Chain of Love (8 page)

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.

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?”

“Don’t try to look fierce with me, Pops,” Cathy replied, unmoved. “Though I know from long experience that if you don’t want
to tell me anything I may as well not even bother asking. When are they going to let you out of here?”

“Tomorrow afternoon. And don’t you bother about coming to see me—I know you’ll be getting ready for your trip to the
Caribbean.”

“I would be if I had any intention of going,” Cathy responded demurely. “As it is, I’ll just move my things out to the house and
await your return.”

“No!” There was something curiously akin to panic in his husky voice. “I don’t want you out there. I can’t bear having
everybody fussing over me.”

Cathy’s forest-green eyes met his calmly. “I can be just as stubborn as you, Pops, and if I’ve decided that I’m not going to St.
Alphonse there’s nothing you can do to make me go.”

“You don’t think so?” He met the challenge stonily. “We’ll have to see about that. I’m not so sick that I can’t
still get exactly what I want. I have ways, daughter, that you wouldn’t even begin to imagine.” ‘

“Really?” she shot back. “You should know by now that I’m more than a match for you.”

“We’ll see,” he promised grimly. “We’ll see.”

The next day was far too busy to allow Cathy much time for second thoughts. There was no way in heaven she would spend the next few weeks at Whiteoaks
unless armed with a large enough stack of novels to keep her safely occupied, away from the myriad delights of backbiting and gossip offered by her
discontented siblings. Then she had to unpack her suitcases, dumping the warm-weather clothes and replacing them with jeans and sweaters to keep her
warmer, although they were certain to turn Georgia pale with horror. At the last minute she packed Sin’s Irish knit sweater. After all, he’d
have no use for it down in the Caribbean, and he hadn’t asked for it back.

For a moment she allowed herself to wonder whether he would regret that she hadn’t come. Meg had maintained a stony silence since her final plea last
evening, and Cathy couldn’t decide whether she was relieved or disappointed. Heading down to St. Alphonse with Meg would have been playing with fire.
Despite the fact that Sin MacDonald seemed scarcely interested in her, hadn’t called her in the three days before he’d set sail, Cathy
couldn’t shake the remembrance of his devastating kiss in the hallway. If only she could decide what had provoked it. Was it a mere whim, a passing
fancy, or a matter of habit? Maybe he was so unsure of his masculinity that he had to go about forcing it on any female who was less than interested.

Much as she wanted to believe that, it was too far-fetched. Sin knew only too well that beneath her cool exterior she had been fascinated despite herself.
And she had yet to meet anyone less unsure of his masculinity.

She couldn’t think of Meg without a wave of guilt washing over her. It wasn’t often that her sister asked anything of her, and to have to turn
her down was painful beyond belief. But Cathy’s family ties were strong, and her thwarted need to be needed overwhelming. As long as she felt her
father truly needed her, and Meg only wanted her companionship, then there was no question where her duty lay.

Glancing at the clock by her bed, she allowed herself a noisy, far from satisfactory sigh. Six fifteen, and Meg’s plane would be leaving in less than
two hours. Knowing her sister’s almost excessive punctuality, Cathy had little doubt that Meg would already be en route to Dulles Airport, without
having placed a last minute call to her sister, to cajole, to threaten, or at least to let her know she was forgiven. It was unlike Meg to hold a grudge,
but in this matter she had used every trick she could to change Cathy’s mind. Cathy had remained adamant, but now, as she watched her clock and
sighed, she wondered whether she had made the right decision.

The ringing of her doorbell interrupted her reveries, the buzz shrill and angry in the silent apartment. It was amazing, Cathy thought as she closed her
suitcase and headed toward the door, how expressive a mechanical device such as a doorbell could be. There was little doubt that whoever was ringing was
quite furiously angry, a supposition that was borne out as a loud pounding began.

“All right, all right, I’m coming,” she shouted crossly as she fiddled with the various locks and bolts. Before undoing the final one she
peered through the peephole, encountering a broad, blue-clad chest.