Roberts, Sarah - His Sugar Baby (Siren Publishing Allure)

by Sarah Roberts

  She didn’t know what she was going to do about Michael.

  It was a long night. She didn’t sleep much. She just lay on the bed in the dark, thinking. As the shadows changed and grayed with the dawn, Cathy sat up. She pushed her hair out of her face then got up and went into the bathroom. She splashed water in her face.

  Without turning on a light, she walked into the small living room to pick up her phone and speed-dial her sister’s number. When she heard Pam’s sleepy voice, she said quietly, “Pammy, I’m pregnant.” She listened for a minute. “Yes, it’s Michael’s. Of course I was on the pill! I–I must have missed taking it, what with everything—I don’t know if I’m seeing him again. No! I am not going to call him right now. Just come pick me up, okay? I don’t need to be here anymore—love you too.”

  * * * *

  Michael knew that he had badly erred. His timing couldn’t have been worse. There she was, coming off a major meltdown, and he had let his own defensiveness push her away. Discuss our options? It didn’t get much more insensitive than that, he thought morosely. While he had been obsessing over his relationship with her, she still had other and far more important concerns. God, I’m a selfish bastard. Her daughter’s well-being would naturally be Winter’s number-one priority until Chloe had been taken off the critical list and moved to a private room.

  He decided to let it rest for awhile. When he called her, he never referred to the agreement between them, nor did he ask to see her. He limited his conversation to polite inquiries about her well-being and her daughter’s health. She was guarded in what she was willing to tell him. However, she seemed to recognize that his concern was sincere.

  Michael gathered the impression that he was a problem that she hadn’t decided how to handle. He resolved to allow her to make the first move. The last thing he wanted to do was to make her feel pressured. That was certain to drive her further away.

  He had resigned himself to a long wait, so he was surprised when Winter simply showed up at his house. He stared at her, his hand still on the open door, while she stood looking at him from the front porch. He devoured the sight of her. Her auburn hair, worn loose, shone in the sun. She was dressed in a buttoned-up thigh-length coat over a long skinny skirt and ankle boots. She was so beautiful that it stole his breath.

  “May I come in?”

  “Of course!” He stepped back, widening the door. She walked past him. Her familiar floral fragrance wafted tantalizingly on the air. His lower body involuntarily tightened. She hesitated then turned toward him. Her wide hazel eyes questioned him.

  Without looking away from her, Michael shut the front door. His mind was buzzing with conjecture. He made a polite gesture with his hand toward the living area. She shook her head. She turned to the stairs. Her hips swayed as she moved lithely up.

  Michael watched her ascend but only for a second. He followed, every particle of his being aware of her. He couldn’t remove his gaze from her rounded derriere. He was already growing hard. All he wanted to do was to sink himself into her heat. It had been too long. But what the hell was she playing at? She reached the second level and turned into his bedroom.

  He stepped through the door and stopped. A tick jumped in his jaw. His voice roughened. Just seeing her there, in his bedroom—the sensual memories swamped him. “Make yourself comfortable.”

  “Thanks.” She unbuttoned the heavy coat, shrugged out of it, and laid it across the chair seat. She was wearing a lightweight blue tunic sweater underneath that clung to her high, full breasts and faithfully hugged her slim figure. A loose leather belt was slung low across her hipbones. “I decided it was time that we discussed our options. I think we should have that relationship talk, don’t you?”

  Michael felt his jaw clench. With three quick strides, he reached her.

  He caught her by the upper arms. His fingers bit into her. She winced, and he gentled his hold. Emotions he couldn’t fathom flicked a whip across his tight self-control. “What do you want from me? Why are you really here?” The words didn’t begin to cover what he wanted to know, yet she understood what he was really asking.

  “I don’t know. I’m not sure. Just…love me, Michael.”

  A roaring filled his head, crowding out coherent thought. He wanted her with a longing that hurt. Slowly he reached for the front of her sweater and pulled it over her head. His fingers were trembling when he unhooked the front closure of her bra. He splayed his hand to cup one of her full breasts. Something primitive seized him. “You’re mine,” he uttered thickly. “Do you understand that? You’re mine and only mine.” A measure of his desperation must have communicated itself to her.

  “Yes, I’m yours,” she whispered. She lifted a hand to his jaw and the gold bangle bracelet glinted around her wrist. “Just for now.”

  With a groan, he wrapped her in a tight embrace and covered her mouth with his. He lifted his head, his breath harsh. He stared down at the pale oval of her face in the light. He felt the movement of her hands, heard the rustle of fabric. The belt dropped to the floor. A zipper burred. Michael slid his hands down under the waistband of her skirt, pushing it to drop off her hips, sending it puddling around her feet. He grazed his fingers over her sex. He caught his breath. She wasn’t wearing anything but a scrap of lace. He could feel her damp heat. His desire lit like a conflagration. Quickly he stripped away the lace, pulling it down over her hips and legs.

  He gathered her up and laid her on the bed. He unzipped the ankle boots and carefully removed them, cradling her slender feet. She angled up on her elbows. Her eyes were flared wide with arousal. Her creamy breasts and belly and legs were fully exposed. She watched while he yanked off his clothes.

  Michael lay down beside her. He pulled her arms above her head so that she fell flat against the mattress. He leaned down to kiss her openmouthed and then gently bit one of her breasts. She cried out and arched beneath him. He growled in satisfaction. Letting go of her wrists, he fisted himself. He was already rigid. He was afraid he would come too soon. He didn’t think he could last. Her palms brushed feather-light against his cheekbones then trailed down to his shoulders, settling there.

  “I’ve missed you, Michael.” Her words were throaty, breathless.

  Michael pushed her willing thighs apart and wedged himself in the soft V between them. He pushed his cock steadily into her tight heat and began to thrust slowly and deeply. He slightly raised himself so that he could slip a hand between their bodies and strum her clitoris, striving to drive her desire to greater heights. She trembled under him. Her hands caressed his body, and he closed his eyes with acute pleasure.

  * * * *

  She had come to him, deliberately setting herself to seduce him. Yet she became the one seduced. His hands, his mouth, his gentle possession of her made her feel alive. The exhaustion, the anxiety, the uncertainty, all of it dropped away. Heat coiled in her belly, spread through her limbs and her body. She wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him in closer. She wrapped her fingers in his hair and dragged him down for a drugging kiss. He groaned into her mouth as their mouths melded and their tongues dueled. His weight settled heavier onto her then suddenly he rolled, taking her with him so that she ended on top.

  She laughed breathlessly, her flattened hands on the pillows, looking down into his face. His eyes glittered hotly. “Dance for me, baby,” he gritted. His hands flexed on her buttocks. She drew her knees up beside his hips and pushed her torso from off of his chest. She felt his thick length slide deeper and whimpered with pleasure. Clasping her elbows above her head, she shifted her pelvis in a sensuous, rocking rhythm. She ground her clit against his pelvis and felt the friction of his thick cock shafting her. Her blood was soon blazing. His knowing hands roamed her slick, undulating body, stroking her. He reached up to knead her aching breasts and pluck her nipples. She threw back her head on a long moan. She dropped forward, pressing into him, so that she could catch him in a hot, openmouthed kiss. He swept his strong arms around her and rolled he
r over to her back. He couldn’t seem to get enough of her, and she was just as eager for him

  It was a desperate, thorough coupling, yet deeply passionate on a subliminal level that they had never reached before.

  His weight lifted. She felt the coolness of the air on her heated body and incoherently sobbed a protest. His hands wrapped her waist and flipped her onto her belly. Anticipation flashed over her. “Yes!”

  His wide hands lifted her hips. His heavy cock nudged at her ass, slid underneath, and pushed home again, filling her. His fingers bit into her hips. He drove into her sheath again, at a deeper angle, hitting the exquisite pleasure point. He grunted above her, his breath heaving sharply with every stroke. The pleasure radiated, blossoming in her core. “Michael!” Her fingers writhed in the bedclothes. A molten, mind-hazing wave washed over her. Bright, jagged lights burnt behind her eyeballs, and she was spun into space.

  Michael shuddered through his own orgasm before he collapsed over her. He lifted himself and sprawled down beside her. He threw his arm heavily over her lower back. His swift, harsh breath rasped loud in her ears. She lay tangled in the bedclothes, under the reassuring weight of his arm, and her eyes drifted shut.

  They slept the night through. At some point, she became nestled against his side. His arms wrapped around her, and her head rested on his chest.

  It was late in the morning when she wakened. The whisps of a lovely dream still misted through her sleepy brain. She opened her eyes and met his gaze. There was a softened expression in his pale eyes that lit happiness deep inside her. It would be easy to tell him, she thought muzzily. One of his hands caressed the line of her shoulder and arm. The warmth of his body cradled her. She felt utterly boneless, cherished, and safe. He was going to make a wonderful father. Still half asleep, she smiled up at him. “I love you.”

  She felt his whole body stiffen. She watched the shutters snap shut over his expression, turning the warmth in his eyes cold. It was like having a bucket of frigid water splashed in her face. She was instantly and fully awake. Iciness settled around the vicinity of her heart. She had made the unpardonable mistake. She had misread him and exposed her vulnerability. Her heart thudded heavily with her disappointment and despair. It had all changed for her, but obviously it had not for him. She sat up, pulling the sheet up to her breasts. “You don’t have to say it. No emotional attachments, right?”

  Michael eased himself to a sitting position. His eyes never wavered from hers, and she saw guilt reflected in their pale depths. “I need to be honest with you. There are—things you need to know.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “You obviously want a relationship. There’s no possibility of that.” She heard the regret in his voice, which only served to crush her further. He slid an arm around her shoulders, and she tensed. He lifted his other hand to gently caress her face with his fingers. “Winter. I’m sorry.” When she started to move away from him, he tightened his arm. She resisted, so he reluctantly let her go.

  She slipped out of the bed and started across the bedroom toward the bathroom. Coming to him, falling into bed with him, had been a monumental mistake. “I’ll get cleaned up and go.”

  “I have a wife.”

  The words hung stark on the air. They hit her with all the force of lethal throwing knives. She stumbled and slowly swung around. She stared disbelievingly at him. Something shriveled, and died, inside her. Her pulse beat heavily in her body, in her belly.

  His face was still shuttered, but there was an uneasy flicker in his eyes. There was an almost-imperceptible working of his throat before he spoke again. “We were separated for a long time before I met you, but we aren’t divorced.”

  Cathy struggled to make sense of what exactly he was telling her. “You were married? While we were…” She waved her hands in the air.

  “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 followe
d 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!”