His Sugar Baby (32 page)

The weather had turned gray, threatening cold rain when Michael arrived at the hospital. He parked and walked inside. He already knew the room number from his inquiry at the information desk on his last visit, and he rode the elevator upstairs. Carrying a small bouquet of white snowdrops that he had bought at a florist, he walked to the room. He hesitated before opening the door, not certain what he would say if he came face-to-face with any other visitors. He did hope to find Winter, though. If she would give him even a couple of minutes, he’d take them. She would have to see that he was sincere.

The flower bouquet gave him an excuse for being there.

Quietly, he pushed open the door, entered, and swiftly glanced around. Bunches and bunches of helium balloons floated gently in the air currents, bobbing against their tethers on chair arms. A colorful banner was taped on a white wall. There was no one else in the room except the single occupant. He was disappointed, but then curiosity impelled him softly across the floor. Standing beside the bed, he looked down at Winter’s daughter. The girl was asleep, her tiny lips slightly parted. Her little head was covered by a silky pink skullcap. She looked very small and very fragile. Tubes were attached to her. A heart monitor pinged metallically.

Tucked under her thin arm was a teddy bear dressed in a red velvet dress and a lacy overskirt.

Michael remembered when Winter had bought the plush toy. Guilt swept through him, followed by a heavy conviction of shame that settled in his chest.

Vividly, he recalled what Winter had said to him.
“Yes, what you offer will help me meet those expenses.”
She had beggared herself. She had prostituted herself. Everything she had done, she had done in sacrifice for her daughter. There had been no sacrifice too great for her to make. She had been driven by a love greater than her own dignity or life.

In Michael’s mind, the contrast to his own life could not have been more brutal.

Michael bent and gently laid the delicate white bouquet at the base of the clean white bedding.

“Hello. Who are you?”

He quickly straightened and stepped back. He found that he was being scrutinized by a pair of sleep-hazed, intelligent brown eyes. He felt awkward to have been caught by the little girl. “I’m Michael.”

The little girl pushed herself into a sitting position. Her interested gaze never left his face. “Oh, you’re Mommy’s boyfriend.”

Michael felt heat slash across his cheekbones. She had talked to her daughter about him? That was a distinct surprise. A nice one. He cleared his throat. “I guess I am. And you’re Chloe.”

She nodded and smiled. “The flowers are be-u-ti-ful. Thank you very much, Michael.”

“You’re welcome. They’re snowdrops.” He winced at how stilted he sounded. But the little girl didn’t seem to notice his discomfiture.

“Snowdrops. That’s a pretty name. My birthday was yesterday. I’m eight now.” She held up five fingers plus three to illustrate. “Paul had a singing clown come for my birthday.”

That explained all of the balloons, but it was not what captured his attention. “Paul?”

“My mommy’s boss. He’s nice. I can tell he likes my mommy.” Chloe smiled. Her brown eyes twinkled up at him. “But I think Mommy likes you best.”

Michael couldn’t help the grin that tugged at his lips. “Thank you. I’m glad. I’m not her favorite person right now, though.”

Chloe’s eyes widened. She leaned toward him and whispered, “Did you do something to make her mad?”

Michael nodded. He leaned over and whispered back. “I had a secret. It was bad that I didn’t tell her about it until now.”

“Oh.” Chloe settled back against her pillows, a thoughtful expression on her face. She glanced up at him again. “Maybe she won’t stay mad very long.”

“I hope not. I’m glad I met you, Chloe. I have to go now, okay?”

She nodded, flashing a gap-toothed smile. “Okay. I’ll tell Mommy not to be mad at you anymore.”

Michael laughed. “Thanks. But maybe you should let me try to apologize first.”

Chloe nodded. She wriggled back down on the pillow, adjusting the teddy bear. She waved its furry arm at him. “Bye.”

Michael waved back. Then he turned and walked away, feeling more buoyant than he had in a while.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Two days after his visit to the hospital, Michael managed to get an online booking to
Denver
and flew out. A few hours after arriving at his destination, and after concluding a lengthy meeting with his long-time attorney, Michael let himself into the lovely house that had once been a source of considerable pride to him. He closed the wide front door behind him. He cast a quick glance around at the wide front entry and the adjacent living room. He didn’t recognize several pieces of furniture and the wall colors were different. But then, what did he expect? Morgan had always liked to decorate, he thought.

“Michael?” Considerable surprise emphasized the syllables of his name.

Michael looked up. His wife stood poised at the top of the curved rise of stairs, one hand resting gracefully on the gleaming mahogany banister. Her eyes were wide, her expression stunned by his unexpected and unheralded appearance.

“Morgan. We need to talk.” Michael gestured in the direction of the study, which was opposite the living room. Without another word, he walked across the entry to open the polished wood-paneled door. He didn’t wait to see whether she would come down the stairs and follow him. He knew that she would.

Michael entered, leaving the door open behind him. He crossed the spacious room. Beneath the custom-draped windows there was a credenza, and on top of it, as there had always been, was a silver tray, holding a liquor decanter and high-ball glasses. He unstopped the cut-glass decanter and poured himself a generous drink.

He heard the quick, angry steps that crossed the entry. There was a stir of air, and then the door to the study slammed shut. Setting down the decanter, he turned.

“I don’t know who the hell you think you are, barging in here and barking at me like that!”

His gaze traveled slowly from his wife’s belligerent expression, down over her trim athletic form, and back again to her face. Indifferently, he noted that she was still beautiful, except that her lush mouth was set in an angry line. She had folded her arms across her generous chest and her toe tapped soundlessly on the wool Gulistan carpet.

“Well, Michael?” she snapped.

“I have filed for divorce,” he said baldly. It had been a hell of a morning. Actually, it had been a hell of a week. He swirled the aged scotch before lifting the glass to his lips. The aroma of the liquor hit his nostrils, triggering a kaleidoscope of unpleasant memories. He set down the glass, untouched, with a clink.

His abrupt announcement had caught his wife off guard. She stared speechlessly, but the sound of the glass hitting the silver tray roused her. “Divorce! Don’t make me laugh!” She tossed her platinum hair over her shoulder with a derisive snort.

Michael paid no attention to his estranged wife’s hostility. It was no more than what he had expected. “Bennett will be contacting you. You’ll probably want to retain your own attorney.”

She narrowed china-blue eyes. Her pretty mouth thinned. “You’re bluffing! You
know
that I’ll fight to keep the house. I’ll claim abandonment. I will take you for everything you’ve got!”

They both knew that she had uttered the ultimate threat. Possession of the house had been the only thing that had ever really stopped Michael from putting an end to things before. He was the one who had envisioned the house, commissioned and worked with the architectural firm on every detail to bring a cherished dream to reality. When things had unraveled between him and Morgan, he had not wanted to risk losing what the house represented. He now knew, after all of this time, that it had been a hollow dream, because it had been built on the rotting foundation of their marriage. The house had also been the bludgeon that she had wielded to retain his name and a portion of his income. None of it was important anymore. He merely shrugged. “So what?”

“
So what?
Have you lost your mind?” Her voice rose stridently. She stared at him in shocked disbelief.

Michael ignored her question. It was quite possibly true. He was overturning his life for a woman who might refuse to ever see him again. But that was something that he would never discuss with this woman. “Are you still with Peter?”

Morgan threw back her head as though struck. Then defiance hardened her expression. “Of course I am.”

Michael leaned his buttocks against the hard length of the credenza. He had acquired the wife and the perfect house. He had reasoned he would one day have the family, too. He regarded her with detached curiosity. “If we had had a child, Morgan, do you think it would have made any difference? For us?”

She snorted again. “You know that we agreed we didn’t want any kids.”

“It was you who actually made that decision,” he reminded her in a steely voice.

Her slim nostrils flared. “You’ll never forgive me for that, will you?”

“I don’t know. I’m going to try.” Michael answered as honestly as he was able. The painful history between them had tainted his life. He had carried the poison around for too long. If he couldn’t come to terms with what Morgan had done, if he couldn’t forgive her for her betrayal, how could he ever expect Catherine to forgive him?

She advanced on him, a speculative gleam in her eyes. “Michael, what’s going on? We’ve had our differences, but…”

He raised a brow. The corner of his mouth lifted as he deliberately called up his cold-bastard’s smile. “Differences, Morgan?” he asked softly.

She had the grace to flush but waved a graceful hand in annoyed dismissal. “All right, so we haven’t exactly had the happiest relationship. We barely tolerated each other. It’s been that way for a long time. It suits me—and you!—so don’t tell me anything different! You’ve probably had someone on the side for years, but I’ve never cared. Just like you never cared that I—” She stopped abruptly, biting her lip.

“I did care, once. A great deal,” Michael said in a neutral voice. He felt a twinge of regret for what could have been then it was gone, taking along with it much of the ancient bitterness and anger. “But you’re right about this much. I got out of the habit a long time ago.” That truth stung. Her eyes flashed. He coolly watched her obvious struggle to retain control of her temper.

When she finally trusted herself to speak, her voice was icy. “Exactly, Michael! So what has changed? Why now?
Why
have you filed for divorce?” Sarcasm dripped in her voice. “What happened, did someone die?”

Michael flinched. He instantly smoothed his expression but not quickly enough.

Morgan’s own expression subtly altered. “Michael…” She started to reach out, to touch his arm.

Michael stiffened, staring her down. “Don’t, Morgan.”

Her hand dropped to her side. She hadn’t the right, and she at least had the sense to recognize it. In a quieter voice, she said, “I’m sorry, Michael.”

“
No one has died.”
This was not going as he had thought it would. In frustration, Michael swept his hand over his face. His fingers grazed the dark stubble on his jaws and chin. It was not the only outward sign of neglect. He hadn’t slept well for some time, but that wasn’t what had worn him down. His whole world and everything that he had believed about himself had been tilted on its axis. He was aware of the searching look that Morgan gave him. He knew what she would see. He had not bothered to change his flight-rumpled clothing before sitting down with his lawyer or coming to see his estranged wife. He was always fastidious about his appearance, even in casual dress. By his standards, he was unkempt, and Morgan would know that.

She asked slowly, “Do you love this person?”

“Leave it, Morgan.” Michael felt a stark shaft of pain under his ribs. How very much he wished that he had been allowed to be even a small part of Chloe Somerset’s life. How much he regretted that Catherine had not trusted in him enough to let him share it.

Morgan understood him well enough to realize that he was under considerable strain. “Was there an accident?”

He shook his head. “It was a long illness—three years. Leukemia. I didn’t know anything about it. She never told me.” He clenched his jaw. He couldn’t stand still, fielding any more of Morgan’s intrusive questions. He swung around, stalking to the mantel over the fireplace. He grasped the shoulder-height stone before turning a shuttered expression to her. “I am not willing to discuss this.”

Michael didn’t like Morgan’s silent, narrow-eyed assessment. She was looking at him with such a strange look in her eyes. What was she thinking? Was it the divorce? There was enough at stake in assets that it could be worth her while to drag things out. Morgan had always had a penchant for the good life.

Then something, something close to pity, flickered across her face. Her voice was even. “All right, Michael. I won’t fight you on the divorce.”

He drew his brows together, staring at her. What the hell was going on in her head? This capitulation was unlike the Morgan that he knew.

She gave a little laugh. “Don’t look so suspicious. I’m not a total bitch.”