by Anne Stuart
“No, thank you. I’ve been out in the sun too long as it is. I’m going to take a shower and then a nap.” She managed a convincing yawn, despite the fact that her earlier lassitude had vanished.
“See you, then.” A moment later he was gone, the door closed and locked behind his tall, well-shaped back. There was one problem with this situation, Cathy thought belatedly. It was all very well and good to share a room platonically, when Sin MacDonald had as much interest in her as if she were his sister. And an older sister at that.
But it would have been a hell of a lot better if she were equally indifferent to him.
* * *
Chapter Eleven
* * *
A long, cold shower might not have worked wonders, but by the time Cathy had washed the salt out of her hair and dried it in the soft trade winds off her balcony, then dressed for dinner and downed an icy piña colada, she was feeling up to facing almost anything. If only, she thought mournfully, she had managed to pack some of her new clothes. The one dinner dress was a boring cotton A-line with a high neck, an outfit that Georgia had once stigmatized as worthy of a grand-mother from Hartford. It wasn’t quite that bad, Cathy thought, twirling in front of the full-length mirror and posing coquettishly. The predominant colors were a shell pink that gave her skin a special glow and a sea green that matched her eyes. If the cut did nothing for her figure, well, then, at least it didn’t make her look dumpy. Just sort of boring. It was fortunate she wasn’t out to entice any man, wasn’t it? she demanded of her reflection. Her reflection responded with a frankly skeptical look.
The bathroom had almost broken her resolve. Sitting on the shelf beside her meager stash of makeup was a brown leather shaving bag. Hanging on the back of the door was a velour robe, still damp from his shower, and on top of the sink was his toothbrush. It was all so uncomfortably intimate, just as if they were an old married couple.
But damn it, if he could survive this situation unmoved, then she would hardly be the one to cry coward. She could be just as cool and remote as he could, she told herself. She could take things in her stride.
It was a decided shock to watch all six feet four of Sin MacDonald stride into her bedroom as if he belonged there. As indeed, he did, Cathy reminded herself from her perch by the window.
“You’re already dressed,” he observed as he crossed the room. “Good. It won’t take me long to change. I told Meg and Charles we’d meet them down in the Windjammer Room.” He already had his shirt halfway over his head. Cathy allowed herself one furtive glance at all that sun-bronzed flesh before returning her attention to the sea outside the balcony. Tossing the shirt on his bed, he stood there, his eyes alight with amusement. “I bet I’m supposed to change in the bathroom.”
“You guessed right. I may as well go down.” Cathy headed toward the door, only to have her bare upper arm caught in his iron grip. He held her gently, but there was steel in his fingers, and Cathy knew perfectly well she wouldn’t escape until he was ready to let her go.
“You may as well wait for me,” he corrected gently. “If you were rooming with another woman you’d wait, wouldn’t you?”
Reluctantly she nodded. “I suppose I would.”
“So, you see. You can be just as polite with me. Besides, I hate to enter a dining room alone. Makes me nervous,” he announced cheerfully.
“Liar. Nothing short of a great white shark would make you nervous,” Cathy joked back feebly.
Sin’s grin broadened, and with his other hand he gave her a mock clip on the jaw. “That’s it, kid. Don’t let me browbeat you.” He released her arm, grabbed a pile of clothes and disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Cathy to stare after him with a bemused smile on her face.
Dinner was a great deal more relaxed than Cathy had anticipated. For one thing, Sin seemed to go out of his way to be charming in an easy, comfortably nonthreatening manner. Not a glance, not an innuendo that wasn’t entirely proper was cast in her direction. The subjects ranged from the lengthy trip down on Tamlyn and the various squalls the men had run into, to Meg’s morning sickness to the myriad delights of the shopping on St. Alphonse.
“You mean to say you haven’t been into town yet?” Sin demanded, astonished, as they were finishing their after-dinner coffee. “I don’t believe it. I’ve never heard of a woman who passed by the chance to go shopping.”
“Sexist,” Cathy replied lazily. “Not every female jumps at the chance to spend a day wandering around crowded shops.”
“Every one I’ve ever met has,” he replied frankly. “You must be a very unnatural woman.”
The lazy smile vanished from Cathy’s face instantly as her blood seemed to freeze. I won’t make a scene, she told herself. I’ve already stormed out of a restaurant once, I won’t allow myself to do it again. If I just take a few deep breaths it should be all right. One. Two. Three. There, I’m just fine.
“Are you all right, Cathy?” Meg’s worried voice broke through her abstraction. “You suddenly look quite pale.”
Managing a light laugh, Cathy shook back her hair. “It’s nothing. I’m just tired, I guess. Too much time in the hot sun. I don’t think I’ll come to the casino with you. Gambling doesn’t hold that great an attraction for me anyway, and I’m quite exhausted.”
“But it won’t be any fun without you!” Meg pouted.
“Don’t be silly. You’ll have two handsome men at your side—you’ll be in seventh heaven,” she replied weakly. “And if you’ll all excuse me, I think I’ll go on up now.” Before anyone could do more than protest she had slid from behind the table and headed for the door with as much speed as a graceful departure could manage.
The beach in front of the hotel was blessedly deserted. The moon was getting on toward full, shining down on the water and up the sand in a trail of moonfire. Slipping off her high-heeled sandals, Cathy moved down the beach by the water, the cool, wet sand beneath her bare feet soothing. It was very peaceful and quiet, with only the sound of the water lapping gently on the shore and the trade winds rustling the palm trees to keep her company. The lights of the hotel were hazy behind her, casting a soft glow over the beach. Heading for the farthest beach chair, she sat down on the wide chaise longue and pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and hugging herself against the loneliness of the night.
His voice was gentle on the night breeze. “May I sit with you?”
She had felt his presence from a long way off, though his approach across the sand had been silent. Somehow she had known Sin MacDonald wasn’t going to leave her to her misery alone on the beach. She kept her eyes on the shimmering water in front of her, wondering what would happen if she refused to answer. Would he take matters into his own hands and sit beside her? And then she could fence with him and perhaps take his comfort without having to put forth anything of her own.
But Sin knew her too well. He continued to stand there, calmly, patiently, awaiting her answer.
“Yes, please,” Cathy whispered in a very small voice. Without a word he settled down beside her, his long, tuxedo-clad legs stretched out in front of him, the moonlight shining on his white shirt-front. It had been a considerable surprise to Cathy—how well he looked in evening clothes. She had imagined with his broad shoulders and craggy good looks that he’d appear out of place in anything besides corduroys or faded denims. But he had confounded that vague hope, appearing in black tie and looking, if possible, even more devastating.
The chaise longue, built for two occupants, was suddenly far less roomy. Cathy could feel the length of his thigh pressed against her hip, and the intimacy of it sent her heart racing.
Sin, however, appeared unmoved by her proximity. He leaned back and stared up into the starry night sky. “There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” he inquired gently. He reached out and took her hand in his large, capable one, and immediately Cathy felt the same feelings of power and warmth flowing through her. It was a comfortable feeling.
“No,” she agreed. “Not so hard.�
�� They sat in companionable silence, and the sound of their breathing mingled with the sea and the wind.
After a long moment he spoke. Cathy could feel his breath stirring her hair, knew his probing eyes were upon her. “What did he do to you, Cathy?” The question was gentle, and for the first time in four months Cathy knew she could answer.
“You don’t really want to know.” She hesitated with a trace of grimness. “It’s not very pleasant.”
“I hadn’t imagined it would be. I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know,” he replied. His hand reached up behind her neck and she felt herself being drawn inexorably closer, to rest against his broad shoulder. One arm was around her, holding her close to the sweet-smelling warmth of him, as the other kneaded the base of her neck with slow, sure strokes. “I don’t think you’re going to get over it until you tell someone. And I think your roommate is as good a person as any. I’m not likely to condemn you or pass judgment.”
Cathy could feel the tension drain out of her as she was enveloped in his calming strength. “I condemn myself,” she said in a soft, bitter voice. “For being such a fool, and for going back for more. I should have known he was only interested in my money. There were enough signs of it. But I simply refused to see it.
“You see, I loved him. He was the only man I’d ever slept with, the only man I trusted enough to go to bed with. And he was so patient with my problems, and understanding, so how could I help but be grateful? He had to put up with so much from me, I felt I should... I should...” Her voice strangled to a stop, and she shut her eyes. Sin’s gentle hand kept stroking the back of her neck.
“What problems, Cathy?” His voice was a deep, gentle rumble beneath her head. “What did he have to put up with, that you should be so grateful?”
I don’t believe I’m talking about this, Cathy thought mistily. It’s as if he has some magic power over me, enticing from me all my deepest secrets. “I...don’t enjoy having sex,” she confessed finally.
“Says who?” His arm tightened around her, and Cathy could feel a strange tremor pass over his body, followed by another. Almost like a smothered laugh. But he couldn’t be laughing.
“Greg. You see, I didn’t—didn’t respond at first. It was a long time before I could even enjoy the thought of making love with him. And even when I could, it took me so long to warm up, to respond to him... that he’d be finished. He said he didn’t mind, but I know he did. And he told me I was unnatural, once when we were having a fight.”
“No wonder you got upset at dinner. He sounds like a real charmer, your Greg. When did he break your nose?”
“I don’t—don’t remember,” she said faintly.
“Why not?” He was inexorable. “It won’t help you to block things out. The sooner you remember and face it, the sooner you’ll get past it.”
“It’s not that—that I’ve forgotten the night,” she confessed. “It’s just that... it could have been one of several.”
The soothing fingers stopped for a moment, then continued in their circular, gentling motion. “He used to hurt you a lot?” There was a grimness in his voice.
“Only when he got so frustrated with me that he couldn’t help himself. He was always miserable afterward.” Cathy’s voice was urgent with the need to find excuses. “Or at least, that’s what he said,” she added lamely.
“And how long did you put up with this?”
She bit her lip, stealing a hesitant glance up at his moonlit profile. She could read no condemnation in his shadowed features, only dark concern. She took a deep breath. The worst was over anyway—there was little more he could find out to disgust him. “Until the day I came home and found him in bed with a strange woman. In my apartment. In my bed. I never went back. I found another place to live and bought all new things and I haven’t seen him since. So I suppose I’m not the abjectly miserable coward I thought I was. I did finally say no.”
There was a long silence. And then his hand slid around from behind her neck and caught the side of her face in a gentle hold. “Cathy,” he said softly, “did it ever occur to you that Greg did more than abuse you physically? That his lies about your sexuality were just that, lies to cover up his own inadequacy.” His eyes were glittering down into hers in the moonlit night, and there was sadness and a great tenderness in them.
“But then why am I still so frightened of men?” she cried. “And why do I freeze when anyone gets close? The very idea of making love makes me break out in a cold sweat, and...” Her voice trailed off before the faint smile that lit his eyes and played on his face.
“It’ll pass,” he said softly, and bent his head down to hers, blocking out the moonlight. His mouth caught hers, gently, sweetly, his lips teasing hers with little nibbles, refusing to let her escape, until she opened her mouth beneath his to let him deepen the kiss, his tongue searching every corner of her mouth until she was over-come by a longing she had never felt before, except for a few moments in her hallway two short weeks ago. He was seducing her with his mouth, enticing her, and all this time his hands stayed decorously in place, one cupping her face and the other her shoulders, holding her slender body close to his. When she started to slide her arms up around his neck, to pull him closer, he suddenly broke off the kiss.
“That’s enough of that,” he said with a slight shake in his voice. “I think I’ve proved my point.”
“You kissed me to prove a point?” Cathy asked in a dangerously low voice, her heart still pounding.
His smile broadened. “I kissed you because you’re a delectably beautiful, incredibly desirable woman with a wonderfully kissable mouth, and because we’re both sitting here in the moonlight with the Caribbean all around us. And to prove a point.” He kissed the tip of her nose lightly. “Does that mollify you?”
“I suppose so,” she said, not quite certain if she was telling the truth. “Shouldn’t you be heading toward the casino? Are Charles and Meg waiting for you?”
“I’ve been dismissed, eh?” he inquired with a trace of mockery. “Very well, Catherine Whiteheart.” He rose in one fluid motion, pulling her to her feet beside him. “I’ll take off, after I make sure you’re headed back to the room. I don’t know that it’s perfectly safe for you to wander alone on the beach.”
“Especially with such a kissable mouth,” she shot back.
“You’ve become a saucy wench all of a sudden,” he laughed. “I told Charles and Meg to go on ahead. I’ll follow them as soon as I put you in the elevator.” Taking her arm in his loose grip, he led her back along the beach to the hotel entrance. “So tell me, Cathy.” His voice was studiedly casual. “Have you heard from Greg Danville since you found him with your friend?”
A sudden, unformed suspicion caught Cathy off guard. “Why do you ask?”
“Just curious,” he said easily. “Did he accept his dismissal without a fight?”
She hesitated for only a moment. “No, of course not. There was too much money at stake. He kept calling me, trying to explain. And when I refused to receive his phone calls or answer his letters, he sent me the most awful, vicious letter... telling me just how useless and pathetic I was. I burned it, of course.”
“Did you memorize it?” His arm slid around her waist protectively.
She looked up at him, managing a wry smile. “You know me surprisingly well for such a short time. I know parts of it by heart, quite against my will. Memory is a very stubborn thing on occasion.” They were outside the elevator, the hallway deserted at that late hour.
“You need something new to replace those memories. New words, such as”—his lips brushed her forehead—”you have the eyes of a sea nymph, all blue and green mysterious depths. Or”—and his lips brushed her cheekbone—”your hair is like a curtain of silver rain. Or”—and his lips caught hers for a brief, lingering moment—”or...but maybe I’ll finish that later. Sweet dreams.”
Before she realized what had happened he had placed her in the elevator, smiling at her as the door slid
shut, a disturbingly tender, maddeningly possessive grin. And then the elevator moved up, carrying her away from him.
* * *
Chapter Twelve
* * *
She slept very lightly that night, a part of her always alert for the sound of his footsteps, the opening of the door, the feel of his presence in the room. But time after time she’d sat up, wide awake, to find the bedroom still deserted. It was past four when she finally fell into a deep sleep, and when she first heard a quiet rustle of clothing her sleep-fogged mind insisted it was another false alarm. She turned over lazily, stretching her arms out into the darkness. And saw Sin towering above her dressed, no doubt in deference to her, in a brief pair of cotton running shorts. Her defenses momentarily abandoned, she smiled sleepily up at him.
“Are you still awake?” he demanded in mock severity. “It’s five o’clock in the morning.”
“Five?” she echoed hazily. “You must have had a good night.”
He squatted down beside her bed, bringing his face level with hers. “I had an excellent night,” he said lightly. “I won absurd amounts of money. The only way it would have been better was if you’d been there.” He reached a tentative hand to brush a stray lock of hair out of her eyes, and she rubbed against him like a contented cat. He pulled his hand back as if burned. “Don’t do that,” he ordered sharply, not moving from his position by her bed.
Cathy burrowed deeper into the soft, comfortable bed, deciding not to question his irrational behavior. “Aren’t you going to get in bed?” she questioned sleepily.
He seemed to hesitate for a moment. “Yes,” he said, as Cathy felt the mattress sag beside her.
She sat bolt upright in outrage, but a moment later he had yanked her back against his body, fitting her against him, spoon-style, his long arms around her, holding her in place. “Go to sleep,” he murmured in her hair.
