Temptation

by Liv Morris

  *****

  The crowd in the reception room at the event is starting to grow. I see a few familiar faces as I sip my wine. I scan the room, looking for my mother and wondering if she needs any help, when to my right, someone calls my name.

  “Kathryn Delcour.” The rather loud and boisterous voice I recognize instantly belongs to Trudy Patrick. We were inseparable during our years at the Dalton School. She’s been trying to set me up with every rich, single man over thirty-five she knows.

  “Hi, Trudy.” We exchange the obligatory side-to-side air kiss as we greet each other.

  “Look at you.” She pulls away and examines every inch of me as though she’s trying to find my hidden barcode. “Your dress is classic with a touch of scandal to it. You are hot as sin, Kathryn.”

  “Back at you.” She does look great, back in shape after having had a child only four months ago. “How’s the baby?”

  “Little Jack is the joy of my life.” She smiles at me, and I can see the love in her eyes when she mentions him. “But I’m as tired as hell. You know I’ve decided to raise him without a nanny. If he doesn’t starting sleeping better, I may have to hire one for the night shift. This getting up at three and four a.m. is killing me.”

  “If it’s any consolation you don’t look sleep deprived at all. I don’t see a hint of bags or dark circles. You must be doing something right.”

  “I sure as hell hope so. I’ve decided raising a child is harder than working with the worst sons of bitches on Wall Street.”

  “But the jerks on Wall Street didn’t smile up at you like you hung the moon and the stars.” Trudy laughs and I join in, although a small part of me envies her. She has a perfect life—a charming husband and beautiful child—and here I stand, a widow at thirty-four.

  “You’re so right. I love when I walk into the nursery and scoop him up out of his crib. You’d think I hung the moon.”

  “Now that the weather is warmer, I’d love to meet you and Jack in Central Park for a walk. It’s been a couple of months since I’ve seen him. I’m sure he’s changed.”

  “Sounds like a plan. And you should be out in the park daily. Lots of hot man meat lurking on those jogging trails,” she says while pointing at me in a scolding fashion.

  “You’re relentless.” I lightly pat her arm, although I’d like to pinch her for being so pushy about hooking me up at every turn.

  “I don’t mean to push.” She laughs and shakes her head. “Wait that's not true, I have been pushing you. I think you need a little shove to get into the dating scene here. New York City dating isn’t for the faint of heart.”

  “I know you mean well. But between you and my mother, I’ve had my fill of ‘let’s help lonely Kathryn find a man.’ ” I add an exaggerated eye roll to drive home my point.

  “Good old Ava. I bet she’s been worse than me. Is there someone in particular she’s trying to fix you up with?”

  “She was telling me about a man who's supposed to be here tonight. Only problem is even my makeup artist thinks he’s trouble.”

  “What’s his name?" From her tone, I’m certain she’d be rubbing her hands together if she wasn’t holding her nearly empty wineglass.

  “Adam Kingsley,” I answer and see a similar reaction from Trudy as I did with my over-sharing makeup artist. “I’ve seen that expression in response to his name before.”

  “You can’t be serious. Your mother wants to fix you up with him?” Trudy glances around her, and I’m wondering if she needs to sit down. “He’s the last person I’d ever think of fixing you up with.”

  “That bad?” She nods almost violently. “You’ve got to point him out to me. I need to be prepared.”

  “He gave a very generous donation at this dinner last year. Maybe his humanitarian side has blinded your mother, because the only thing I’d fix him up with would be his own hand.”

  “Holy shit, Trudy.” I’m shocked at that statement and also the fact that somehow my mother was pushing this man my direction. “Do you see him here yet?”

  “Not yet.” Her words were like a sigh. “But you’ll know when he’s here. He’ll be the most handsome man in the room. Hell, he’s the hottest man I’ve ever seen. But don’t let his looks fool you. I’d say the majority of the women in this room have succumbed to him at one time or another.”

  “No way.” I give her a questioning stare, hoping she can read my look accurately.

  “Good God! No, I haven't been one of his victims. I could give you a long list of his casualties in this room, though. It’s really quite impressive.”

  “I’m glad you aren’t one. But what is it they see in him if he’s really so bad?”

  “Just wait.” Her assessment is scathing, but oddly I’m even more curious about this man than I was before. “When you see him, you’ll get it. I think there are two good reasons besides his looks that make his sexual conquests as easy for him as breathing: his well-endowed wallet and cock.”

  I took a sip of wine at the most inopportune time because I nearly spit it out. I wasn’t expecting those comments from Trudy. Well, maybe the wallet one. The size of his dick? No.

  “You’re serious?” I question her even though I can tell she’s shooting me straight.

  “Very.” She takes my arm and we begin to walk. “There is a nice group of bachelors a few feet away I do want you to meet. I don’t know the size of their cocks, but their wallets are in good shape.”

  “You’re horrible, Trudy.” I try to wiggle out of her hold, but she’s not having it and brings my arm closer to her side.

  She introduces me to the group of men. They seem like nice enough gentlemen. Smart, well accomplished, and remotely handsome. But after some back and forth conversation, I realize not a single one of them gives me any spark or yearning.

  As an investment banker tells me about his latest merger in the works, Trudy moves closer to me and whispers in my ear.

  “Don’t look now, but there he is.” I do exactly what she said not to do. I glance around the room. And I see him. He’s easy to spot because I see a hot as fuck man at the bar. He’s turned at an angle to me, so I can check out his features unnoticed.

  “See what I mean,” Trudy speaks into my hair. “I knew you’d know who he was without me actually pointing him out.”

  “You were right.” I have to agree; he’s even more handsome to me than my late husband. Something I thought I’d never think about another man. I browse over the crowd and see several women staring at him. A few are huddled together chatting and appearing to admire what they see. I turn away from him and his onlookers and try to refocus on the banker who’s trying to hold a conversation with me.

  That attempt only lasts a few seconds before Trudy is once again whispering in my ear. Only this time she's more excited.

  “What the hell? He’s looking at you, Kathryn. Staring, more like it.”

  I have no idea what comes over me, but I make a move I may regret later. I graciously peel myself away from Trudy and the suitors she’s chosen for me and head to the bar Adam is standing at. After all, my wineglass is empty.

  “Kathryn, where the hell are you going?” Trudy asks as I walk away. I wave her off with a little gesture over my shoulder.

  As I walk close to where Adam’s standing, I purposely avoid looking at his face. Instead, I decide to focus on his legs, so I’ll know if he moves. When I’m a few feet away, he pushes himself off the bar and turns in my direction. I’ll end up walking right to him unless I turn and hightail it back to Trudy.

  Ignoring my pinging danger radar, I soldier on, feeling the heat of his eyes on me. I swear they’re leaving hot streaks across my body. Even before I’ve made direct eye contact with him, I feel an energy already pulsing between us.

  When he’s no more than three feet away from me, I begin to raise my head. Inch by inch, I work my way up his long, hard body. There’s nothing that could’ve prepared me for the sight of him peering down at me when my eyes finally met his. The
y are smoldering, hooded, and dark with desire.

  Adam Kingsley is a sight to behold. Towering in height and muscular. Dressed to kill or make panties drop in his designer tux. I can’t turn away. The pull is too strong.

  I’m faced with a couple of decisions. Walk around him to the bar and completely ignore him or actually allow myself to meet him. In the back of my mind, there’s one other option that pops up. Straddling him. My sex-starved body reacts to this idea as a definite humming flows through me, putting me on hyper alert. One that is focused between my legs.

  Thankfully, I find an ounce or two of self-preservation as I stand before this man who emits sex from every inch of his tall frame. I decide there is only one way for me to leave with some dignity tonight if I meet him. Focus on resisting his charms instead of wondering what’s under his tux.

  I believe playing a little hardball with this man instead of fawning at his feet will keep me from succumbing to this instant connection I feel with him and also let me see what he’s made of. Then, as if on cue, he moves toward me, and I immediately fire back a mocking smile because I’m not about to be one of his conquests. At least not tonight.

  Hope you enjoyed the little snippet into Kathryn’s mind.

  If you haven’t had a chance to read Adam’s Apple yet, you can find it here: http://amzn.to/1jBqIbW or turn two pages and read the prologue and first chapter. Happy reading, Liv!

  For the Reader

  Thank you for taking a chance on an Indie, self-publishing author. I truly appreciate you choosing to buy and read my novella.

  I’d love to hear from you too. Perhaps leave a review on Amazon, or a comment on my web site or Facebook page.

  www.livmorris.com http://www.facebook.com/LivMorrisAuthor

  You can also connect with me on twitter. It’s a favorite of mine.

  http://twitter.com/Living_Write

  Stop by my Amazon author’s page to see what else I’ve published or find the paperback version of this book. Click here: http://amzn.to/18uUN8q

  My five novellas in the Love in the City series are published in a boxed set. Find it on Amazon here: http://amzn.to/1gR3Y5m

  All the best,

  Liv

  ADAM’S APPLE

  (Touch of Tantra #1)

  Prologue

  April 23rd, 2005. Laurel Hill Cemetery, Philadelphia, PA.

  The sky shines a crisp, azure blue, but my heart is a lifeless gray and quickly turning as black as the muddied dirt I'm holding in my hands. I squeeze my fingers so tightly into a fist that my hand begins to shake and bits of grit embed into my palms.

  The task set before me is customary and very common among men. But the woman I mourn today was anything but common. She was brilliant, wise, and beautiful.

  Now she's gone. . . Forever.

  Sorrow will no longer consume her heart and soul. Instead it passes on to me.

  I toss the black dirt into the dark and musty grave and fall to my knees. The eerie hollow sound of the clumps of dirt hitting the wood below is more than I can bear.

  The tears I’ve been suppressing for days now fall freely down my face like a dam’s flood after a breach. An unrestrained sorrow pours out of me, and the whirl of emotions I’ve hidden within myself is no longer concealed. My grief is freed as I realize all I love is now six feet below me, but it might as well be a million miles away. The distance will never be broached this side of heaven as she is God’s angel now.

  Returning to the hearse, I see a man’s face in the distance. We make eye contact before he raises the tinted window of his black limo. His vehicle pulls away, disappearing into the morning’s mist. Anger rises above my grief because he has no right to be anywhere near this solemn ceremony.

  He’s the bastard who slowly and silently destroyed the woman I’m leaving behind today in this cold and wet cemetery. She was my mother . . . My selfless life-giver, and I owe her everything.

  Chapter 1

  My legs feel as heavy as lead pipes, but somehow they carry me through the marbled lobby to the sidewalk outside of my office high rise. I find myself standing on grimy concrete with the New York City rain pelting me, staining my yellow silk tie. I am numb to nature’s onslaught, as my thoughts remain at the conference table forty stories above—where the last meeting of the day still haunts me.

  My head of corporate security had informed me that my trusted partner and friend, Simon Edwards, betrayed me by stabbing me in the back. My stomach almost retches as I think about his deceit. I’ve known him since our freshman year at MIT fourteen years ago. Through random selection, we’d shared a dorm room together. We weren’t extremely close because we were polar opposites and different personality types. Especially when it came to dealing with people. Basically, I tolerated them and he didn’t. But we formed a common respect for one another during our college years and beyond. Maybe it was our desire to make our mark in the business world, as we both had something to prove to the fathers we hated. It was likely the only thing we had in common.

  After graduating college, four of us from MIT, including Simon, headed to New York City and formed Kings Capital, largely using the inheritance I received after my mother’s death. It served as the company’s seed money and positioned me as the company’s head. Although Simon seldom made his way to the boardroom, his presence there was felt by us all. We’d relied on his genius mind to design a way around any obstacle or shortcoming we found in our software ventures. We capitalized on so many deals thanks to Simon. We had a saying among the board, “If Simon says so, we buy.”

  Never in a million years would I have thought he’d try to sell me out. When others said my dreams were impossible or if a wall was placed in my way, he was my go-to man. Now he was the wall. Simon was caught trying to sell me out by giving away corporate secrets to another company. My corporate secrets. Secrets stained with my own blood, sweat, and fears. Although I was assured our company secrets never touched any outsiders’ hand, his act of betrayal has set my world’s axis askew.

  I wipe the rain off my face and see Eddie, my driver, standing beside my black Escalade, New York City’s newest version of a limo. He holds an umbrella in one hand and the opened back door in another. I observe his rigid stance; not a muscle moves in his face as he remains at attention like a soldier awaiting his commander’s arrival. I hurry toward him, anxious to get out of the rain and away from my building. Kings Capital has been the center of my life since it was started, but now I want to run from everything I’ve built.

  As I’m nearing the car, I hear someone calling my name. A quick glance over my shoulder brings my assistant, Mrs. Carter, into view. I notice she’s waving a piece of white paper as she runs toward me. I compare the two extremes of the people who work for me: one is stoically robotic, the other is embarrassingly chaotic.

  "Mr. Kingsley, sir, I neglected to give you your ticket to the Swanson event!” Mrs. Carter rests her hand on her heaving chest, breathless. “Security is at a high level tonight since the Ethiopian ambassador is attending. No one will be allowed inside without this." I stare at the ticket in her hand; the black ink is starting to blur from the rain.

  Mrs. Carter places the ticket in my outstretched hand. I watch beads of water from the rain roll down her plump cheeks. The rain washes away parts of her makeup, revealing bare reddish skin underneath.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Carter.” A crack of thunder rumbles around us, echoing off the towering buildings, causing us both to jump. “You’d better get back inside.”

  “I just want to say how sorry I am, Mr. Kingsley, about Mr. Edwards. I—” Pity is written all over her face, and I detest pity.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Carter. I know your intentions are good, but do not bring this matter up again in my presence. If it needs to be discussed, I will let you know.”

  My harsh rebuke might as well have been a slap across her face. Mrs. Carter appears wounded, and her skin has now turned more the color of fire.

  “Certainly, sir.” She hangs her head brie
fly and then looks up at me with the same pity in her eyes. Perhaps even more than before. Dammit to hell. “Have a lovely evening at the benefit.”

  “My apologies for being short, Mrs. Carter. It’s just been a hell of a day.” My conscience tugs at me. Fuck, I’ve overreacted, given into my easily roused temper, and penalized her for a crime she didn’t commit.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” I speak more calmly, the angry tone in my voice now gone.

  “Yes, sir. And I understand.” I watch a timid smile stretch across her face. The rain has now fully removed any trace of makeup from her skin, and her pulled-back hair is soaking wet and plastered to her scalp. I should feel guilty for making her stand outside with me getting drenched, but the feeling doesn’t come to me.

  “Just remember, Mr. Kingsley. Karma is a wonderful thing.” And with that quick statement she pivots on her sensible heels and runs back inside the building.

  Karma. I have to laugh. I, of all people, know too well about karma and it’s legend. However, I’ve chosen to operate under the old proverb of an eye for an eye. Karma requires no action and the hope of a chance. I rely on one thing in this world: my actions. I will leave nothing to chance and prefer playing the game of life with the strongest hand possible.

  I turn toward my car and approach the open door.

  “Good evening, Eddie.” I greet my driver with a nod as I escape the pelting rain and ease into the backseat.

  “Good evening, Sir.” Eddie shuts the door behind me.

  I immediately put on some rap music and turn the volume almost inhumanly high, hoping the noise will help drown out the stress of my day. Leaning back against the soft leather seat, I let the bass thump against me.