Chain of Love

by Anne Stuart

  Cathy hesitated, still bemused by his kiss. He took a mock threatening step toward her. “Unless you’d rather spend the afternoon up here with me...?”

  Grabbing her terry cloth coverup, far better suited to her new bikini than to her grandmother-suit, she ran.

  * * *

  Chapter Thirteen

  * * *

  It had been an exhilarating afternoon, Cathy decided as she surveyed her reflection in the bathroom mirror still clouded with steam from her shower. A perfect, golden glowing moment in time, when all that seemed to exist were the sea and the sun and the sand. And Sin’s long, leanly muscled body lying by her side, the teak-bronzed flesh glistening in the hot sun. If she hadn’t known better she would have thought he did it on purpose. That brief excuse for a swimsuit that stretched across his slim hips left little to Cathy’s imagination, an imagination already overactive. The laughing light in his hazel eyes as he caught her hand and pulled her after him into the warm, salty water was far too knowing, but for some reason Cathy no longer minded. It was enough to be with him, laughing in the sunlight, her body drifting against his in the turquoise sea, collapsing exhausted side by side, arms brushing, legs touching, hands reaching, innocently, knowingly.

  Sin had sat up abruptly, shaking the water out of his brown curls as he rested his arms on his drawn-up knees. He turned his head to meet her questioning, lazy glance as she lay there in the sand. Reaching out one tanned hand, he gently brushed the sand from her flat stomach, then smiled as she tautened her muscles in an involuntary reaction to his intimate touch. His eyes met her troubled green ones, and she had the uncanny feeling that he knew everything that was going through her head that afternoon. Knew it, and was amused by it. And yet the smile on his face was so tender as he leaned over her that she couldn’t summon forth her usual outrage. Or even any fear, she thought with belated wonder. Sometime during the last twenty-four hours, some way, she had given her trust to him. And she knew with a sudden, blinding clarity that if he climbed into her bed that night she wouldn’t stop him.

  She took more than her usual care dressing that evening. Sin was sitting on the balcony, already in the elegant black dinner clothes that suited him so well, a German beer in one hand and a paperback thriller in the other. He’d barely looked up when she’d disappeared into the bathroom, content with lazily telling her to take her time. Such a domestic scene still unnerved her, filling her with all sorts of strange emotions, foremost among them a wistful longing for what was doubtless out of reach.

  “Ridiculous,” she told herself out loud, brushing a gold-tinted blusher across her high cheek-bones. Sin MacDonald was hardly the marrying sort, and besides, she had only met him a couple of weeks ago. With an artfulness that she seldom employed she creamed her eyelids with a bronze-gold, then darkened her lashes with a practiced hand. Pursing her warm red mouth, she eyed her reflection warily. With the gold-tinted makeup she looked vaguely exotic, and her silver-blond hair tumbled down her back in artful waves that owed more to the moist sea air than to a hairdresser’s art. Taking a few steps back, she stared at the pink silk dress. It clung to every soft, ripe curve of her body, a body, she told herself firmly, that Sin had already seen far too much of in the bathing suit. At least this covered her, although the front hugged her round breasts beneath the decolleté and the back was nonexistent. It certainly had to be considered a bit more demure than the bikini, although looking at it Cathy was assailed with sudden doubts. Perhaps the cotton dress...

  “Courage, ma vieille,” she whispered stoutly. There was nothing wrong with her appearance. As a matter of fact, she looked almost beautiful that night. Her sea-green eyes glowed with anticipation, her mouth was tremulous with inner excitement. “You’ll do,” she whispered.

  “Who are you talking to?” Sin’s voice queried amiably through the door. “I thought you were alone in there.”

  Bracing herself, she opened the door. “I was talking to my former self,” she said bravely, strolling to her closet with a casualness that took her a huge effort to maintain. Her thin, gold-strapped sandals were there on the floor. They would have made her tower over Greg, but Sin would need more than a three-inch heel on his lady to feel dwarfed. His lady, she thought wistfully, sitting down on the bed nearest her and slipping on a sandal.

  The thick silence penetrated her determined air of calm, and she looked up suddenly, still holding the second sandal. Sin was standing a few feet away, watching her with a completely unreadable expression on his face, his eyes hooded in the twilight evening.

  “Is something wrong?” she inquired anxiously, and discovered that her heart was pounding. He took a slow, menacing step toward her, followed by another, and the look of the panther was about him again. He stopped when he reached the bed, and it took all Cathy’s willpower not to cower back against the pillows. Determinedly she stiffened her spine, and looked way, way up into his enigmatic face’.

  “That dress,” he said finally, “is outrageous.” His voice was low and husky, setting her nerve ends to trembling.

  “Outrageous?” she echoed, wondering if she should feel flattered or miffed.

  “Outrageous,” he confirmed. “You better hope your father never gets a look at it—he’d lock you away from all us voracious males. What do you call that color? Pink?”

  She licked her suddenly dry lips. “I guess so.” She still couldn’t quite read his reaction.

  “I’ve read there’s a certain shade of pink that’s supposed to be soothing to the savage breast. They’ve been experimenting with it in mental hospitals and jails, trying to calm dangerous in-mates. I can tell you right now that isn’t the shade of pink they’re using,” he growled. Suddenly he leaned over her, one long arm on either side of her, his face close enough to hers that she could feel his warm breath on her face, see the light in his eyes that removed the last trace of self-doubt.

  “That color,” he continued huskily, “makes me very, very dangerous. And you’re sitting on my bed.” Slowly, inexorably, his mouth descended, giving her more than enough time to escape from its overwhelming claim on her senses. But she had no intention of escaping. At the warm, wet taste of him her last defense crumbled, and she opened her mouth willingly to his probing tongue, her hands reaching up to clutch his shoulders in a convulsive grip. Slowly she felt herself lowered onto the bed as his body followed her down, his hands trailing up her silken body to catch her full, straining breasts. “No bra,” he murmured against her mouth. “You shouldn’t be allowed out.” His mouth left a slow, deliberate trail of kisses down her neck as he rolled over and covered her slight body with his, one leg between hers as he continued his leisurely exploration of her soft, warm body. The peaks of her nipples had hardened beneath his practiced touch and with aching deliberation he let one strong hand trail down her midriff, across her abdomen and then below, his long fingers spread out over the pulsing warmth of her, his fingertips caressing lightly, teasingly through the clinging material, until she arched her back, pressing her hips against his hand in mute supplication.

  Her hands slid from his shoulders to his chest, to meet the frustrating expanse of cloth that separated his body from hers. She wanted to feel his warm, heated flesh beneath her hands, let her fingers trail through the short curls of hair. She reached up to fumble with his tie when one hand reached up and caught her wrists, yanking them over her head and holding them there as he moved to cover her body completely with his. The clothes between them only seemed to heighten the sensations.

  “Don’t mess with the tie,” he said lightly, his eyes smiling down into hers. “I spent almost half an hour getting the damned thing right, and I’m not about to let you undo all that hard work.”

  Cathy’s breath was coming in short, heavy gasps as she looked up at him. Never had she felt more vulnerable, her body at his command, completely open to him as he continued to hold her arms above her head in a grip that for all its gentleness would allow no escape until he was good and ready. If it weren’t for h
is slightly quickened breathing and the feel of his desire against her hips she would have thought this was no more than a game to him. But instinct, long dormant, told her this battle was just as important to him as it was to her.

  “Sin,” she began hesitantly, only to have her mouth stopped by the gentle pressure of his lips. Before she could move to deepen the kiss he had pulled away, getting to his feet with one lithe move and pulling her with him. She swayed for a moment, then caught herself.

  “You’d better keep off the bed when you wear that dress,” he said briefly, turning his back on her and running a cursory hand through his rumpled hair. “We’re running late.” He moved to stand by the door, ill-concealed impatience in his large frame.

  Cathy started toward him, then realized belatedly that she still had only one sandal on. “You go ahead,” she said. “I have to find my other shoe.” It was nowhere in sight. Getting to her knees on the thick shag carpet, she peered under the bed, keeping her face averted. Confusion and hurt were warring with the remnants of warmth that lingered from his embrace.

  “Where did you last have it?” He sounded subdued, preoccupied. Keeping her back to him, Cathy sat back on her knees, staring about her with unseeing eyes. “Don’t worry about me,” she said in a muffled voice. “If I can’t find it I’ll wear something else. Go on ahead,” she repeated, her voice catching a tiny bit. She could only hope he didn’t notice.

  Two strong hands reached beneath her elbows and pulled her to her feet before turning her unwilling body to face his stern regard. “Cathy,” he said wearily, “we’re only playing this by your rules. There was nothing I wanted more than to stay in that bed with you just now. But you aren’t ready, are you?” She refused to answer, staring mutely at her feet, and he gave her a little shake. “Are you?” he repeated, his fingers tightening on her soft, golden arms.

  “No,” she said, meeting his gaze fearlessly, wondering if she lied. The scent of him was a powerful aphrodisiac, that mixture of aftershave and sun-heated skin, brought out by the sensual exertion of the last few minutes.

  His smile was just cynical enough to make her uncomfortable. “Your shoe is over by the balcony,” he said coolly, releasing her arms and moving away.

  She slipped it on as quickly as she could, not daring to stop by the mirror to check her appearance. She must look a wreck, she thought with a sigh as she preceded him into the hallway.

  They rode down in the elevator in silence, Sin’s expression abstracted. “Wait here for a moment,” he ordered when they reached the lobby. He disappeared and Cathy wondered for a miserable moment if he’d abandoned her. It was probably no more than she deserved, after having led him on like that. A tease, that was what she was. Just a cheap, selfish little tease. She wouldn’t blame Sin if he never wanted to see her again. He was probably trying one more time to find another vacancy on the tiny island of St. Alphonse rather than have to spend another night with—

  Long, cool fingers pressed against her hot skin, lifting the silk curtain of her hair. “Hold still,” Sin’s voice murmured as she jumped nervously. The strong, intoxicating scent of gardenia assailed her nostrils, and she watched with mingled wonder and suspicion as Sin fastened the flower above her ear with deft fingers.

  “A peace offering,” he said lightly as he took her arm. “I don’t usually sulk.”

  “Sin, I’m sorry...”

  “Hush. You don’t need to apologize,” he murmured. “We can talk about it later.”

  “Good heavens, Cathy!” Charles greeted her approach with flattering amazement. “I always said you were beautiful, but that dress is a knock-out.”

  “It certainly is,” Meg endorsed her husband’s approval. “It looks even better on than I would have expected. And that flower is just the perfect touch.”

  Cathy slid into the chair Sin was holding for her, her hair brushing his fingertips. “Meg helped me pick it out.”

  “Meg Whiteheart Shannon, I should have known you’d be to blame,” Sin mocked. “Always leading innocents astray.”

  “But you’ve got the flower wrong,” Charles said with a sudden frown. “Didn’t Sin tell you? You’re supposed to wear it behind the right ear. If you wear it behind the left ear it means you’re already taken. Engaged, married, in love, whatever.”.

  Cathy turned to meet Sin’s bland expression. He had always struck her as a man who left little to chance. “You should have told me,” she said accusingly. She reached up to move it, but his hand forestalled her, the hard fingers cool on her heated flesh.

  “Leave it.”

  Her eyes met his for a long, startled moment. And then she dropped her hand.

  * * *

  Chapter Fourteen

  * * *

  The music was soft and seductive, flowing gently around them. It was all Cathy could do to keep from swaying slightly in time with the hypnotizing rhythm. Determinedly she stared into her champagne glass, swirling the dregs, and keeping her attention as far from the dance floor as she could. Never did she think she would be jealous of Meg, but there she was, looking up into Sin’s interested gaze, her still slender body cradled tenderly in his strong arms. Where she had absolutely no business being, Cathy thought, slopping a bit of champagne onto the tablecloth.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to dance?” Charles queried with a trace of anxiety.

  “Not right now,” she replied a trifle shortly, allowing herself a brief, painful glance in her sister’s direction. Sin chose that moment to laugh uproariously at one of Meg’s witticisms, and the unrestrained amusement was like a sharp pinprick to Cathy’s already exacerbated temper.

  “I can’t imagine why Sin hasn’t asked you to dance yet,” Charles observed with tactless curiosity. “It’s not like him to be remiss in these things.”

  “I think the problem, Charles,” Cathy explained with deceptive calm, “is that you’re assuming Sin and I are a couple. We happen to be sharing a room, but we might as well be strangers for all that. I assure you, our relationship is strictly platonic.”

  “Is that why Sin had your lipstick on his mouth?” her brother-in-law queried in dulcet tones. “I know you too well, Cath.”

  The music ended at that moment, before Cathy could come up with a suitable retort. And then Sin was towering over her, a bronzed hand on her arm.

  She turned and gave him her frostiest glance. “Yes?”

  He was unabashed. “Are you ready to dance?” he inquired evenly.

  “I don’t really think so,” she drawled. Paying absolutely no attention to her demurral, the hand tightened, she was pulled unceremoniously to her feet, and moments later she was out on the dance floor, securely captured in his arms. One hand had captured hers, the other pressed against her waist, pushing her gently against his lean male strength.

  “Now who’s sulking?” He pulled her a tiny bit closer, with bare inches between their bodies.

  “I am not sulking,” she said defiantly. “I’m merely a little—a little...”

  “Irritated?” he supplied sweetly.

  She glared up at him. “That’s as good a word as any,” she shot back. “You’ve danced three times with Meg, and now, finally, you deign to ask me to dance, never for a moment considering that I may have lost interest—”

  “I was waiting for a nice, slow one,” he broke in, pulling her the rest of the way into his arms and pressing her head against his shoulder. She knew she should struggle, try to move away, but she did seem to fit so well.

  “Why the sigh?” he inquired, his voice rumbling pleasantly beneath her ear.

  “You’re a bit too much for me,” she confessed, lulled by the intoxicating warmth of his body and the slow, sensuous strains of the music. The hand at her back was caressing her lightly as it pressed her closer to his hips, and little tremors were dancing up and down her narrow and mostly exposed spine. The hand stopped for a moment, then moved onward.

  “You forgot to take off the chain,” he said lightly.

  Cathy foun
d she could be grateful to the dim light and her position against his shoulder. There was no way he could see the telltale color flooding her face. “I didn’t want to,” she whispered, and had the dubious satisfaction of having his arms tighten around her.

  “Sin, darling!” A shrill, affected voice broke though her reverie, and she jerked herself away as if burned, to come face to face with a tiny, vivacious brunette. One red-tipped hand was on Sin’s black dinner jacket, and the look on her sophisticated face was, to Cathy’s mind, frankly acquisitive. “I couldn’t believe it was really you! When I’ve been searching high and low for weeks now, all over Washington and New York. I never for a moment-thought I’d find you here in St. Alphonse. Isn’t this rather far afield for you, darling? I mean, it isn’t your vacation, is it? You’re always so terribly frugal with your vacations, when I don’t see why you need to be. After all, what’s the good of owning your own company if you can’t do as you please?” Her light laugh rang out. By this time the music had stopped, the band had departed the bandstand for a short break, and Cathy longed more than anything to escape. But Sin’s hand was still firm on her arm, not about to let her go.

  “Hello, Joyce,” he greeted her evenly when the flow of words had come to a temporary halt. “I hadn’t expected to see you here.”

  “Well, of course you didn’t, darling. And I scarcely expected to find you here either, though I remember the time we came down together .”

  She let the phrase trail meaningfully, more than aware of the effect her supposedly artless conversation was having on the female half of her audience. Her luminous brown eyes swept over Cathy’s figure, a flash of envy for the dress clouding them momentarily. And then her red lips curved in a bright smile. “And who’s your little friend, darling? I hadn’t heard you were seeing someone new. Unless, of course, she’s involved in—”