His Sugar Baby(72)
“I’m glad.” Pam’s voice was clipped. “I’ll be glad when you’re out of this dump!”
“Not now, Pam. Please.”
“I know. I’m being a bitch.” Pam hugged her and kissed her on the cheek. “I just hurt for you so much.”
After Pam left, Cathy locked the door. She walked back to Chloe’s bedroom and stood in the open doorway. The room was as Chloe had left it the last time she had been there. Her gaze roamed over the ruffled curtains, the pink-and-white dresser, the spangled canopied four-poster. It all looked oddly peaceful and welcoming.
Cathy crossed the room to lie down on the bed. Her daughter was getting stronger by the day. It was a blessing so dazzling that she could still scarcely comprehend it. However, her affair with Michael was as good as ended, and her emotions had been on a see-saw ever since.
She didn’t know what she was going to do about Michael.
It was a long night. She didn’t sleep much. She just lay on the bed in the dark, thinking. As the shadows changed and grayed with the dawn, Cathy sat up. She pushed her hair out of her face then got up and went into the bathroom. She splashed water in her face.
Without turning on a light, she walked into the small living room to pick up her phone and speed-dial her sister’s number. When she heard Pam’s sleepy voice, she said quietly, “Pammy, I’m pregnant.” She listened for a minute. “Yes, it’s Michael’s. Of course I was on the pill! I–I must have missed taking it, what with everything—I don’t know if I’m seeing him again. No! I am not going to call him right now. Just come pick me up, okay? I don’t need to be here anymore—love you too.”
Michael knew that he had badly erred. His timing couldn’t have been worse. There she was, coming off a major meltdown, and he had let his own defensiveness push her away. Discuss our options? It didn’t get much more insensitive than that, he thought morosely. While he had been obsessing over his relationship with her, she still had other and far more important concerns. God, I’m a selfish bastard. Her daughter’s well-being would naturally be Winter’s number-one priority until Chloe had been taken off the critical list and moved to a private room.
He decided to let it rest for awhile. When he called her, he never referred to the agreement between them, nor did he ask to see her. He limited his conversation to polite inquiries about her well-being and her daughter’s health. She was guarded in what she was willing to tell him. However, she seemed to recognize that his concern was sincere.
Michael gathered the impression that he was a problem that she hadn’t decided how to handle. He resolved to allow her to make the first move. The last thing he wanted to do was to make her feel pressured. That was certain to drive her further away.
He had resigned himself to a long wait, so he was surprised when Winter simply showed up at his house. He stared at her, his hand still on the open door, while she stood looking at him from the front porch. He devoured the sight of her. Her auburn hair, worn loose, shone in the sun. She was dressed in a buttoned-up thigh-length coat over a long skinny skirt and ankle boots. She was so beautiful that it stole his breath.
“May I come in?”
“Of course!” He stepped back, widening the door. She walked past him. Her familiar floral fragrance wafted tantalizingly on the air. His lower body involuntarily tightened. She hesitated then turned toward him. Her wide hazel eyes questioned him.
Without looking away from her, Michael shut the front door. His mind was buzzing with conjecture. He made a polite gesture with his hand toward the living area. She shook her head. She turned to the stairs. Her hips swayed as she moved lithely up.
Michael watched her ascend but only for a second. He followed, every particle of his being aware of her. He couldn’t remove his gaze from her rounded derriere. He was already growing hard. All he wanted to do was to sink himself into her heat. It had been too long. But what the hell was she playing at? She reached the second level and turned into his bedroom.
He stepped through the door and stopped. A tick jumped in his jaw. His voice roughened. Just seeing her there, in his bedroom—the sensual memories swamped him. “Make yourself comfortable.”
“Thanks.” She unbuttoned the heavy coat, shrugged out of it, and laid it across the chair seat. She was wearing a lightweight blue tunic sweater underneath that clung to her high, full breasts and faithfully hugged her slim figure. A loose leather belt was slung low across her hipbones. “I decided it was time that we discussed our options. I think we should have that relationship talk, don’t you?”
Michael felt his jaw clench. With three quick strides, he reached her.
He caught her by the upper arms. His fingers bit into her. She winced, and he gentled his hold. Emotions he couldn’t fathom flicked a whip across his tight self-control. “What do you want from me? Why are you really here?” The words didn’t begin to cover what he wanted to know, yet she understood what he was really asking.
“I don’t know. I’m not sure. Just…love me, Michael.”
A roaring filled his head, crowding out coherent thought. He wanted her with a longing that hurt. Slowly he reached for the front of her sweater and pulled it over her head. His fingers were trembling when he unhooked the front closure of her bra. He splayed his hand to cup one of her full breasts. Something primitive seized him. “You’re mine,” he uttered thickly. “Do you understand that? You’re mine and only mine.” A measure of his desperation must have communicated itself to her.