His Sugar Baby(4)

Ducking into the safety of the bathroom, Cathy clutched her midriff. Spurts of choked-back giggles escaped her. She was hysterical. She was seriously undone. “Get hold of yourself, girl!”


When Cathy could finally control her attack of nerves, she studied her white, scared face in the mirror. She couldn’t put off the inevitable forever. She had a decision to make. When she went back through that door, she could walk out of the restaurant and go home, or she could keep her appointment with the stranger known to her only as Michael.

Cathy left the restroom. Her whole body quivered. It would be better if she left. But her feet didn’t carry her safely away. Instead, she approached the seating hostess.

“This way, ma’am.”

“All right.”

She saw Michael in the same instant that he looked up. There was a flash of something in his expression. He rose to his feet, waiting for her. All too soon, she found herself pausing beside the table, looking at the man that she had come to meet.

He pulled out the chair for her and politely waited until she was seated before he went back around to his own seat. Across the white linen-covered tabletop, he gazed at her with an expression that she couldn’t read. Cathy nervously touched her hair, wondering whether she had made a mistake in leaving it down. Her hair was an unruly riot of curls. She usually pulled it back in a confining chignon. That’s how it had been when they had last met. Perhaps she did not look sophisticated enough now.

“You are a lovely woman.”

Cathy flushed. She didn’t know what to say or where to look. She was saved from having to respond when the waiter arrived to inform them of the chef’s featured entrees and the recommended wines for that evening. Entrée and wine selections were swiftly made. Then she and Michael were left alone again. Cathy still couldn’t quite meet his eyes.

“I hope the restaurant meets with your approval.” His tone was polite, impersonal.

“Yes, it’s very nice,” said Cathy quickly. She hadn’t really noticed their surroundings before, but now she made an effort to glance around. She realized that Michael must have chosen the place for its romantic atmosphere. The lighting was dimmed, and the tables were lit by flickering candlelight, lending an intimate ambiance. Diners exchanged quiet conversation over the brief clink of cutlery. In the background, soft music played. Cathy’s anxiety level spiked.

The waiter returned with the wine that Michael had chosen, and he poured a measure into the glass. Michael tasted the wine then nodded his approval. The waiter poured for Cathy, then placed the bottle in a chill bucket and quietly retreated.

Cathy sipped the fine merlot in her glass. If there was ever a time that she needed Dutch courage, she thought, it was now. She took a larger swallow.

“Why are you here? Why are you thinking about doing this?” There was a mildly curious note in Michael’s deep voice.

Cathy almost swallowed her tongue. She spluttered and coughed. It was just so bizarre. She felt the same insane desire to laugh. She really was being interviewed She apologized, her eyes watering. “Sorry! It went down the wrong way,” she said hoarsely. “What did you say?”

“I don’t think that you’ve forgotten the question, Winter,” he said dryly.

Winter. The enormity of what she was doing struck her again. Carefully, Cathy set down the wine glass and rearranged the fine white linen napkin spread across her lap. The unnecessary activity gave her time to regroup. She decided to tell him just a little of the truth. Flatly, she said, “I have expenses. Expenses that I can’t pay right now.” She picked up the wine glass again and took a sip. When she set it down again, her fingers remained wrapped around the slender stem.





Michael nodded. “And what I am offering will help you?” He watched as her full lips tightened. His gaze dropped briefly to her fingers, which had white-knuckled around the stem of the wine glass. She’s about to snap it in two.

“Yes. I believe that what you offer will help with those expenses.” She spoke very precisely, with an edge to her voice.

Michael could see that she was angry. He wasn’t absolutely certain, but he did not think that the heated emotion was directed at him. The woman intrigued him. He was not completely certain of her motivation for agreeing to meet him. Oh, certainly for the money. Yet he had a gut feeling that there was more to it than that, more to her. He brushed aside the possible importance of her reasons as immaterial to him and to what he wanted.

Dispassionately, he catalogued her assets. She had appealing features, beautiful, wide hazel eyes that shone with intelligence, and gorgeous auburn hair. He had a sudden vision of those soft spiraling curls spread over his pillow and felt an instant tightening in his groin. Swiftly he mastered the stirring of desire. It was not the time to fantasize. Not yet. He continued his mental perusal. His gaze raked her slim torso. Her breasts were high and full, her waist trim. As he had suspected, she had a good figure. When she had walked to the table, he had seen how the narrow pencil skirt emphasized the flare of her hips and the slim length of her legs. When he pushed her chair in for her, her fragrance, a light floral, had teased his nostrils.

Even if the long-term arrangement that he wanted didn’t materialize, he wanted to bed her.

Michael had already made his decision. Now it was a matter of persuading Winter to make the same choice. He did not make the mistake of assuming that the deal had been struck. She was too obviously ill-at-ease and skittish, poised to bolt just as she had that first meeting. Again, he wondered idly why she had come. Why was she putting herself through this when it was so obviously not something she would normally do?