His Sugar Baby (31 page)

“Yes.” Michael’s head inclined in the barest nod. His ice-blue gaze never left her face. A tight, white line bracketed his mouth. “That’s right! The whole time.”

After all that had happened, it seemed the worst possible betrayal. His talk of it being better not to be in a relationship, the relief she had felt when she took that to mean he was not married. She had been the bit on the side. She had gotten knocked up by a married man. She was the “other woman.” She was nothing but a tawdry cliché.

This was the man she had fallen in love with.

“You bastard,” she breathed.

He left the bed and slowly approached her. He was totally unselfconscious of his nudity. He spread his hands in a placating gesture. “Listen to me. Please.”

She recoiled. “Do not touch me!” She whirled and darted into the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it. The click sounded loudly.

In the bathroom, Cathy stared at herself in the mirror. The wild mass of flaming corkscrews framed her huge, darkened eyes and waxen face. Her lips were still puffed and reddened from Michael’s kisses.

“I have a wife.”

The world tilted. She clutched the vanity. Something crashed through her mind, breaking and shattering, leaving in its wake cold, crystal clarity. The hope-fantasy was over. There would be no happy ending. Not for her. Not with Michael.

Nausea suddenly caught her. She staggered over to the toilet and bent over, retching. When she was done, she went back to the sink to splash water on her face and rinse out her mouth. She straightened and stared again at her reflection.

Cathy watched huge tears well up in her eyes and spill over. Furious with herself, she rubbed her eyes clear. She whirled and ran out of the bathroom. She scooped up her clothing from off the bedroom floor. In the morning light shining through the French doors, she dressed swiftly, pulling on the skirt, the sweater over it, and the belt. She shoved her feet into her ankle boots. Grabbing her coat and her purse, she ran to the bedroom door.

Cathy paused in the doorway. She surveyed the masculine navy-blue-and-tan bedroom, sparing a long glance for the tumbled bed. Her nostrils flared. The heavy musk of sex was redolent on the air. Nausea welled again, and she swallowed reflexively. She spun away and fled.

* * * *

From the kitchen, Michael heard the swift running steps on the granite tile in the entry then the crash of the front door. He froze in the process of flipping the omelet he was preparing. In the distance he heard an engine roar and the squeal of tires.

His thoughts darted back to the incredible night they had just shared and then how ugly things had turned out. Whatever had brought her to him, whatever issues had lain between them, had been unimportant. He hadn’t cared about anything except for the fact that she was in his bed. After making love to her, he had shut his eyes and fallen into a dreamless sleep.

He had been an idiot. When she had shown up, instead of taking her to bed, he should have demanded to know what was going on. He could have avoided the whole ugly business. He grimaced again over his gross stupidity. He had handled it so brilliantly. He had just blurted it out.

He had reasoned that he needed to give her some space. Some time to pull herself out of the understandable shock. They would talk. He would explain. She would understand.

So he had pulled on a pair of jeans and gone downstairs. But Michael had left the bedroom seriously worried. She had been so pissed. He had had a feeling it wasn’t going to be easy. He’d decided to make her breakfast. There was nothing like sharing a meal together to encourage polite, reasonable communication.

He became aware of a burning odor. He glanced down and jerked the skillet off of the burner. The smoking omelet was crisped and blackened. He flipped off the heat.

So. They weren’t going to talk about it. Well, then, he thought he’d get drunk.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Michael didn’t want to answer the door. But it was Darryl standing on the front porch. He knew that his business partner wouldn’t be satisfied if he just yelled for him to beat it. Michael opened the door and turned away, letting his friend find his own way in.

Darryl stepped inside and shut the door. He followed Michael, speaking to his back. “You haven’t been to the office. You haven’t taken my calls. You look like hell.”

“Yeah.” Michael walked into the living area. He was aware that Darryl trailed behind him. He flipped his thumb over his shoulder. “There’s the door. Make free.”

“I’ve seen you act this way only one other time in your life.”

Michael swiftly turned, both of his hands curling into fists. “
Shut up
.”

Darryl frowned. His dark gaze was speculative, considering. “How is your lady friend, Mike? You haven’t said anything about her lately.”

“I’m not seeing her anymore.”

The words were bitten out. Michael felt the stabbing pain and rubbed a flattened thumb over the spot in the middle of his chest. It hurt him to even say it. He wondered bleakly if it would ever stop hurting.
God help him.
For the past few days, truths had battered him worse than his hangover. He had hurt her. He had driven away the woman who had become precious to him. He didn’t know how to fix it.

The ultimate truth had bitten him hard in the ass. With the rush of revelation, he had uttered a hoarse despairing laugh. Now that it was too late, he couldn’t hide from it anymore. He loved her.

Darryl lifted a thick brow. “I’m sorry to hear that. You seemed real happy there for awhile.” He shook his head and gave a resigned sigh. “You’re twisted, Mike. What happened? Did you run her off or did she run out on you?”

“She had reason to leave.” Michael swallowed. He had to tell someone what a stupid fuck he was. “She told me that she loved me. I told her that I was married.”

“You stupid fuck.”

“Funny. That’s what I thought, too.”

Darryl’s expression of disgust altered. Disbelief colored his voice. “Do you feel something for her?”

“Yeah. I do.” Michael sprawled backward onto the sofa, the heels of his hands pressing tight against his closed eyelids. “God. It’s a friggin’ nightmare. I can’t stop thinking about her!”

“Have you talked to her? Gone to see her?”

Michael dropped his hands and looked up at his friend. Despair weighted his chest. He shook his head. “She won’t take my calls, won’t answer my emails. I–I don’t want to make things worse by showing up at her door. Like I’m some stalker.” He didn’t bother to mention the fact that he wasn’t even supposed to know her address. That would open a discussion that he didn’t want, one that would expose how truly twisted he really was.

“What are you going to do?”

Michael shrugged helplessly. He spread his hands wide between his knees. “I don’t know.”

Darryl cleared his throat. “If you want, I can go see her for you. I can talk to her. Take a letter, maybe.”

Michael was deeply appreciative of the offer. He knew Darryl’s concern for him was genuine. They had always had each other’s backs, but this time he wasn’t going to let his best friend wade into his mess. “Thanks. But I’ve got to handle this one on my own. Somehow.”

“Maybe it’s time you talked to Morgan.”

“I’ve thought of that.” Michael passed a hand over his face. “Shit. I’m totally screwed.”

“Yeah, well, you always were screwed up.”

“Thanks for your support.”

“You’re welcome.”

* * * *

Cathy walked through the small apartment. It was empty of any reminders of her time there, yet her memories were vivid, particularly those of the last good days together with Chloe.

The week before, she had asked her sister and some of her closest friends to help her clean out the dingy apartment and to box up her own and Chloe’s things. It had been a very emotional day because it marked a milestone, and it had taken a huge toll on her. There had been little enough to move or to go into storage, just Chloe’s bedroom set and a few boxes. Everything else, Cathy gave away or donated. Winter’s clothing and accessories were among the first things to go. Cathy wanted nothing to do with any of it. She didn’t want any reminders of that closed chapter of her life.

She wasn’t going to be seeing Michael Lambert again.

Her decision had bothered both her sister and her best friend. In fact, Vicky had the gall to challenge her that she wasn’t thinking straight, what with all of the changes taking place in her life. She had urged her to wait and see what might come of her relationship with Michael. “He has a right to know that he’s going to be a father, Cathy.”

“I have to agree, Cathy.” Pam’s expression was troubled. “Of course we understand that it’s just too soon for you to be thinking of a serious relationship, but Chloe is making wonderful progress. You’ve got time to think things through, at least for a few months, until the baby comes.”

Cathy never confided to either of them what had caused the breakup between her and Michael or what the true parameters of their relationship had been. She tried not to feel resentful toward them for not wholeheartedly supporting her decision.

She pressed her hand against her stomach. The bouts of nausea had become familiar. Pam was on her case constantly, telling her that she had to eat, that she was losing too much weight, and that she had to pace herself. Reluctantly, her thoughts turned again on what Pam and Vicky had said. Were they right?
Was
her judgment too clouded by her feelings?

Cathy shook her head, tightening her lips. Michael had caused her considerable pain. She could not trust him. She could not open herself up to him again.

Out of the blue, she unwillingly remembered what he had said about his father, that he didn’t understand how anyone could abandon a child. “Damn it!” She knew intuitively that he would want to be a father to their child. She sighed. She couldn’t deprive him of that.

She would have to tell him about the baby.
But not now. Not for a while.

Cathy shook herself free of her reflections. She turned on her heel and walked swiftly to the front door. It was time to turn in her key. She had finished her inspection of the apartment. There was nothing left. It had been swept clean.

* * * *

Michael agonized over what further action he should take. He had tried for three more days to contact her. It had taken everything he had in him to place those calls. But he had done it because he was impelled to do so.

He had spent hours pacing like a caged animal. Several times he picked up his cell again, but each time, he stopped before putting the call through. He already got that she would not answer. He had left voice mails. Stupid, senseless messages. He had no real idea what he could possibly say to her, unable to articulate it even in his own mind. Emotion kept choking him up. If she had ever answered one of his calls, she would undoubtedly have hung up before he managed to find his voice.

Michael could not shake himself free of his indecision. He paced the house some more, unable to think about anything else. After the conversation with Darryl, he called the office with some lame excuse for his absence. Since he was the creator of a very lucrative software program, his explanation was accepted without question. In fact, the message was relayed by his administrative assistant that one of the board members had expressed the sentiment that he could take all the time he needed to explore his creative genius. He saw his partner’s hand in that. Darryl was obviously covering for him, which made it all the easier to duck his business responsibilities.

An unusually heavy ice storm blew in overnight, making him feel even more like he was imprisoned. When Michael couldn’t take his own company anymore, he flung on a coat and grabbed his keys. It was time to make a move, any move.

He would go to the hospital. There was a good chance that she would be there.

He was relieved that he had at least decided on a course of action.

When he showed up at her daughter’s hospital room, though, Michael knew she would be furious. But it was a gamble he had to take. He would beg her for a hearing.

He still didn’t know what he could say to her. Bleakly, he recognized the truth. There was no getting around it. He had betrayed her trust. But he figured groveling would be a decent start.

Yeah, groveling was good.

Sand had been scattered over the bridges and roads to give motorists safer passage. Michael barely noticed the degraded driving conditions. He was just anxious to have his conversation with Winter over with. Over and over in his mind, he questioned what he could say. None of it seemed adequate.

During his self-imposed leave from work, Michael had gone on the Internet to find the website that Vicky Sotero had mentioned. The long history of Chloe Somerset’s fight with leukemia had been starkly laid out. Grimly, he had read it with his lips tightened to a thin line. He now knew about Chloe Somerset, had a hint of her personality, seen pictures of her with her big brown eyes and gap-toothed grin.
She was only seven years old.
No one should have to go through what Chloe had, he thought.
No parent should have to endure that hell.
The amazed anger he had felt toward Chloe’s biological father, upon learning of the man’s refusal to try to help the little girl, deepened to cold rage.