Chain of Love (3 page)

Turning, she tensed, waiting for some crack. In the darkened cabin he seemed impossibly huge, towering above her, his sea-blown brown curls almost brushing
the ceiling. His sunglasses were still perched on his nose, and Cathy wished she still had similar protection from his probing eyes.

She could only be grateful the dim, shadowed light hid her reddened complexion.

“Did you bring a windbreaker?” he questioned after a long moment, and Cathy’s shoulders relaxed. “You’ll be too cold without
one—the breeze is pretty stiff.”

“I forgot,” she mumbled, dropping her gaze from his face. Unfortunately, in that tiny space, there was little else to look at besides his body,
and she decided that concentrating on his stomach or anywhere else below would be unwise. She stared fixedly at the curling hair at the open collar of his
shirt, keeping a blank expression on her face.

To her intense relief he backed away, rummaging underneath one of the bunks and coming up with an Irish knit sweater that would probably reach to her
knees. He tossed it to her, showing no surprise as she adeptly caught it, and pulled another out for himself. “Put that on,” he ordered
casually, pulling his over his head. “It’ll be too big, but it’s the warmest thing I’ve got.” Still she stood there, holding
the sweater in motionless hands. He started toward the steps, turned and gave her a semi-exasperated glance. “Look,” he said, running a
harassed hand through his already rumpled hair. “I promise to stay at the other end of the boat if that’s what’s bothering you. Your
sister and brother-in-law are really worried about you. It would be nice if you could make an effort to be sociable.”

She hesitated for a moment longer. “I’ll be out in just a minute,” she said finally, shrugging into the heavy sweater. “And you
don’t have to stay at the other end of the boat,” she mumbled into the sweater.

He moved back, a glimmer in those hazel eyes. “What did you say?”

“I said you didn’t have to stay at the other end of the boat,” she repeated patiently, hoping he couldn’t see the deepening color
on her pale cheeks. “I’m sorry if I was rude to you.” She placed her sunglasses back on her nose and gave him a trace of a smile.

His smile widened, the dimple appeared, and the laugh lines around his eyes crinkled behind the dark glasses. “That’s perfectly all
right,” he murmured. “I’m quite rude on occasions too. Truce?” He held out one hand. Cathy stared down at it for a moment. Her
father said you could always judge a man by his hands and his eyes. She had already observed that his eyes were kind and humorous, much to her dismay. The
hand in front of her was large and capable and well-shaped, the fingers long and tapering, the nails short and well cared for, unadorned by any rings. She
put her slender hand in his, feeling it swallowed up in his strong grip. He let go far too quickly, his hand reaching out to take her elbow.

“Shall we join the others and tell them the war’s over?” he inquired, a trace of laughter in his deep voice.

“Might as well. I don’t want to have to spend he entire day in the cabin,” she replied with a trace of her old spirit, and was rewarded
with a laugh.

“Well, for that matter, I could always keep you company. I’m sure we’d have no trouble finding ways to spend the time,” he said
casually.

He must have felt her entire body stiffen through the light clasp on her elbow. Yanking her arm from his grasp, she started for the steps. “No, thank
you for the kind offer,” she snapped, shaking with an overwhelming rage and something not far removed from panic. She had barely taken two steps when
his hands reached out and caught her, turning her to face him and holding her upper arms in an iron grip.

“Hey,” he said softly, his forehead creased, “what’s gotten into you? I was only kidding.”

“Well, kid with someone else,” she cried, knowing she sounded neurotic and completely out of control. “I don’t need Meg finding
someone to flirt with me to take my mind off my problems, and I don’t need—”

He shook her, briefly but quite hard, and the words rattled to silence. “Let me make one thing clear,” he said in his deep still voice that had
a curiously enervating effect on her. “I flirt with almost every pretty lady I see, unless I’m with someone, and you, despite your monumental
bad temper, are one of the prettiest women I’ve seen in a long time. I don’t need Meg to encourage me, and she knows she wouldn’t get
anywhere if she tried. Is that understood?” When she refused to answer he shook her again, hard. “Is it?”

“Yes, sir,” she muttered, with little grace.

He laughed then, loosening but not releasing his iron grip on her tender flesh. “Now are you ready to go above and be the nice, sweet girl I know you
are beneath that bitchy exterior?”

He was smiling down at her, that beguiling little smile, and Cathy could smell the salt spray and the tangy scent of his cologne, combined with the
intoxicating smell of his sun-heated flesh. She made a face. “Yes, sir,” she said again, deceptively meek.

“Good,” he said, leading her toward the steps. “But let me tell you one thing, my girl. You don’t fool me for one moment.”

“I wasn’t trying to,” she shot back, starting up the stairs. “And you, Sinclair MacDonald, don’t fool me either.” She
didn’t know why she said it, and she was totally unprepared for his response.

“Really? I wouldn’t count on it.” And he followed her out into the bright sunlight.

After their disturbing little confrontation in the cabin, things were surprisingly better, Cathy realized as she leaned back against the duck-covered
cushions out on deck. If she didn’t know it was impossible, she would have said she was enjoying herself. The blueness of the sky, the sea all around
them, the easy, non-demanding company, including Sin MacDonald, seemed calculated to relax her wary suspicions. Stifling a yawn, she shook her silver-blond
hair about her shoulders, staring out at the horizon with a preoccupied air. The breeze was chilly, but Sin’s sweater was more than up to the task of
keeping her warm. She would have liked to dispense with it—it was a toss-up as to which would be more disturbing: chattering teeth and blue lips or
the insidious scent of Sin’s aftershave as it clung to his over-sized sweater.

“More wine?” Sin offered lazily, and for a moment Cathy hesitated. The chilled white wine was delicious, but she had no head for alcohol. To be
sure, Meg would take care of her and see that she got home safely, but...

“No, thank you,” she replied politely enough, not missing the amused light in his eyes at her somewhat stilted courtesy. “I’m so
full I couldn’t move.” As if on cue, Meg rose from her seat behind her sister and wandered forward to join Charles. Cathy tensed her muscles,
prepared to join them, when Sin’s broad hand reached out and stayed her. She sat back down on the shiny wood deck, unwilling to come in actual
contact with him again. She was far too susceptible to his very potent charm.

“I think your sister and Charles would like some time alone,” he said, making no effort to cross the three feet that separated them on the
small square of deck. “They’re still practically on their honeymoon.”

“They’ve been married eighteen months,” she shot back.

“As I said, they’re practically newly weds. You know, Cathy,” Sin observed meditatively, “I am hardly likely to throw you down on
the teak deck and rape you. Particularly with an audience.”

Embarrassment and irritation warred for control, with embarrassment having a slight edge. She lowered her confused eyes to the deck, thankful once more for
the sunglasses. “Is it teak?” she inquired with just a trace of agitation in her voice. “I assumed it was some sort of synthetic.”

“I’m not much for synthetics,” he stated, not bragging, merely as a statement of fact. And Cathy found she was inclined to agree.
Everything about him was alarmingly real. “Why don’t you relax?” he added. “I promise you you’re safe from ravishment right
now.”

“I always assumed I was,” she said boldly. “After all, I doubt I’m the type to interest a man like you.”

“A man like me?” he echoed, arrested. “And what would you think that is?”

He had a lazy half-smile on his face as he leaned back against the bench, his long legs stretched out on the deck in front of him. Cathy hesitated, wishing
irrationally that he would take off those shielding sunglasses, at the same time maintaining her own for protection from his all-seeing eyes.

“Afraid to tell me?” he taunted gently. “I know enough about you already to be certain you’ve made some very arbitrary judgments
about me. I’d be interested in seeing how astute you really are. Not that I think I’d have a snowball’s chance in hell of changing your
mind once you make it up.”

“You’re quite right.” She sat up straighter, curling her legs up underneath her to put even more distance between his overwhelming
masculinity and her own frailty. “You strike me as someone who’s very sure of himself.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Overly so?” he inquired pleasantly.

“Bordering on it,” she shot back. “You’re used to being found attractive by women, and can’t quite comprehend that any poor
female would be immune to your charms. You spend a lot of money on your pleasures, like your boat and the wine. You’re probably quite vain, indolent,
and you’ve already proven yourself to be sexist...”

He took this litany in quite good part, reaching into the cooler by his side and retrieving a beer. An imported German one, of course, Cathy noticed as
further proof of his sybaritic tendencies. “I sound like quite a worthless fellow,” he observed easily. “Haven’t you anything good
to say about me? No redeeming qualities?”

She considered this. “Since Charles and Meg like you, you can’t be all bad.”

“Dogs and children like me too,” he offered meekly.

“You sail well,” she continued sternly, ignoring his interruption. “And you have excellent taste in your expensive wines and such.”
She hesitated for a moment. For some reason Sin seemed to be waiting for more. Determined to be frank and bold and take the wind from his sails, she added,
“And you’re not bad on the eyes, either.”

Whatever he had been expecting, that obviously wasn’t it. A slow smile creased his tanned face. “High praise, indeed. You, however, are staying
immune to my overwhelming physical attractions?”

“Completely!” she replied, edging slightly farther away from him. No matter how far she moved, he still seemed too close. She supposed he
couldn’t help being intimidating, he was so damned huge. “Just as you are to mine.”

He pushed the sunglasses up to his forehead, surveying her through half-closed eyes, that smile still playing on his lips. “What makes you think
I’m immune to you, Cathy?” he asked softly, and the caressing sound of his voice sent a small shiver down her back, despite the heavy sweater.

“You assured me I was completely safe from—from ravishment, I believe was the word you used.” She could feel the color come up in her
face once more.

“That wasn’t exactly what I said. I said you were safe, ‘right now.’“ He rose in one fluid, graceful movement, towering over
her. “That doesn’t mean I’ll wait forever.” And before she could reply with more than a gasp of outrage, he had made his way
forward to join Charles and Meg.

Cathy stared after him for a long moment, awash with conflicting emotions. Emotions that couldn’t be completely defined as outrage. There was
something akin to excitement at the thought of Sin MacDonald directing all that tightly leashed masculine energy in her direction. Aghast at her own
wayward thoughts, she hastily got to her feet, gathering up the debris of their luncheon and carrying it below. She couldn’t tell whether it was the
effect of the hot sun, or that intense look Sin MacDonald was giving her from across the boat, but she suddenly felt it imperative to have a few moments to
compose herself before subjecting herself again to that piercing, hazel stare. And her sister was far too knowledgeable, besides.

She delayed as long as she could, cleaning up the remains from their picnic, straightening the tiny galley and removing every last trace of their
occupation. It was half an hour before she finally ran out of things to do, and she considered returning Sin’s heavy sweater to the footlocker. But
they were still about an hour out of port, and the wind had gotten substantially chillier as the afternoon shadows deepened. Obeying an impulse, Cathy
slipped into the head, shut the door behind her, and turned to stare at her reflection in the mirror. The sunglasses covered fully half of her face, with
only her pointed chin and hollowed cheeks and pale, tremulous mouth visible beneath the long curtain of silver-blond hair, now rumpled from the salt
breeze. Taking off the glasses, she peered at her reflection. The green eyes were large and sad and wary in her pale, oval face, and the hours in the sun
had brought forth a faint trace of freckles across her delicate nose. Ignoring the beauty that she had always failed to recognize, she decided she looked
like someone recovering from a long illness.

With a sudden start she recognized the key word. Recovering. She never thought she would, or could, recover from the devastating blow Greg Danville had
dealt her heart and her pride, not to mention her body. But recovering she was, slowly, unsteadily, but quite definitely, thank you. The very thought was
amazing. Crossing her eyes and sticking out her tongue at her Ophelia-like reflection, she planted the protective sunglasses back on her nose and joined
the others on deck, curiously cheered by her short moment of insight.

“What are you looking so bouncy about?” Meg inquired casually, turning to survey her.

“Why shouldn’t I be bouncy? It’s a beautiful day, I’ve been entertained and well-fed. There’s no reason I shouldn’t be
feeling good,” she replied evenly, keeping her eyes averted from Sin’s interested expression.

“No reason at all,” her sister echoed, obviously mystified. “We’ve been hatching up a marvelous plan while you were below.”

“Really?” She leaned against the railing, folding her arms across her chest and willing herself to relax.