His Sugar Baby (18 page)

He interrupted her. “I planned on seeing you today before I go out of town for the next two weeks. I’m not going to wait until my return, Winter. I want this to happen now.”

“All right,” she said stiffly. She gave him the address of the garage. He hung up as soon as he had it. She sat quite still, struggling with burning anger. Michael had been unexpectedly abrupt, cold and demanding. It was demeaning, she thought furiously. She should have said something. He had no right to speak to her like that.
Like he was talking to his sugar baby?
Her inner voice was derisive.
You’ve forgotten, girl. You’re his hired whore.
Cathy felt like she had taken a blow to the solar plexus.

“Ma’am? Ma’am, are you all right? You’re white as a sheet!”

Cathy gathered herself back together and looked up quickly. The mechanic stared down at her in concern. She forced a smile. “Am I? I guess I didn’t get enough breakfast.”

The man’s broad weathered face eased into a knowing, gap-toothed grin. “I bet you went to stand up too quick and got dizzy and had to sit right back down, huh? My wife is the same way.” He raised the battered clipboard in his big hand. “I got bad news for you, Ms. Somerset.” The mechanic went on to tell her what was wrong with her car.

Cathy’s heart sank. He handed a long estimate to her on thin yellow paper. She stared at it, the figures swimming before her eyes. It was a catastrophe. “Do—do you accept payments?” she asked faintly.

The mechanic’s friendly expression shifted into a frown. “It’s not what I like to do. I accept credit cards.”

“I understand.” Cathy straightened her shoulders with difficulty, at the same time drawing the ragged edges of her pride around her. “I will see what I can work out and get back to you. Is it all right if I just leave the car with you for now?”

He shrugged, flashing a crooked grin. “Well, it’s not like it’s going anywhere. I’ll have to charge you something for storage, though.”

Cathy didn’t appreciate his stab at gallows humor. She eyed him with a measure of hostility. The mechanic was oblivious to her reaction. “Do you need to call someone to pick you up, or do you want me to call a cab for you?”

Cathy shook her head. “A friend is picking me up.” Methodically she folded the estimate and put it into her purse. She still felt like she had been hit broadside by a truck. She didn’t know what she was going to do. Her finances couldn’t absorb large emergency expenses like major car repair. Each month her salary and everything in Winter’s account was put against medical bills and her basic living expenses.

The mechanic nodded. “Good.” He hesitated as he finally took in her stiff expression. An innate honesty compelled him to speak. “Ma’am, if you really want my advice, you’d be better off finding another car. Even if I do everything on that estimate, you’re going to keep having problems with this one. The engine is flat worn out. It really needs to be rebuilt, and that would cost you a pretty penny.”

It just keeps getting better and better.

“Thank you. I’ll keep it in mind,” Cathy said dully.

“No problem.” His duty discharged, the mechanic nodded. “Glad to be of help.” Whistling tunelessly, he ambled back to the garage bays.

Cathy blinked back tears, defeat tearing at her insides. She had done the prudent thing, trading in her previous vehicle and ridding herself of its monthly payment, and bought an older model. But ultimately, it had proven an exercise in futility. The older car had betrayed her.

She was now faced with having no vehicle at all, no money to replace it, and with credit too bad to get a decent loan. She would have no reliable way to get back and forth to work or to the hospital. Of course, she had friends and coworkers who would offer to chauffeur her, but it would not be fair or practical to expect them to provide transportation for her indefinitely. They would grow to resent the necessity, and there would be inevitable schedule conflicts.

It was an impossible situation, and she couldn’t visualize a solution. With her despairing thoughts, her emotions tanked. It was so damn hard to be positive when she kept getting slapped down. Her ex-husband had just walked away and gotten on with his life. A flicker of deep-seated rage took hold of her. She burned with the unfairness of it all. What had she, or Chloe, done to deserve the hell that had invaded their lives?

A little over an hour later, Michael drove up in a silver Lexus. Cathy straightened, taking note that the dealer’s tags were still on it. A new Lexus! She felt an unreasonable surge of resentment ignite toward him. There was just too much in her life that wasn’t fair, she thought bitterly.

Cathy walked out of the air-conditioned waiting room to meet him. The late fall heat struck her, and the humidity made her green knit T-shirt stick to her body. The physical discomfort was just one more mark against a really bad day.

Michael’s dark aviators covered his eyes, hiding the expression in his eyes. But she could see that the line of his jaw was tense.
Oh, great! Just great! He’s still sporting an attitude!

He didn’t even greet her before saying shortly, “Are you done here?”

“Yes. I’ve gotten the estimate,” she said, just as shortly. “The car’s dead.”

* * * *

Through the silvered lens of his aviators, Michael studied the storminess of Winter’s expression. She was obviously ticked off. He was uncomfortably aware that he had not been particularly sympathetic when he had talked with her over the phone. The breakdown of her car had been out of her control. She couldn’t be blamed for it. She had deserved better than the rough edges of his impatience, he thought, but he wasn’t about to admit his fault. Maybe her mood would change when he offered a solution to her present predicament.

“Then we’re out of here.” He handed the Lexus keys to her. She looked at him blankly, then with a gathering frown of suspicion. “Sometimes I’ll want you to drive.” Michael took her elbow and steered her to the driver’s side. He opened the door and gestured for her to get in. Winter hesitated before ducking and sliding onto the leather seat. He watched her long, slim legs, wrapped in tight denim, disappear inside, and then he shut the door.

As Michael rounded the front of the shiny vehicle, he heard someone call out from the garage. “Have a good day, Ms. Somerset!” Michael acknowledged the mechanic with a wave. He opened the passenger door and got into the vehicle, glancing across at Winter as he shut the door. She was occupied with adjusting the seat and the mirrors. All of the windows were up because the air was running. It was obvious that she had not heard the mechanic.

A faint smile curled his lips. His own irritation lightened. A few weeks before, he had become aware of a surprising, deepening interest to know more about the woman who shared his bed. He had naturally refrained from questioning her, and not just because it would have run counter to his own rules. He was all too aware that she would not have welcomed his curiosity. Winter had made plain that she was fine with his original stipulation that they not exchange information about their personal lives. However, that was not good enough for him anymore.

Now he knew a little more than he did yesterday. He knew her full name.
Winter Somerset.
His smile flickered again with his satisfaction. He pulled the seat belt across his chest and snapped it home.

Done with making adjustments to the car, Winter slid on her sunglasses. “Where do you want to go?”

Michael quirked his brow. His voice very dry, he said, “The house.”

Chapter Fourteen

Without a word, Cathy put the vehicle in gear and eased it onto the street. The drive to his home would be short. She had been more than halfway to Michael’s place when her car died.

As they left the business district behind, the traffic was lighter. She could not help noticing how well the Lexus handled and responded to her lightest touch.
Damn it. It drives like a dream!
She compared the Lexus to her own debilitated vehicle, and despondency trickled through her again. The pleasant scent of new leather filled her nostrils. The seat fit her body, cradling her frame in comfort. There was hardly any sound to disturb the smooth ride. Not even the air conditioning marred the near-silence.

The flame of resentment suddenly flared bright. She knew that the furnace of emotion was illogical. It wasn’t Michael’s fault that her car was dead. But the rational part of her mind wasn’t prevailing against what she was feeling.

As they approached their destination, she slowed, parking the vehicle in the driveway. When she got out of the new vehicle, she almost slammed the door. She walked around the front of the Lexus where Michael was waiting for her and held out the keys to him. But he didn’t reach for them. Instead, he nodded at the keys dangling from her fingers. “The Lexus is yours, Winter. It’s leased for two years, prepaid.”

Cathy gaped at him. She knew that she must look foolish with her mouth hanging open, but he didn’t laugh at her. His face remained expressionless behind the dark aviators.
The Lexus is mine to drive.
She felt relief swamp her. “Michael, I can’t tell you how much I—”

“I don’t want any repeats to inconvenience me, Winter.” The cold, flat statement made her flinch. He walked away to unlock the door of the house and went inside.

She watched him, rooted to the spot where he had left her. She was shaking. She felt as though she had been slapped. She wanted to scream. She wanted to throw the keys or viciously key the side of the Lexus. But she did nothing and hated herself for it. She needed the vehicle too much. She was so angry she fumbled with the zipper of her purse, the clumsiness of her trembling fingers making hard work of it. Finally, she managed to yank it open and drop the Lexus keys inside of it.

Michael had left the front door standing open, obviously confident that, just like an obedient bitch dog, she would follow her master inside. She understood with crystal clarity precisely what it was all about. Oh yes, she understood all too well. He was her employer. He wanted her to be able to meet her obligations so he provided her with new wheels. Well, then, I suppose it’s time to earn my generous salary, Cathy thought bitterly.

Her heels beat an angry tattoo on the stone walkway and, when she swept into the entry, again on the granite tiles. She banged the front door shut. She swept a glance around the living area and found it empty. Cathy started quickly up the carpeted stairs, the adrenaline pounding through her veins. She found him waiting for her in the bedroom. He had shed only his sunglasses and shoes. He leaned against the bedpost, his arms crossed over his muscular chest, and watched her enter. His look was assessing and very cool.

Fresh rage ripped through her. Cathy felt her face tighten, her cheekbones heating. She tossed aside her purse, hearing it clunk against the wall, and kicked off her heels. Reaching down for the hem, she peeled off her T-shirt, taking her bra with it, and tossed the garments away. With every discard, her angry momentum carried her across the carpet until she was standing almost toe to toe with him. Her bare breasts rose and fell with her trembling anger. She ripped down the zipper of her jeans. “Is this what you want?” she ground out, grasping the waist of her jeans.

He caught her wrists, stopping her furious strip. His ice-blue eyes narrowed on her. “I want you to undress me.”

“
What?
”

He let go of her wrists. There was a hard look on his face. His voice was low, almost menacing. “Undress me.”

Cathy glared up at him. She was too ticked off to be intimidated by his attitude. She wrenched his black T-shirt out of the tight waistband of his low-riding jeans. She stepped back, panting. “There, asshole.”

“Well, that’s a start. But I have to tell you, darlin’, your technique leaves something to be desired.” His voice was at its most sarcastic.

Cathy pulled up his T-shirt with such violence that she rocked against the hard planes of his chest, her breasts pressed for an instant against hot, bare skin before she leaped back. He obliged her by dipping forward, raising his arms, so that the T-shirt peeled free of his head and muscular arms. Cathy threw it aside without taking her searing gaze off of the man standing in front of her.

Michael straightened. He looked at her, his face still hard. “The belt.”

She reached down to free the tongue, pulled it taut to slip the metal tang, and unlatched the buckle. Without being told, she unsnapped and unzipped his jeans before she bent and knelt to pull the denim down from his lean hips. His thick erection sprang free, jutting level with her eyes.
He’s commando. Bastard!
The truth burst in her brain. He had cold-bloodedly planned this little scenario for her, for his whore.

A red haze of fury dropped before her eyes. Tumbled memories of her ex—what he had demanded—forcing her down on him. He had liked to fuck her face. Oh, yes, she knew to a nicety how to service a man. She circled her fingers around the base of his shaft. Leaning forward, she opened her lips and took him deep into her mouth. When he was seated, she grasped the backs of his hard thighs to hold him close and began to work his straining cock. Through the pulse pounding in her ears, she dimly heard his deep groan.

“God, woman!” His taut fingers threaded through her hair, exerting tension against her scalp. “Show a little mercy!”

Inside her head, Cathy laughed. Her teeth raked his length and nipped. She could feel his hard thighs quivering. She sucked harder, faster. He bucked in her mouth. His hands twisted tighter in her hair, pulling her backward, making tears spring to her eyes. His cock popped free of her tight suctioning mouth. Snarling, she jerked forward and bit the engorged glans. Michael howled, and she laughed out loud.