by Anne Stuart
“Maybe it’s because you outweigh me by a hundred pounds,” she retorted, draining her brandy glass in a defiant gesture. “And I’ll have you know I’m the family wino. It’s a deep, shameful secret, but I should have known I could never hide anything from you.”
“Hardly an alcoholic if it takes only two and a half beers to give you a hangover. You forget, I straightened up your living room today.” He signaled for the waiter, tossing his linen napkin on the table. “And you’re going to feel a lot worse after tonight. Two daiquiris, half a bottle of wine, and a brandy should make you practically comatose,” he said affably. “I expect I’ll have to carry you out to the car.”
“Don’t count on it,” she snapped. “I didn’t have anything to eat last night. Anyway, I think I’m getting used to drinking. What are you staring at?” she demanded as his eyes narrowed with sudden intensity as they roamed over her face.
“How did your nose get broken?” he asked abruptly.
Cathy’s hand flew to her face. “I didn’t think it was that noticeable,” she said with a shaky laugh, determined to treat it lightly.
“It isn’t. I’ve been staring at you for hours now and I just noticed. How did it happen?”
He wasn’t going to leave it alone, she realized dismally. “Oh, I had it done. I thought it would give my face more character,” she said breezily.
Sin continued to stare at her, his silence unnerving. “He did it, didn’t he?” he said finally. “Greg, I think his name was?”
There was a sudden roaring in her ears as the last vestige of color drained from her face. For a long moment she was afraid she would pass out. And then the need to run overcame her. Pushing back the chair, she grabbed her purse and ran from the room, past the crowded tables, blinded by tears, not knowing where she was going, only knowing that she had to escape from those all-seeing hazel eyes. When she reached the sidewalk in front of the restaurant she continued to run, panic-stricken, down the darkened street, the roaring sound in her ears so loud she didn’t hear the sound of his pursuit until strong arms reached out and caught her from behind, spinning her around to fall against his broad, strong body.
Sin’s arms came around her, strong and comforting, holding her trembling body against his with a solid tenderness. One hand came up and caressed her tumbled hair as she buried her face against his shoulder, wanting to hide away from the horrifying memories and this man’s uncanny knowledge of her. But there was no hiding place, not even in Sin’s arms, and after several long, shuddering minutes she pulled away, tilting her head back to stare up at him bravely.
The smile that curved his mouth and lit his eyes was curiously tender. He still retained a loose hold on her body, and one tanned hand reached up and caught her willful chin in a gentle grasp. “Sorry for trespassing,” he said softly. “Do you want me to drop the subject?”
“Yes, please.” Her voice came out in a husky whisper, and for a brief moment his hold on her tightened reassuringly. And then she was re-eased.
“I’m afraid your precipitate exit rather precluded dessert,” Sin remarked casually.
“I’m not really hungry.”
“You may not be, but I’m still starved. And I’m sure you wouldn’t say no to the best ice cream in the Washington area.”
A faint glimmer of interest penetrated Cathy’s abstraction. “Ice cream?” she echoed. “What kind?”
“Any kind that takes your fancy. Blueberry gem, maple walnut, apple-banana. Of course, the true test of a great ice-cream maker is my personal favorite—coffee.” He took her elbow in the most casual of gestures and led her back toward the car.
“Don’t be absurd,” she replied, making an effort to match his light tone. “The real test of a great ice cream is vanilla. Anyone can make a decent coffee ice cream—all you have to do is add enough coffee. They’re basically all alike any-way.”
“Oh, you think so, do you? Wait until you try Benwards’. You’ll never settle for bland vanilla again.” He smiled down at her wickedly as he opened the car door for her. “You’re too much of a woman to settle for anything as unexciting.”
“As vanilla ice cream?” she retorted, knowing perfectly well he was talking about something far removed. As always she was much too aware of the tall, strong body next to her, even more now since she’d felt those strong arms around her, that formidably gorgeous body hard against hers.
“You’re not a coward, Cathy. I’m sure that once you decide what you want out of life you’ll go for it with no holds barred,” he replied mysteriously, shutting the door behind her and moving around to climb into the driver’s seat.
“And I don’t want vanilla ice cream?” she inquired.
His eyes met hers across the soft leather seat of the BMW. The streetlight above provided an eerie illumination, making Sin’s face curiously brutal.
“It would be a waste,” he said, and then turned his attention to the demands of city driving, leaving Cathy to stare out into the brightly lit night-time streets of Washington.
* * *
Chapter Seven
* * *
It was almost three o’clock in the morning when they finally arrived back at Cathy’s apartment. If the sight of the augustly demure facade of her building set off small alarms in her brain, then Sin’s relaxed, friendly, completely nonthreatening behavior of the last few hours allayed those fears. It was almost as if, she thought with just a faintly disgruntled air, he had switched off his considerable sexuality like a light. The result had been more than enjoyable charm, but Cathy couldn’t help but wonder when the panther would reemerge.
The doorman nodded pleasantly as they walked back into the building, Sin’s hand resting lightly on the small of her back. His touch was so gentle, in fact, that Cathy wondered why it seemed to burn through the thin material of her dress. “You certainly have a great deal of security around here,” he observed as he followed her into the elevator. “I hadn’t thought Georgetown was such a dangerous area.”
“It’s not. I just feel better knowing there’s someone down there to keep out unwanted visitors. Speaking of which, how did you manage to get up to my apartment this afternoon?” she demanded.
“Speaking of unwanted visitors or security?” he returned, unabashed. “I have my ways, Catherine Whiteheart. You can rest assured, it wasn’t your very ample security’s fault. When I set my mind to something there’s very little that can stop me.
A tiny, anxious shiver ran through her at his calmly implacable words, a strange sense of inevitability washing over her. “It certainly is late,” she said nervously. “You should have told me the best ice cream in the area was in Maryland.”
Standing in the close confines of the elevator he seemed even taller than his six feet four inches. The smile he gave her was no longer as innocent as it had been. “I didn’t want to give you the chance to refuse.”
“Yes, but did you have to force me to eat so much?” she groaned, holding her stomach in mock pain. “I agreed with you that the coffee ice cream was the best in the world.”
“But how were we to know for certain unless we checked their other flavors?” he argued persuasively as the elevator doors opened with a soft swoosh.
“But twenty-four flavors?” she questioned plaintively, determined to keep up a light banter until she got safely behind her locked apartment door. “I doubt I’ll eat for days.” They were already at the shiny, black-painted door, and it was with a feeling of deja vu that she held out her hand, remembering all too well her forced politeness in dismissing him the last time he saw her home. “Thanks for a lovely dinner,” she said stiffly. “I’d invite you in for a nightcap, but it’s far too late. There’s nothing I want to do but fall into bed.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her last sentence and she felt her pale face flush a fiery red. “Still keeping me in my place, Cathy?” he inquired gently, ignoring her outstretched hand. With an easy shrug he turned. “Good night.” Seemingly with-out another thought he strode back toward t
he elevator, leaving Cathy staring after him with mixed emotions, foremost among them a perverse disappointment that he had given up so easily. As he waited for the elevator to return to the floor, he turned and leaned against the wall, hands in pockets, giving Cathy an absolutely devastating smile. And then he began to whistle.
The elevator arrived; the door swished open beside him. Those searching hazel eyes looked at the elevator, and then back at Cathy’s motionless figure waiting by her door. Slowly he straightened up, and the panther look was back on him in full. He headed into the elevator, did a sudden about-face and turned back toward her, stalking her like the jungle beast he so resembled.
Before she had time to react he had pulled her slender body against his, hard. Her hands were caught between them as she instinctively raised them to ward him off, trapped against his broad chest. “To hell with keeping my place,” he said succinctly, and lowered his mouth to hers, gently at first, as if not to frighten her. His arms were an iron band around her slight frame, allowing her room enough to move, but not to escape, as his lips nibbled at hers, slowly, sweetly, drawing from her a response she didn’t want to give. One hand slipped down her back to press her closer to him, to make her fully aware of the strength of his response to her, and the slight loosening of his embrace allowed her enough leverage to free her arms. She slid them up his chest, pushing against him for a futile, angry five seconds, and then, uttering a quiet moan somewhere in the back of her throat, she slid them around him, entwining her fingers in the long brown curls at the back of his neck.
His lips left hers for a moment, trailing a line of slow, deliberate kisses across her pale cheeks to her ear. The tip of his tongue flicked out, tracing the delicate outlines of her ear, his strong white teeth capturing her lobe with gentle nips. “Open your mouth, Cathy,” he whispered as he moved back to recapture her lips. Closing her eyes, she obeyed, letting him regain possession of her mouth even more intimately than he had before. His tongue explored every inch of her warm, moist mouth, demanding and drawing from her a response that she had never given another man. Her heart was pounding, her breath coming in quick, shallow pants, and her entire body trembled from pent-up desire. She could feel the flat surface of the wall behind her while every square inch of his body seemed burned into her flesh, and still he kissed her, as if he could never get enough of her willing mouth.
And then suddenly he moved away, out of her nerveless arms. Opening her passion-drugged eyes, she found his damnable hazel eyes staring down at her with a look of intense satisfaction.
He looked infuriatingly calm and collected, but Cathy couldn’t help but notice his somewhat quickened breathing, and her yearning flesh had felt the imprint of his desire just moments before. He was scarcely as unmoved as he was striving to appear.
But his control was certainly a great deal better than hers. A disturbingly pleased smile lit his mouth. “See you,” he said lightly, and headed back to the still waiting elevator. Whistling, damn his soul!
She waited until the elevator had reached the bottom floor before she began to fumble through her purse for her key. Her hands were shaking so much she couldn’t make it work for precious moments. When the lock finally turned she stumbled into her darkened apartment, racing across the living room to the French windows, pushing aside the curtains to stare out into the street.
Sin’s tall body emerged from the entrance and strode casually, almost jauntily to his car, apparently as unmoved by the last few minutes as she was devastated.
As he opened the door to his car he hesitated for a moment, staring up at the darkened facade of the building. His eyes went unerringly to her windows, and in the bright streetlight she could see his strong white teeth flash in a grin. The same bright streetlight, she realized with belated mortification, that would doubtless illuminate her presence at the window, staring down at him like a lovestruck teenager. Quickly she let the curtain fall, moving away from the window as if she was burned.
The open door let in the only light in the darkened apartment. As she moved across to close and lock it, she reached a stray hand to brush her still trembling lips. Never in her life had she been kissed like that. Greg hadn’t cared much for kisses, saving them for public occasions. Sin MacDonald had put more sexual energy, more sensuality and caring into that kiss than Greg had in the entire act of sex. If Sin’s mouth was that devastating, what would the rest of him be like?
“Stop it!” she cried out loud, trying to wipe such disturbingly erotic thoughts from her mind. But a short while later, as she lay sleepless in bed, the thoughts returned, the feel of his body against hers, the imprint of his questing mouth on her comparatively virginal lips. It was a long, long time before she slept. And when she finally did, her dreams took up where Sin had left off that evening.
* * *
Chapter Eight
* * *
The shrill, insistent ringing of the telephone broke through the mists of sleep. Cathy fought the nagging sound valiantly, and then was suddenly, completely awake. Her digital clock winked back at her—seven thirty. Immediately Cathy’s thoughts flew to Sin, only to release them. Sin and Charles had left five days ago, were halfway to St. Alphonse by this time.
Struggling to sit up, she glared at the phone by her bed.
“Hello!” Cathy snapped into the receiver, giving in to its demands at last.
“Cathy, thank God you decided to answer,” Meg’s voice came back over the line, blurred with worry. “I was afraid you might have unplugged the phone or something equally dismal.”
“What’s wrong?” Alarm shot through her body. “Has anything happened to the boat?” Horrifying visions of Sin MacDonald sinking beneath the angry Atlantic had her heart pounding and her palms sweating.
“The boat? Heavens, no. As far as I know, Sin and Charles are just fine. No, it’s Pops. He’s had another mild seizure.”
Cathy didn’t waste time with amenities. “Where is he?”
“At Littleton Hospital, but they’re only going to keep him overnight. It’s really not that bad, Cathy. They just want to watch him. Apparently whatever project he’s been working on has been much too stressful. And I doubt Georgia or Travis has done anything to help matters. They tend to nag at him, and you know how Pops hates nagging.”
“Have you seen him?” She hopped out of bed, the receiver tucked under her chin as she rummaged through her sparsely filled closets. “Can he have visitors? How does he look?”
“He looks fine.” Meg chose to answer the last question. “A little tired, but not bad otherwise. He’s resting right now, and the doctors think the fewer people here the better.”
“But surely that doesn’t go for me?”
“I’m afraid so.” Meg’s voice was uneasy with regret. “He really does need his rest, Cathy. I’m sure the doctors will let you in for a few minutes this evening. After all, you won’t have another chance to see him for three weeks. Our plane leaves tomorrow evening and on this short notice I doubt we could change for a later flight.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Meggie! I have no intention of going to the Caribbean when Pops is sick,” Cathy shot back. “I wouldn’t be able to enjoy myself.”
“You won’t be able to enjoy yourself out at the house. Not with Travis breathing down your neck and Georgia set on an improving course. Pops will have a private duty nurse, and there won’t be anything for you to do but sit in the middle of family squabbles. Besides, I need you, Cathy.”
The thought of her resilient, self-sufficient sister needing her younger sibling was beyond comprehension. “Don’t be silly—you’re more than able to take care of yourself, and always have been. And besides, you’ve got Charles. Pops has no one that he can really trust.”
“How do you think he’ll feel, with a tug of war going on around him? You and Travis can never be in the same room for more than five minutes without being at each other’s throats. And Georgia’s getting impossible—she must be going through the change of life.”
; A reluctant laugh was drawn out of Cathy at the thought of her elegant sister allowing her body to betray her. “Don’t be absurd—Georgia’s only forty-three.”
“But with her disposition she’s old before her time,” Meg shot back. “And she’s more than capable of keeping the house in running order while Father takes it easy. You have to come with me.”
“I can’t.”
“But what will Charles and Sin think?” Meg wailed. “They’ll be expecting you to meet them there.”
“Then their expectations will have to be dashed,” Cathy replied coolly. “I can’t leave when Pops needs me.”
“Even though I might need you more?” Meg’s voice was distraught.
“Meg, I can’t! You, of all people, should know I have to be with Pops when he needs me.”
But Brandon Whiteheart seemed to have little need of his youngest daughter after all. He greeted her from his hospital bed, looking deceptively robust despite the faint, grayish tinge around his mouth, with a gruff, “What’s all this idiocy about not going to St. Alphonse with Meg?”
Unintimidated, Cathy shot back, “And what’s all this nonsense about another heart seizure? I expected to see you flat on your back, looking at least slightly cowed, and instead you sit there looking hale and hearty. Faking again, Pops?” she queried as she bent to kiss his cheek.
“You know me, daughter, always looking for attention,” he replied gruffly, pleased by her concern. “My doctor tells me I’ve been working too hard. Too much stress, he called it. As if anyone could live without stress in this crazy world today.”
“I’m sure he’s right. Travis has been telling me you’re up to your ears in intrigue—secret meetings, mysterious phone calls and the like. What’s going on, Pops?”
“None of your business. Since when have I confided in a young thing like you about my personal affairs?”