeth.”

  “He’ll get you for taking advantage.”

  “How can I take advantage of what’s mine?”

  “What d’you mean yours?”

  “Mine.” His hands began wandering beneath the covers. “All mine. And I’ll fight to the death anyone who says otherwise.”

  “Then grab your bow and arrows, Chief! You—”

  “Possession is nine-tenths of the law,” he pointed out calmly.

  “I was seduced entirely against my will. Possession doesn’t count in that case,” she informed him huffily.

  “You were unwilling, huh? Then tell me, unwilling lady, who woke me up this morning with a definitely lewd suggestion?”

  “It was not.”

  “Was, too.”

  “Well…the poet must have rubbed off on me.”

  “Excuses, excuses.”

  “I seem to remember definite enthusiasm on your part.”

  “I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Certainly. A gentleman, I am.”

  “You’re an unscrupulous, conniving, deceitful lawyer-actor-Indian with not an ounce of truth in you,” she declared roundly.

  “Talk about blanket condemnations.”

  She squeaked. “Fate, what’re you—? Stop that.”

  “I’ve got a lewd suggestion, pixie.”

  “No, really?” she demanded with awful irony. “I wonder why I didn’t guess that?”

  “Don’t you want to hear what it is?”

  “I shudder to think.”

  “I’ll make the suggestion anyway.” He pulled her over completely on top of him and began whispering in her ear.

  “The poet rubbed off on you, too,” she said.

  “Well, pixie?”

  “Well what?”

  “What do you think of my suggestion?”

  “I think it’s a good thing the door is locked….”

  NINE

  “CALEDONIA JINX?”

  C.J. pulled her sweater into place and sent an amused glance at the man sprawled out lazily on the bed. “Not even close. And where, by the way, is that book you mentioned? The one with names? I haven’t seen it yet, but you seem to have memorized every name beginning with a C or a J.”

  “That’s exactly what I did. And sooner or later I’m bound to hit on the right combination,” he said, ignoring her first question.

  “Not at the rate you’re going.”

  “Have patience. Or tell me your name.”

  “No.”

  He sighed. “Then at least tell me why you’re disgustingly wide awake at the crack of dawn. And why you’re abandoning me.”

  C.J. sat down on the foot of the bed to put on her shoes. “It may have escaped your notice, but I haven’t had a close encounter of the third kind with the great outdoors in two days. And since you said you had to make a few phone calls this morning, I thought I’d take a walk. You know—putting one foot in front of the other and staying upright?”

  “That’s a novel idea.”

  “Not original, I’m afraid. It’s been done for years.”

  “Really?”

  “Certainly. Your average, reasonably sane person makes a practice of it. You wouldn’t know about that, though.”

  “Don’t insult the mighty chief. He’ll make you braid your hair and walk three paces behind him.”

  C.J. rose to her feet and lifted a haughty brow at him. “My hair’s too short to braid
, and I’ve already pointed out the only time I’d walk three paces behind you.”

  “Sass!”

  “Well, if you were looking for meek obedience, Chief, you’ve got the wrong body.”

  “Oh, no,” Fate murmured, linking his fingers behind his neck and gazing at her from beneath sleepy lids. “I’ve got the right body, all right. Pretty little thing. She even shaved me yesterday morning.”

  “Don’t let that go to your head,” C.J. advised calmly. “I was just getting in a bit of practice with a razor. One never knows when knowledge like that’ll come in handy.”

  “Hemlock, I think, is easier,” he said judiciously. “You’d better marry me first, though. The insurance, you know.”

  “Oh, I don’t need the money.” Her voice was serene. “I’m very rich.”

  “In that case, you have to marry me. I can’t believe my luck—falling in love with a woman who’s beautiful and rich.”

  C.J. knew very well that he thought she was joking, the way she had been about reading his mind. She wondered vaguely what his reaction would be when he discovered the truth. She wasn’t particularly concerned and dismissed it. “The only things I have to do are pay taxes and die eventually.”

  He sighed again. “You’re just not treating my proposals with the gravity they deserve.”

  “Gravity,” she said thoughtfully, “makes apples fall to earth. It isn’t much good for anything else.”

  “I propose and she lectures,” he said ruefully.

  “Sorry.”

  “I’m getting used to it, pixie, And don’t you dare leave without kissing me goodbye.”

  C.J., who had started toward the door, paused and looked back at him with a frown. “Oh, no! I’ve discovered the dangers of getting anywhere near that bed while you’re in it.”

  “You make me sound like a sex maniac,” he complained.

  “Maniac. Period.” She went to the closet and took out a thickly quilted jacket. “Anyway, I’ll only be gone an hour or so.”

  “Where’s my kiss?”

  She blew him one.

  “Poor substitute for the real thing,” he grumbled.