His Sugar Baby(64)

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!”