by Kay Hooper
“It must be a dilly of a name.”
“Why else do you think I’ve had it stricken from every record except my birth certificate?” she asked wryly.
“Mmmm. Something exotic, then. Cleopatra Jacqueline?”
She choked on another giggle. “No, thank heavens. My mother wasn’t deranged, just groggy from the anesthetic.”
“So when she really woke up, she decided to call you C.J.?”
C.J. was silent for a moment. “No. My uncle did. I was called by my first name until I was four. Then my parents were killed in a plane crash, and my sister and I were raised by my father’s brother.”
“I’m sorry, pixie.” His voice was sober.
“Don’t be.” There was a smile in her own voice. “I can barely remember them. And John was very good to Siri and me.”
“John?”
“My uncle.” She laughed softly. “He taught us never to call him ‘Uncle John.’ Said it made him feel old.”
“Siri is your sister?”
“Yes. Another unusual name. And, before you ask, it isn’t short for anything. My father just liked the sound of it.”
“It was his turn to do the naming, huh?”
“After the disaster of my name, he wasn’t taking any chances.”
“It can’t be that bad.”
“It can. And is.”
“Now you’ve got me on my mettle. I’ll have to figure it out.”
“Be my guest.” C.J. smothered a yawn with her hand. “But I’m going to sleep.”
“I’m not sleepy,” he protested.
“Tough.” She turned on her side, realizing only as she did so that she was facing him. “Sleep waits for no man. Goodnight.”
“Let’s play twenty questions,” he suggested.
“No.”
“Then I’ll tell you a story.”
“You’ve told too many stories today. Goodnight.”
“But—”
“Goodnight!”
With a heavy sigh, Fate lapsed into silence. C.J. lay and listened to her travel clock ticking softly.
As Jan had pointed out earlier, C.J. had been working hard for months—too hard for too many months. She tended to push herself hard whenever she was working toward a goal, the self-imposed pace tiring her more than she realized. It caught up with her occasionally; yearly vacations were very necessary to her, and long hours of sleep were usually needed to recharge her energies.
The deep sleep C.J. slipped into was not unusual. Normally a light sleeper, there were infrequent nights such as this one when she experienced an almost coma-like unconsciousness. Very little would rouse her from the peculiar state. Deep, dreamless, totally relaxed, she might have been light-years away from the world.
But this night’s sleep was different. She dreamed. C.J. was aware that she was dreaming, vaguely puzzled by it, but knew she wouldn’t be able to wake herself up. The dream was odd, though, and seemed very, very real.
Purple stars were shining down at her, purple stars with exciting promises in them. C.J. didn’t know how she understood the promises, but they were very clear to her. Purple promises bright with a challenge she’d never grow tired of. She wanted to lose herself in the stars, throw herself into them and become the heart of an exploding sun.
And there was an Indian somehow inside the stars, calling to her softly to come with him, to take his hand and become a part of him. His voice was the low rumble of a storm, his black hair flying in solar winds. The gray light of morning gave his form a striking silhouette and made her ache inside at his beauty.
Strong, sun-browned hands tenderly drew away the hazy clouds covering her body, the purple stars becoming eyes that saw her in a way she’d never been seen before. She reached out a hand to touch the Indian’s face wonderingly, feeling the warm strength of it beneath her fingers and aching even more because he wasn’t—couldn’t be—real. He was carved from her dream.
Lips like rough velvet brushed her wrist, slid down her inner arm with torturing slowness. She turned her face aside as the lips reached her shoulder, sacrificing the sight of the Indian’s face for the feeling of the lips on her throat.
She felt his thick, soft hair beneath her fingers, and stroked the darkness lovingly. Her other hand found a muscled shoulder and molded the smooth flesh with a need beyond reason. The heavy weight of him bore her down into the cloud beneath her back, and she absorbed this new sensation with delight.
He was whispering sweet, magical words to her in many languages, his breath warm in her ear. Telling her that he adored her, that she was beautiful and wonderful. Telling her that she was the other half of himself.
Kisses fell on her closed eyelids, no heavier than snowflakes, and she heard her soft voice pleading with him until his lips found hers with devastating need. Ignited by the flames in him, her body took fire, burning and torturing her with its aching emptiness.
She twined her arms around the strong column of his neck, her body arching beneath the wonderful weight that trapped her. Willing but inexperienced lips returned the raw desire of his mouth, her tongue exploring fervently.
She felt one of his hands surround a throbbing breast, and a moan ripped its way from the depths of her being. Sparks of light cartwheeled wildly behind her closed eyelids and a roaring filled her ears. When his lips left hers, she felt bereaved, adrift and alone. But he held her close, his hands gently stroking her back, lightly touching her face. Soothing. Calming.
A soft, beloved voice rumbled adoring promises. He’d take care of her, never leave her. She would walk by his side always.
Gradually, the nearly painful tension drained from her body. She clung to him, fearing that the dream was near its end and reluctant to lose this special closeness. Eyes firmly closed, she begged him wistfully to take her with him when he went back to the purple stars. He laughed softly, ruefully it seemed. Promised to return.
The dream was slipping away, and C.J. fought desperately to hold on to it. His deep voice was growing fainter, darkness was closing in on her. The purple stars were the last image in her mind, bright with the promises she’d heard. And then even they dimmed, and she realized sadly that she was alone again. Tears flooded her eyes and wet the cloud as she turned her face into it in despair….
Her bedroom was filled with sunlight when C.J. at last opened her eyes and reluctantly greeted the day. She sat up, stretching and yawning. Staring toward the two chairs neatly flanking the window, a blanket and pillow placed on one of them, she wondered what was wrong with the scene. And then she remembered.
Fate.
Breaking off in mid-yawn, she stared warily around the room. It was empty. Turning to look at her travel clock, she felt her eyes widen in surprise. Well, no wonder he was gone; it was nearly noon. She’d slept half around the clock.
Remembering his penchant for tall tales and his promise to talk to the girls today, C.J. felt suddenly very uneasy. The girls were early risers and she was willing to bet he was too; he’d had hours to talk to them. The dear Lord only knew what they’d told him.
Thrusting back the covers, she swung her legs from the bed, tugging at the jersey which had ridden up during the night. Something about the gesture caught her attention, and she sat on the bed in frowning stillness as she tried to remember.
The dream. Purple stars and a magical Indian. Closeness and need and desire. Passion and…love.
Bemusedly, she watched every detail of the dream float lazily through her mind. How odd—she’d never before remembered a dream so clearly. She felt her heart begin its jungle-pounding and her skin tingle at the memory of rough hands touching her tenderly, warm velvet lips kissing her with adoring passion.
The breath escaped her in a little sigh as the room came into focus again. For heaven’s sake—the man had her so rattled she was even dreaming about him. And what a dream! She only hoped that the sounds she remembered uttering had emerged only in her mind.
What the dream really meant, she didn’t want to think
about. She wasn’t about to analyze the deep impulses that had triggered it.
The phone on the nightstand rang shrilly just then, and C.J. frowned at it a moment before reaching to pick up the receiver. “Hello?”
“Are you awake?” Jan demanded without preamble.
“Of course I’m awake.” C.J. frowned at her reflection in the mirror across the room, not liking the softened, dreamy expression in her eyes.
“There’s no ‘of course’ about it, damnit. I’ve called you twice since eight o’clock this morning, and you answered the phone both times. But you weren’t awake. You’ve got Fate all shook up; he’s not used to these weird sleeps of yours.”
“Um…he’s with you?” C.J.’s voice was a masterpiece of casual unconcern.
“He’s been with us all morning. Shame on you, C.J.—you haven’t told the poor man a thing about yourself.”
“If you told him—” C.J. began heatedly.
“No, of course we didn’t tell him your name,” Jan broke in soothingly. “But you’ll have to tell him sometime, sweetie, for the marriage license if nothing else.” She laughed suddenly. “I must admit that listening to him try to charm the name out of us was some experience. That’s quite a man you have there.”
“Yes,” C.J. murmured in a flattened voice. “Quite a man. He—uh—he asked you about me?”
“All about you. From the cradle onward. And we told him everything we knew. Under the circumstances, we didn’t think you’d mind.” There was something half triumphant and half questioning in Jan’s voice.
“No. I don’t mind…at all.” C.J. wondered vaguely if Fate was, in fact, an Indian. If so, she couldn’t understand how the Indians had managed finally to lose the war.
“I was a little suspicious last night,” Jan went on cheerfully, “but after he spent the night in your room, I realized that the whole thing was on the level.”
Score one for Fate! C.J. thought, amused in spite of herself. He’d neatly pegged Jan.
“You’ve got some explaining to do, my girl.”
“Didn’t Fate explain?” C.J. asked hopefully, reasonably certain that he had, but half afraid of what he might have come up with.
“Why you didn’t tell us? He said it was probably because you weren’t quite sure what was going on yourself. Everything happened so fast, and he couldn’t tell you what was wrong. Was that it?”
“Yes,” C.J. murmured with a faint sigh, “that was it.” She was relieved that Fate had answered that question. It was going to be hard enough to play her role of a woman in love without having to elaborate on his absurd story.
“You still should have told us,” Jan scolded gently. “It can’t have been easy for you, C.J. In love for the first time and not knowing why you couldn’t be together. We could have helped.”
“I know. And I’m sorry. I was just so confused.” C.J. felt like the worst kind of liar. Damn her stupid impulses, and damn Fate for throwing himself wholeheartedly into the charade!
“Well, at least it’s over now. And you’ll be walking down the aisle next month. I never thought I’d be saying that, sweetie.”
Hastily, C.J. said, “Let’s not talk about that now. This is Kathy’s time, remember? We have to get through her wedding first.”
“We could make it a double wedding,” Jan pointed out suggestively.
“No!” C.J. knew that her voice was too sharp, and rushed on before Jan could notice it. “Like you said, Fate doesn’t know too much about me. And I don’t know much about him. We need a little time, Jan.”
Jan sighed. “You’re right, of course. But it would have been perfect. Oh, well.” The mouthpiece was muffled as she apparently spoke to someone nearby, and then she came back on the line. “When are you coming down? We want to have lunch and then hit the slopes.”
“Fifteen minutes,” C.J. managed lightly.
“Great. See you in the lobby.”
C.J. replaced the received slowly and stared at the phone for a long moment. So Fate had worked his way into the magic circle. He had charmed her friends, and spent the morning asking them all about her.
That put him one up on her; she still knew nothing about him.
She got up and began getting ready to go downstairs, a frown drawing her brows together. In for the duration, with Fate one step ahead of her. It made her very uneasy.
She was halfway to the door when a sudden thought stopped her in her tracks.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said nervously to the empty room. “It was a dream. Wasn’t it?”
FOUR
FOREVER AFTERWARD, C.J. maintained that that day was among the worst in her life. Pitchforked into a role she had absolutely no idea how to play, she cringed inwardly beneath the watching eyes of her friends and silently cursed Fate in every language she knew and a few she made up.
And he took advantage of the situation, the fiend. When the girls showed rare tact and offered to leave them alone together, Fate wouldn’t hear of it. He organized ridiculous games on skis, keeping them together and laughing; he issued challenges the girls couldn’t resist; and he managed adroitly to keep C.J. with or near him at all times.
He hugged her, held her hand (even on skis), sprinkled his conversation with endless endearments. He teased her in what C.J. imagined must be a loverlike manner. He kept trying to discover her name, and seemed crestfallen when his guesses were wrong.
“Cheryl Jane?”
“No.” C.J. firmly pried her hand from his and used her poles to push off down the slope. It was an advanced slope, and she hoped that it would discourage both Fate and the girls from staying too close to her. But they were all expert on skis, and Fate was Olympic-team material.
They didn’t leave her alone for a minute.
It went on that way for the rest of the day and into the evening. C.J. kept a smile plastered on her face and looked daggers at Fate whenever she was reasonably certain the girls wouldn’t see. Not that it made the slightest impression on him.
She left dinner early pleading a headache, and gritted her teeth as she saw Fate wink at the girls before rising himself. He kept a loverlike arm around her until they were in the elevator and C.J. shrugged it away.
She stared stonily at the doors as they rode upward, aware that he was leaning against the wall with his arms folded and his eyes fixed on her. She didn’t return the steady, smiling gaze. She was torn between screaming at him in frustrated rage—an unfamiliar emotion—and throwing herself wantonly into his arms, compelled by an altogether different emotion.
She felt like a see-saw, a yo-yo. Up and down, back and forth, tormented by crazy impulses she’d never felt before. And it was all his fault, damnit. Even telling herself that the day’s cherishing touches and teasing words were just a part of his charade, she’d been fighting her instinct to respond to them all day.
“You look like a sulky little girl,” he said as the doors opened and they left the elevator on their floor.
Not rising to the bait, she said tautly, “And you’re definitely a long-legged beastie.”
“I’m a what?” He halted beside her as they reached the door to her room and she fished in the pocket of her slacks for her key.
“Haven’t you ever heard that old Scottish prayer?” Refusing to look at him, C.J. unlocked the door. “‘From ghoulies and ghosties and long-legged beasties and things that go bump in the night—Good Lord deliver us.’”
“I take it that wasn’t a compliment.” He sounded amused, grasping her arm when she would have entered the room.
“Bingo.” She stared fixedly at some point near the middle of his chest. “Charade’s over for the night. I’m going to soak in the tub and read a good book; you’re on your own. The girls will never know you aren’t in my room. Goodnight.” She heard the elevator bell ding softly.
“Too late,” he murmured. “They’re coming now.” Before she could utter a protest or sound, he drew her swiftly into his arms.
She looked up, filled with unreasonin
g panic, just as his lips covered hers. In those first few moments, she struggled inwardly against shrieking nerve endings and disordered thoughts, her body remaining stiff in his arms. Her mouth was closed desperately to resist his invasion, and she fiercely called upon the concentration she’d taught herself so many years ago.
But her concentration had never run head-on into Fate.
His lips played on hers with the delicate touch of a master, soft and pleading for a response. She felt the tip of his tongue probing gently, insistently. Strong arms pulled her even closer, one of his hands sliding down her back to her hips, pressing her against the lean strength of his body until she could feel the throbbing desire he made no effort to hide.
An ache began in the pit of her belly, startling her with its suddenness. She felt her arms sliding around his waist, her lips parting with a will of their own, and realized in dismay that she had little control over the need he aroused in her.
And then Fate suddenly released her. Blinking dazedly, C.J. saw two total strangers pass them with politely averted eyes. Slowly she understood that he had lied about the girls coming.
Leaning against the doorjamb and all too aware of the unsteady legs supporting her, she stared at him. He appeared perfectly calm. Hands in the pockets of his slacks, he returned her stare with a slight smile. The purple eyes were glowing.
“Goodnight, pixie.”
Had she imagined the slight hoarseness in his voice? C.J. took a deep breath and straightened to her full height of barely five feet. “If I were you,” she said evenly, “I’d guard my back. Someone’s liable to do you a mischief.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he responded gravely.
C.J. turned, went into her room, and closed the door behind her with unnatural care. She stood perfectly still for long minutes, until she was sure that he had gone. Then she made a peculiar little sound rather like the snarl of an enraged, frustrated kitten.
