His Sugar Baby(79)

Michael didn’t like Morgan’s silent, narrow-eyed assessment. She was looking at him with such a strange look in her eyes. What was she thinking? Was it the divorce? There was enough at stake in assets that it could be worth her while to drag things out. Morgan had always had a penchant for the good life.

Then something, something close to pity, flickered across her face. Her voice was even. “All right, Michael. I won’t fight you on the divorce.”

He drew his brows together, staring at her. What the hell was going on in her head? This capitulation was unlike the Morgan that he knew.

She gave a little laugh. “Don’t look so suspicious. I’m not a total bitch.”

There was an awkward pause. Morgan began to fidget under his fixed regard. Then Michael surprised her and himself. He walked up to her, reaching out to take her hand and carry it to his lips. He brushed a light kiss over the back of her fingers. Before he let her go, he said quietly, “Thank you, Morgan.” Interestingly, pale color rose in her smooth cheeks. He didn’t try to interpret her reaction, but simply added, “I won’t stay.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.” An echo of the old snap was back in her voice. She tilted her head at a defiant angle. “Peter will be home shortly.” She was obviously braced for his negative reaction.

Michael felt there was little point in making the kind of biting remark that he would have made in the past. Keeping his expression carefully neutral, he merely nodded. He took the house keys off his key ring, placed them in her hand, and repocketed the key ring. He looked up to find her watching him with a bemused expression.

“You—you are giving me the house?”

Michael shrugged. “Why not? I’ll send for the last of my things, if you could have someone box them up for me?”

“They’ll be ready by the end of the week.” Her voice was almost soft.

He left then, left her staring after him. He strode quickly to the front door and opened it. When he stepped out of the house and shut the door behind him, Michael felt the strangest sensation of a weight lifting off his shoulders. As he sprang down the steps to the rental car parked out front, Michael grinned. Darryl was right, after all. The knowing bastard. He had needed to settle the past.

Now he was going home to see if he had any right to a future.





When Michael returned from his trip, he was tired and anxious about his next step. Contrition and regret colored his thoughts. He felt it was too much to hope that she would forgive him. He had humiliated and hurt her too badly. All he could hope for was that he could convey something of what was going through his mind and heart.

Michael left numerous voice mail and text messages. He rambled on, trying to express what he felt, what it was that he wanted. He knew he must be coming across as a pathetic loser. He wasn’t at all surprised when he received no response.

It was better with the e-mail. There was room to compose his thoughts, time in which to put them down. He rubbed his hand over his face tiredly, rereading the message that he had poured himself into and labored over.



Catherine—our time together, the friendship we developed, was all too brief. I came to know enough about you to recognize your intrinsic worth and character. You have made it plain you do not want to see me or talk to me. I respect your decision. If it means anything to you, I have filed for divorce. Please keep the phone. If you ever need me, and I am not referring to our former relationship, I will be there for you, in whatever capacity you allow. You have my most humble apologies and regrets for all hurt that I have given you. Words are so inadequate. I hope you will one day find it in your heart to be able to forgive me.”

Yours, Michael



He hit send and then saved the message to a folder. He had done all he knew to do.

It was hard to take up his old life, but he had responsibilities that he couldn’t afford to shirk anymore. However, he wasn’t able to feel the same contentment in the smooth, seamless organization of the existence he had before he met Winter.

There was never any reply to any of his messages. He checked his e-mail, in particular, and he was relieved that the message he had sent did not bounce back. She had at least gotten it. He hoped that she had not immediately deleted it but had opened the e-mail first. As an experiment, he retrieved the message that he had saved and emailed it again. It did not particularly surprise him when this time he got a mail failure. She had closed her—or rather, Winter’s—e-mail account. She had probably done so when he had sent the first e-mail.

Michael had discontinued the direct deposit to her bank account. He felt that not to do so would be a slap in her face. She had only agreed to be available to him for the sake of her daughter. He understood that now. With a twisted smile, he recalled that, at the beginning, he had suspected money alone was not her sole motivation. How right he had been.

Michael weighed the ethics of taking a further hand in her personal affairs. He certainly did not have her permission, and he had a fair idea of what her reaction would be if he did ask. It should have given him pause. On the other hand, he loved her, and it was the only way left to him to express it.

Michael pondered his options. He made six figures a year. He had chosen his investments wisely over the years. He could probably make a significant dent in the total of her medical debt. Of course, he wasn’t so stupid to believe that he could buy himself into her good graces. That wasn’t the point at all.