Chain of Love Read Free

imprint of his hand still burning on the soft, tender skin of her upper arm. Keeping better control of her
    feet, she backed away, well out of range of that almost overwhelming masculine intensity.
    “Sinclair MacDonald, this is my sister-in-law, Cathy Whiteheart. Cath, this is Sin. You’ve heard me mention him,” Charles added with a
    winning smile that had a nervous edge to it.
    “Not that I remember,” Cathy said with a stubborn, unencouraging glare at her demure sister. All that potent attraction was having a perverse
    effect—she was determined to keep this astonishingly attractive man at a distance. There was a look of a sleek, jungle beast about him, for all his
    affable smile.
Like a panther,
she thought fancifully, edging farther away.
    Her host smiled lazily down at her. “Well, you haven’t missed anything,” he dismissed her rudeness lightly. “Why don’t you
    ladies go below and see if you can rustle up some lunch while Charles and I get under way? It’s past noon and I, for one, am starving.”
    Cathy met the charming grin with stony rage. “Why don’t you
gentlemen
fix lunch? Or is that too much like women’s work?”
    Instead of the anger she expected and hoped for, the amused smile deepened, revealing a disconcerting dimple in one lean, weathered cheek. “A
    liberated woman?” he inquired smoothly. “I beg your pardon. Why don’t Charles and I make lunch, then, while the two of you cast off and
    get us out of the harbor? You can call us when we’ve hit open sea.” He started toward the cabin.
    Cathy’s sense of humor, long dormant, surfaced for a brief moment before being engulfed in irritation. “I don’t know anything about
    sailing,” she admitted, as her eyes unwillingly took in the length of him.
    God, he had a beautiful back! He was wearing a teal blue Ralph Lauren polo shirt stretched across broad, well-muscled shoulders, and the faded jeans that
    hugged his impossibly long legs looked molded to him. He stopped, turned casually and shrugged. “Well, since I know absolutely nothing about cooking,
    why don’t I take care of the boat and you take care of the food? You can pick your own assistant—I’m sure Charles will be happy to help
    you if you want to keep everything sexually integrated.”
    All this was said in such an innocent drawl that Cathy was hard put to control an overwhelming desire to shove his large frame overboard. She wasn’t
    used to verbal sparring, especially with one whose looks were quite distracting, and she suddenly felt the almost desperate need to get away from the hot,
    bright sun, the blue sky, and the tall, disturbingly handsome man who had already overwhelmed her. She had had enough of being bested by handsome men to
    last her a lifetime, she thought with a sudden upsurge of self-pity that brought stinging tears to her eyes behind the sunglasses.
    Swiftly she headed toward the cabin. “C’mon, Meg,” she ordered in a muffled voice.
    There was still one problem left to negotiate. Sin MacDonald had stopped in the middle of the narrow passageway to the cabin, his large frame filling the
    small aisle, and he didn’t look as if he was about to move. Cathy moved in on him, determined not to be the first to give way, and he held his
    ground, the hazel eyes surveying her with lazy amusement as he lounged against the bulk-head. She was forced to stop in front of him, feeling dwarfed,
    helpless, and frustrated.
    The look in her tear-filled eyes was pure hatred. She allowed herself to glare at him, mistakenly thinking the oversized glasses hid her expression. But
    the anger in the set of her mouth and a stray tear slipping down from beneath the glasses told more than she suspected. “Would you please
    move?” she requested icily. “Unless you prefer to do without lunch?’1
    He continued to stare down at her, his expression changing only slightly before he reluctantly straightened, allowing her a narrow passage in front of him.
    “You mustn’t mind