Adam's Apple (Touch of Tantra #1) Page 4

  Show and guide us, O Lord, to your light, that shines out from Your Torah,

  That always gives light to Your faithful people,

  To those who have faith and put their trust in You.

  O Lord God of Israel, deliver us from our errors and blindness,

  And from every teaching of sin that intoxicates

  Every teaching of sin that intoxicates. Hmm. Interesting. As an earthly spectator, one could use this phrase as a perfect definition of our world. Intoxicated by the sins of lust and greed, to name a few. Dante's vision of hell, in full display everywhere. But in reality, this humble prayer and Dante's Inferno are simple interpretations, created by a man to judge another man or himself.

  The pathetic reality of how Sir Scott's Hope House receives funds remains hidden. But I know how the righteous are financed to fulfill their good deeds as I scan the people occupying seats in front of me. They are the ones who fill the coffers of Hope House. But these men and women grab every opportunity to seize more money and sex. They disperse their gains to appease a fear that someone greater than them will hold them accountable one day.

  Me, I'm accountable to no one, the one exception being the stockholders of my multinational company.

  The menu for tonight is laced with foreign words: Madeira Braised Veal Osso Bucco and Drunken Pear en Croute. Our meal appears course by course. Forks clank and voices chatter. Glasses are drained and refilled. My mind switches to autopilot at these functions. Whether it’s a formal sit-down, a stand and mingle, or a grand gala, I rely on my phone to keep my company. I try to discreetly keep tabs on my business affairs and communicate with my company’s divisions around the world.

  I respond to emails during dinner. Check with my company’s security head, Walter Cox, concerning Simon. Simon took nothing with him when he was escorted out the door. I look over my calendar as Sir Scott is introduced and speaks to the crowd. His speech concludes as I look up from my phone.

  Glancing over the program, I realize Mrs. Swanson is preparing to speak. She will be recognizing the major donors to The Swanson Foundation. Around the podium, I see the lovely Mrs. Delcour sitting poised and looking absolutely beautiful. She oozes class. I lick my lips and wish I had her taste on them. The thought awakens my sleeping cock; he'll have to settle for Lively's lips tonight. I can almost feel him weeping for Kathryn's lips instead.

  Mrs. Swanson stands at the microphone and thanks Sir Scott for his presentation. Polite applause follows. She looks at me and winks as she smiles from ear to ear, obviously pleased with my contribution.

  "The Swanson Foundation will celebrate its fourteenth anniversary this year. I established this work after my late husband Richard's untimely passing. In my years as the executive director, I have had many occasions to see the good in others. But tonight, I stand before you surprised by the charitable deeds of a brilliant young man here with us." Mrs. Swanson extends her arm in my direction with her palm straight up. "Adam Kingsley, would you please join me?"

  Rising out of my chair, I stride the few feet to Mrs. Swanson's side and see a knowing smirk on Kathryn's face. It's as if she can see right through me and, as I guessed, she's less than impressed. Nevertheless, I prepare for the dog and pony show and place a plastic smile on my face as I turn to face the crowd.

  “I’m working on Kathryn. Remember what I said.” Mrs. Swanson whispers under her breath to me as I stand next to her. She’s really wanting Kathryn and me together. Maybe she’ll convince her after all.

  "Mr. Kingsley is donating five million dollars to The Charles Foundation. Words can’t express my gratitude. His donation will allow Sir Scott's Hope House to build a modern medical facility in the heart of Ethiopia. It is the single largest contribution on record to our foundation. Mr. Kingsley, on behalf of the Hope House and all those you will be aiding, thank you from the bottom of our hearts."

  This time the applause is raucous. The attention I'm receiving is something I always try to avoid. Peeking to my right, I see Kathryn is clapping but whispering into the ear of her boy toy. She’s completely disinterested in the spectacle.

  Mrs. Swanson quietly murmurs her thanks again and asks if I'd like to make a statement. I assure her that it will be brief.

  As I step to the microphone, I see Lively sitting and clapping wildly a few tables away. Her enthusiasm softens the blow of Kathryn's disregard, but worries me, too. It seems over the top. Fanatical, even. I hope this evening with her isn’t one I will live to regret.

  "Mrs. Swanson, thank you for your kind words. However, instead of focusing on myself, I'd prefer to encourage everyone here tonight to give generously. Please, dig deep and support one of the finest charities here in Manhattan. The Swanson Foundation shines alone in its reliability and veracity. Thank you."

  The platform is turned over to the D-list celebrity emcee. He babbles on, attempts a less than stellar comedy stand-up, and then stumbles through an awkward dismissal. When he walks away from the podium, I see his brow covered in sweat, a strange display for a so-called professional.

  Hoping to have another chance to speak to Kathryn before the night's end, I walk toward her chair and see her being escorted out by The Boy. At least they're heading where I am: the exit.

  I shake a few hands, endure a couple of introductions, and rudely dismiss all attempts at conversation. I send a simple text to Eddie stating five minutes and company. I hurry toward the last spot I saw Kathryn as I try to keep her trail warm. I want to speak with her before Lively finds me.

  Approaching the gilded hallways, I find Kathryn and head straight for her. She notices me as I approach and moves her hand to her hip. A smile and laugh greet me when I come to a halt in front of her.

  "Bravo, Mr. Kingsley." Her gaze penetrates and burns me. It's a dangerous warmth that promises to smolder me. I find myself becoming a willing participant even though I know she's mocking me.

  "You know why I gave that outrageous sum, don't you?" I search her face and observe a gleam in her eyes as she throws her head back. Her delicate throat beckons me, and I long to touch and possess her with my lips. I move closer, our bodies almost touching. She senses me drawing near, drops her head, and looks at me. Her mood becomes serious, all smiles and levity disappear.

  "Of course I do. You're not that hard for me to read." I see The Boy approaching, dutifully carrying her fur coat. I realize we have only seconds before he's standing beside us.

  Kathryn continues. "And for the record, I'm thankful for your gift, but not terribly impressed. There's more to life than money. Believe me, I know."

  She turns to her side as the young nuisance descends on us. "Kathryn, here's your coat." The young man looks at me inquisitively, sizing me up. As they stand side by side, I notice something: a resemblance. There is something about them. They could almost be siblings. The color of their eyes leads me to this conclusion. A matching deep blue, trending toward violent.

  "Thank you, John." He assists her with her coat. "I'd like to introduce you to Adam Kingsley. Mr. Kingsley, this is my brother, John Swanson." She finishes her introduction with a coy smile.

  "Excuse me, but did you say 'your brother?'" Wait a second. He's her brother? Shit.

  "Yes, I'm her brother. Our mother is Ava Swanson." He pushes his hand my way, expecting a handshake and I dutifully comply. "Pleasure to meet you. Let's just say that you've made my mother a very happy woman tonight. Thanks again for your donation. Your generosity was unexpected, a pleasant surprise to say the least."

  A small hand grips my arm. I know who it is before I hear her greetings. Lively Lizzie has arrived.

  "Finally. I've been looking all over for you," Lively says. I feel her snake her arm through mine. Connecting us and sealing my fate for the rest of the fucking evening.

  "I'm right where I told you I'd be." I make a quick decision. The time I spend with Ms. Lively tonight will be short. Maybe more like a cab ride to her home.

  To my surprise, I hear Kathryn speak. "Hi, Lizzie. You look love
ly this evening." Fuck. I don't particularly care for Kathryn knowing my after-dinner hook-up by name. I glance at Kathryn and it appears she’s enjoying my discomfort way too much. "Is Mr. Kingsley giving you a ride home?" I know what's behind her question. She's wondering if Lizzie’s my fuck for the evening.

  I butt in and decide to end this most uncomfortable conversation. "Yes, I'm giving her a ride home this evening." I grasp Lizzie’s arm and turn to her. "My driver is waiting outside."

  "Well, we don't want to keep anyone waiting, Mr. Kingsley." Kathryn stares impassively at me, giving nothing away in her expression.

  "Well, it was nice to meet you, John. And good evening, Kathryn."

  I need to leave, now. Grabbing at her hand, I pull a stunned Lively toward the building's exit. Something tickles at my temple. I wipe my forehead and cringe.

  Goddamn it. Sweat!

  I only sweat on two occasions: at the height of a good fuck or when pushing my body to its limit during a workout. What I find on my skin right now is totally unacceptable. Sweat from anxiety. But damn if that woman, Kathryn Delcour, didn't unnerve and drive me to it.

  Once I have Lively outside the building, she struggles keeping up me with in her stiletto heels. I spot the black limo with Eddie standing at his post awaiting my arrival. He sees me, nods his greeting and opens the door; I pause to let Lively enter first. I hear her gasp, then utter the words "wow" and "oh, my God" over and over again. Clearly, the limo's interior impresses her.

  Before I bow to enter the car, I need to find out some vital information from Lively.

  “Where do you live?” I ask gruffly.

  “77 and Lex. We can take the long way around Central Park,” she replies coyly. Her suggestion is easy to decipher; she wants to fuck me.

  I smirk back at her, because we aren’t taking the long way anywhere. That’s for damn sure.

  Rising up from the car’s door, I give Eddie Lively's name and direct him to drive her to the address she just gave me. I instruct Eddie to have the car at her building in roughly fifteen minutes. The entire Escalade was retrofitted for me to give it a limo feel. The middle seat area houses one captain chair that swivels its position. It’s my usual seat, except when I’m entertaining a woman for the night. The backseat provides the best resting place and can even lay flat if required. I notice that Eddie has prepared for our party. Lights low, music rhythmic and seductive. Perfectly setting the mood.

  Pouring two glasses of chilled champagne, I beckon her over to me.

  "I have other business to attend to," she murmurs, refusing the champagne. I set it aside and lean against the buttery leather cushions. My eyes close as she tells me of her plans. Gently, I feel Eddie move the SUV as our journey begins.

  She whispers in my ear that a generous man like me needs to be thanked properly for his selfless donation. With my head back and eyes still closed, Lively’s fingers unbuckle, unbutton, and unzip.

  She slides my suit pants and boxer briefs down as I slightly rise my hips. The bite of her fingernails drags back up my legs, sending chills through my body. A slight moan escapes my lips.

  Kisses are scattered over my hipbones as she progresses down toward my hardening cock. Lively’s mouth surrounds and sucks me in. A name and face flash before my closed eyes, and I bite my lip to avoid calling out the name. Kathryn.

  Lively’s hand wraps around my cock, moving in motion with her mouth. I rock my pelvis and push deeper into her willing mouth. She sucks me harder. A pace begins and finally ends, spectacularly. I'm completely spent, and I open my eyes to see Lively gloating and wiping her hand across her mouth.

  After readjusting my pants, Lively settles onto my lap and kisses me. "That was quite the thank you," I reply.

  "You're quite welcome. I've wanted to meet you for some time. And tonight when you spoke to me, I hoped for this. Us together, alone."

  I feel the limo slow to a stop and the engine shuts off. I know without looking that we've arrived at her apartment.

  "We've arrived at your building." After I speak, she looks astonished and squints through the darkened glass. Her mouth forms a little O as realization hits her that the "us together, alone" portion of the evening has drawn to a close.

  "Okay, I guess this is my stop." Her tone reflects the disappointment I see in her eyes.

  "Thanks for the thank you, Lively." I raise her hand to my lips and let my kiss linger as I gaze into her eyes. I feel that I need to do something to show some appreciation; after all, she did provide an intimate gift to me. Somewhere I hear the words Kathryn spoke from earlier about finding a pretty young thing to service me. I wipe the thought from my mind.

  Gathering her coat and clutch, she scoots to the door Eddie has now opened, his timing precise as usual.

  "Lizzie, a quick question before you leave." She stops her progression to the open door and turns to me as I stay reclined on the couch. "Any complaints about our time tonight?"

  "Well." She hesitates, looking me over and taking in the excess she sees in my surroundings. "No, no complaints."

  Smiling, I respond, "That's what I thought."

  The door closes and I gloat after hearing Lively's comments. Kathryn was incorrect in her assessment of me. No complaints. But I picture her laughing in mocked amusement at me. Something tells me by posing this question to Lively, I’ve let Kathryn succeed in slinking under my tough exterior. Or maybe it’s just the result of Simon’s shocking betrayal. Making me sense an unusual apprehension in my mind.

  Chapter 4

  My phone vibrates in my pocket. Peters is calling with an update on the mysterious Kathryn Delcour, I hope. My knowledge of her is limited. And what I do know about her leaves me with more questions than answers.

  She is Mrs. Swanson's daughter and probably the daughter of her late husband Richard.

  Answering the phone, I hope to learn more. "Peters. What do you have so far?"

  "She recently turned thirty-four." Two-year difference. Not an obstacle in my opinion.

  "Daughter of the late Richard Swanson and Mrs. Ava Swanson.” Nothing I didn’t already assume.

  "Kathryn has a brother, John. Age twenty-seven." So he's younger than I am, barely.

  "Still more digging to do, but I did find something very interesting. Kathryn Delcour’s family is directly connected to the Vanderbilts." Wait, I remember her saying money can't buy you everything and then following it with, "Believe me, I know."

  "So Peters, are you talking Vanderbilts, as in the New York City Vanderbilts?”

  He answers my question quickly. "Yep. The old money Vanderbilts.”

  Then Kathryn’s an American aristocrat and part of a financial dynasty.

  "So she's a Vanderbilt." Truthfully this fact doesn’t surprise me in the least. Instead it explains a great deal about this mystery woman. Her countenance has the polish of fine breeding, education, and a certain air of superiority, as if she knows a few of life's hidden secrets. Or perhaps just mine. An unnerving quality.

  "I wonder if she celebrates Thanksgiving with Anderson Cooper," I say in jest. My laugh likely stuns Peters. We are all business and I never show any emotions other than anger or frustration when his results aren’t sufficient to meet my need for information.

  "Well, sir, I'll find out more details about her. Education, employment, and social contacts, if you'd like?"

  "Everything. I want everything down to the last possible detail." I end the call. He knows what I want and will deliver. We've been down this road many times before. However, it's usually a business contact or financial enemy who he mines information on. I'm not sure where Kathryn stands yet. However, the one thing I know for sure… she is beautiful and alluring. She seems keen, unflappable, but I have no doubt she'll succumb to my charms given time.

  The typical Manhattan woman and Kathryn have little in common. So I need to approach her differently than I do others. The women I usually dabble with are masochists at heart, wanting love, but willing to be with me at whatever cost
because they believe I'm a man they can ensnare and possibly tame.

  So far the beast inside me remains wild and undomesticated. However, I don’t remember a woman inducing such a raw desire in me like Kathryn Delcour. And in just one meeting. Quite the accomplishment.

  What happened with Lizzie tonight—quick unmemorable head—isn't how a woman like Kathryn operates. There is no need for desperate ploys. Her performance tonight made that abundantly clear.

  The men I saw surrounding her were anxiously fawning to capture her attention, but she left them gawking without a hope for more. She is an enigma. All the more reason for Peters to produce a thorough and in-depth report on her. It’s unlikely that I'll see behind her clever façade without some help. She’s guarded and has been warned of my ways.

  I stare out my car’s window and watch the sidewalks pass by, trying to numb my mind and put thoughts of the day behind me. Eddie maneuvers the familiar streets lined with shops that cater to the wealthy. High rise, coffee, restaurant, boutique. The pattern is repeated block after block.

  We approach my building on Fifth Avenue. My penthouse occupies one the top floors at The Pierre Hotel, a cavernous perfection with unmatched views of Manhattan’s skyline and Central Park. The door to the SUV opens after we come to a stop in front of my building. I exit and say tomorrow's early morning instructions to Eddie, wishing him a pleasant evening. I thank him for his discretion. Something I’ve never done before. I don’t stop to wonder why.

  Another door opens as I approach my building's entrance. I’ve learned the wealthy here in New York City rarely open their own doors. We pay for others to provide that service. A rather odd thing I have become accustomed to.

  The doorman stands regally as he greets me with a tip of his tall hat. I raise my chin, nod in his direction, and turn away. Once inside the lobby, I breeze past the concierge, whose head is bowed before a book, and make my way to the penthouse elevator hidden from the public's view. I enter the special access code, 1958: the year of my mother's birth.