by Anne Stuart
To Cathy’s complete amazement Sin dropped his grip on her arm, taking Joyce’s slightly over-ripe one instead. “Joyce VanDeiler, this is Cathy. I’ll see you back at the table.” With that hasty dismissal he turned and positively rushed the petite beauty toward the opposite end of the room. Cathy stared after them in mingled rage, hurt, and sheer surprise, before making her solitary way back to the table and Meg and Charles’s interested faces.
“Who was the femme fatale?” Charles inquired. “I don’t think I know her.”
“Her name is Joyce VanDeiler,” Cathy offered in neutral tones as she took her seat. “Apparently she’s an old flame.”
“Oh, yes, I remember Sin mentioning her.” Charles nodded, looking after the departing couple with more interest. Cathy followed his gaze long enough to see the intent conversation, complete with soulful eye-flutterings from the black widow. Sin’s back was to her, his head bent in an attitude of rapt attention. Cathy looked away.
“Well, I’m glad he’s found someone,” she managed to remark in a suitably languid tone. “I was afraid he’d feel bound to hang around with me, which, as you can imagine, is the last thing I wanted.” Picking up her refilled champagne glass, she allowed herself another look over the rim of the glass. Just in time to see Joyce VanDeiler reach way up and wrap her black-clad arms around Sin’s bent neck and press those bright red lips against his mouth. At that distance Cathy couldn’t tell who had initiated the embrace, but then, she really didn’t care, she told herself, setting the glass down with a tiny snap.
“I think I’ll go up to bed,” she said brightly. “I wouldn’t want to be a fifth wheel.”
“Don’t leave yet, Cath,” Meg begged, her dark eyes troubled. “I’m sure Sin will be right back. He couldn’t have known that—that creature would show up. I’m sure he’s just trying to get rid of her gracefully.”
“Well, if I disappear then perhaps he won’t feel that he has to get rid of her.” Bending down to brush her sister’s cheek, she left them with one more determined smile before vanishing out of the lounge.
The night was still and quiet, with the full moon bright above her head. I seem to be making a habit of this, she told herself grimly as she stepped onto the sandy beach. Silhouetted against one French door was a couple, sensuously entwined. The man was too short to be Sin, but the damage was done. Cathy yanked off her sandals, abandoning them in the sand, and started running down the beach, away from the noise and the laughter and the loving couples.
She ran until her heart pounded in her ears, throbbed in her chest, and her breath came in painful rasps, and still she ran. She fell once, skinning her knees in the wet sand, and then she was up and running again, as if Satan himself were after her. When she fell again by the rocks at the end of the small inlet she stayed down, letting her breath come in long, shuddering gasps into the wet sand, as hot, angry tears flowed down her face.
Slowly, slowly her sobbing breath quieted. The tears stopped their heated trail down her face, and her heart’s rapid, frightened pounding slowed to a more reasonable rate. With her face still buried in the sand, she slowly became aware of her surroundings. The quiet hush-hush of the sea rolling onto the sand and the rocks. The smell of salt water and sea vegetation in the air, the burning of her skinned knees and the wet, sandy grit that bit through the clinging dress that was now irrevocably ruined. So much for the damned dress. It had hardly accomplished what she hoped it would.
There was another scent on the night breeze. For a moment Cathy thought it was her gardenia perfuming the air, then realized it was Sin’s spicy aftershave. Did it still cling to her flesh, she wondered, after that all too brief embrace in their room? Or was it that interrupted dance?
Slowly, without moving her head, she opened one eye. A black-clad leg was beside her. Tilting her head, she looked up at Sin’s motionless figure sitting in the sand next to her prone figure. His eyes were staring out at the ocean, as though looking for some sort of answer. She couldn’t tell whether he had found it or not when he turned to meet her questioning gaze.
“Why did you leave?” His voice was low and beguiling on the night air. “Meg said you’d gone up to your room but I knew better. Particularly when I found these”—he held up her gold-strapped sandals—”on the beach.”
“I wanted some fresh air,” she said huskily, knowing full well how ridiculous the excuse sounded as she lay in the cool wet sand, her face wet with tears.
“You like running helter-skelter down a beach and then flinging yourself into the sand in tears?” he queried in soft mockery. “Mind you, I have noticed an unfortunate tendency to go racing off at the slightest provocation, but I would have thought-”
“I didn’t fling myself onto the sand.” She rolled over and sat up, brushing the clinging grains from her dampened front. “I tripped and fell.” She lifted her skirt, took a brief peek at the graze which was now bleeding with a cheery profusion, and dropped the material back over it with a small shudder. “And I don’t have a tendency to do any such thing,” she added with a glare. “You bring it out in me.”
“I’m sure I do.” He brushed her hands away and lifted her skirt unnecessarily half way up her thigh, considering that the scrape was on her knee. “You did a good job with that,” he remarked. “Come back with me and I’ll get it cleaned up.”
“It’s nothing but a scratch,” she muttered gracelessly. “I’ll take care of it myself.”
“I know that perfectly well. And I have no doubt you can clean it just as well by yourself. But I wanted to make sure you were all right.”
“Did you promise Meg you’d check on me?” she shot back bitterly.
“Damn you, Cathy, are you never going to trust me?” His hand shot out and yanked her body across his, so that she was half sitting, half lying in his lap. She was so astounded she just sat there, without struggling, until his mouth came down on hers with a savage, bruising passion that seemed more of a punishment than a caress. And yet, curiously enough, Cathy responded to the savagery and unleashed desire as never before, opening her mouth beneath his and twining her arms around his neck, pulling his body closer to hers until she thought they might melt together.
Her tongue met his in a furious battle for dominance, until suddenly everything changed, and they were no longer waging a war but communicating needs and wants and desires in a silent sharing that reached beyond anything Cathy had ever known. And then Sin pulled his mouth away with a groan, burying his face against the curve of her neck.
“Damn you, Cathy,” he said quietly, his breath coming rapidly. “And damn this dress, and most of all, damn Greg Danville.” He looked up suddenly, and his eyes blazed into hers. “Tell me, Cathy, did Greg ever make you feel like this?” he demanded roughly. “Did he kiss you like this?” His mouth took hers, briefly, savagely. “And make you quiver in his arms like you do in mine?” He shook her. “Did he?”
Numbly she shook her head, and the smile of grim satisfaction that lit his face frightened her. “You’re about as passive as a volcano,” he muttered thickly, his mouth tracing hurried little kisses along her exposed collarbone. “And you’re going back to your room right now, or I won’t answer for the consequences.”
Before she could protest he was on his feet, yanking her after him. “But I don’t want...” she began, but his hand covered her mouth with surprising gentleness.
“Don’t say it,” he whispered. “You try a man too much, Cathy Whiteheart. And I can stand just so much at one time. You go on ahead to the hotel. I need to go for a long, soothing walk.”
“But, Sin...” she tried again, but his hand covered her mouth again.
“Don’t talk anymore, Cathy,” he whispered. “We’ll talk for hours tomorrow. But unless you’re willing to ask me to come back and make love to you, now, tonight, then don’t say another word.” He drew his hand slowly away, and his eyes burned down into hers wordlessly.
Once, twice, she opened her mouth to say the words that she wanted to say.
But somehow the thought of cold-bloodedly arranging her seduction at his too clever hands was more than she could manage. She wanted him to sweep her into his arms, drown her protests with his magical mouth, stifle any incipient revolt with those experienced hands and that lean, tightly muscled body. She wanted the decision taken from her, she realized, so that she wouldn’t have to face the consequences of her action. And she wasn’t ready for that, no matter how ready she was for the joining of their bodies.
A wry smile twisted his mouth. “That’s what I thought,” he said with grim humor. Gently he leaned down and brushed his lips against her smooth forehead. “Go to bed, Cathy. I promise I won’t be in until I can be trusted.” Taking her shoulders in his strong hands, he turned her around and gave her a gentle push in the direction of the hotel.
She had no real choice but to go. Halfway back she turned to look at him. He was standing there, tall and stark on the moonlit beach, his face too distant to read his expression. It took all her self-control not to run back to him, barefoot across the wet sand. Resolutely she continued onward, and when she turned once more to look for him he was gone into the night.
* * *
Chapter Fifteen
* * *
Wearily she stretched her long, tanned legs in front of her and surveyed the slowly ascending sun. The coffee by her side had long since grown cold as the sun grew warmer, as cold as Cathy’s hurt and fury. She had spent long hours waiting for him, lying in his bed wearing nothing but the gold chain about her slender waist, and still he hadn’t come.
She dozed fitfully off and on, until her anger finally overcame her exhaustion, and she returned to her own bed, trying to shut out the image of Sin with his arms around that all too willing brunette. But still sleep eluded her, until she eventually moved from the bed to the tiny terrace, to sit in the comfortable chair and watch the sun rise over the deep blue ocean. She had already called the airline, and a ticket on the noon flight back to Washington awaited her. But first, she thought savagely, she would tell Sinclair MacDonald exactly what she thought of him and his kisses and promises and faithlessness and...
A flash of reason inserted itself into her slowly boiling rage. What reason had he to be faithful to her? She was falling into the same trap that Charles and Meg had—assuming she had any claims on him simply because they were sharing a vacation and a room. And a few kisses. His eyes and his hands and his body had said he wanted her, and she hadn’t answered. Was it any wonder he had sought more willing diversion for the night? Cathy’s hands gripped the arms of the chair tightly as she stared out at the deserted beach. It was no wonder at all, especially considering how fickle men were. And she could only be grateful that he hadn’t come in last night. If he hadn’t found his... diversion, he would have re-turned to the room to find her waiting for him with open arms, all her defenses gone. And how would she have ever built them back up again, once he’d abandoned her?
The sound of the key in the lock alerted her to his return. The first runners were setting out along the beach below her, a white-jacketed waiter began setting up breakfast tables on the hotel’s terrace restaurant. Cathy heard the door open and close, heard the steady measured tread of his footsteps heading toward her. She kept her sea-green gaze on the ocean in front of her, her back and shoulders rigid beneath the terry cloth robe.
“You aren’t talking to me this morning?” His voice was low and caressing as he came to stand directly behind her.
“I have nothing to say,” she said evenly. Unable to stand the suspense any longer, she tilted her back to stare at him over her shoulder. “Except to hope you had a pleasant night with Joyce.”
He’d thrown his dinner jacket across the bed, and one hand was in the midst of unbuttoning the white shirt to expose his tanned chest dusted with curling brown hair. His face looked tired and somewhat surprised. Not the face of a man who had just spent a night of passion, but Cathy was in no mood to notice.
A slow, mocking smile spread across his weary face. “Why Catherine Whiteheart, I do believe you’re jealous,” he murmured. “Your eyes are like chips of green ice.”
“Jealous?” she echoed with what she hoped was a suitably cynical laugh. “Jealous of you? Don’t be absurd. I’m delighted you found someone more congenial to spend your nights with.”
“Are you indeed?” He finished unbuttoning the shirt and sent it sailing onto the bed. “Is that why you spent at least part of the night in my bed?” he questioned silkily.
All hope of managing this with an icy dignity vanished. Leaping to her feet, she knocked over her chair and the half-full coffee cup. “Go to hell,” she spat, storming past him to the bathroom.
His hand shot out and caught her wrist, whirling her around to face him. Instinctively she reached out and slapped him with all her strength. She scarcely had time to be appalled by her actions before he hit her back, hard.
Tears of pain and shock started in her huge green eyes, and she put her hand to her stinging cheek. “How dare you?” she whispered hoarsely.
There was not the slightest trace of compunction in his disturbing hazel eyes. “I thought you wanted to be treated as an equal,” he shot back. “When an equal hits me I hit them back, whether they’re a man or woman. I’m not about to let you go around demanding equality on your terms, and then turn into a helpless, clinging female when it suits you. You’re going to have to expect to be hit when you slap someone.”
“You’re still a sexist,” she fought back. “You pulled your punch. If you really looked on me as an equal you would have hit me harder.”
His strong jaw tightened, and the exasperation that washed over his face was coupled with an awe-inspiring rage. Flinging her wrist away in disgust, he turned and strode out onto the balcony, his broad back to her, as he took several deep, calming breaths. A moment later he turned back to her, a somewhat rueful expression on his face.
“You just made me lose my temper, Cathy,” he said in a deceptively mild tone. “And I can be a hell of a lot more sexist than that. Come here, woman.” Not waiting for her, he began to stalk her, a dangerous, determined glint in his eyes.
“No, Sin.” She began to back away from him, panic and a strange anticipation causing her heart to pound furiously against her rib cage.
“No, Sin,” he mocked. With his long legs he could move much faster than she could, and he caught up with her before she was halfway to the door. “How about, yes, Sin? Please, Sin? I’d like that, Sin?” His mouth was poised over hers as his arms held her pinned against his iron body. “Why do you fight me, Cathy? Why are you determined to think the worst of me? I spent the night on board the yacht because I didn’t trust myself sharing a room with you. You sent me away last night. How was I to know you’d change your mind?”
“I—I didn’t change my mind,” she breathed, mesmerized by the mouth that was hovering just above hers.
“Then why did you sleep in my bed?” he queried again.
“Because I’m a fool,” she whispered, closing her eyes as his mouth descended. Instead of the brutal assault she was somehow expecting, his mouth proved even more devastating. Light, clinging little kisses brushed across her tremulous lips, her cheeks, her nose, her eyelids. His mouth traced the still stinging imprint of his hand on her cheek, his lips nibbled on one pink earlobe, and then trailed down the slender column of her neck. Gentle, coaxing, teasing little kisses that left her trembling and completely demoralized. She slid her arms up his broad, naked back, pressing her body closer to his, her head flung back to give him better access to the sensitive hollow of her throat, the long blond hair a rippling curtain down her back. And then the world swung crazily about her as he scooped her up in his arms, holding her against his chest.
“Are you still a fool?” he whispered in her ear, his tongue tracing delicate little patterns as he moved toward the rumpled bed.
“Sin,” she whispered, reaching up to entwine her hands in his soft brown curls. Her mouth met his, eagerly, hungrily as he laid h
er down on the soft bed, following her down, his body half covering hers, as the kiss deepened, her lips opening to meet his thrusting tongue as it explored the moist, sweet interior of her seeking mouth. “Yes,” she murmured helplessly, as one hand cupped her full, straining breast, his thumb gently teasing the nipple until it stiffened against him. “Yes, yes, yes,” she cried, as his hand slid down her thigh and began to lift the terry cloth robe.
The shrill ringing of the bedside telephone ripped them out of their dream of passion. With a precise expletive Sin rolled away from her, grabbing the phone before she could make a dive for it, and barking angrily, “Yes?”
As Cathy lay there, her robe up around her hips, her breath returning to normal, sanity began to edge back. Sin suddenly seemed to loom large and frightening beside her, his naked torso glistening with sweat, his broad shoulders tense with frustration and sudden anger.
“What?” he snapped into the telephone. “Are you sure?” He listened for another moment. “Well, Miss Whiteheart won’t be needing the reservation after all. Thanks for your trouble, but her plans have changed. Yes, that’s right.” He slammed the receiver down, then turned back to Cathy’s suddenly cowering figure.
Pulling herself upright, she managed to meet him glare for glare. “You had no right to do that,” she said. “I have every intention of going back to Washington today.”
“Why?” It was a simple enough question, but it was enough to break Cathy’s tenuous self-control.
“Because I don’t dare spend any more time with you!” she cried. “Can’t you see what this is doing to me? I don’t want to have a casual affair with you, Sin. I can’t take that sort of thing. I’m not sophisticated enough to take and discard lovers like a change of clothes.”
