His Sugar Baby(15)
At sight of her, Michael straightened in his chair. His ice-blue eyes lingered on the exposed swell of her breasts. Her nipples involuntarily pebbled under the thin fabric. When he lifted his gaze to meet hers, there was banked heat in his eyes. “I think that’s the one.”
The smiling saleswoman preceded Cathy back to the dressing room. As she unlocked the dressing room again, she remarked, “Your husband has very good taste.”
“He’s not my husband,” Cathy blurted. She felt heat scorch her face. Ducking her head, she hurried into the dressing room and shut the door.
The saleswoman did not appear to notice her flush. “Oh, sorry. Your boyfriend. It’s obvious that he adores you. Just hand out the gown whenever you’re ready, and I’ll go ring it up.”
Cathy took off the gown and handed it over the door. The saleswoman’s tapping heels retreated. Cathy pulled on her street clothes, reflecting on the saleswoman’s assumption. It was foreign for her to think of Michael even as boyfriend material. It bothered her, more than she had been consciously aware of it, that she could not readily define their relationship.
However remote the possibility might be, she could run into an acquaintance and be placed in the position of having to introduce Michael. It would be so much better to say, “Oh, this is my boyfriend, Michael. So nice to see you. Sorry we have to run.” Instead of, “This is the man who is paying me to have sex with him.”
All right, she would call him her boyfriend. Whatever else she did, though, she must not forget that there were to be no emotional ties. Michael had emphasized that point that first evening when they had met for dinner and yet again in his emails. Theirs was to be a mutually beneficial arrangement and nothing more. But obviously one fraught with hazards, she reflected, not the least being her own conscience.
As Cathy left the dressing room, she averted her gaze away from the mirror. She preferred not to look at herself any more, too afraid that she would see the self-condemnation reflected in her own eyes.
When she emerged to rejoin Michael, she was determined never to let her mental guard down again. She had to become Winter. She needed to cultivate voluntary schizophrenia. At the silly thought, a wry smile curved her lips.
Michael noticed the slight smile on her face. “Having a good time?”
Cathy thought about it. Except for her faux pas with the saleswoman, she had actually enjoyed trying on all of the beautiful clothes. “Yes, I am.”
He laughed. Shifting the garment bag that held the jersey gown, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders for a quick hug. “Come on. Shoes next.” As it turned out, it was shoes and fine costume jewelry and a wrap, all to go with the jersey gown.
Cathy gave herself over to the sheer pleasure of shopping. She had forgotten what it was like to buy clothes. It was a relief not to have to look at price tags. She could just choose those things that she liked and that Michael approved for her. She had already gathered that he did not care what anything cost, so it became a pleasure simply to indulge herself in her new persona. She felt an actual physical sensation of something inside of her that had been withered slowly unfurl and come to life again. It was probably her inner shopping diva. No wonder Chloe loves hats. Being a fashionista is in her genes. Somehow the shopping spree made the role-play easier. Putting aside her real self, Cathy stepped into her new life and became Winter.
They had a late lunch together at the food court.
“Would you like to walk around?”
“Sure,” Winter agreed with a smile. It sounded like fun. So they leisurely window shopped, conversing about things they saw and exchanged ideas and opinions, in the process learning something about each other’s tastes. She had become very comfortable in his company. As they passed a toy store, she suddenly saw a teddy bear dressed in a lacy mob cap and a red velvet pinafore lavishly trimmed with white lace. “Oh, Chloe would love that!”
Her hand flew to her mouth. She turned her head sharply, hoping that he hadn’t heard her exclamation.
Michael stopped. He looked down at her contemplatively. For a long, agonizing moment, he said nothing. Then he suggested quietly, “Why don’t you buy it for her? I’ll wait for you here.”
Without a word, she went into the toy store. While she purchased the teddy bear, she gnawed on her stupidity. It worried her that her daughter’s name had escaped her. She didn’t want Michael to know anything about Chloe. She would have preferred that he not even know of her existence. It was safer that way. But she had let the cat out of the bag, big time.
When she returned with the bulging shopping bag dangling from her hand, she asked tersely, “Aren’t you going to ask?”
“We have an agreement, Winter. Your private life and those in it are no concern of mine.” Michael draped his arm loosely over her tense shoulders. “Come on. We haven’t seen everything yet.”
She almost went limp with relief. He was not going to demand an explanation, one which she would have refused to give him. Perhaps he intuitively understood that, and that was why he didn’t press her. No, it was more likely that he didn’t want to do any probing, she thought shrewdly. He didn’t want the drama. Her mood buoyed up. She brightened even more when she rationalized that Michael could as easily have guessed that she had been referring to a niece or a friend’s daughter, instead of to a child of her own.
She felt the light stroke of his fingers on the point of her shoulder.