Adam's Apple (Touch of Tantra #1) Page 5

  I was born twenty-three years later in a sleepy little town outside of Philly. A pastoral community where my mother, Flora, gave me life but never fully lived her own. Damn, how I miss her.

  For some reason, I think back to the Kathryn’s scent tonight. If I close my eyes and inhale I can almost replay the moment I caught the sweet smell of her perfume. I’m certain it was Shalimar, what my mother wore. A therapist would have a field day with that one. The woman I want desperately to fuck has a scent that reminds me of my mother. The fact that it doesn’t turn me off is what should be alarming, but I can’t seem to control what has been set in motion. It’s such a strange position to find myself in.

  I stare at my odd smile reflected on the elevator's reflective silver doors. Listening to the floors tick away, I ponder how I can have a second encounter with Kathryn. I don’t want to wait until another drab event to see her. My fingers itch to touch her skin. My body awakens at the thought of her fingers’ gentle touch as it whispered up my arm. I close my eyes at the memory.

  Finally, the elevator arrives at the top floor. Few people have had the privilege of seeing what lies behind the mahogany doors standing in front of me. It's my sanctuary and escape from the world. Women are not allowed beyond the doors. The only exception is Rosa, my housekeeper.

  Once I'm behind the doors, I proceed to my bedroom. I pass through the hall, a gallery of sorts. On the walls, I've hung masterful works of modern art, mostly in abstract form with bright colors that jump off the canvases. They are very good investments. In my bedroom, I walk into my closet, leaving the colors behind. My room’s décor is calming and subdued, much like the clothes I wear. My wardrobe consists of typical Manhattan garb—black, dark gray, and a touch of light gray for variety. A bright tie for a splash of color. I remove my tux and place it in an empty hamper. Rosa will coordinate its cleaning tomorrow and return it to the limo, where it will wait to be donned again.

  Skipping my normal nighttime routine of watching the opening of foreign markets, I approach my bed and examine the linen covers. The bed appears welcoming, but I move past it and walk toward the bedroom's wall of glass windows knowing that sleep will likely evade me tonight. My mind is too preoccupied to rest.

  What a day. It started with lowest of lows with the news of Simon’s deceit. His betrayal has gutted me. I still can’t process what led him to try and ruin my company, the one he helped me build. His recent break-up with his fiancée left him devastated. I never met her, although Simon tried to get me to join them for a dinner on several occasions. I didn’t socialize with Simon outside of work.

  He was smitten by her from all accounts. I was thrilled for him, thinking at last he had found someone to love him. A woman who understood him, who would make a place in her life for him. He took a few days off work after the break-up. Personal days, Simon called them. Since he had never done this before, I should’ve known that trouble was lurking. But I thought time would help, and he isn’t the kind of man who reaches out to others in any way at all. So I gave him space. All of the partners did. A horrible mistake, it would appear on our part.

  When I saw him earlier today standing in the rain outside my SUV swiping his finger across his neck, there was pure hatred in his eyes. A murderous glare. Picturing it in my mind makes me recoil. Tomorrow, a meeting is scheduled with Tom and Patrick, my other partners at King Capital. We’ll try to weed through all of this. Maybe they can help me connect the dots, figure out why Simon was led to sell me or us out. Simon’s out-of-character behavior toward me makes me wonder if I was his target in all of this. The look in his eyes: revenge was there. A payback of some kind was aimed at me.

  The evening drove the day away for a few hours at least. But my brain spins the night's events around in my head. The whirling stops when I envision Kathryn walking toward me at the bar. I relive the instant our eyes met and the smile that formed on her lips. My thoughts evoke something rare. Thankfulness. For once I feel grateful to have attended a boring fundraiser.

  Standing before the wall of windows, I scan the neon skyline of New York City. Somewhere hidden and tucked away for the night are two forces my mind tangles with—Kathryn Delcour and Simon Edwards.

  One is an intense, beautiful woman, full of mystery and intrigue. The other is a traitorous friend, reeking of deceit.

  I give up thinking for now and retreat from viewing the night’s black landscape and slip between the cold sheets of my bed, alone as usual. A detail I’ve never had a problem with before today, before Kathryn.

  ***

  I arise early, before the sun’s direct rays light the sky, having had a surprisingly sweet night of sleep. A refreshing rarity for me, and my body feels rested. A nice reward and way to start the day.

  Usually my dreams turn nightmarish, keeping me from sleeping more than a few hours at night. My physician advised me to try sleeping pills. But I hated their effect on me. My whole day would feel off, like my mind was disengaged. So needless to say, after several attempts I threw the pills away. I’d rather fight sleep then feel doped up.

  But last night the usual terrors didn’t invade my sleep, and I awoke without my heart pounding. Instead, I found myself fully erect as I remembered what I had dreamt about. Kathryn’s full, red lips and long stocking-covered legs wrapped tightly around my waist as I held her sweet ass in my hands. My body pressed her against by bedroom’s window while I fucked her hard. A thorough, rapturous pounding. An infinite view of the skyline was our backdrop. Her lust-filled eyes were my focus.

  The erotic remembrance has me awakening with a smile on my face for the first time in years. I consider falling back to sleep, tempted to see if my mind will dream of her again. But instead, I tend to my erection in the shower and start my day.

  A breakfast meeting downtown for an upcoming software venture brings me into the office later than I had expected. Ms. Carter hunches over her desk shuffling through some papers as I make my way toward her. She's likely gathering the latest reports of my personal holdings. Her brows tighten together in worry. She's probably wondering if this morning's numbers are correct, and she's doing some fact checking before presenting me with the totals.

  What she's yet to realize is that my trades were off, shot to hell, actually. The loss is novel, slightly frustrating, but oddly amusing. I should call in my chief investment officer to go over the numbers, but I don't really care. The loss of a few million is insignificant compared to meeting Kathryn Delcour.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Carter.” I hurry past her desk but stop when she stands. Probably on her way to get my coffee.

  “Good morning, sir.” She lays the papers down and greets me with a weak smile. Likely wondering if she should mention the numbers in front of her. There is no sense in engaging with her on this topic.

  “No more coffee for me this morning. Had my fill at breakfast.” I say to her, speaking over my shoulder after I’ve passed by. “I’ll buzz you in a few minutes to go over my day. I’m making some changes to it.” I close my door before she responds.

  There is a scheduled meeting with Tom and Patrick at ten o’clock. During Sir Scott’s speech last night, I called the meeting together. We need to discuss Simon and all the ramifications of his leaving Kings Capital. His loss will be felt deep and wide.

  After settling at my desk, answering a few emails and reading through some reports, I push the intercom and buzz Ms. Carter.

  "In my office. Please."

  She walks in casually and takes the seat in front of my desk, hoping to look at ease, but I see the concern in her eyes. "Ready, Mr. Kingsley."

  "I suppose you've seen the numbers this morning." My words are more statement than question.

  "I was just reviewing the results of the trades. You're aware of their outcomes?" She’s wringing her hands and fishing for knowledge, not wanting to reveal the loss to me.

  "Of course. I made those pathetic trades. A rare loss for Kings Capital, and me, but we’ll recover. After my meeting today at ten with
Tom and Patrick, I’m booked with conference calls. Please have a lunch brought up around twelve thirty. Pick something from my usual list of lunch choices. Most of the afternoon will be spent on a call with investors. We’re researching a possible new acquisition. Another social media start-up."

  “Yes, sir.” Mrs. Carter pounds away on her laptop as I give her instructions.

  “Remind me of tonight’s event. It’s slipped my mind.”

  She appears shocked. I never ask her to refresh my memory. My mind is usually the one others rely on.

  “There is a benefit tonight for the New York Public Library. A celebrity event, black tie. I’m sure it’s on your schedule. I believe the event begins at seven.”

  “Okay, please inform Eddie that I’ll be leaving at six thirty sharp. That will be all, Mrs. Carter.” I spin my chair to face the windows behind me, effectively dismissing her. I hear her leave as quietly as she came.

  A call comes in from my executive director, Tom Duffy. He’s one of the three friends who came to New York City with me years ago. I've ignored five calls from him this morning, knowing he needs some time to calm down before we talk. This time I answer.

  "Yes." My greeting's firm.

  "What the hell happened this morning? Did you push the wrong fucking button?" he shouts into the phone. I consider ending the call but continue on.

  "So I miscalculated a trade. Just proves I’m only human." I try to deflect the fact that I royally fucked up.

  "All right, Adam. You realize that I've known you since our first days at MIT, and you've never blown anything like yesterday’s trades." I hear him sighing into the phone. Finally, he starts to calm. "So tell me, please. What the fuck is going on?"

  "Not sure, really. But I woke up this morning and there was nothing. You understand what I mean?"

  "I was your roommate here in New York for three fucking years. How could I forget your damn dreams? So you didn't have one?"

  "Nope. Well, I did have a dream but it was anything but a nightmare." I laugh.

  "Okay, I'm heading upstairs to see you. Don't go anywhere." The call ends before I can comment, and I buzz my assistant.

  "Ms. Carter. Mr. Duffy’s on his way here." I give her fair warning. I have a feeling his entrance will be nothing less than a whirlwind, or given his size, a mini-hurricane.

  Leaning back in my chair, I tap my fingers on the desk's edge awaiting Tom's arrival, wondering how much I should really reveal. He remains the closest thing to a friend I have. Though he disapproves of my sexual lifestyle and prefers to keep our relationship revolved around the business, we share a longstanding history. But deep down I know he'll always have my back, much to his wife Lois' derision.

  Our old college chant, "bros over hos," plays in my head as Tom barrels through the office doors.

  "Wow. What took so long? Did you take the elevator?" He takes off his jacket and tosses it over the chair in front of my desk. This action signals one thing to me: He's planning to stay a while.

  "Like hell. Elevators are for pussies," he says over his shoulder as he makes his way to the office suite's kitchen. He opens the Subzero and removes two water bottles, tossing one my way.

  "I see you haven't lost your throwing arm." I catch the bottle and open it, drinking the cold liquid. Tom was quarterback for MIT’s football team. Most people don’t even realize they had a team, thinking we’re all brains, no brawn.

  "You know, I still hold the record for most passing yards at MIT." Tom fakes a throw and reacts as if a crowd cheers.

  "Sometimes I forget there's a brain inside your oversized head." I roll my eyes as he takes a seat across from me.

  "Speaking of brains, yours was obviously asleep when you worked those trades." He stops and pulls a long drink from his bottle. "But I'm curious. No nightmares, right?"

  "No nightmares.”

  "What gives?"

  "I attended a fundraiser last night. Same old boring shit, but I met this woman, Kathryn Delcour. She's the daughter of Ava Swanson. You know, she heads The Swanson Foundation. It's named after her late husband, Richard Swanson." I smile wickedly when I see the curious look on his face.

  "So you took her for the infamous Adam Kingsley ride in your limo, I presume." Tom waggles his damn brows. It's hard to believe his I.Q is one sixty.

  "No, Lizzie Woodward occupied the limo last night. This woman is older, just a couple years, but, damn, she's something else. And aggressive. Told me she teaches men how to fuck women into oblivion. Something about fucking being an ‘art form’.” I use my fingers to make quotes as I repeat Kathryn’s words.

  "Wonder why I've never heard of her. Other than the fact that I'm the most married thirty-two-year old in Manhattan and off the dating scene for years." Tom sighs.

  "I'm wondering why, too. I've noticed her at a few fundraisers lately, but it's like she appeared out of thin air. So Peters is gathering some background on her for me. Should know more by lunch."

  "Gotta say Adam, she must have made quite the impression. No head or fucking and you still want to know about her?" He laughs. "So you think meeting her had something to do with your nightmares not happening?"

  "I don't know. But I do remember the one dream I had last night, and she was in it." I stare out the window and reflect. "I held her pressed against the glass wall in my bedroom with her legs wrapped around me. The only thing she was wearing was a pair of black stockings…" My voice trails off.

  "Shit. Don't stop, man." Tom throws his hands up signaling me to continue.

  I take a moment to catch my breath, because reliving my dream’s illicit feelings is something I try to avoid at work. When I cross the threshold of my building, sex life doesn’t enter with me. I leave it in my SUV, literally.

  “You want all the details?” I’m surprised Tom wants me to share the dream with him. I usually don’t tell him specifics about my sexual exploits. Maybe a dream makes it different.

  “Hey, I said don’t stop.” He looks at me with desperate eyes, like a druggie begging for a fix.

  “Okay,” I decide to continue on the explicit version. “I fucked her hard. She moaned and clawed my back as I held on to her ass and pounded her pussy. It was hot, primal."

  Silence ensues. Rare for Tom. Common for me.

  "Wow. This woman's gotten to you, Adam. I’ve known you for fourteen years, and I've never heard you talk like this. So you're going to see her again, right?"

  "Kathryn saw me leave with someone else last night and she seemed to know the girl, too. Besides, who knows when or if I'll see her again." I think about the if. It's unsettling and I know I'll make our paths cross. They have to. And it's not just my dick that wants to see her, or be in her for that matter, there's something more.

  "Hell, who can resist you or your money? Although I'm not sure what the appeal is. Since you're a total fuck-and-dump kinda guy." Tom scoffs.

  "True. My life may appear fucked up to you, but it's worked. Look around you. See where we're sitting." Tom begins to laugh.

  "Good point. We're sitting here atop your building discussing your first night of good sleep since you graduated college, and how you fucked up a trade that cost this company millions of dollars. Hell, the media has been speculating about your move all morning. Sounds as if your life is peachy to me," Tom replies sarcastically while shaking his head at me.

  "About that loss…" My computer screen flashes as a programmed trade executes. Technically, I've bet on the market's reaction to our company’s losses. A legal type of insider trading where I am my own victim. A contrarian's move that has just made me a lofty dividend.

  "What's up?" Tom moves behind me, peering over my shoulder at the screen.

  "We're whole now. The loss was just covered and then some," I announce smugly with a proud grin plastered across my face.

  "Goddamn it, Adam. You're a lucky son of a bitch." Tom slaps his hand on my shoulder.

  "Luck has nothing to do with it. I just knew. My earlier bet might have been off, but my
loss from yesterday created speculation in the chip market. I just exploited the capitulation from the fallout. Simple. What goes up must come down, and vice a versa, at least when I'm involved."

  “Still, you’re one lucky son of bitch.” Tom laughs as he punches my bicep. “Oh, by the way. I’m a little early for our ten o’clock meeting. Your email said it was something about Simon. I’ve been hearing strange rumors this morning. But no one is confirming them. He’s not in his office either. I know he’s had some tough times lately, but I thought he was back to work. God knows this company needs him.”

  “I’d rather wait until Patrick arrives. Repeating myself and answering the same likely questions doesn’t appeal to me.”

  “Okay, but now I’m freaking out. Before I was just worried.” Tom needs details, I understand. He’s not one to wait until Christmas to find out what he’s getting under the tree. I predict he’ll hound me until I spill.

  “Here, let’s get Patrick up here.” I buzz Mrs. Carter. “Ask Patrick to come on up early for our ten o’clock meeting. Tell him it’s urgent.”

  “Yes, sir,” Mrs. Carter replies dutifully as always.

  Tom stands from his seat and walks slowly to the window. He appears to be gazing out at nothing. His face void of expression. Deep in thought, something important is most definitely on his mind. I’m quietly waiting, not wanting to disturb or rush him. Finally he speaks, "Lois is pregnant, by the way."

  "Congratulations, right?" Feeling guarded, I pause for a response.

  "Yeah, right." Tom's answer is flat, but full of meaning.

  Tom and Lois have gone through hell trying to conceive during the last few years. When she suffered a miscarriage last year, I’ve never seen Tom so down. The loss put a strain on their marriage, too. I hope this pregnancy is successful, because I’ve never seen a couple want a child like they do.