by Gow, Kailin
“I confess to knowing a bit about you, but I still don’t know the answer to my question: Dinner?” Raising my brow, I smile encouragingly at her. Usually this combination wins me the right answer, but with her everything is up in the air.
“Well, Mr. Kingsley, you're pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?” She laughs and I nod in agreement, knowing it's one of my innate traits. Insecurity isn’t a feeling I experience, and the lack of it has served me well. “But don't you think it's a little early for dinner? It's New York City. No one eats dinner before seven.”
In an attempt to distract me, she runs her fingers down my suit coat's lapel. This woman does have a thing for suit coats, and I make a note to remember this little detail. I notice a gold Cartier watch sitting on her thin wrist as her hand pulls away from me. It seems she prefers the finer things like I do.
“If I know your cup size, surely you can call me by my first name.”
“I’ll have to think about that request, Mr. Kingsley. One thing is for certain, though, I won't be going anywhere in that car with you.” She points to the black metal I'm still leaning against, and disappointment hits me, hard. Rejection isn’t something I’m used to hearing from the women I’m chasing. Then again, I can’t remember the last time I chased a woman. Usually they’re drawn to me like magnets.
“And why won't you go with me in my limo? I'll keep my hands to myself.” I want to add “for the first few blocks,” but think better of it.
“I doubt you have the ability to tell yourself or your hands no.” Her doubts are probably right. She rolls her eyes at me when my devilish smile confirms them. “This is a belated question. But what are you really doing here? Well, besides stalking me.”
“I took the afternoon off. The evening too for that matter. Canceled everything. I wanted to see if you would accompany me to dinner. I believe that question has already been asked.”
“So let me get this straight, Mr. Kingsley, you have been standing outside my building in hopes that I'd walk out before you starved to death?” Her question is more of a tease. “I don't even want to know how you found out I was at my apartment. You know this is rather creepy, don’t you?”
Telling her I can trace her cell phone via GPS technology would most likely have me spending a boring evening alone. Alone and wishing I'd kept my mouth shut.
So lying is the best option, or at least glossing over the truth. “As you said, it's New York City. Who eats dinner at home? Eventually I thought you'd surface. Looks like I was right.” I wink and tap my temple with my index finger, trying to convince her of my divining powers. I smile as my line finally elicits a sweet little giggle from her. Distraction is my ally here.
I boldly encompass her small hand in mine, pulling her closer to me. So close that I’m now looking straight down into her eyes, and I see small violet flecks contrasting against the bright blue. A new discovery to this beautiful woman. The small bits of violet shine and get caught in the afternoon sun like a jewel's facets.
I decide to press her for an answer. I want her with me. No more delays. “Let me take you somewhere, anywhere. You can pick the place. Say yes?” My request is more a soft pleading as I hope to persuade and charm her.
“You really do have the seduction game down pat.” Eyeing me speculatively, she pulls away. I prepare for defeat, even though I have no reference for a rejection like this. “I'll probably regret this, but I'll go with you on one condition.”
“Okay. What’s the condition?” I can't believe I'm listening to her demands. This is new territory for me. Relenting control in the mating game is something I never consciously do with a woman. But oddly, it's a total fucking turn-on. I feel my cock starting to press against the fabric of my pants, and a need to be deep inside her floods over me.
“You came to my turf and that's where we will stay. Capisce?” I smile and nod as I give into her stern demeanor. She has me. I wonder what schemes I would have resorted to if she had said no. Thankfully, I’ll never know. My dignity remains somewhat intact.
“I was heading to meet a close friend at a coffee shop around the corner and I’m already running late.” She sounds concerned and perhaps a little troubled I'm holding her up even more. “Feel free to follow me.”
She scoots past me, laughing as she peers at me over her shoulder. “You coming?”
I open the door to the Escalade and tell Eddie to be on stand-by, knowing he and I are at the mercy of this gorgeous woman. Quickly walking up behind her, I hear the distinct sound of a mocking laugh. “I figured as much.”
“I think I might just trail behind a bit and follow you. The view is, um, well, it's…” Words fail me as she stops, turns, and walks back toward me.
“You're something, Mr. Kingsley.” She tosses her hair to the side, and I breathe in a faint whiff of Shalimar. “I'm not sure I want you walking behind me. It's unnerving. It's side by side for you. I need to see what you’re doing at all times. Absolutely no hiding. Got it?”
“Another condition, I see.” I chuckle, enjoying the playfulness between us. I can’t remember feeling this carefree with another woman, or human being for that matter. I guess Tom's craziness is the closest thing, but it's all one-sided with him, and his humor and jabs are usually at my expense. And most importantly, he doesn't have the enticing curves this woman does. I find myself smiling, truly enjoying myself.
“With your history, my rules are something you might need to get used to. You're on a short leash, Mister.” Surely she's teasing, but I need to stay on my best behavior. Knowing full well that I'll likely find myself in trouble with her again.
Eyes watch and the heads of strangers turn as we pass by. The men look at Kathryn, lustfully, and then see me walking by her side. Their looks of envy are reminiscent of last night's gala, and I wonder what happened to the “teach men how to fuck women into oblivion” Kathryn. The beauty is there, but her bite seems tempered. Perhaps it was the wine or the likelihood we would never see each other again. One thing's for sure, we will be drinking at dinner. Is it too early for shots? I silently pray it's not.
Dutifully, I walk with her down 81st toward Madison Avenue, past art galleries owing their patronage to the Met a block away. Occasionally sneaking a peek at her, she smiles at me each time. There’s no missing the energy between us. It's electric and I swear if we touch…there would be a spark.
As we turn the corner onto Madison, a gust of wind hits our backs and catches her hair. Before I know what I’m doing, I pull the wayward hair from her face. My fingers brush her checks, and her breathing hitches with my touch. I comb the windblown strands back, my fingers dragging through her soft silk.
“Your hair is beautiful.” My voice is low, but she hears me and smiles. A hint of a blush spreads across her cheeks. It’s obvious I am affecting her physically, too, a heady feeling for me. And the only thought running through my mind is how I’d like to fuck her into oblivion.
“Thank you,” she says. “Yours is, um… sexy. It's the first thing I noticed about you.”
“Is that right?” I tease.
“Yes, other than the fact that you were the best-looking man in the room.” She stops abruptly. “We're here.”
I want to go back to her last comment, but the moment has passed. Our destination has appeared. We're standing on the sidewalk in front of a place called Nectar Coffee Shop. The café's façade consists of glass doors, all open and moved to the side al fresco style. I guide her under the awning as my hand snakes covertly to the small of her back, pressing lightly.
Hopefully, we can revisit what she thinks about me later. My focus stays on her words, “...you were the best-looking man in the room.” A proud smile graces my lips, but it fades quickly as we approach a tall, dark and, well, some would qualify him as a handsome man. Fuck, this man must be the friend she was meeting. This discovery is highly troubling to me.
He's smiling brightly at her, and she returns it with one of her own. It's a totally different greeting than what she g
ave me outside of her building. An intimacy between them reflects on their faces as they look one to the other. A familiar togetherness.
I take a step or two back, unprepared for this. Peters didn't mention a boyfriend in his background report. I'm thrown off my game, not knowing what I was walking into. The man with a smile full of gleaming white teeth gives her that uppity phantom side-to-side kiss and embraces her, tightly. As he does, her petite frame folds into him and gets lost underneath his pumped-up biceps.
“Chéri.” His accent, he's French. “Looking beautiful as always.” A British accent I can tolerate, not his, not this. He pulls her away, leading her to a small table on the edge of the café, practically outside. Kathryn ignores me, and it seems Frenchie doesn’t notice I’m standing here. Whether it's on purpose is not clear, but I follow them with the intention of finding out.
“Thanks, Jacques,” she gushes while pulling back from his arms. “You're in a good mood. Already had your afternoon coffee fix, I see?”
As Kathryn engages with him, she acts as if I’m not there. She treats me in total disregard and walks away with Frenchie without even a backward glance. Being totally ignored grates on my pride, so I cut in. I started this fucking dance with her today and will continue to lead. But to be honest, I have played catch up with her since we’ve met. The best I can do is try to gain a little ground here instead of losing it to this other man. I step forward and take a place at her side.
“Kathryn, I assume this is your friend.” I watch this man turn toward me. Finally acknowledging my presence. Game on, and I extend my hand for the customary gentleman's greeting. “Adam Kingsley.” Territory marked.
Jacques, as Kathryn called him, clasps my hand firmly, almost to the point of pain. “Doctor Jacques LeBaron. Wait, you're that Wall Street mogul guy?” I nod, and I'll be damned if he doesn't start to laugh in a fucking French accent. But I see no humor in our introduction. What a fucking bastard. A heated craze courses through me as he continues his chuckling.
“Care to share the joke with Kathryn and me?” There’s no hiding the anger in my voice. I don’t even try to mask it.
“I'm sorry.” Frenchie's hand covers his mouth as he stifles his fucking laugh. “My apologies. Are you here with Kathryn?”
“Yes, Mr. Kingsley's here with me. What's so funny, Jacques?” Kathryn appears to be as confused as I am.
After Frenchie learns I'm with Kathryn, he looks a little bewildered and cowers under my glare. My self-assurance in this awkward moment trumps him, and I feel victory. But then I notice him glancing to the side. A file is lying on the table he must've been reserving for Kathryn.
It's as clear as day. The letters and name pop out at me.
Woodward, L.
Lively's folder? Fuck. Why would Frenchie have a file related to last night's blowjob? He looks at me and quickly reaches over to cover the folder's name, and then begins to mutter in French, too low and slurred for me to translate.
“Kathryn, may I speak with you…alone?” Frenchie's brow scrunches together, and his eyes dart between Kathryn and me.
“Sure thing, Jacques. Just give me a second.” Kathryn faces me, signaling sideways with her head that we need to move, so we shuffle a few feet away.
“This concerns my Tantra teaching. I need to speak to him alone for a second.” She’s looking up at me; a demure smile plays across those plump lips.
“Okay.” My voice is tight, because I’m not okay with this entire situation. I want to know how Frenchie is involved in her teaching.
“Enough with the attitude.” She rolls her eyes at me. “Jacques is a psychologist at Mount Sinai. He had a practice in Paris and we often worked together with clients. Occasionally he has a client who needs help in my area of expertise. He's the clinician, I'm more the practitioner.”
“Yes, the 'how to fuck women into oblivion' thing you do.” My words mock her.
“You remembered that.” How could I fucking forget that declaration from her? And now instead of Frenchie, she is the one laughing at me. I am definitely catching a glimpse of the vamp I met last night. “Jacques wants to give me a file from a client he saw this morning. Apparently, she knows me and needs some help and direction with her love life. She specifically requested me. He gave me vague details earlier, but I agreed to look her file over. Can you give us a few minutes? Patient rights and all that.”
“I'll wait outside. I need to make a call anyway.” I reach in my suit jacket’s inner pocket for my phone and move to the newsstands in front of the café.
A deep panic, something I rarely feel, grows within me as I process the meaning and implication of her words. Lizzie Woodward, last night's limo ride, is the patient Frenchie saw this morning. And possibly will be Kathryn's new student. With Frenchie nervously hiding her name from me, the conclusion is clear.
My name was brought up by the dear Ms. Lively this morning, and it's most likely written down somewhere in her file. Just waiting to be read by Kathryn, and something tells me that what Frenchie wrote down is anything but flattering. I’m royally fucked. My hopes of getting to know Kathryn are in tatters before I even get started.
Kathryn mentioned last night she knew about some of the women I'd been with. She implied they were less than satisfied with my performance. Some even going as far as to warn her about me. I recall when Kathryn greeted Lizzie outside the coatroom in the lobby. They knew each other before last night, and I fear they will be meeting together now.
I mistakenly thought their familiarity was social, but instead it's likely professional, patient, therapist or fucking Tantra teacher related.
I look back inside the café. Frenchie's talking animatedly while Kathryn regards me closely. I've quickly processed what this all means, and I have to laugh because I've managed to screw up what is likely my first attempt at pursuing a woman based on feelings apart from my cock. It's ironic how wicked fate has plotted against me. If I was a believer in Karma, I might have to wonder.
Maybe I should call Eddie. Cut my losses and have him pick me up. He's only around the corner and there's still time to make that fundraiser tonight. I'll have Mrs. Carter call Tom and tell him I've decided to go after all. I'll just leave out the reason why…or maybe I won't. It's simple really; I’ve likely fucked up my chances with Kathryn.
I refocus on my phone’s screen, shielding it from the direct sunlight. The display shows one missed call from Peters. I can't wait to pin his ass against the wall for neglecting his work on Kathryn's background. I will not tolerate what happened today. Walking into a situation where I am left looking like an idiot is not acceptable.
Glancing up from my phone, I see Kathryn laughing at something Frenchie's said, likely at my expense. I can barely hear their conversation, though I know it's spoken in French. Her black hair swings to the side as she turns to face me. Her mouth produces a warm smile. It's for me. And it's paralyzing with the exception of one place that involuntarily responds to this beautiful woman's red lips and alluring eyes. She waves me forward to rejoin them and I respond. A moth to a flame.
But I need to make a quick decision. Buck up and endure what's ahead with Kathryn and Frenchie, or possibly find a person willing to help my belt get unbuckled at the Library gala? Which will it be?
I have a feeling I already know as I feel my feet moving in Kathryn’s direction.
Chapter 6
As I'm reentering the café, Frenchie hastily stuffs the file of L. Woodward back into his attaché case. His angry movements betray him, and his rough shuffling of the papers make him appear on edge. After securing his case, he lowers his head and brushes past me. His only utterance is a gruff, “Good day.”
My black oxfords spin me around to watch him exit the café. I hear a couple of frustrated words he's speaking in French.
“Mon dieu. Mon dieu. Quel idiot.” Frenchie shakes his head, looking back to where Kathryn and I are left. I wonder what transpired between them. I watch Frenchie as he hails a cab and disappears into the
congested traffic.
Kathryn moves closer to my side and gently touches my arm. I can't help but wonder what came over Frenchie. “I think he just called one of us a fool.”
“Ignore him. He's just being overprotective of me. I don't think you're a personal favorite of his.”
“He doesn't even know me. Or at least this was the first time we've met.” At first his reaction confuses me, but I start to connect the dots. He's possibly had experiences with me through a patient. That's his frame of reference for me. Not a very flattering thought, either. But I decide to hide my conclusion to possibly hear the truth from Kathryn. “So tell me why I'm not high on his list?”
“I wish he'd stayed around to tell you himself, but he was afraid of violating privacy rights with the patient he saw this morning. And after seeing us together, he wouldn't even tell me who she was, although I do know it was a she.” Kathryn raises her brow in a curious gesture.
There’s no way in hell I’m going to confess to Kathryn the patient in question is someone who sucked me off last night. My hope of spending the evening with her would likely end immediately, and I just can’t let that happen. Thankfully, Frenchie didn’t expose me, any hopes I have with her tonight would’ve been lost. He abided by the privacy laws, although I wonder if he will keep silent about it forever. He seemed pretty upset Kathryn was staying with me.
“This new patient and my inability to take her on as a client is strange. Something changed when he saw you with me. I can’t figure it out. Whatever it is, Jacques was upset and advised me not to be around you.” Kathryn looks straight into my eyes, and I hope she can’t see that I’m hiding a secret from her.
“So another warning from a friend about Adam Kingsley. He is a friend, right? Or is he more, perhaps?”
“He’s been more to me. Off and on over the last couple years. Right now our status is off. But he does care for me, and basically he believes you are trouble. I told him I know you are. Big trouble, as a matter of fact. Dangerous, most likely.”
