Chain of Love (20 page)

Once more his hand trailed down her body, to dance lightly across her stomach, down to her thighs, and then away. Wordlessly she arched her body, vainly
trying to reach his dilatory hand. He moved up and kissed her again, and this time she opened her mouth eagerly to him, her tongue meeting his in a tiny
duel of passion that promised no victor and no vanquished. And then as a reward his hand moved back, to the very center of her longing, stroking her with a
knowledge that scorched her even as it brought her to the edge of oblivion.

Finally he released her wrists, levering his body across hers. She should push him away, she told herself dazedly, wrapping her arms tightly around him as
her hips pushed mutely against his hand.

“Say it,” he whispered in her ear, his breath hot on her yearning flesh. “Tell me you want me.

She shook her head, clamping her strong white teeth down on her lips that would have told him anything he wanted. Abruptly his hand left her.

“No,” she whispered, tears streaming down her pale face unbidden, the final vestiges of control vanishing. “No,” she repeated,
refusing to give him his last victory. He knew as well as she did how much she wanted him; she wouldn’t give him the final triumph of begging him.

He stared down into her tear-drenched face for a long, unfathomable moment, and in the darkness his face was anguished. And then his mouth caught hers as
he completed their union, his body taking hers with a mastery that left him as much a slave as she was.

Helplessly she fought the spasms that washed over her, the feel of his strong, powerful body above her, between her, inside her. But it was a useless
struggle, one Sin knew he would win long before he carried her into the cabin. Wave after wave of ecstasy washed over her, and dimly she could hear a
voice, her voice, sobbing in fulfillment.

It seemed a long time later that he lifted his spent body away from hers. Gentle hands reached up to smooth her face, and his head bent low to capture her
lips. She turned her face abruptly away, her eyes shut tight, the tears still streaming down her flushed face. She could feel him hesitate above her, and
the thumbs kept stroking her tear-drenched cheeks.

“Cathy,” he said gently, his voice tender.

“Go away,” she grated, her body stiff in his arms. “Haven’t you done enough?” She opened her eyes to stare at him with
unalloyed hatred. “I’ll never forgive you for that! Never!” Her voice was low and bitter, and there was no doubt that she meant what she
said.

Slowly his arms released her, the loving tenderness wiped from his face, leaving it blank and cold once more. “No,” he said wearily, sitting up
and reaching for his discarded jeans, “I don’t suppose you ever will.” And a moment later he was gone, closing the door silently behind
him.

The engines throbbed to life. He was taking her back, she realized numbly. Traveling at night had suddenly lost its lack of appeal. Turning her face into
the pillow, Cathy wept.

Cathy pressed her foot down on the accelerator, speeding along the Virginia countryside as if the devil himself were after her. When, in fact, he’d
abdicated, leaving her to wake, alone and bereft, on the docked ship on the busy island of St. Alphonse. There had been no sign of him as she hastily
scrambled into her clothes, and she hadn’t wasted time looking for him. At the last moment, pulling the thin cotton shirt over her head, she noticed
the gold chain that still circled her waist. With a savage yank she ripped it off, breaking the delicate links. Throwing it on the rumpled bed, she pulled
at her gold wedding band, intending that it should follow suit. But the wedding ring stuck. Desperately she pulled at it, all the while looking over her
shoulder, terrified that Sin would reappear and once more exert that devastating power over her. Finally she gave up, grabbing her duffel bag and purse and
running from the small yacht without a backward glance, racing along the busy docks of St. Alphonse until she reached the street and the safe haven of a
taxi. She leaned back, her breath coming in sobbing rasps, as she sped her way to the airport. She could always send him the damned ring.

Two hours later she was on a flight to New York. She had taken the first available plane, determined to put the island and her so-called husband behind her
as quickly as she could. A night at the airport hotel provided little solace. She could wash the sand, suntan oil and the scent of Sinclair MacDonald from
her body. But she couldn’t wash away the feel of his hands on her, the way his long, lean body claimed hers with such deliberate lingering. Sleep had
eluded her, and she was on her way by seven that morning, taking the air shuttle back to Washington and a taxi to her apartment in Georgetown.

But instead of the haven she expected, she stared at the walls in mutinous hatred. Without a conscious decision she emptied her duffel bag of the
warm-weather clothes, filling it haphazardly with sweaters, jeans, and turtlenecks. Every warm pair of socks she owned ended in the bag, along with a stack
of novels and her seldom used paints. She had only one duty to perform, and then she’d be free. She stopped for a moment at her bank, and then was
off, speeding in her little red Honda Civic down the cool autumn highways to her father’s estate.

For once none of her siblings was in sight.

There was no Georgia sweeping down the stairs to cast disbelieving eyes over her disheveled appearance, no sneering Travis to puncture her with sly
innuendos. She left the car directly in front of the wide front steps, prepared for a hasty exit, and made her way directly to her father’s study. He
greeted her precipitous arrival with a scowl, his heavy white brows drawn together.

“It’s about time,” he snapped. “I’ve sent Travis out looking for you. Why in hell didn’t you call? When did you get
in?”

“Last night,” she said shortly, throwing herself down on the leather love seat.

His frown deepened. “That’s it? Two words? No kiss? No, ‘Hello, Pops, I’ve missed you’?”

She eyed him with deceptive calm. “No. Not until you explain what you thought you were doing, siccing Sin MacDonald on me. Why couldn’t you
have told me what Greg was trying to do? I certainly wouldn’t have defended him.”

“How was I to know that?” he countered, moving around the front of his mahogany desk. “You’d been pretty well hooked on him, not to
mention putting up with his... peculiarities willingly enough.” A look of distaste shadowed his aristocratic face.

Cathy’s heart stopped for a moment, then thudded, her face flushing. “Who told you?” she gasped. “Oh, why should I bother
asking?” she added bitterly. “Your hired stooge must have provided you with all the intimate details of my past relationships. After all, you
were paying him to spy on me, among other things.” For some reason she had thought she couldn’t hurt anymore, but the thought of Sin spilling
her confidences in her father’s disdainful ear was still a further twist of the knife that skewered her heart.

“As a matter of fact, it was Danville who bragged about it,” her father said heavily. “Just to convince me how much power he had over
you.” He moved closer, sitting down beside her and taking her limp, unresisting hand in his blue-veined one. “Listen, honey, I was just trying
to protect you. Sin MacDonald is the best in the business—I thought I could count on him to distract you and keep you out of Danville’s way. I
had no idea he’d go overboard like that. I would have thought arranging to share your hotel room would have been enough.”

Another blow to Cathy’s solar plexus. “You mean that was part of the whole entrapment?” she demanded.

“Sin’s a real professional. Of course he arranged it. And if he felt he had to marry you to do his job, then he’d do it. Trust Sin to be
thorough.”

“I thought it wasn’t a real marriage,” Cathy said in a small voice.

“Apparently it is, according to Sin. I can’t imagine why, unless he thought you’d see through a phony one. Not to worry, though. My
lawyers can dissolve it in forty-eight hours or less. I’ll have Harris come over this evening with the papers. ...”

“I won’t be here.” She rose abruptly.

“What do you mean, you won’t be here?” her father echoed uneasily. “Of course you will. Meg and Charles are coming for supper.
She’s afraid you might be mad at her. I told her no such thing, but I don’t think she’ll believe it till you tell her yourself.”

“Is she really pregnant?” Cathy snapped, striding to the window and looking out at the winding drive, the neatly landscaped lawns. “Or
was that all part of your master plan?”

“Of course she’s pregnant! What kind of Machiavelli do you think I am?” he demanded, affronted.

“I really don’t know. All I do know is that I’m not staying.” She turned back to face him, and her face was bleak beneath the honey
gold of her newly acquired tan. “I’m going away for a while. Where no one can find me, or bother me. I would suggest you don’t try to
find me, Pops. I wouldn’t take kindly to another Sin MacDonald showing up at my doorstep.”

“But—but what about your annulment?” he protested. “You’ll need to sign the papers if we’re going to get moving on
it.”

“Let Sin file for the annulment,” she said bitterly. “After all, with the nice little bonus you’re going to give him he can well
afford it.”

“Cathy, Cathy, I don’t know what’s gotten into you, girl,” her father sighed. “I was only looking out for your
interests.”

“I’m sure you were, Pops,” she said steadily. “But right now it’s time for me to take care of myself. I’ll call
you.” Without another word she turned her back on him and left the house, ignoring his angry calls. She passed Travis’s Peugeot on the winding
drive, ignoring his look of surprise, her face determinedly forward. And she refused to look back until she reached Vermont.

The next six weeks were long, pain-filled ones. As she burrowed into the tiny log cabin halfway up a mountain, she reveled at first in her isolation. None
of her family would ever stop to think of Alice, her old college roommate, much less remember that she owned a house and twenty acres in Vermont. She was
safe to enjoy herself in her solitude. She read every book in the tiny house, then began making periodic forays to the two-room library in town to stock up
on mysteries, romances, biographies, and thrillers. Deliberately she kept all thought of Sin MacDonald from her mind, even when her eyes happened to glance
down at the thin gold band that still adorned her finger. It came off easily enough now. Cathy had lost weight, her figure taking on a more willowy look,
but for some reason she kept the gold band firmly in place. It was when she found that she wasn’t pregnant that she began to realize why. Of course
she hadn’t wanted to be pregnant, she told herself sternly. Not under those circumstances. She had thought it through very calmly when she realized
there was a possibility. She would have an abortion. After all, everyone did nowadays. And what kind of life would the poor baby have, born to a father who
manipulated women and a mother who was hopelessly in love?

That was the key to the matter, Cathy realized, curled up on the couch, her slender fingers wrapped around a cup of coffee. A mother hopelessly in love.
Although not a mother this time. And probably never would be. At least, not to Sin MacDonald’s children. And instead of relief she felt an aching
emptiness.

She should write him, she thought for the twentieth time. Send him his damned ring, and inquire politely if he’d gotten the annulment. After all, she
should find out whether she was still a married woman or not. Not that it mattered. In the tiny village of Appleton the only single man was eighty-four and
stone deaf. She was hardly besieged by eligible admirers.

But days and weeks passed, and the ring stayed firmly on her finger, and the letter remained un-written. Until finally, on impulse, as the steep hills were
covered with a fresh dusting of snow, she drove into town and placed a long-distance call to Meg.

“Hello?” Meg’s somewhat breathless voice came over the line, and Cathy realized with a shock that she hadn’t seen her sister since
her wedding day.

“Hi, Meggie,” she said softly.

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. “Cathy?” she shrieked joyfully. “Oh, my God, is it really you?”

“It is, indeed,” she answered with a laugh, the tension draining from her. “How are you doing? How’s Junior coming along?”

“Oh, he’s fine. Hanging in there like a trouper. I’m fat as a pig already, but at least the morning sickness has passed. But where in
heaven’s name are you, Cathy? We’ve been worried sick. Pops calls me almost every day, asking if I’ve heard from you.”

“Do me a favor? Tell him I’m fine, but don’t tell him anything else. I—I’d rather keep away from him and the family for a
while longer.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “It still hurts, does it?” she asked quietly.

“Only when I laugh,” replied Cathy grimly. “So tell me, what’s the news? How’s Pops doing?”

“Pops is just fine, but madder than a wet hen at you for running out. Charles is in seventh heaven, preparing for fatherhood, and Georgia is being as
meddling as ever.” She paused deliberately. “Oh, and you’ll want to hear the latest on your exlover.”

Cathy’s heart lurched to a stop. “Not really. I couldn’t care less about Sin MacDonald.”

“I wasn’t talking about Sin. I mean Greg Danville. He’s in jail, you know.”

“In jail?” She was only vaguely interested. “Why?”

“He was brought up on assault charges. Apparently he beat up a young lady who just happened to be a senator’s daughter. I gather he
doesn’t even want to be bailed out. But then, who can blame him after what happened?” There was another suggestive pause.

“All right, Meg, I’ll bite. What happened?” Cathy asked wearily.

“Well, just before Greg was picked up he got into a barroom brawl. Apparently he was just sitting in a bar in Georgetown, minding his own business,
when this real tall guy came in and picked a fight with him. Broke his nose in three places. The guy sounded a lot like Sin.”