Inferno Anthology (133 page)

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.

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.”

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 Mrs. 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 her 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 escort 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 be 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, Miss 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.