His Sugar Baby (3 page)

* * * *

Michael felt a release of sudden tension. He realized with mild annoyance that he had actually tensed during her deliberate inspection. He firmly took back control. “I’ve already told you that you are lovely. I meant it.” He paused while he contemplated her face. She had not reverted to looking uncomfortable again at his compliment. He felt that to be a good sign. He decided to push her a little further. “You said that you were divorced six years ago. How long has it been?”

She looked puzzled. It was a second before comprehension entered her eyes. Her cheeks flamed, which he found utterly fascinating. It was obvious that she was reluctant to respond to his question, but she finally did so. “Six years.”

Michael shifted in his chair, trying to ignore the stirring in his loins. “Why?”

He watched as she tensed and her posture stiffened defensively.

“Do you mind if we don’t share personal histories?”

“Not at all. I prefer it, actually,” he said politely.

Michael was pleased. Nothing bored him more than to be deluged with someone else’s drama and baggage. And here was a woman who didn’t want to discuss her past or want to know anything about him.
She’s perfect. But six years celibate?
He wondered about that. Perhaps she was so passionless that she had little interest in sex. He rejected that at once. Over dinner, when she had mentioned expenses, she had exhibited controlled anger. She had expressed interest and amusement during their conversation. Her laughter had been genuine. Those were not the emotions of a cold, dispassionate woman. Given her history of celibacy, however, he certainly would not expect her to jump eagerly into his bed. At least, not initially. No, she would have to be seduced and wooed. The enticement of the money had brought her to him that evening, but he doubted it would be enough to hold her, to make her open her arms and welcome him with abandon.

She posed a challenge. That appealed to him, stirring to life an anticipation that he had not felt in a very long time. He would enjoy taking her out to concerts and to dinner and all the rest of it. Judging from her conversation, she did not seem to have done much socializing. She probably did not make the income that allowed for such luxuries, he thought. It occurred to him that she probably did not own the necessary wardrobe, either. He looked her over again. Her outfit was conservative, and unless he missed his guess, it was part of a business suit.
She dresses like a bank teller
. One of the first things he would do, he decided, would be to take her shopping. On the spur of his reflections, he remarked, “You’re not wearing any jewelry.”

* * * *

Surprised by the non sequitur, Cathy looked up. She paused in spearing up her last shrimp. She felt a momentary pang of regret. The few good pieces of jewelry that she had once owned had been auctioned off with her antique furniture. She met his eyes with frankness. “I haven’t got any jewelry.”

Amusement lit his eyes. The corners of his mouth quirked up. “I’ll remember that.”

His response struck her as odd. Cathy frowned over it, until she realized that he believed that she was hinting. As the heat of color flooded her face, she looked quickly away. There were so many things that could be taken the wrong way, she thought, stricken. She looked at the shrimp impaled on the tines of her fork and sudden nausea struck her. Carefully, she set the fork down on her plate, leaving the shrimp untouched. The dinner that she had enjoyed was suddenly heavy in her stomach.
What am I doing here?
Her head pounded. She rubbed the tips of her fingers against her temples and squeezed her eyes shut. She tried to think, but her brain felt muddled. She had drunk so much wine.
Stupid, stupid!

“Winter? Is there something wrong?”

Cathy quickly dropped her hand. She shook her head. It was a mistake. Her head swam. Momentarily disoriented, she blinked. She finally managed to smile. “I’m fine.” After a sharp glance, Michael appeared satisfied with her assurance. He once more initiated conversation, this time of practical matters having to do with their arrangement. Cathy forced herself to concentrate. She had to remain alert. She had to be rational and business-like. She had to remain aware that she could still walk out. They discussed safe sex, establishing that they were both free of sexually transmitted diseases, and agreed to no drugs. Cathy heard herself volunteering that she was on the pill due to a hormonal imbalance.

Michael merely nodded in a matter-of-fact way. “Good. That will be an additional safeguard against pregnancy.”

It was the most bizarre conversation that she had ever participated in. Intimate, yet impersonal. Cathy attributed her lack of embarrassment to the wine-induced haze that was fogging her mind.

The attentive waiter materialized to whisk away their empty plates and to inquire whether they would care for coffee or dessert. Michael deferred to her with a slight gesture. “Winter?” She declined with a constrained smile. She was wondering what came next and supposed that she would soon find out. Her heart began to pound, every beat resonating in her head.

The waiter left the tab in a discreet holder. Michael glanced at the tab. He took out his wallet and pulled out some bills to put inside the holder. Then he reached back into his wallet and removed a hundred dollar bill. He slid it across the table toward her. She watched him, keeping her face carefully blank.

Taking his fingers off of the bill, he said quietly, “Here is what we agreed upon for this evening. Now you have a decision to make, Winter. I can either see you into a cab that will take you home, or you can come with me to my house. If you change your mind after you come back with me, I will still put you into a cab to send you home tonight. I promise you there will be no hard feelings. But I do want to continue to see you, and it would be a physical relationship.”

Cathy felt herself start to shake, but it wasn’t the kind of trembling that could be seen. Instead, her entire insides were quivering like jelly.
So…here it is. The moment of truth.

She stared at the fold-creased hundred-dollar bill. It blurred, and she blinked to bring it back into focus. In her mind’s eye, superimposed over the hundred dollar bill, was the balance in her check register, the bills that were scattered all over the carpet beside her desk, her daughter’s pinched little face. A huge fist squeezed her chest. The familiar crushing sensation made it hard to draw in her breath. She forced her lungs to expand, dragging in some air.

Her mind whirled, racing this way and that. The hundred dollars that she was looking at wouldn’t go far. She was not an idiot. But a lunch with conversation, another dinner at an intimate restaurant, perhaps a bike ride or weekend trip – each time gaining her another hundred. The hundred dollar bill began to multiply, began to make a difference. All she had to do was go back to his home. All she had to do was spread her legs.

Cathy—
no, Winter,
she corrected herself—picked up the hundred dollar bill. She folded it very deliberately and put it safely into her purse. Then she looked up. “I’ll go back to your house.”

Chapter Three

A thousand times, Cathy changed her mind, and a thousand times she bit back the words. They did not speak during the taxi ride. Michael had taken her hand when he entered the cab after her and had not let go of it. Their hands lay clasped on the seat between them, his large one engulfing hers. He did not hold her hand tightly or squeeze it or play with her fingers. There was no overt demand. Yet the contact created an intimacy and a bond that in her indecisive state of mind she could not break. Perhaps it was that as much as anything else that stopped her from telling him that she had second thoughts about what she was doing.

At their destination, Michael paid off the cab, and still with the lightest of contact—the warmth of his hand at her elbow or at the small of her back—he directed her to the front door and then inside the house.

The entry was shrouded in mystery. Lamps sitting on dark lacquered occasional tables had been left on so that pools of light played with the night shadows. Cathy instinctively shivered, but she wasn’t given time to analyze the feeling. Michael ushered her into the living area. Cathy received a swift impression of a comfortably furnished room with big upholstered armchairs, a deep-cushioned sofa, some small lamp tables and other accessories. A gas fire burned yellow in the glass-fronted fireplace. The fire was out of context in June, but the ambiance of the dancing flames was striking.

Cathy moved forward, away from him, breaking physical contact. She whirled to face him. She crossed her arms, and her palms began unconsciously running up and down her bare skin. The fear that had nudged her earlier in the entry became full-blown, making her skin clammy. She was breathing shallowly. Suddenly and startlingly sober with the adrenaline racing through her veins, her mind screamed at her. She hadn’t considered. She could have placed herself in very real danger. This man was a stranger to her! What a fool she was! He could do anything he wanted to her. No one knew where she was. She gulped back a sob, her breath rasping in her throat.

* * * *

Hearing her swift intake of breath, Michael stilled and narrowed his gaze on her. The firelight burnished glints of gold dancing in her auburn curls and cast mysterious shadows into her eyes. But he easily read her body language. She looked like a beautiful frightened feline holding herself at bay. It would not take much to spook her, he thought. He had deliberately used a cab to bring them back to his house, believing that she would be less likely to say anything about having second thoughts within the driver’s hearing. Now he saw that he had correctly anticipated her state of mind. His body had already been hard for her before they had left the restaurant. He would have to curb his impatience. He felt the razor-edge anticipation and, along with it, the tightening of his balls.

He walked across the dimly lit room toward her, his unwavering gaze fixed on her face. He stopped within inches of her. He was actually a little surprised when she didn’t back away. At that close proximity, he could see the frantic pulse jump in her throat with each beat of her heart. Keeping captive her unsure gaze, he cupped his hands gently on each side of her face and drew her up. His lips caught hers. For a first kiss it was almost chaste. Almost, but not quite. He took his time, not pressing her but just tasting her. She was stiff at first. Her defensive stance was a barrier between them. Then he felt some of the tension drain out of her body. Her tightly clutched arms loosened and fell to her sides.

He slipped one of his hands into the thick hair behind her nape, holding her head as he slanted his mouth and deepened the kiss. With the other hand, he pressed her closer so that her generous breasts flattened against the hard breadth of his chest. She shivered under his fingers when he glided them slowly up and down the delicate curve of her spine.

* * * *

Cathy’s skin pebbled with goose bumps. His warmth surrounded her, and his cologne was a spicy musk in her nostrils. Her mouth opened under the gentle insistence of his kiss, and his tongue slid along the seam of her parted lips. He tasted pleasantly of wine. She closed her eyes, letting the sensations roll over her, through her. She felt his lips move to her eyelids, to her throat. It had been so long since she had been held.

She sighed, and he heard her. He kissed her again, this time less gently. His tongue pressed inside her mouth, stroking lightly, erotically against hers. His hands moved over her body, exploring its contours. He cupped her butt in both hands, drawing her closer, and she felt the hard ridge of his erection against her soft belly. She trembled. He released her to push up the hem of her silken shell, his long, calloused fingers gliding smoothly underneath it to caress her trembling ribs and her back. She felt the nimble twist of his fingers, and then her bra parted. His hands slid back around and pushed up inside her bra to palm her naked breasts. All the while he kissed her. She quivered with mingled dread and anticipation. Her hands lifted to curve over his hard shoulders for balance.

He broke the kiss and took her hands away from his shoulders. She blinked up at him, confused. Almost in one motion, he pulled the shell over her head, down her arms, and dropped it. Her bra went the same way. She quivered in pleasurable reaction. He gathered her close again, his fingers tightening almost painfully on her forearms. He trailed his firm lips down her throat, and she lifted her chin to give him better access. When he nipped the skin under her ear, she inhaled sharply at the slight sting of pain. His tongue touched the tiny wound, soothing it. A muscular arm slid behind her bare back, pulling her upward. He bowed her against his taut body. His hair brushed her chin as his head dipped. Then his mouth closed on one breast, and he suckled it. Cathy arched sharply in shock, giving a choked cry. She spasmodically clutched his shoulders.

He bent slightly, swept his other arm behind her knees, and lifted her off of her feet. His mouth never left her breast but continued to work wantonly on her tender flesh. She jerked under the vacuum of his hot mouth. Bending one knee on the sofa, he laid her down. His lips finally freed her throbbing breast. The warmth of his breath on her wet skin made her shudder. “You can stop it at any point, this time.” His voice was low, a little hoarse.

This time.
The words sounded a dim warning in her overloaded mind. But he didn’t wait for any reply she might have formulated. His hot mouth came down on her other breast, and he sucked and tongued. Her palms flattened against the sofa cushion, her fingernails digging into the fabric. She threw back her head, a low moan rising from her throat.