His Sugar Baby (2 page)
She had picked up the mail before coming inside, and now she carried the thick stack into her cramped office space. She laid the mail on top of her desk without looking at it. She knew that most of it was medical bills. Out of habit, she sat down at the desk and turned on her computer to check e-mail. She was always hopeful that one of the research centers that she had established contact with would send her information that would help, or ease, her daughter’s condition. When she glanced at the screen, she was shocked to see that there was a message waiting in the new account that she had set up. She remembered then that she had never gotten around to closing the account. She opened the message.
You get a Benjamin every day we are together even if there is no intimacy.
Her heart slammed. Suddenly her exhaustion dropped away. She knew it was only the adrenaline rush. The fight-or-flight hormone. She had been fighting for a long time. What would it be like to just fly away from everything she knew? The thought careened through her startled mind.
She wouldn’t do it, of course. But still…What would it be like just to be with someone who didn’t know her, who didn’t know her situation? With someone who didn’t care?
She drew in a huge, unconstrained breath.
Cathy frowned. “What does he mean by ‘day?’” Was that an actual twenty-four-hour day, or was it a euphemism? Before she quite realized what she had done, she typed in the question. Almost immediately, a reply popped up. A chill shivered through her. He had been waiting to hear from her.
A day could be twenty-four hours or it could be just lunch and conversation. Tonight it means dinner.
Cathy sat very still, her heart thumping. He was actually waiting on the other end. “He’s waiting for me to reply.” Her gaze dropped to the unopened bills that she had just carried in and added to the others already stacked so neatly on the desk. The monstrous totals kept ratcheting up, growing like black fungus to choke her.
Blinding rage burst inside her. With a violent sweep of her arm, envelopes and papers flew, pitching across the thin carpet. Her chest felt squeezed under a familiar, relentless pressure. Her breath came ragged and hard. Hot tears scalded her eyes and slid down her face.
She knew to a penny what was in her checking account and what she could expect to be there on payday at the end of the month. No matter how she economized and scrimped and reworked the numbers, those figures weren’t going to change. And now that the health insurance company had politely declined to consider future claims, the situation could scarcely be considered to be looking up.
A Benjamin a day.
It whispered across her mind. Where else could she get that? For what was essentially a part-time job?
Her fingers flew across the keys. Almost savagely, she pressed send. She read the instant reply. Then she stood up. She just had time to shower and change. As Cathy walked out of the room, she wondered what a whore wore to dinner at an upscale restaurant.
Chapter Two
She chose a blue silk shell and a cream pencil skirt. There was a jacket that went with the outfit, but she left it at home. After debating with herself, she had finally decided that the jacket made her look too professional.
Cathy walked into the restaurant, still uncertain about her attire. She reminded herself that she was not going in to work. Suddenly, she realized the idiocy of what she was thinking. A bubble of almost hysterical laughter rose in her throat. Actually, she
was
going in to work, or at least she was interviewing for the position.
Oh God, the position!
She almost lost it then. Hiccoughing, she asked the seating hostess to direct her to the ladies’ room.
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?
She was staring at him, a flicker of fright in the depths of her eyes.
He casually made mention of a recent movie. It was an easy matter to slide into safe, conversational waters. He did it deliberately, not only to draw her out but to persuade her to feel more comfortable with him. He wanted her relaxed and off guard.
Their dinner was brought to the table. She had chosen a seafood entrée, so Michael had requested a good white wine to accompany her meal. While they ate, he made certain that her wine glass was always full. He would take any advantage, including encouraging her to become tipsy. He watched her while they conversed over dinner. She did not appear to notice how many times that he topped off her glass. He was a cold-hearted bastard. Of course he was. That’s what made him so good at business. He found the weakness and exploited it.
He wanted her. It was business. It was as simple as that. If she declined his offer, he’d see that she got home safely in a cab. He wouldn’t be responsible for letting her drive home inebriated.
* * * *
It gradually occurred to Cathy that she was enjoying herself. Once she had gotten over her initial and intense discomfort, the evening had swiftly become companionable. It was a relief not to have to talk about her life. She felt a swift arrow of guilt. It wasn’t her daughter that she wanted to forget. Never that. Instead, it was the awful, unremitting, unthinkable circumstances of their lives that she wanted to put out of her mind. She pushed away the bleakness and refocused on her dinner companion, wanting to pretend for just a little while that everything was fine. She sipped a little more wine, aware of a pleasant buzz beginning to soften the edges of what remained of her former tension.
She listened as Michael talked briefly about his work and in greater detail about his travels, about the music that he enjoyed and the books that he had read. He invited her to share her own experiences and opinions. Even though she laughed or made an appropriate remark, Cathy felt embarrassment grow within her as it become more and more apparent to her how little she had to contribute. For longer than she cared to recall, her life had revolved around hospitals. Her reading was confined to medical journals and work-related subjects. She did not remember the last time that she had turned on the radio just to listen to music. Dining out like this was a rarity. It had been ages since she had ordered anything like the delicious shrimp scampi that she was consuming tonight.
I must be boring him to death .
She was abruptly reminded that it was not her mind that this man was interested in.
“Winter, do you find me at all attractive?”
She stared at him, completely taken aback by the unexpected question. He was sitting quite at ease, half-turned in his chair with one arm laid negligently on the table. The almost-empty wine glass dangled from his hand. There was only polite inquiry reflected in his face. Her thought processes were incoherent. She felt a faint throbbing begin at her temples. She couldn’t seem to find her tongue.
As the awkward moment lengthened, the cool expression in his eyes turned quizzical. “It’s not a trick question, Winter.”
“No, of course it isn’t. I just never – it didn’t occur to me that—”
“That I’d prefer to be with someone who found me marginally interesting?” Michael’s sarcasm was palpable. “There should be some chemistry, Winter.”
She was not offended by his tone, she found. It was a valid point. She just hadn’t given any thought to it. “Of course. That makes sense. When there is nothing else to base a relationship on, physical attraction becomes the only real criteria that can be used.”
Surprise flickered in his pale eyes.
Cathy tilted her head, frowning thoughtfully as she regarded him. She had not really looked that closely at him. Earlier, she had been too nervous to gather more than a generally favorable impression about him. Now she inspected him feature by feature. His hair was dark, his brows also, and he was deeply tanned. The ice-blue of his eyes stood out in stark contrast. His cheekbones and jaw line were chiseled, giving him a rugged handsomeness. Under her perusal, his firm mouth flattened with some emotion. Upon her arrival, she had fleetingly been impressed with the breadth of his shoulders and his tall, athletic build. As Cathy recalled the gentlemanly gesture he had made, standing up to wait for her and then seating her at the table, she smiled faintly. As far as she was concerned, courtesy went a long way. Quietly, she said, “Yes, I find you attractive.”
