by Liv Morris
“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."
She winks and once again runs her fingers under my suit coat's lapel. Her fingers press hard and move slowly down my chest. I swallow back a moan as her eyes take on a mischievous glint. The feisty Kathryn from last night's event has resurfaced. And God, how I love her feistiness. But I can’t shake her words, the thought Frenchie has been more than a colleague. This leads me to one conclusion: They’ve slept or Tantra’d together. A rush of anger hits me at the thought of Frenchie having been with her. Kissed her, fucked her. There’s only one label to stamp my feelings with: jealousy. But I squash them before she can see them on my face or in my eyes.
"Well, are you… trouble?" she purrs while looking wickedly at me.
"On the contrary. I think you're the one that's trouble for me. I skipped out of work early… unheard of. My assistant is holding all calls, which never happens. I'm forgoing a fundraiser tonight, making my partner go in my place." I continue on as if the thought of her and Frenchie isn’t still bothering me.
"Oh, poor Kingsley. Missing out on some limo sex after the event for the night?" she says mockingly, sweetly. "So you don't make it a habit of showing up at a woman's doorstep on a bright sunny afternoon?"
"I can assure you I don't just show up on anyone's doorstep, no matter the weather or time of day. Today’s adventure is a first for me, Kathryn. I couldn't seem to stop thinking about you." I want to take her hand, the one that just traced my jacket and now rests at her side, but I decide against it.
"You keep saying things like that to me, Kingsley, and I'm definitely going to be in trouble." She giggles, and I find myself loving the sound when she does. I dutifully follow her out the door of the café, hoping we can find some trouble together later. I’d like to erase the memory of Frenchie from her mind and body. But I’m not sure she’ll let me have access to either one.
My phone buzzes as I see an incoming text from Eddie, inquiring whether I'll need him further this evening. Halting in my footsteps behind Kathryn, I ask her where we are headed.
“My driver is wanting to know if he’s needed. What should I tell him?” I’m holding my breath awaiting her answer.
"I thought you wanted to take me to dinner. Have you changed your mind?" She seems concerned as a slight frown frames her face.
"Dinner was my idea. Remember? Once I’ve made up my mind, it’s nearly impossible to change it. I’m going to release my driver for the night. I'm assuming you're still a no-go for my comfy Escalade, right?"
"That’s right, Kingsley.” She points her finger at me and moves it in a scolding fashion. I notice she dropped the Mister in front of my last name. I wonder if she’ll ever call me Adam, because I’d love to hear my name fall from her lips.
“No soft leather seats for me. We're on my turf tonight."
She scrunches her brow in a challenge. She's awaiting a comeback from me to try to persuade her into my backseat, but I cave to her demands. I'd prefer her warm company versus pissing her off by coming on too strong, for now, so there's no argument from me.
I dial Eddie on my phone to let him know his services aren’t needed.
"Call Ms. Carter. Inform her I've released you for the evening and you'll be driving Tom Duffy to the Library Gala instead." I hang up before he confirms my orders as my focus rests on the smug face of Kathryn. She's so stunning, gorgeous, as her eyes shine back at me. I focus again on her mouth and fight back an overwhelming desire to claim it with my own. Lips on lips. Tongue to tongue. I push back my passions and realize she's won me for the night. Lock, stock, and barrel.
I mentally slash another mark in her column as she wins one more round between us. My column remains empty, but for once I don't give a fuck. I smile back at her, raising my hands, and shrugging my shoulders in defeat. As we walk toward some unknown destination, for me at least, I watch men gazing at her, even turning around to watch her retreat, and can't help but think I might actually be the winner this round, because she's with me, not them.
"Do you mind if I ask where we're going? Or are you wanting to surprise me?" I reach out to touch her hair as it blows in the wind. The texture reminds me of satin, soft and flowing, without anything trying to perfect it. All natural. "I've told you your hair's beautiful, haven't I?"
"I believe you did earlier." She giggles, almost in an embarrassed laugh. "But a woman can't hear compliments like that too often. Thank you, by the way. I have to say you've really surprised me today."
"How have I surprised you?"
"Every word I've heard associated with you: player, asshole and manwhore…" She lowers her head away from my gaze, shying from her own comments, perhaps.
"Ouch, that last one hurt." I fake a hit to the heart and hold my hand over my chest. Our exchange reminds me of our introduction last night when she tagged me as the pretty billionaire boy.
"Wait! Let me finish," she pleads, holding her hand up in protest. "Those words don't seem to apply to you right now. I'm pretty sure they did last night, though, but you're different with me today. Why?"
I realize we've stopped along the sidewalk during the discussion of my usual waywardness. She faces me, and I gently encircle her wrists and walk her to the front glass of the building behind us, a makeshift confessional. I release her hands before I answer.
"Why am I different?" I run my fingers through her hair again. I can't stop myself, and luckily she doesn't protest or pull away as my fingers twirl and twist through her long locks. Soberly, I gaze into her eyes as I speak. "I think who I am today has everything to do with you, and actually nothing to do with me."
I long to share my true thoughts, telling her that until I met her last night I’ve never felt anything more than a physical attraction toward another woman. This pull I feel toward is something very different. I have no words to define it.
But since she knows all about my debauched reputation, telling her this, laying all my cards on the table, might feed into her notion that I'm a player who will say anything to get into her panties. Basically, a rehearsed line one might expect from a manwhore. So I decide to confess something else to her.
"It probably won't make any sense, but I woke up fully rested this morning." I sigh remembering the dreams that have plagued me since, my mother Flora's death, and how they thankfully didn't surface last night. Instead, the nightmares were replaced by a beautiful and erotic dream of fucking Kathryn.
"A good night's sleep is what brought about this change? You've gotta be kidding me." Kathryn is skeptical of my response, and who can blame her? "Perhaps you should be waltzing down the street with Ms. Woodward instead."
"Ms. Woodward?" I’m disappointed, mostly in myself, to hear that name come up yet again. It seems to be haunting me today. "You're the one kidding me now."
I move in closer to her, but not too close. She seems leery of me, so I cautiously approach.
"I believe my unusually pleasant night of sleep was due to you and you alone. Now tell me where you're taking me for dinner." The subject change is needed, because Lizzie Woodward’s name should be buried away and forgotten.
"My favorite place to eat is just a block from here." Kathryn starts to walk ahead of me but I'm quick to catch up. "It's probably not what you'd expect."
"I'm getting used to the unexpected with you." I smile down at her and am pleased when she returns it. "Can I hold your hand as we walk?"
"I suppose. But don’t get any ideas, Kingsley," she replies quietly and extends her hand to meet mine. She feels soft, delicate, and warm as I wrap my fingers around hers. My entire body relaxes as I feel her touch.
"You want to hear something funny?" I say and she nods. "I thought John, was your escor
t or date last night. I was pleasantly surprised to find out he was your brother."
"Pleasantly surprised? How so?" Her question is clearly spoken in a challenging tone.
"If he was someone you were seeing, I doubt if I'd be here with you now." The thought of being unable to see her brings an odd, unfamiliar feeling to me. In reaction, I hold her hand a little tighter and purposely pull her into my side as we stride forward.
"John warned me of you last night after I introduced you to him. I don't think he would approve of us being together."
"He wouldn't approve of me, huh?" I say teasingly, but the number of people warning her about me is starting to add up.
"Can you blame him?" She answers me with a feisty question, but I enjoy the verbal sparring with her.
"No, I guess not. If you were my sister, I'd likely feel the same… protective." My frank confession surprises me, especially when I examine the truth of it. The picture it paints isn’t very flattering, to say the least.
"Exactly, John helped me through the death of my husband a couple years ago, so he had his radar up with you last night. I'm not sure I should tell him about you and me, and our little date.” She emphasizes the word “date.” I smile as I admit to myself that I like the sound of the word, too. Actually, I can’t remember the last time I was on a date like this one. No agenda. Carefree. A novelty.
“What about your mother? What would she think of our little date?” The brother may not be happy about us being together, but Mrs. Swanson seemed to have a better opinion of me last night.
“My mother would bet thrilled." She looks up at me with a wicked gleam in her eyes, telling me she might agree with her mother. At least that’s my hope.
She stops in front of a restaurant. "Well, we're here. Sant Ambroeus."
It’s small with a green- and white-striped awning hanging across the glass front. "We just missed their famous afternoon tea. I'll probably shock them by stopping by now. I've never come in this early for dinner."
I open the door for her and follow her inside. An Italian-looking gentleman around sixty approaches us, smiling from ear to ear. He holds out his arms to her, and it’s obvious they’re well acquainted with one another.
"Bellissimo, Ms. Kathryn." I watch the man greet her warmly as he places his hands on her upper arms and kisses each of her cheeks. I suppress my disappointment as I've yet to have my lips on her. It's a fact that sobers me, making me wonder what's become of the take 'em and leave 'em me.
"Maurice, I can't decide if it's the welcome I receive or your delicious food that brings me back to you." She pokes his side, playing with him, and he melts from her words. He's putty in her hands, just like I am.
"I'd like to think it's my welcome." Maurice flirts back, and I clear my throat to make my presence known, marking my territory once again. "Who do we have here?"
"Adam Kingsley, sir." I extend my hand to Maurice. His eyes appraise me warily. I can almost hear the questions he’s likely forming in his head. Yes, the "Adam Kingsley," playboy extraordinaire. I wonder why this title never seemed to bother me before. Today it’s pissing me the fuck off. He offers me his hand in return.
"Pleasure to meet you, Maurice." I stand firm, shaking his hand with purpose, as if I have nothing to hide. He drops my hand and regards me carefully.
"Mr. Kingsley, welcome to our restaurant as Ms. Kathryn's guest." His tone makes me wonder how truly welcome I am here. "Please follow me. Your usual spot, my dear?"
"Yes, Maurice," Kathryn replies.
He seats us next to the window looking out onto Madison Avenue. The table is covered with starched, crisp, white linens. Menus are settled in front of us with an unlit candle placed in the middle of the table.
While scanning the menu and deeply breathing in the delicious aroma from the kitchen, I realize I'm famished, achingly starving, in fact. My unorthodox day of trying to capture some time with Kathryn, the beautiful woman across the table from me, caused me to skip my lunch. So the last thing I've eaten today was after my grueling morning workout. I had my usual egg whites and oatmeal.
"Since you're a regular here, order for me." I once again concede and allow her to make a decision for me. I hardly recognize myself but wonder if she has any clue what she's doing to me. She really has no frame of reference to gauge me since we've only just met.
"So how often do you let people, or women in particular, order for you? I'd bet there aren't many people who make even the simplest choices for you. You appear to be an in charge kind of guy."
She understands me better than I think. It's written all over her face, and surprise is probably all over mine.
"That's right. I live my life in a somewhat controlled fashion, Kathryn. I’m a creature of habit, really. But it has definitely panned out well for me." I try to explain how I’m set in my ways without sounding like a control-freak. "At thirty-two years old, what I've achieved is beyond even my wildest dreams. I've called the shots and hit the financial bull’s-eye, so to speak."
"I really don't give a shit about your money or how you made it." Her words are spoken tersely to me, confirming what I thought last night when I gave the obscene donation. A fat wallet doesn’t impress her. "I'm just curious about you, the man. I'm trying to figure you out. Understand why you put up such a wall around yourself."
"It's more than a wall. It's a fortress." The confessions slips from my mouth easily, but I wish almost instantly that I’d keep these thoughts to myself.
"So you pick up weak women, fuck them or let them blow you, and then never call them. You're such a catch, Kingsley." She likes to go straight in for the kill. And as usual she hits the mark.
"It's true, my usual pursuits seldom take more than a simple nod of my head." I look into her eyes before continuing. "However, I admit that things are different with you."
"And why is that the case with me?" she curls her lips into a coy smile loaded with a challenge behind it.
"I've not figured it out yet." I smile at her and reach across the table to touch her hand. She looks down at our fingers, then back up to my eyes. "But I'll let you know when I do."
"You really have quite the ego. So I'm just supposed to wait until you have a clue? Listen here, Kingsley, I'm not some puzzle that you can take out of a drawer because you find me fascinating in some unique way." She sighs and takes her hand away from mine, causing my heart rate to accelerate. Surely, she's kidding, but I see the stern look on her face. There's a seriousness about her that unnerves me.
As I'm ready to respond, Maurice comes unbidden to my rescue and brings us a complimentary bottle of wine. He opens it and defers to Kathryn for the first taste of approval. I watch her full lips surround the glass rim as she tips the stem up. Her movement is slow, precise, and completely sensual.
I can’t peel my eyes away from her lips as they meet the deep red wine. Lips that I want to possess. Lips that I want encircling me. When she removes them from the glass and wipes her tongue across the lower part of her mouth, I feel my cock stir at this subtly erotic demonstration.
"Lovely, Maurice." She smiles and thanks him. As he pours my wine, Kathryn excuses herself from the table, tossing her napkin down by her wine glass as she stands. Her departure seems abrupt, and a sour mood reflects on her face.
Was it what I said? I was only teasing her, but she obviously found no humor in my glib remarks. Maurice’s eyes appear concerned as he watches her. He likely notices the sudden change in her disposition, too.
"I'll be right back,” she says, sounding curt. As she turns on her heels, I watch her head to the rear of the restaurant. Maurice is still standing next to me even after the wine is successfully poured. Oh boy, I think he has something to say as his eyes glower down at me.
"Mr. Kingsley, I've watched Ms. Kathryn grow up from a little girl. Her parents brought her here to eat every weekend. She's always been my favorite." He glares at me over his spectacles. "She's never brought anyone in here besides her brother and a few girlfriends."
>
"Really?" This revelation surprises me. But he continues on as if I hadn't responded.
"My wife reads the Post's gossip columns to me, so I know all about you." I can't help but notice he's pointing the sharp, screwy end of the wine opener at me. I don't believe it's by accident. "I'm not sure what she's doing with the likes of you. But you better watch yourself with her. She's all class."
"She’s in her own class." I take his assessment of Kathryn onestep further.
"The minute you strode in here with Kathryn, your cards were marked with me. I may be an old man, but I have friends..." I detect a hint of a smile behind his eyes as his words trail off. It’s as if his words are meant more in jest than as a warning. Being a smart man, I decide to turn on the Kingsley charm.
"I understand completely. There's something special about her, and I intend to treat her as such." I follow my words with a slight wink. "I do have my limits around such a beautiful woman. It may be hard to rein myself in."
He laughs and walks away saying, "Good luck with that." I chuckle but quit the instant I see Kathryn walking toward us, looking confused. Probably rightly wondering what transpired between Maurice and me. And quite frankly, I'm not sure what just happened. Did he warn me or in the end encourage me? I'm totally confused, too.
"Kingsley, what did Maurice say to you?" Her question is spoken in more of a challenge.
"I'm sure you can guess. He has fatherly feelings concerning you and issued me a warning as far as you're concerned." My eyes shoot toward the front entrance where Maurice is standing, appraising me still. "I assured him that my intentions with you were noble."
Kathryn huffs at my statement. It’s a sound I don’t like at all. "Maurice is no fool. I'm sure he found your comment amusing to say the least."
"He definitely isn't a fool, but he made it clear that I would be one if I treated you badly."
