“We’re looking at our database now for an appropriate candidate. I will let you know when we find one. In the meantime, you might want to ask family members, especially siblings, if they would be willing to be tested as suitable donors.” Dr. Richards paused to consider her for a long moment, before he proceeded reluctantly. “You’ve told me about Chloe’s father. However, in a situation such as this, you might think seriously about getting in touch him.”
Cathy gave a single abbreviated nod. Her nostrils flared as she tried to suck in more air. All that she could think, all that she could feel, was the searing pain of her failure. When it mattered the most, she had failed her daughter.
The oncologist waited for a long moment for her to respond to what he had told her. When she remained mute, he sighed. “I know it’s a lot to take in all at once. I will let you think about everything now. You will probably have questions later, after you’ve had an opportunity to adjust to what I’ve told you. Please don’t hesitate to call me at any time, Cathy.”
Cathy jerked another nod. She sat as though turned to stone. She was barely aware when the oncologist got to his feet or even that he briefly pressed his hand against her tense shoulder before he walked swiftly out of the waiting room.
A fresh tsunami of despair and terror crashed down over her. She started to hyperventilate again. This time she couldn’t catch her breath. Panic battered her. She was drowning, being sucked down into swirling black depths.
Winter’s phone rang.
Chapter Nine
The metallic tones cut through the whirlpool threatening to drown her. Her mind clutched hold of the spar of sound, pulling her free of the maelstrom.
Cathy gasped, sucking in a shuddering lungful of air. Her heart hammered in her ears, her skin was clammy, and she felt nauseous. But she was breathing.
Her hands shaking, she pulled the cell out of her purse and flipped it open. “H–hello? No—no, I’m fine. Just a frog in my throat.”
Cathy bent forward, her head bowed as she pressed the phone tightly to her ear. All of her attention was riveted on Michael’s deep voice, using it as a lifeline. She nodded even though he couldn’t see her. “Yes. Okay. An hour, then.” She closed the cell and slipped it back into her purse. Almost blindly, she got up from the chair. She walked mechanically out of the waiting room.
* * * *
Michael stepped back from the door to let her into the house. He hadn’t been certain that she would actually show up. At sight of her, he felt the bunched muscles in his shoulders ease. “Thank you for coming, Winter.”
Winter walked in and paused in the entry. She was dressed much as she had been when he first met her, so she had probably just left work. She was wearing a slim suit and pumps. Her hair was confined in the chignon that she favored. She appeared very put together, very professional and untouchable.
She nodded acknowledgement of his greeting, but she did not smile. Her eyes did not lift to meet his gaze.
Michael narrowed his eyes, trying to gauge her attitude. There was a distant expression on her face, coupled with a blank, shuttered look in her eyes and stiffness in her manner. It was obvious to him that she wasn’t sure that she had done the right thing in agreeing to see him. He guessed that she was still set on breaking it off with him. He lifted a hand and rubbed at the tightening across the back of his neck.
He gestured politely toward the living area. “Please come in. Would you like a drink?” She walked past him. He strolled after her, watching the sway of her rounded hips. He grimaced when he felt the blood rushing to his groin. He was going to have to curb himself. Just because she had shown up didn’t mean that he still didn’t have damage control to do.
“Yes. Yes, I would.” For the first time since her arrival, a measure of animation came into her expression. A hint of color tinged her pale cheeks. She went to sit down in one of the overstuffed armchairs. In her lap, she clasped and unclasped her hands. As Michael observed her, he interpreted the unconscious gestures as a sign of nervousness. “I’d like a scotch.”
Michael was taken by surprise. He had never known her to drink anything stronger than a good wine. Frowning slightly, he mixed a watered-down scotch for her before pouring his own drink. He didn’t want her drunk. Picking up the drinks, he went over to offer the glass. She accepted it without as much as a glance upward at him in thanks. That was completely unlike her, he thought. She was always scrupulously polite.
Michael felt his gut tighten. He turned away to sit down in the armchair opposite her. He rolled the shot glass between his hands, not really interested in the liquor. However, he noticed that Winter gulped hers down. His brows jerked together. He wondered if she was fortifying herself with a little Dutch courage so that she could deliver the coup de grace to their relationship. It was an unwelcome thought. Feeling unnaturally pressured, Michael hurried into speech. “I had time during my trip to think about some things. Namely, what happened after the ballet premier.”
Her head shot up. For the first time since she had walked in, she looked at him directly. He couldn’t read the expression in her eyes. He didn’t like that.
Her lips parted.
Michael threw up his hand, hoping to stop her from speaking until he could get out everything that he wanted to say. “Please, Winter, hear me out. I want to apologize for placing you into an uncomfortable situation. It was both insensitive and selfish on my part.” He set his untouched glass on the side table before he got to his feet and crossed over to her.
He crouched down beside the armchair and gently reached out for the hand that wasn’t holding the shot glass. Peripherally, he noticed how cold her fingers were. She did not pull away but instead just looked at him over the edge of her glass. Her beautiful hazel eyes still had that shuttered look. He couldn’t begin to guess what might be going through her mind, but he suspected that he had only one shot at getting this right.
Michael raised her unresisting hand to his lips and brushed a kiss across her soft knuckles. Over their clasped hands, he held her unfathomable gaze with his own. Quietly, he said, “Forgive me, Winter. I won’t push you into anything that you don’t want again, I promise.”
She did pull against his fingers then. He released her at once, feeling a sharp shaft of disappointment. He had come as close to begging as he ever had, but apparently it was not enough. She’s going to walk. He thrust aside his faltering dismay and forced himself to remain still under her slow examination of his face. He didn’t know what arguments he could bring, but he was going to try his damnedest to change her mind. He didn’t want to lose what he had found with her. It was too good. “Winter, please listen to me—”
The distant expression in her eyes did not change. Winter turned her head from him. With deliberation, she set the shot glass down on the side table. When she turned back to him, she reached up to touch his jaw with cold fingertips. When she spoke, her voice was strangely ragged. “Take me to bed, Michael. Please.”
He was completely blown away. He didn’t know why making peace with her had been so easy. He didn’t care. He was just glad.
Michael stood up, reaching down his hand to her. When she put her slender fingers in his, he pulled her to her feet and into his arms. He lowered his head, his mouth seeking hers. He only meant to taste her before they headed upstairs. But when she pressed the soft curves of her luscious body urgently against him, he ignited. His cock went instantly hard. His arms tightened around her, drawing her closer. As he deepened the kiss, her lips parted under his open mouth. He gave an inarticulate groan. He plundered her warm, sweet mouth with his tongue. She tasted of scotch and herself. She met his hunger with hers, his passion with her own.
They never made it upstairs to the bed.
He tumbled her down on the thick rug in front of the empty fireplace. He barely remembered the condom in his pocket, and he got it out with shaking hands. She was already unzipping his jeans, reaching inside to find him. Her fingers closed on his aching shaft and pulled it fre
e. The zipper tines scraped the sensitive sides of his penis. He hissed at her ungentle touch.
He knocked her hands away so he could sheath himself. They were in too much haste to completely undress, their clothes parting where necessary with their feverish struggles. Her skirt was wound up around her hips, her panties around one ankle. His jeans and briefs were shoved down only as far as his knees.
He entered her tight heat without preliminaries, his swollen cock throbbing. He groaned at the silken feel of her surrounding him. He felt her sharp nails rake his back through his T-shirt. Michael cursed and dropped his head to nip one of her turgid nipples through blouse and bra. She cried out yet clutched him tighter. Folding his arms tightly around her, he lunged deeper into her hot liquid center, over and over.
Winter writhed under him. Her long supple legs wrapped around his waist, her locked heels digging into his flexing buttocks. Again, again, again, and again, faster harder, until he was driving her body across the rug. Sweat slicked him. Air sawed out of his lungs. “Oh God, oh God! Winter!” His heavy balls slapped noisily against her ass. His cock swelled, exploding. He gave himself over to the pleasurable mindlessness, throwing back his head, a tortured shout bursting from his throat. Michael fell forward heavily on top of her then rolled to the side. His body was utterly spent. His heart hammered, and he couldn’t immediately catch his breath.
When the fierce coupling was over, Winter sat up beside him and calmly pulled her clothing back together. Michael watched her, an uneasy feeling stirring inside of him. He couldn’t believe that she hadn’t been as physically affected as he had been.
He propped himself up on his elbow, taking care to guard his expression. There was something brittle about her, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. She bent forward and slipped on her pumps. He reached out to catch her slim wrist when she started to rise. “Winter, will you come back?”
“I have to work tomorrow.” She didn’t look at him. She had averted her face. Her tumbled auburn curls fell across the angle of her smooth cheek, hiding her expression from his intent gaze.
Slowly, Michael drew in his breath and let it out again. What the hell was she thinking? Why wouldn’t she talk to him or even look at him? “So do I. But afterward, come back to the house. I’ll grill steaks out by the pool. The weather will be good. You can bring your swimsuit.”
“Sure, Michael.” With a tug, she pulled free and rose lithely to her feet. Still not looking him in the face, she walked out of the room.
Michael didn’t move. He heard her heels clicking on the granite tile in the entry. He heard the front door open then shut. Heavy silence surrounded him. He slowly balled his hand into a fist, and he hit the thick rug with a sharp blow. Then he rolled over onto his back, throwing an arm across his eyes. His T-shirt stuck to his sweaty chest, his briefs and jeans were twisted around his knees, his privates were exposed to the cool air and God’s eyes, and none of it mattered.
She was slowly, inexorably, driving him insane.
Chapter Ten
As Michael had hoped, his suggestion of getting together again after work served as a means to re-cement his relationship with Winter. He did not push her into having sex. Instead, he went out of his way to make their time together companionable. On a gas grill out by the pool, he grilled chicken breasts and summer vegetables for their meal and served cold margaritas. He was pleased when she responded to his attempts at conversation. She gave every indication of enjoying simply being in his company. As the hot evening waned, he became cautiously confident that Winter had thought better about her decision to break up with him.
They were relaxing after taking a swim when his cell rang. He picked it up and looked at the caller ID. “Excuse me, Winter. I need to take this.” He flipped open the phone. “Hello! How are you, John? No, no, that’s fine. I’ve got the file here at the house. Just give me a minute to get to my office.” He mimed to Winter that he would be back soon, and she nodded. He opened the French door and stepped through it, his attention already focused on the call. “Sure, I understand. It’s not a problem.”
When his call was completed, Michael padded barefoot back through the house to return to the patio. He had just stepped through the open French door when he overheard Winter talking on her phone.
“Rick, please.”
Caught by the tension in Winter’s voice, Michael paused mid step. Frowning slightly, he looked across the few feet that separated them. Her head was bowed, and she was sitting sideways in profile to him so that she had not yet seen him. She was doubled over, intent on the phone pressed to her ear. A shaft of jealousy stabbed him. Whoever the man was, he was important to her.
“For God’s sake, Rick, she’s your daughter. I know—No, no! Listen, please! Rick! Rick?”
Michael watched as she slowly shut the cell and then just sat there, holding it in loose fingers. There was a forlorn appearance to her drooping posture that made him uncomfortable. Then he saw a tear slide and drop from the curve of her cheek. Suddenly, fiercely, he wanted to throttle the man that she had been talking to. What a bastard, giving her grief over their daughter! The savagery of his thoughts startled him. What the hell did any of it have to do with him?
Michael silently retreated. He waited a beat, then began speaking as he walked forward again. “Sorry about that. It was an international call.”
Winter hastily swiped at her cheeks and dropped her sunglasses into place before she turned her head toward him. Her dark sunglasses covered the expression in her eyes, but he saw that she had pasted a smile on her face. He pretended not to see her drop her cell into the canvas bag that was sitting next to her chaise lounge.
“I’m guessing it was your new client. Everything all right?” she asked brightly. There was only a bit of huskiness in her voice to hint at her emotions.
Good girl. He was relieved that she wasn’t going to parade her baggage. He already knew that she was a single mother and that she had a young daughter named Chloe. Apparently her ex—this asshole Rick—was giving her problems. It probably had something to do with visitation rights or child support. Probably child support, he amended, which would explain why she needed the money that she was getting from him.
Michael frowned. He couldn’t imagine himself fighting over a child or refusing to meet his financial obligations for a child that was his. Old dark places opened up inside of him. Michael caught himself up short. He would not go there, now or ever. Whatever Winter’s situation was, it had nothing to do with him or their relationship, he reminded himself.
“Everything is fine. The proposal will go forward as planned.” Michael straddled the chaise lounge beside hers and sat down on it. He reached down for the drink he had left and lifted the glass. The condensation on the glass was cold to his fingers, the liquor biting on his tongue.
“I’m glad.” Winter’s polite response sounded distracted to his alert ears. She didn’t appear to have anything else to add. Silence fell as she faced the clear-blue expanse of the pool. The oak trees rustled in a puff of breeze, casting long shadows over the water with the slowly setting sun.
The silence lengthened. Winter methodically smoothed on another coat of suntan lotion. He watched her.
Michael frowned. He turned the frosted glass round and round between his fingers. He disliked knowing that her thoughts were fixed on something else, especially someone else in her personal life, when she was with him. It was not what he was paying her for, he thought, disgruntled. She was his sugar baby. She was supposed to provide companionship to him when they were together, not be thinking about an asshole of an ex-husband. “Winter.”
She gave a perceptible start. Winter turned her head, the dark expanses of her sunglasses reflecting the waning light. “I’m sorry. Did you say something, Michael?”
He tightened his jaw. That does it, he thought grimly. He was not going to sit here and let her waste their remaining time together. He should send her home now. Her mind was obviously too preoccupied for her t
o fully appreciate the effort he had made to be conciliating. He had intended a leisurely, relaxing time of sun and swimming and sex. He had never liked just climbing on top of a warm body to get his rocks off. He liked his partner to be fully engaged. It was far more satisfying for both of them.
If he was going to salvage his plans, he needed to reengage her attention. A novel idea flashed through his mind. He said slowly, “I want you to do something for me, Winter.” The fantasy he was structuring in his imagination was already stirring his body, wiping away his irritation.
Winter shrugged as she smiled over at him. “Okay.”
“I want you to go upstairs to the bedroom. I want you to take the chair from beside the bed and place it in the middle of the room with its back to the door. Then I want you to find something to blindfold yourself with, sit down in the chair, and wait for me.” He waited, curious to see her reaction to his suggestion. She was sitting immobile, seemingly frozen, her face still turned in his direction. He could not see her eyes through the dark lens of the sunglasses, but he could see the quickened pulse beating strongly in her throat. She was definitely refocused on him.
After a moment, she asked quietly, “What are you going to do?”
Michael narrowed his eyes. He smiled, deliberately using his business-bastard smile. “You have ten minutes, Winter.”
Without saying another word, she got up and walked inside. He looked down. She had left her canvas bag beside the chaise lounge, so he felt fairly confident that she hadn’t got up just to leave.
Michael glanced at his wrist watch to mark the time and settled more comfortably in the chaise lounge. She wasn’t thinking about her problems with the ex now, he thought with satisfaction. He tasted his drink, rolling the liquor over his tongue, and put his head back. He slowly finished the drink, a couple of times checking his watch.
Roberts, Sarah - His Sugar Baby (Siren Publishing Allure) Page 9