Chain of Love (7 page)

“Cheer up, Cathy,” he said gently. “It won’t be so bad. I promise you, I can be a perfect gentle-man when the occasion calls for
it.”

“But will the occasion call for it?” she wondered aloud. And she also wondered if gentlemanly behavior was what she really wanted from him.

His smile deepened, so that the one, unforgettable dimple appeared beside his sensuous mouth. Suddenly, as if on impulse, he bent down and brushed his lips
against her unwary mouth. It was so fleeting Cathy wondered if she dreamed it. Sin straightened and moved away. “I’m afraid, knowing you, that
I’ll have to be on my best behavior, or you won’t come with us to St. Alphonse.”

“True enough,” she agreed, wondering if it really was. “Does it matter that much whether I come or not?”

He nodded. “Meg really needs you.” They were not the words she would have chosen to hear. “See you at seven.”

The door closed behind his broad shoulders with a tiny, well-oiled click. Cathy stood there, staring at the blank, white expanse of the door, lost in
thought. Haven’t I learned my lesson, she demanded of herself dazedly. Haven’t I had enough of handsome men to last me a lifetime? With a sigh,
she went back to her coffee, wondering what on earth she would wear that would both entice and discourage Sin MacDonald.

In the end she settled on a simple black silk dress, one that clung to her high, firm breasts, swirled around her gently rounded hips and hugged her
slender waist. It was a very deceiving dress, seemingly demure until Cathy’s graceful body moved beneath it. She both hoped and feared that Sin would
notice.

She shouldn’t have had any doubts. When he arrived at five past seven the look in his hazel eyes was both guarded and more than flattering.
“That’s a very dangerous dress, Cathy Whiteheart,” he said in a low, deep voice after a long, silent stare.

She controlled the impulse to say, “What, this old thing?” She had bought the dress for Greg, bought it the day she returned back home from
shopping to find him in bed with a strange woman. She had never worn it, and suddenly she was glad she had decided to ignore her misgivings. It
wasn’t the fault of the dress that she associated it with Greg. Besides, Georgia’s cutting words had an unpleasant edge of truth to them. The
remainder of the clothes that took up only a small portion of the space in her walk-in closet were un-imaginative, unflattering pastels and flowered
prints. She either looked like a schoolgirl or a housewife in most of them—even Greg at his most charming had been far from pleased with her
wardrobe. But she had never had much interest in clothes. At least, not until recently.

“I’m afraid I don’t have anything to offer you in the way of a drink.” She made her voice cool and composed, something she was far
from feeling. The mere sight of his tall, strong body, clad in gray flannel slacks, a black turtleneck, and a Harris tweed jacket that showed off the set
of his broad shoulders was enough to send her pulse racing. His lazy smile and the promise in his smoky hazel eyes just about proved her undoing.

“That’s all right, Cathy.” He draped her jacket around her shoulders, the hands lingering for a delectable moment. “We can easily
have a drink at the restaurant. I wouldn’t want to put you out.”

For one mad, impetuous moment Cathy knew the overwhelming desire to lean her head against that broad, deep chest and close her eyes, give over her troubles
and responsibilities into his large, capable hands. She looked up, her green eyes meeting his for a long, pregnant moment, and then she blinked rapidly,
moving away. “We’d better leave,” she said, and her voice was noticeably shaky.

Damn him and the devastating effect he had on her. Tender amusement lit his eyes as he took her unwilling arm. “Certainly, Cathy. It’s just as
well. When I promised you could trust me to behave like a gentleman I didn’t know you were going to wear that dress.”

His skin seemed to burn through her clothing. She couldn’t free herself from the nerve-shattering effect of his presence. In the luxurious confines
of his BMW he seemed overwhelming, magnetic, and far more man than she was capable of dealing with at that point in her life. But the invisible wall she
tried to erect toppled every time he smiled at her, touched her, and it took far too long to rebuild it each time. The day would come when she could no
longer do so, and she didn’t know whether she dreaded or longed for it.

She had steeled herself for an ordeal during dinner, fending off all that flirtatious charm, but as they took their seats in the elegant, secluded confines
of the restaurant Sin suddenly became completely businesslike, treating her with a polite, distant charm that left her both relaxed and ever so faintly
disgruntled. She scarcely tasted the delicious food he ordered for her, drank far too much of the excellent Bordeaux, and watched the candlelit shadows
play across his strongly handsome face with bemused fascination.

That swift smile lit his face as he finished his brandy. “Have you been listening to a word I’ve said?” he asked. “You look like
you’re in another world, although it’s obviously a much pleasanter place than the one you usually inhabit. What are you thinking about?”

“You,” she answered forthrightly enough. “I know absolutely nothing about you. Do you work for a living?”

The smile deepened. “Now and then.”

“At what?” she persisted.

“At whatever takes my interest at the time,” he replied. “Any more questions?”

“If I had them, you’d be unlikely to answer,” she shot back, nettled.

“How can you say such a thing?” he mocked gently. “Anyway, I bet I can answer them without your having to ask. I’m thirty-six years
old, six feet four, two hundred and ten pounds, single, unemployed, unattached, and I drink Scotch.”

“Fascinating,” she murmured.

“And then we come to you. You’re five feet eight or nine, about a hundred and twenty pounds, twenty-six years old, independently wealthy,
currently unemployed, unattached, and suffering from a mysterious and ill-advised broken heart. You drink imported beer and anything else I offer you,
probably from a lack of interest rather than alcoholic tendencies. And for some reason I make you damned uncomfortable.”

“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.

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
the 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.