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

I absorb her scent as she sits still and lets me. This time she is the one who remains silent. Unbendable. Looking forward as the crowded dining room fills with wealthy and shallow faces.

"Looks like the cat has your tongue this time." Chuckling, I pull away, expecting her to release the claws I know she has hidden away.

Instead, I see her breathe deeply, her breasts rise and fall as she digs down deep to bring forth her refined and polished breeding. A forced but still beautiful smile graces her lips.

"You’re completely incorrigible, Mr. Kingsley. Shameless." Her scolding response sounds like something Scarlett would have spoken to Rhett as she picked up her skirts and turned in a huff.

A tap at my elbow pierces the invisible bubble around us. It's rather unfortunate since I was enjoying a moment of teasing Kathryn. Rising to a full stance, I discover Ms. Vincent at my side.

"Mr. Kingsley, may I have a word with you before we begin today's program?" I hold up a finger to indicate I'll be with her shortly; I have unfinished business with the beautiful woman in front of me. Ms. Vincent nods in agreement and walks away.

"Enjoy your evening, Kathryn." I say as I turn to leave her. I notice that the foundation’s executive director, Ava Swanson, who’s sitting next to Kathryn, has just finished conversing with one of the event staff and looks up at me in surprise.

"Good evening to you, Mrs. Swanson." I bow my head in acknowledgement to her.

Mrs. Swanson twists further around in her chair, a broad smile shining on her face. Her attire is stylish, a dark navy dress with a coordinating jacket, reflecting a slightly matronly appearance.

Mrs. Swanson offers me her hand to rise. "Good evening, Mr. Kingsley. Pleasure to see you. Thank you for joining us tonight."

"Think nothing of it, Mrs. Swanson, and, please, stay seated. You look lovely tonight." She displays a pleasant smile and settles back in her chair, smoothing out some imaginary wrinkles in her silk dress. Her diamond-encrusted hand sparkles, catching my attention for a moment. "Your foundation is a rare charity. It has integrity. And remember I’ve asked you to call me Adam."

"Thank you, Adam. Quite the charmer as always, aren’t you?” I give her a little wink, and I watch a slight blush appear on the older woman’s face. No doubt a stunning beauty in her day. She continues on. “It has been my aim since we started twenty years ago. I will be acknowledging your support in the program tonight. I hope you are comfortable with being in the spotlight?"

"I'd prefer it to be short and sweet." I notice an inquisitive look on Kathryn's face and a hidden fire in her eyes. A hellcat.

Mrs. Swanson glances at Kathryn and then looks back up at me. “Have you had a chance to meet my Kathryn?”

“
Your
Kathryn?” So Kathryn’s Mrs. Swanson’s daughter? How interesting. It does explain a few things to me, mostly why she’s seated at the head table.

“Yes, my lovely daughter. She’s finally came back home to New York City. She’s been in Paris for years.” Mrs. Swanson places her hand lovingly on Kathryn’s arm. However, Kathryn’s lips are pursed. She is fuming mad as her mother reveals details about her personal life, and I can’t help my amusement by Kathryn’s reaction.

“Lovely, indeed.” I smirk and nod my head in response to Mrs. Swanson’s comments concerning Kathryn. “Actually, Kathryn and I met in the reception area. I enjoyed our conversation, too.”

“Yes, Adam was telling me about his favorite extracurricular activity. It keeps him rather busy.” I smirk at her quip. Score one for the pussycat.

“I’m thrilled you two were able to meet. I’ve told Kathryn all about you and how you’ve helped the Foundation.” Well surprisingly her mother approves of me, but I wonder what it would take to gain her daughter’s favor. As Kathryn rolls her eyes at her mother’s words, I decide it will likely take major convincing on my part, and I’m definitely up for the challenge.

“As I’ve said, your foundation puts every dollar it receives to good use. It’s been my pleasure to support your endeavors in Africa.” Mrs. Swanson beams up me while her daughter scowls. The contrast between them makes me chuckle.

“See, Kathryn, I told you he’s a wonderful man,” Mrs. Swanson says facing her daughter, and then turns up to me. “You should take my daughter out to dinner, Adam. You do seem like her type. Besides she needs to get out of that apartment of hers.”

Does Mrs. Swanson read the gossip columns in the New York City papers? Surely, she doesn’t, they don’t paint me in the best light. I’m no saint and definitely not a mother’s dream for her daughter.

“And what is her type? I’m taking notes.” I smile at the two beautiful faces in front of me.

“Dare I say a bit of a
bad boy
?” Mrs. Swanson giggles and winks at me. “But one with a good heart. Much like her late husband.”

A look of sadness crosses Kathryn’s face at the mention of her late husband. I wonder if she’s a recent widow and the loss is still fresh.

“Please, Mother,” Kathryn pleads, protesting her mother’s candor.

“Well, I believe you’re a bigger fan of me than your beautiful daughter. Maybe you could persuade her to join me for dinner.” Kathryn huffs as she looks at me with daggers in her eyes, likely plotting my death.

“Well, if I was younger, I wouldn’t need any persuading,” Mrs. Swanson laughs, but Kathryn’s anger is in full display as her face turns a bright red. I think Kathryn’s had enough of this conversation, and Ms. Vincent’s not a patient woman, so I decide to put an end to the fun… For now.

“Well, if you'll excuse me, ladies, I hate to keep Ms. Vincent waiting."

I know what the conversation will be with Ms. Vincent. My contribution tonight was left open-ended. Sometimes I vaguely hint how much I'm willing to contribute, never really revealing the amount. It leaves people guessing and kissing my ass, among other things.

Ms. Vincent turns toward my seat next to Sir Scott. As we pace the few feet to my chair, she begins to bring up the inevitable subject. How much will my check be? My thoughts on that subject have changed since I arrived. I planned on giving around five hundred thousand. Which is a very respectable personal contribution. But now Kathryn is sitting next to Mrs. Swanson, and obviously a close confidante, so I consider raising the amount to impress her. I'd like to see her reaction when they announce my obscene donation. I wonder if she'll join the others in their
oohs
and
aahs
? Something tells me adding another zero to the amount will not impress her, or at least she'll never let me know if it does. Now to drop the bomb on poor Ms. Vincent.

"Let's cut to the chase, Ms. Vincent. I'm upping my donation considerably this year." I pause as she eyes me speculatively. "I'll be giving five million dollars tonight. I'd like the money to be used to build a state-of-the art medical clinic for the poor in Africa. From start to finish. Nothing spared. Mrs. Carter, my assistant, will wire the money tomorrow."

Ms. Vincent stares at me with her jaw slack. I almost snort at her expression. Flustered, she seems at a total loss for words or coherent thought.

"Are you okay?" The color in her face is gone. She's as pale as a ghost. I chuckle as I wait for her to regain her senses.

"Did I hear you right? Five million dollars?" Ms. Vincent is speaking barely above a whisper as if she's lost the wind from her lungs.

"I'm totally serious. I decided on the amount tonight, and from the look on your face, I'm beginning to think you would've preferred a fair warning."

"Mr. Kingsley, this is, uh, unexpected, but wonderful. Do you realize what we can do with support like this? Words can't express how grateful I am. Does Mrs. Swanson know?"

"No. She has no idea. I think I'll take my seat and let you tell her."

I pull out my chair and lower myself next to Sir Scott. I catch a distinct and assaulting smell of mothballs mixed with some cheap aftershave. Turning toward the cause of offensive odors, I take in the man who is Sir Scott, a tall and brown-headed Englishman in need of a nose and ear hair trimmer.

He stretches out his tweed-covered arm and shakes my hand. Interestingly, he didn’t conform to the black tie dress code for tonight’s event.

"Mr. Kingsley, it's so nice to finally meet you in person."

"Likewise, Sir Scott." I take small, shallow breaths to avoid a deep intake of air. Too much of his malodorous concoction would surely bring on a headache. And I don’t want anything deferring my scheduled fun later with the alluring Lively Lizzie.

"Thanks to your contribution last year, we were able to fund a wonderful program to help single mothers start micro-businesses. It's remarkable to see what a little support can accomplish. Hopefully, you received the quarterly newsletters outlining what we're doing in Addis Ababa."

"Absolutely." I lie, but only a white lie to protect his pride and my ignorance.

I'm almost certain his newsletters arrive at Mrs. Carter's desk, never to be seen by me. He obviously has no idea what it takes to run a billion-dollar company. The tug and pull of forces around me keeps me from interacting with the mundane, like his little newsletter. I read the
New York Times
and a few select financial journals. I watch one television network, CNBC. Everything else is fluff and mind-numbing garbage. The only exception is my regular dalliance of porn.

Our conversation is miraculously cut short as the emcee for the night speaks into the microphone on the podium and welcomes everyone to the event. An African-American man is introduced to recite a special Ethiopian Jewish prayer. The man delivers the prayer without an introduction or conclusion. The prayer's words are enough.

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 lovely 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
th
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.