He held her for several seconds. Then he sighed, pressed his lips to her forehead, and released her. His voice was unusually husky even to his own ears. “Goodnight, Winter.”
She glanced up into his face, apparently wondering at his unusual show of affection. The streetlight was above and behind him, so that his face was in shadow. She could not possibly read anything in his expression. It didn’t really matter, he told himself. There was nothing for her to see.
“Goodnight, Michael.”
Michael let Winter turn away and waited while she got into the Lexus. He closed the door for her and stepped back. She gave a small wave as she started the vehicle and put it into gear.
Michael watched as she backed out of the space and drove off before he walked away toward his own vehicle. His mind whirled. His whole being still tingled from the erotic rendezvous with Winter. He was still grappling with the unexpected feeling of tenderness. All he knew for sure was that he had changed his mind. He wasn’t going to let her go. Caught up in sensual memory, he barely registered a faint alarm pinging somewhere, and it wasn’t the alarm on his Porsche.
* * * *
Cathy met with the oncologist very early the following morning. Against all of her hopes to the contrary, she was told that Chloe wouldn’t be going back home with her any time soon.
“This cough continues to worry me. I don’t know what is causing it.” Dr. Richards frowned over his thoughts. “I want to run some more tests and keep a closer eye on her.”
Cathy nodded and swallowed past the tightness in her throat. The time that she and Chloe had been able to be together, just the two of them, had been very precious but all too brief. She comforted herself with the fact that the hematopoietic stem cell transplantation still continued to look good. It was the first thing she had asked about, and the oncologist had reassured her on that point.
She didn’t voice the depth of her concern to the oncologist, but the heavy dread beat inside of her. Infections of any kind were a danger to a patient like Chloe, and often the cause was not an environmental factor but actually originated with the patient.
Dr. Richards appeared to sense something of her unease. He smiled reassuringly at her. “Don’t worry, Cathy. Whatever is causing the cough will be isolated and treated.”
Cathy nodded. “Yes, I know.” Chloe will be fine. Chloe will be fine.
Chapter Twenty
At the beginning of his affair with Winter, Michael had been completely blasé. However, over the passing weeks and months, his attitude had insidiously and inexorably eroded. He couldn’t put a finger on when it had happened, but it had. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. He couldn’t stop recalling her fresh, womanly scent, the soft feel of her flesh, or the way that he felt more alive whenever he was with her. He baldly acknowledged to himself that his interest in her had become much more than about the incredibly satisfying sex.
Winter was a complexity that had begun to fascinate him. Her intelligence, her fire, her quiet strength, all had deepened for him into a consuming passion. He had even gone back to buy that damned silver sickle-moon necklace for her, though he hadn’t decided when to give it to her. He had seen the glowing expression of appreciation in her eyes and had watched it slowly fade. When she had suggested the substitution of a gift card instead, he had concluded that she had thought the necklace was too extravagant a gift for her to accept. Perversely, he had wanted her to have it. He had not made a big production when she settled on the less-expensive bracelet. Instead, knowing that she had no idea of the worth of the necklace, he had loaded the gift card with the full price of the piece. He wanted her to be aware that he valued her.
He was puzzled by his own deepening interest in the woman. He wanted to know things about her. Who was she when she wasn’t with him? What was her life as a single mother like? How old was her daughter? What were her secrets?
The most startling thing to him was that he just wanted to be around her, even without the sex. It was the reason why he had invited her to come over to cook dinner together, making it clear that it was to be an evening with no strings attached. Winter seemed delighted by his suggestion. She volunteered to make the entrée, and he had agreed, pleasantly surprised when she brought the ingredients for home-baked lasagna. It was his turn to surprise her when he offered to chop the onions that were to be put in to brown with the meat. “Are you going to cry?” she asked.
“What do you think I am, a girl?” he retorted, making an exaggerated swipe across his tearing eyes. Winter laughed at him, her face lighting up. While they talked, Michael offered to open the wine, and she accepted a glass of red from him. She tasted it, complimenting him on the selection, but soon exchanged the wineglass for a whisk. She whipped eggs into ricotta cheese and then drained the hot lasagna noodles.
Michael sipped his wine, leaning against the counter. He watched her assured movements as she alternated layers of cooked noodles with the meat sauce and egg-and-cheese mixture. She was relaxing to be around, he mused. She had a way of making wherever she was comfortable and homey. He didn’t pursue the interesting thought, instead commenting, “My mouth is already salivating.”
She laughed at him, her hazel eyes gleaming with amusement. “That’s the whole point behind good comfort food!”
He heard the ring of his cell and reluctantly excused himself to answer it. He listened for a moment. “Yeah. Okay, Darryl.” He closed the phone. “Sorry. Darryl is in New York. He needs some specs that are at the office faxed to him. I’ll have to go in. I hate to leave you like this, Winter. Will you be all right here until I get back?”
“Oh, sure! When I finish putting this together, it will bake for an hour.” She blew a curl out of her face and flashed a smile at him. She had pinned her auburn hair up, but springy curls had escaped around her face and neck.
“I’ll be back long before that.” He slid his arms around her waist and kissed her warm nape. She leaned back against him. Her soft curves pressed nicely against all the right places along his body. Reluctantly, he stepped away.
“Wait! I’m parked behind you! Let me wash my hands, and I’ll move the Lexus.” She started to put down the bowl of egg-and-cheese mixture.
Michael waved her back. “That’s okay. I can move it. Where are your keys?”
“In my purse, in the front pocket.”
Michael retrieved the keys. As he walked past her, he dropped a casual kiss at the junction of her neck and shoulder. Her skin was moist and heated from working over the stove. She smelled good, womanly. “I’ll see you in a bit.”
Michael walked outside to the Lexus. He got in, started it, and backed out of the driveway to park at the front curb. He reached to turn off the ignition, but his hand stilled on the key when his gaze chanced to drop to the GPS. He stared, not a thought in his head, before accessing it to find Winter’s home address. A second later it hit him, what he was doing. Immediately irritated with himself, he switched off the ignition, swiped up the keys, and got out.
Michael walked swiftly back up the driveway to his Porsche. As he slid into it, he berated himself. What the hell had he done that for? He didn’t want to know where she lived. He didn’t want to know who her friends were or where she worked. It was just a stupid impulse. However, like many bits and pieces of trivia, he was left with a mental notation of Winter Somerset’s address in his near-photographic memory. He put the incident out of his mind as a bad decision.
When he returned to the house, he made it a point to make love to Winter. It was a way to reassure himself of the real basis of their relationship. She was a little startled by his abrupt initiation, but she warmed quickly enough. Good sex, followed by good food. A man couldn’t go wrong with that. He didn’t ask her to stay over that night. He didn’t need her to stay, he told himself.
When he opened the refrigerator the next morning, the leftover lasagna that she had left mocked him.
A few days later, he was driving through the city. The traffic was bumper to bumper ,a
nd he decided on taking a different route, hoping to cut off some time. A street exit sign flashed by and triggered his orderly memory. On impulse, he loaded the information into his GPS, listened to the directions, and swung back through the area. It took a few minutes, but eventually, he found the right block.
Michael drove slowly down the street, frowning as he took in the seedy area that had seen better days. Tiny run-down block houses on postage-stamp lots, most canopied with untrimmed trees and overgrown shrubs. Sharp-angled tenement buildings. Commercial establishments. The depressed aura of the neighborhood bugged him. Hell of a place for a little girl to be living. He scowled when he saw a group of ill-dressed men sauntering slowly down the narrow broken sidewalk. They stopped to stare as he drove past in the Porsche. He wondered if the area was even safe for a woman raising a child alone. It was hard to imagine someone like Winter here.
When Michael found the address, he pulled his car over to the curb and bent forward to look out of the side window. The apartment complex had visible signs of neglect in the building’s peeling siding, in the sad, sparse landscaping. He narrowed his eyes. Surely Winter could afford better than this, especially with what he was giving her each month. Maybe he hadn’t remembered the correct address. He shifted into gear and turned into the building’s parking lot. He eased the sports car forward, feeling the chassis sway when he wasn’t able to avoid all of the crumbling potholes. Slowly cruising through the lines of parked vehicles, he spotted the familiar Lexus.
He hadn’t been wrong about the address.
She was home.
Michael swung his car into the empty parking space next to the Lexus. As he started to shift into park, he hesitated while he contemplated his next move. He glanced over at the Lexus, and at the closer distance, he saw the car seat on the back seat. It occurred to him that school would already have let out, and she probably had her daughter with her.
Letting the powerful engine continue to idle, Michael debated the wisdom of knocking on her door. Abruptly, he shook his head. Their agreement was that they would not share their personal lives or histories with each other. Michael was acutely aware that dropping in on Winter, without invitation and without permission to her address, would be a serious breach of their agreement to personal privacy. He had already stepped way over the line just by coming here. If he was being brutally honest with himself, he had first broken trust with her when he had deliberately examined her GPS.
Michael put the Porsche into reverse and swung out of the parking lot. As he drove off, he wondered why he had done it to begin with. He had never felt more than a passing curiosity about other women he had dated or with whom he had developed a casual relationship. He could come up with a whole lot of reasons and excuses, but he knew them for what they were.
Michael growled in self-disgust. He was not pleased. The unadulterated truth was that Winter had become more than simply his sexual partner and some-time companion. He cared about her. He was gripped by a growing fascination with her as an individual, particularly with that part of her life that she never shared with him. She might share her body, her warmth of personality and intelligence, but that was all he was given. He was shut out. He didn’t like it.
He had demanded the measure of anonymity they had maintained between them. He had believed, because neither knew too much about the other, neither of them would fall into the trap of an emotional entanglement. He had believed their relationship would remain free of drama. It was solely a business arrangement, one that was practical and beneficial to both and mutually satisfying.
Now here he was, obsessing over her. He was the one in danger of emotional entanglement, not Winter, and wasn’t that ironic? Fuck! Michael hit the steering wheel with the heel of his hand in frustration. His furious thoughts spun out. Since when had he lost control in the relationship? He dictated the terms. It was designed around his convenience, his needs. Wasn’t it? He hit the steering wheel again, harder. He almost relished the sharp throbbing pain. Then why the hell was he wanting and anticipating the next assignation with Winter with almost painful intensity? Why did he yearn to get another out-of-the-blue late-night call from her? God, that night! The surge to his groin was instant, his hardening cock straining under his zipper. That night at the theater, with the action flick exploding onscreen, still messed with his head. He’d never look the same way at a carton of theater popcorn again!
Michael inhaled sharply, tightened his lips. Business was all it was, all it would ever be, he determinedly told himself. There would be no more of this skulking and adolescent obsession. He didn’t give a damn about Winter Somerset’s life. He gunned the Porsche and roared away.
Chapter Twenty-One
Cathy made herself get up off the sofa where she had collapsed. She didn’t know how much time had passed—an hour or maybe two—since she had returned from the hospital. Terror locked her brain. She didn’t know how she had gotten home. She didn’t remember anything except what the oncologist had told her. The sound of her harsh wheezing, the ribbons of pain squeezing her chest, were nothing beside the anguish of her heart.
Her hand was shaking so badly that she could barely hold the phone to her ear. “Pammy? Chloe has GVHD. Oh God, oh God! I’m going to lose her, Pammy! I’m going to l–lose her!”
“Cathy! Listen to me! We’re coming. John and I are coming. Call Vicky now! And Michael! Talk to them, okay? Just—just hang on. Do you hear?”
“Yes—yes.” Cathy ended the call. Blind panic assaulted her. She tried to breathe. Her hands were still shaking badly. She pulled her purse over and clumsily fished out Winter’s cell. She started to speed-dial Michael’s number. A shaft of reason speared through her panic. She shut the phone, squeezing shut her eyes. What am I doing? Michael was the last person she could call. But God, she could use his strong arms to hold her, to hear his voice comforting her. He was her anchor, her mooring. But she couldn’t call him. The wave of old terror crashed over her, and she went under. Oh God, Chloe! Her whole body trembled uncontrollably. She slid down the wall to the floor. She covered her face with her hands and rocked back and forth, wrenched by sobs.
When her sister and brother-in-law flew into Austin, they wanted to know immediately what was happening with their niece. Cathy was able to tell them, with a fair share of control over her emotions, that Chloe’s status was still critical. She couldn’t stop the tremors in her voice, though. “Chloe is receiving high doses of corticosteroids. That’s the standard treatment. All we can do now is wait and pray.”
Pam’s hands flew to her mouth. Beyond uttering a strangled murmur, she didn’t say anything, but her eyes glazed with tears. Standing beside her, her husband drew in a deep breath. With uncharacteristic abruptness, John Thompson said, “I’ve taken a leave of absence from work. We’ve sublet a house.”
Cathy was grateful for her brother-in-law’s matter-of-factness. She nodded, understanding what had not been spoken. “Thank you,” she whispered.
* * * *
For days, when he spoke to her on the phone, she was withdrawn and distracted. She wasn’t making time for him. She wasn’t available either in person or, increasingly, even by phone. It was worse than before. He couldn’t figure it out, no matter how much he revolved it in his mind. Michael thought back carefully. The change had taken place around the time she had cooked dinner for him…his heart stuttered in his chest.
Winter must have found out. She must have seen me at her apartment. Michael swore at himself. He had broken their agreement. He had broken her trust. He had intruded into her life when she had made it very clear that she wanted to keep it separate.
It was driving him crazy. He had to talk to her. He had to explain, to apologize. But it seemed like he could never get her on the phone anymore. She wouldn’t return his voice mails or his texts. Michael pressed her number again. “Pick up, Winter. Pick up!”
Then suddenly, she did. He was so surprised that it took him a moment to find his voice. “Winter?”
&nbs
p; “Michael. I’m sorry.” She sounded disjointed, not altogether there. “I forgot. You called, didn’t you? I’m sorry.”
Damn straight, I called! Several times! But he wouldn’t say that. Not when he needed to find out what was going on, if they were going on. Besides his anxiety over their relationship, he was worried about her. It wasn’t like her to just freeze him out without a word, no matter how angered she might be.
He could hear noise in the background, the tinny sound of an intercom even though he wasn’t able to make out the message. Obviously, she was somewhere public. She could go out somewhere, but she couldn’t call him? His concern segued into a surge of annoyance. Michael thrust his fingers hard through his hair. “Where the hell have you been? It’s been days since I’ve seen you or heard from you. I’ve been worried!”
“I’m so sorry, Michael.” There was still that disturbing distance in her voice.
His frustration and anger escalated. He paced back and forth. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you!”
“I know…I know. It’s not a good time. My daughter—”
Michael stilled. “Your daughter?”
“Chloe. Oh, Michael! She’s so sick!”
Michael’s whole being was on point. “I’m here at the house. Tell me where you are, Winter. I’ll come right now.”
“I’m—Michael, I don’t know if—” Listening closely, Michael heard the unmistakable rumble of a male voice. She came back online, her voice breathy. “The doctor. I’ve got to go. I’m wanted.” The connection was broken.
Michael took the phone away from his ear. She had hung up on him. Yet the simmering anger and yes, fear, that had ridden him for days had suddenly disappeared.
She’s so sick.
His mind replayed the breathy, shaken timbre of her voice. Winter was frightened. The conclusion was inescapable. Her young daughter, young enough to like teddy bears, was seriously ill.
Roberts, Sarah - His Sugar Baby (Siren Publishing Allure) Page 20