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

  Breaking off with Winter was the last thing he wanted to do. She was bright and articulate and attractive. It had surprised him how much he had liked walking around the mall with her, talking with her and teasing her. He enjoyed her body. Her response to him left him with no doubts that she found the pleasure to be mutual. His discovery that she had a little bit of a kinky side was a definite plus. Just thinking about her made his body ache.

  Michael shifted, trying to ease the uncomfortable swelling in his groin. Their last time together—the way her hot, wet sheath had clenched around him, her unexpected excitement and arousal at doing it in the open—

  Michael’s heated reflections skidded to a halt. Son of a bitch. That was it. He had pushed her too far, too fast.

  Michael swore. He was sure that he was right. She had been skittish from the beginning. He should have known better. But when she became so turned on by the way he was teasing her after the ballet premier, he had acted on his impulse to spin the fantasy into reality. The resulting sex had been good. Damn it. It had been more than good. He remembered what he had said afterward and how Winter had shut down. Michael shook his head in disgust at his stupidity. Knowing the little about her that he did, he should have anticipated that she might react badly.

  React badly? Winter had been frightened right down to her vanilla core.

  When they had first met over coffee, there had been something about her that drew him and would not let him forget her. It was the reason why he had renewed contact in hopes of meeting with her again. From his perspective, the night they spent at his house had been a spectacular success. He had never felt such a fever of lust in his life. He hadn’t been able to get enough of her. He still felt that way. Winter was an anomaly, a mystery, a puzzle. He had glimpsed the depths of passion hidden inside of her. He wanted to ignite it and burn in it.

  Michael swore again, this time more softly. He had planned to woo her and gain her trust and perhaps in the process teach her to trust herself and her own passions. She was his, but she didn’t know it yet. He wasn’t going to give her up without a fight. And for damn sure he wasn’t going to accept a “Dear John” e-mail.

  Michael carefully composed an e-mail that was an auto-responder clone, informing the recipients that he was absent out of the country on business but would be back in touch when he returned. He sent the generic-looking response in reply to Winter’s e-mail address. When she received it, she would not know if he had actually seen her own e-mail and that was exactly the way he wanted it. He wanted to keep her off-balance. He wanted her to think that he knew nothing about her effort to break off with him.

  When he got back from Singapore, he would do some major damage control.

  * * * *

  Cathy fretted over the e-mail she had sent to Michael, wondering how he would react. Badly, she suspected. She didn’t think he would let her e-mail go without comment. She hoped that he would respond without recriminations, but if he did get ugly, then she would simply drop out of sight. She would close both the secondary e-mail account and the bank account. Since he didn’t know where she lived or worked, she could be assured that he would not appear on her doorstep.

  Two days passed without a call or e-mail from him. She began to think that was the end of it, and she breathed a little easier.

  When the response finally came, it caught her by surprise.

  Cathy frowned when she read the auto-response in her e-mail inbox. Apparently Michael was so completely out of pocket that he was not responding personally to his emails. She chewed nervously on her bottom lip. Now she would have to wait until his return before she could terminate their association. She disliked having to do the disagreeable task all over again. She groaned aloud. “Damn it!” She just wanted to have it over and done with!

  Cathy thought about using the phone that he had given her, which she had never done before. He had said that he had programmed his office number and his home number into it. Leaving a message at his office was definitely out of the question. Anyone could hear it. It wouldn’t do any good to leave a message at the house, of course, because he wasn’t there. She also had his direct cell number programmed into her phone. She could simply call him, but she hesitated. He had said that he was meeting with an important new client. Cathy did not want to unintentionally interrupt or even jeopardize the smooth transaction of Michael’s business deal.

  She sighed in frustration. All right, she would just have to deal with it. She would make an effort to put it out of her mind for now and make it a point to talk to Michael once he returned. She just hoped that her courage wouldn’t fail her.

  Cathy shut down her computer, locked her apartment, and hurried out to her car. She shouldn’t even have turned on the computer. She was already running a few minutes behind in going to see her daughter.

  She was taking the beautifully dressed teddy bear along with her on today’s visit. She smiled, anticipating how Chloe’s eyes would light up at seeing the soft plush toy. She sat the teddy bear on the passenger seat of her car. In her purse, she also had a cheap pair of pink plastic hoop earrings for Chloe.

  Cathy turned the key in the ignition. There was a grinding noise and the slow spluttering rev of an engine that didn’t want to crank. The electrical warning light flickered. “No, oh no, not today,” she groaned.

  She turned the key again, and this time the engine caught without a beat. Cathy breathed a sigh of relief and threw the car in reverse. “Just keep going, car, okay? I need you to keep going.”

  Chapter Eight

  After the fright with her car, the trip across town seemed abnormally long. It didn’t help that she had gotten off work later than usual, and the traffic was bad. But at last Cathy turned into the hospital parking lot. She grabbed her purse and the teddy bear. As she hurried inside, the familiar odor of stale ammonia assailed her nostrils. She pressed the elevator button more than once, made impatient by the slowness of the elevator. At last, she reached Chloe’s floor. She hurried down the hall, calling out a quick greeting to the nurses at the station as she passed by on her way to her daughter’s room.

  Holding the teddy bear behind her back, Cathy pushed open the door and stepped inside the hospital room. She saw that Chloe was awake, watching television. “Hey, Chloe! I’m here.”

  Chloe turned her head, a grin lighting up her small pale face. “Mommy! I was worried. I thought you weren’t going to come.”

  “I’m sorry, baby. I’m just late.” Cathy swiftly crossed the room and bent over the bed to give a one-armed hug to her daughter. She kissed Chloe’s forehead under the brim of her hat. That evening, Chloe was wearing a deep-red crushed-velvet cloche that framed her piquant face and highlighted her brown eyes. Cathy thoroughly approved. Whoever had sent the cloche had been exceptionally perceptive. Unless someone was already aware of it, there was no way of telling that the small head under the cloche was bald. “I think that is your prettiest hat yet.”

  “Thank you,” said Chloe in a grown-up manner. Her solemnity dropped away as she tried to look around her mother’s body. “What are you holding, Mommy?”

  “I’ve brought you something. I think your hat is a good match for her.” Cathy brought the teddy bear out from behind her and held it out.

  Chloe’s eyes rounded. She reached out for the stuffed bear almost reverently. “She’s be-u-ti-ful,” she breathed, smoothing down the red velvet and white lace with careful hands.

  “I’m so glad you like her. Do you want to name her?”

  Chloe nodded quickly. Her eyes shone with excitement. “Yes! I’m going to name her Brigitta.”

  Cathy laughed. “Brigitta? That’s a lovely, unusual name. How did you come up with that?”

  “It was the name of a girl in a movie I saw,” said Chloe. “I’ve been watching TV all day.”

  Cathy made a face. “I think that I better get you some more books to read or your brain is going to turn to green goo.”

  Her daughter giggled. “No, it won’t! That’s s
illy.”

  “Yes, that’s silly,” agreed Cathy with a smile. It warmed her heart to hear her daughter’s laughter. She took the hoop earrings out of her purse. “Look what else I have.”

  Chloe squealed. “Put them on me now!”

  Cathy laughed and complied, carefully clipping the pink plastic hoops in place. “There! Hmm. They clash a little bit with the red hat.”

  Chloe gingerly fingered both hoops, a delighted grin on her face. “That’s okay, right?”

  “Yes, it’s okay.” Cathy glanced at the television anchored on the opposite wall. “What are you watching?”

  “Cartoons. I’ll scoot over so you can watch with me.” Chloe made room on the pillow. She wrapped her arm around the teddy bear and cradled it against her chest along with the ragged kitten.

  Cathy settled down beside her daughter in the hard hospital bed, being careful not to disturb the IV tubing that was attached to Chloe’s arm. She gathered her daughter’s thin little body against her side and wrapped her arms around both her and the stuffed toys. Chloe’s cheek dropped onto her breast. “Now this is cozy, isn’t it?”

  Chloe nodded. Her gaze returned to the television screen. “I like it,” she said with a contented sigh. “Thank you for my be-u-ti-ful bear and my earrings, Mommy.”

  “You’re welcome, baby.”

  Cathy watched the cartoon for a few minutes, smiling when Chloe laughed at the antics of the hyper animated characters. Eventually, Chloe relaxed bonelessly in her arms, and Cathy knew that she had fallen asleep. Cathy slid the remote out from under her daughter’s limp hand and turned off the television. She also gently removed the pink hoops and set them on the bedside table for Chloe to find in the morning.

  Cathy remained sitting in the same position for a long time, her daughter snuggled up against her. She didn’t move even after her backside went numb. She smoothed the edge of the elegant cloche out of the way so that she could watch her child’s sleeping face. Chloe’s nose twitched in her sleep, and she smiled down at her tenderly. Her smile slowly faded as she recalled longingly what it had been like when her daughter had been a vibrant, energetic, typical kindergartner.

  The hospital room door swung open, and a nurse came in. She didn’t appear surprised to see Cathy curled up on the bed with her patient. In a quiet voice, she said, “Good evening, Ms. Somerset. How are you doing today?” The nurse approached the bed to check the level of the IV and to lift Chloe’s limp wrist in order to take the sleeping girl’s pulse.

  “I’m fine,” Cathy said softly. “Chloe fell asleep just a few minutes ago.”

  The nurse nodded, her warm gaze grazing the little girl’s face. She carefully tucked Chloe’s hand back around the teddy bear. “She always sleeps better after she’s been with you.” The nurse walked down to the bottom of the bed to pick up the clipboard hanging from the bedrail.

  “I sleep better, too,” Cathy murmured, dropping a kiss on top of her daughter’s soft hat.

  “Dr. Richards asked me to tell you when you came in to have him paged. He’d like to speak with you.”

  Cathy’s head snapped up. Alarm frissoned up her spine. She could feel her pulse beating heavy in her throat. She stared the length of the bed at the nurse. “Did he say why?”

  The nurse shook her head. She looked up briefly from writing her notes on the clipboard. “No, he didn’t. Would you like me to page him for you and ask him to meet you here at Chloe’s room so you don’t have to get up just yet?”

  “Yes, please.”

  The nurse finished with the clipboard and crossed the room, the door closing silently behind her. Shortly after, Cathy heard the page on the PA system. She held Chloe close, as though the contact could rout the cold dread that was already seeping through her.

  She did not have long to wait. Dr. Richards pushed open the door. When he saw that Chloe was asleep, he gestured for Cathy to come out of the hospital room. Reluctantly, Cathy slipped her tingling arm free and gently laid her daughter down on the pillow.

  Cathy slid off the bed and crossed the room to join the waiting oncologist outside in the hall. She turned toward him with a questioning look. “Chloe is doing better, isn’t she?”

  He waited for the door to close completely before he spoke. “I prefer not to talk over Chloe’s head. Let’s go into the waiting room.”

  “I understand.” Cathy allowed the oncologist to take her elbow and guide her into an empty visitors’ room. He let go of her arm and gestured politely for her to take a seat. Cathy sat down in one of the blue-upholstered utilitarian chairs, her whole body tensed. He sat down in the chair next to her. She fixed her gaze anxiously on his heavily lined face. “What is it, Dr. Richards? This isn’t about Chloe going home, is it?”

  Dr. Richards shook his head. He looked gravely back at her. “I’m afraid not. I’m sorry, Cathy. There is no easy way to tell you this. The chemotherapy regimen hasn’t been as successful as we hoped. Chloe’s condition has started to deteriorate again.”

  Cathy felt the bottom fall out of her. The familiar crushing feeling slammed into her chest. She fought to remain upright in the chair. She worked her throat, struggling to force words out. “What—what are you saying?” she whispered hoarsely.

  “I’m saying that Chloe is not responding as most children do to the treatment,” said Dr. Richards heavily but with infinite gentleness. “The leukemia has not been arrested. In her case, the chemo has only given her a short reprieve.”

  Cathy sucked in a strangled breath. “What do we—what do we do now?”

  “We can try a hematopoietic stem-cell transplantation. It’s a medical procedure that collects stem cells from the peripheral blood rather than from the bone marrow of a donor. It provides a bigger graft and doesn’t require the donor to be subjected to general anesthesia like the traditional bone marrow transplant.”

  “I–I see.” Cathy tried to strengthen her shaking voice. “And this will help Chloe? Will it cure her?”

  “I can’t promise you that. But the possibility is there.” Dr. Richard shook his head. He sighed then said earnestly, “I won’t soft-peddle this for you, Cathy. It’s a risky procedure with many possible complications. It’s reserved only for patients with life-threatening diseases. But for Chloe, it is definitely our last and best recourse.”

  “Okay. Then that’s what we’ll do,” Cathy said firmly. She balled her hands in her lap, her nails biting crescents into her palms.

  Dr. Richards regarded her for a long moment. His gaze flickered down to her clenched fists then moved back up to fasten on her face. “Cathy. You’re a strong woman. You’ve had to be. So I won’t hide the truth from you. With hematopoietic stem cell transplantation, Chloe may well experience a full remission. However, if the transplanted cells reject her body tissues, she may develop GVHD.”

  “GVHD? What is that?”

  “Graft-versus-host disease is an inflammatory disease that can occur if the transplanted cells do not accept the body. It typically occurs in the first three months after transplantation and is often fatal. It is treated with high-dose corticosteroids such as prednisone, but this immuno-suppressive treatment often leads to deadly infections.” He paused, and with obvious reluctance, said, “If this happens, Chloe may well die.”

  Trapped between a rock and a hard place. Either or. So what else is new?

  Cathy gave a short, brittle laugh. “Life or death. Those are the same options that you’ve been giving me for more than two years!” she said bitterly.

  Dr. Richards regarded her with sharpening concern. He reached over to place a wide hand gently on her rigid forearm. “Cathy, I’m sorry. More sorry than I can say.”

  Cathy abruptly realized that she was breathing harshly through her open mouth. She caught herself up, willing her self-control back into place. She straightened her spine. “No, Dr. Richards, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you like that. I know that you’re doing everything that you can and that you’ve brought in other specialists for c
onsultation. I’m just–just tired.”

  “You still aren’t sleeping, are you?” When she started to speak, he threw up his hand. “I’m not going to ask you again to get that prescription filled. I know you won’t do it. But what I will urge you to do is to get someone to come stay with you awhile. You need rest, and you need emotional support. You can’t expect to keep going it alone like this, Cathy.”

  Cathy shook her head. Despite her stiff face, she managed a flickering smile. “I’m fine.”

  Dr. Richards blew out his cheeks, his frustration obvious. He shook his head, his eyes narrowed. “I wish you wouldn’t be so stubborn, Cathy.”

  “This isn’t about me. It can’t be about me. Ever. This is about Chloe,” Cathy said fiercely. “I want to do the transplantation as soon as possible, Dr. Richards. I can take off work tomorrow and…”

  Dr. Richards eased away from her. There was infinite pity in his expression. “I’m sorry, Cathy. You’re not a good candidate for Chloe. The donor must have a tissue type that matches the recipient. The leukocyte antigens, or HLS, in your blood type aren’t compatible.”

  Cathy swallowed. She didn’t reply. She couldn’t. An anvil was crushing her ribs, putting unbearable pressure on her fluttering heart.

  Dr. Richards went on to explain the situation in technical detail. She didn’t understand everything that he said, but she understood enough. The oncologist’s voice droned on, just a buzz in her ears, drowned out by her inner anguish.

  There was a gathering roar in her ears. Her vision darkened. I will not faint! I will not! Cathy blinked furiously. She deliberately dug her nails into her palms. With the bite of pain, her vision cleared, and she could hear again. She still couldn’t draw a decent breath, but the awful pressure had eased.