“What—what do you think you’re doing?” she managed to squeak at last.
“Why, taking advantage of your somewhat blatant offer, of course,” he responded as though she had just hung out a red light and a shingle.
“I didn’t!” she protested indignantly.
“Sure you did,” he murmured, dark head swooping and sensuous lips unerringly finding her startled ones.
Shock kept C.J. powerless in his embrace for long minutes, that and the strange quivering in her knees. She felt his mouth moving expertly on hers, his tongue probing with the stark thrust of possession, and a sudden heat enveloped her.
Her arms were beginning to creep up around his neck when sanity abruptly asserted itself. Oh, for heaven’s sake—! She twisted suddenly, escaping his hold and ducking under his arm to retreat to the middle of the room. “Get out of here,” she ordered, hearing with a small astonishment the breathlessness in her voice.
He turned and came toward her, a peculiar little smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
She retreated another step and cast a harried glance toward the phone by her bed. “I’ll call the manager.”
“You can’t reach the phone,” he taunted softly, still coming toward her. “Not without going through me.”
Panicked, C.J. took another step backward and came up against the bed. Her eyes widening, she said quickly, “I’ll scream,” and opened her mouth to do just that.
And then, suddenly, she was falling back on the bed with the stranger for company. He caught most of his own weight on his elbows, but C.J. nonetheless had the sensation of having the breath knocked from her.
Staring down into shocked tawny eyes, the stranger said solemnly, “Little girls shouldn’t invite strange men into their bedrooms. Especially beautiful little girls with copper hair and tawny eyes and a smile like Venus herself. It’s just not safe.”
C.J. was suddenly, burningly aware that this man had been having a bit of fun at her expense. “I’m not a little girl,” she snapped. “And get off me!”
He rolled away to sit on the edge of the bed, grinning now. And that grin, C.J. noted unwillingly, softened his stern Indian-face into something charming and strangely endearing. With a shock of black hair falling over his forehead, he looked like a playful little boy.
She shoved the impression aside and raised herself on her elbows, glaring at him irritably. “Do you want an explanation now?”
“The timing seems right for it,” he murmured, but held up a hand when she would have begun. “Wait. Strangers should be introduced. I’m Fate Weston.”
“You’d have to be,” she muttered. Fate, for heaven’s sake.
“I beg your pardon?” His lurking grin showed that he’d heard her quite clearly.
“Nothing. I’m C.J. Adams.”
“What does the C.J. stand for?”
“None of your business.”
“Oh.” He didn’t seem noticeably dashed. “Well, on with the story.”
C.J. toyed with the idea of throwing something at him after the somewhat mocking remark. Since nothing was within reach, she contented herself with deepening her glare. It didn’t seem to bother him, so she sighed and explained the situation. She went rather more into detail than she’d planned, mainly because Fate inserted a question now and then, and she answered automatically.
She explained that they were here in Aspen for Kathy’s wedding, that they’d be joined on Friday (barring a blizzard) by four husbands and one fiancé. She provided thumbnail sketches of her friends, and the matchmaking which had caused her to pull a stranger from the hallway and invent a spur-of-the-moment, mysterious romance.
Feeling more and more like a fool—an unfamiliar sensation—she silently blamed her impulse on sheer insanity and hoped that he’d leave so that she could go soak in the bathtub and quietly drown herself.
Fate didn’t laugh at her, however, but listened gravely. “So you wanted to teach your friends a lesson and get them off your back,” he summed up when she had finished.
“Something like that,” she said, and moved around to sit on the foot of the bed. She intended to tell him politely that since he had his explanation he could leave now, but he didn’t give her the chance.
Getting to his feet, he paced slowly over to the window, slanted brows drawn together in a thoughtful frown. “This,” he said consideringly, “is going to take careful planning.”
“What is?” she asked blankly.
Fate turned to look at her, propping his shoulder against the window frame. “Our romance, of course,” he said solemnly.
C.J. said the first thing that came to mind. “Are you crazy?”
“Now, darling,” he said reproachfully, “you shouldn’t say things like that to your one true love.”
“You…you…” she sputtered ineffectually.
Fate went on as though she were listening eagerly. “There has to be some reason why you’ve been hiding me all this time. Star-crossed lovers? Maybe I have a wife somewhere…. No, that wouldn’t make you look too good, would it? Or me either.”
“If you think—”
“Parental disapproval? No, we’re both a little old for that. At least—How old are you, by the way?”
“Twenty-six. You—”
“Well, I’m thirty-four, so that disposes of the parental disapproval bit. How about a conflict of interests? What do you do for a living?”
“I’m a research librarian. I’m not going to—”
“I’m a lawyer. I don’t see any conflict there, do you? Unless you don’t like rough winters—I work in Denver…. But that can’t be because you’re here in Aspen.”
C.J. took a deep breath and, tired of being interrupted, spent a good five minutes swearing at him in half a dozen languages, using words her professors never taught her. She even came up with a lovely medieval insult, and then capped off the whole with some choice gutter French.
And even in the midst of her tirade, she was astonished at herself. C.J. didn’t swear. Her friends would have been stunned to hear such words coming from their quiet, inoffensive C.J.—particularly since none of them had been able to rouse her to temper after twenty years of needling.
Fate Weston had accomplished the feat in a little less than twenty minutes, with no effort at all.
In spite of her red hair, she was a very even-tempered woman—or had been up to now. In twenty-six years, her most violent anger had taken the form of mild irritation.
Until now.
Fate listened with twitching lips to her tirade, then asked interestedly, “How many languages do you speak?”
“Six,” she replied from between clenched teeth.
“That’s fascinating. But, back to the romance. Why haven’t you introduced me to your friends? They’re going to ask, you know. And we have to come up with a reasonable, logical—”
“There’s nothing even remotely reasonable or logical about this farce. And no matter what you may be thinking right now, I did not come here to provide entertainment for bored lawyers!”
Fate folded his arms across his chest and smiled gently at her. “Then what will you tell your friends?”
C.J. opened and closed her mouth a few times, then said triumphantly, “I’ll tell them we had a lovers’ quarrel and broke up.”
“And don’t you think,” he suggested mildly, “that your friends will try to get us back together again?”
She could feel the threads of the tangled web slowly drawing her in. He was absolutely right—damn him. “Then I—I’ll tell them I made the whole thing up,” she managed weakly.
“And be teased unmercifully for the rest of your vacation about accosting strange men in hallways?”
TWO
EVEN WITH ONLY thumbnail sketches of her friends, Fate had managed to put his finger right on the crux of the problem. C.J. would have been willing to do almost anything to avoid more teasing from her friends. After twenty years, she was thoroughly fed up with that. An
d only just realizing it.
She rubbed her forehead fretfully. “Oh Lord, how did I get myself into this mess?” she moaned hopelessly.
“Spilled milk,” he murmured. “But since you are in this mess, the least I can do is help you out of it. Now, how did you and I meet? They’re bound to ask that.”
“I don’t know!” she wailed, glaring at him.
“You’re not helping, C.J.”
“Look, this is not going to work. I can’t pretend that I’m in love with you—I don’t even know you.” Something inside C.J. gave a little quiver as she realized that she was actually considering the idea…seriously.
Smiling oddly, he said, “You did a pretty good job of pretending out in the hall.” He obviously enjoyed her confusion, then went on in a reasonable, matter-of-fact tone. “It shouldn’t be any problem for either of us, I think. All of you will be pretty busy getting ready for that wedding on Saturday, so we won’t have to spend much time together this week, especially after your friends’ husbands arrive. So all we have to do is to appear together from time to time and hold hands or something, then disappear and trust everyone to be nice and tactful.”
“They won’t be,” C.J. said wearily, her thoughts chasing one another in panicky circles as she tried to come up with another way out of this mess. “You don’t know my friends. They’ll ask questions. And questions. And they won’t rest until they know the whole truth. I won’t have a moment’s peace and neither will you; believe me, they won’t be the slightest bit reticent about questioning you.”
Fate didn’t seem daunted by the prospect. “Then we’ll have to get our story straight, won’t we?” He sat down in a chair near the foot of the bed and smiled at her.
C.J. looked at him for the first time with real curiosity. “Why are you doing this? I mean, you could simply leave me to sink or swim and not bother.”
“Would you believe love at first sight?” he asked with a hopeful expression.
“Not hardly,” she responded dryly.
“Oh. Well…let’s just say that I’m a frustrated actor at heart. Most lawyers are, you know.”
C.J. had the curious impression that he was laughing at her…but kindly. As if there were some private joke concerning her that he wanted her to see for herself. Maybe it was that odd little smile she kept glimpsing.
Without the slightest bit of self-consciousness, she stared at his face thoughtfully. Although she certainly had noticed his good looks, things had been happening too rapidly for her to really take in the individual features. Curious about what sort of man would throw himself cheerfully into the small deception of a woman he’d never meet before, she studied him now.
If character was truly revealed in one’s face—and C.J. had never been completely comfortable with that theory—then Fate Weston had a great deal of it. His mobile mouth was not only sensual, but filled with humor. There were faint laugh lines at the corners of his dark eyes which added to the impression of humor, and she was almost positive she’d seen an elusive dimple in one lean cheek.
Point one, then: the man possessed a sense of humor.
The dark eyes gazed calmly back at her as she thoughtfully considered these supposed windows to the soul. Heavy-lidded, intelligent, and perfectly capable of concealment, she mused silently. There was a native shrewdness in them which told her that this man hadn’t needed college or a law degree to be considered intelligent. She found herself wondering exactly what color they were. Blue? She peered a bit more intently. No—purple. How odd. Deep, velvety purple. She filed the information away.
Point two: he was intelligent and wouldn’t reveal his thoughts unless he chose to.
Unaware of the silence which had descended upon the room, C.J. continued her scrutiny, still without self-consciousness.
His jaw was firm without being overly aggressive, his chin slightly stubborn but not obstinate. The set of his head told her that he was proud—perhaps even arrogant. Bone structure was very good: strong, well-molded, creating stark planes and angles which were striking at first glance…and fascinating with each succeeding glance. A solemn Indian-face, turned to boyishness with a smile.
Point three: he was very attractive, and probably perfectly well aware of that fact.
Her eyes glided over the relaxed body in the chair. Having come into rather abrupt contact with that body, she could attest to its muscled firmness. If he wasn’t an athlete, then he certainly took good care of himself.
Which only added to point three.
And when all three points came together, they added up to something which quite easily could turn a woman’s world upside down before she could grab something to hold on to.
C.J. was startled at the unquestionably feminine thought, and even more startled when her tawny eyes slid back up Fate’s body and came into contact with his purple gaze. There was an unsettling warmth in those eyes, along with a faint question.
She looked away hastily, shaken without knowing why and fighting a bewildering sudden, unfamiliar urge to reach out and touch him. She had never been so aware of another person in her life, and it gave her a strangely naked, vulnerable feeling. A feeling that she didn’t like at all.
“Satisfied?” Fate asked softly.
“I don’t know what you mean.” C.J.’s eyes skittered across the room and collided with her reflection in the mirror. The tawny eyes staring back at her were feverish, oddly shocked. Unfamiliar eyes that belonged to someone else.
“With the inventory,” he elaborated a bit dryly, and then went on briskly, “Facts, Miss Adams, we need facts. Now, where could we have met?”
C.J. made a desperate effort to pull herself together, and forced her gaze to meet his calmly. Every instinct she possessed—latent feminine instincts neither needed nor wanted until now—warned her not to play any kind of game with this man. But the warning was a challenge in itself, and C.J. never refused a challenge.
And that lifelong pull of the new and exciting quite suddenly made up C.J.’s mind for her. Her mental warning wasn’t the only challenge floating around in the room at the moment; there was also a coolly amused, half-mocking challenge in the purple depths of Fate’s eyes. Sparks of gold defiance glittered in her eyes unconsciously as she met the challenge halfway.
“You don’t seem to see the pitfalls looming in front of us,” she warned. “I’m what’s known as a ‘studious’ person.” She hated the word, and offered it with a faint grimace. “My friends and I have known one another practically since the year one. It won’t be easy to convince them that I’ve been having a romantic fling or whatever in the study room of the library.”
His lips twitched slightly in that way which was beginning to fascinate her.
“What about vacations?”
“We’ve spent every vacation since high school together.”
“What a chummy group,” he remarked. Before she could respond, he went on easily. “Well, then, let’s come up with some period during which we could have met. A romance such as ours…two months, I’d say. Where were you two months ago?”
C.J. thought for a moment, getting interested in his plotting in spite of herself. “Two months ago, I was at a librarian’s conference in New York.”
He brightened. “Terrific! At the same time, I was in New York on business. And I stayed at your hotel. Now, how did we actually meet?” He paused, then grinned at her. “Pity we can’t at least be truthful about our meeting—that’s one experience I’ll treasure for years.”
C.J. flushed and glared at him briefly. Then, sighing, she got up and walked around to the side of the bed. Glancing his way, she was faintly surprised at his sudden stillness, the watchful eyes, but paid little attention to it. Since his plotting was obviously going to take a while, she stretched out on the bed on her stomach, head at the foot of the bed, and propped her chin in her hands. “Go on, Maestro…how did we meet?”
An odd little sigh came from Fate, almost unconsciously it seemed. Very softly, he said. “Thought you we
re going to call the manager for a minute there, pixie.”
C.J. felt a flush creeping up her cheeks, and hoped devoutly that her fingers hid the evidence that she’d never even considered it. “Oh, darn,” she managed to say regretfully, “missed my chance.” Judging by the glint in his dark eyes, he wasn’t deceived, but Fate ruthlessly turned the conversation back to the original topic.
“Let’s say we were introduced by a mutual friend.” He steepled his fingers over his lean waist and stared at them thoughtfully. “How does that sound?”
“Fishy. I don’t have many friends in New York.”
“One will do,” he pointed out patiently.
“Touché,” she said with a reluctant sigh.
“Okay. We tumbled headlong into love and had a passionate week.”
“Weekend. I was only in New York for the weekend.”
“That’s not very much time,” he protested, wounded.
“Sorry, Maestro. But Jan knows when I got home, because I had dinner with her and Brian.”
“Now why the hell did you have to do that? You’re ruining my chain of events.”
Amused, she said again, “Sorry. But how was I to know I’d be called upon to have time to fall in love?”
Fate lifted an eyebrow at her and reflected. “Well…what the hell. We had a passionate weekend. Threw caution to the wind. Became so engrossed in each other—”
Before he could warm further to his theme—as he showed every sign of doing—she interrupted to say practically, “But I was busy with the conference both days. I barely had time to eat, much less—”
“You’re just not entering into the spirit of this, C.J.,” he interrupted in an aggrieved voice. “Your friends weren’t—I hope—with you, so they don’t know what you did.”
“That’s true,” she said, reluctantly. “So we had a passionate weekend. Then what, Maestro?”
“We parted,” he answered with great relish. “Tearing out our souls in agony.”
“If it tore out our souls to part,” she said, regarding him with utter fascination, “then why did we?”