by Liv Morris
“Exactly. After experiencing it, I’ll never settle for anything else.”
“And you shouldn’t, dear.” My mother knows a lot about chemistry. What she and my father shared was nothing less then an electrifying love. I remember my father staring at her longingly across the dinner table. The man was head over heels for her. He always had his hands on her in some manner, touching her shoulders, smoothing her hair, even a few pats on the ass. They loved each other with a deep passion.
“There’s a man coming tonight I want you to meet.” I begin to protest, but my mother cuts me off with a quick lift of her hand, a familiar gesture from times past when I tried to interrupt her and was overruled. “He’s something else. Tall, dark, and handsome. Best looking man I’ve seen in years. I swear if I was younger...”
I watch in shock as my mother transforms into a giggling schoolgirl in front of me. Holy hell. Who is this guy?
“Okay, Mother. Now I’m super curious.” I tip my head to the side, trying to process this person she’s become in front of me. “I have a strange feeling you want to live vicariously through me.”
“That’s silly. I’m nearly double his age.” She waves me off. “Just wait until later tonight. You’ll see what I mean. He’s giving a large donation to our foundation, and I’ll be sure to introduce you.”
“Who’s this man and how old is he?” I’m failing terribly at appearing uninterested, but I wonder if I’ve ever heard of him. Although it’s unlikely, considering I’ve been out of the New York social scene for years.
“His name is Adam Kingsley.” The makeup artist applying my eyeliner stops cold and almost inaudibly gasps. I look up at her and find horror written all over her face.
“I believe he’s your age, dear.” My mother must not have heard a thing because she continued on with her description of Adam Kingsley.
“So I take it he’s single, then?” Observing the alarmed woman in front of me, I notice her eyes have widened further, possibly thinking I’m interested in the man. One thing’s for sure, I’m as curious as hell to meet him now... I think.
“Yes, he’s very single and dates aimlessly, I believe. He’s one of those men who needs the right woman to cross his path—very much the bad boy needing to be tamed. Much like your Jean-Paul.” My mother adds the last comment with a wink. I’m not sure whether to be appalled or ask her more questions, but I do want to know more.
Before I can think of another question, my mother continues. “Trust me on this one, Kathryn.”
I nod, not wanting to argue this point with her any longer. I’ll meet this man if it’s meant to be, but I have a feeling she’ll make it happen one way or another.
“Mrs. Swanson, what do you think?” My mother’s makeup artist pulls away and directs our attention to the mirror. There’s no denying my mother looks every bit as lovely as she did twenty years ago.
“Wonderful job, Francis,” Mother says, beaming while Francis smiles, satisfied with the result of her handiwork. It doesn’t hurt that her canvas was beautiful from the start. “You have a magical way of making the years disappear. Thank you.”
“Mother, you look great.”
She scoots off her chair and straightens her casual black dress.
“Thanks, dear. I need to get moving, so I’m going to get my nails done now. I’ll meet you back in the Relaxation Room.” She kisses my cheek as I did hers when I left her alone with Marcus.
As soon as she disappears behind the frosted glass doors, my makeup artist spins around and faces me. I didn’t miss the scowl that spread across her face at the mention of Adam Kingsley, and I’m rather certain she has more on her mind than the shade of my lipstick as she stands in front of me with her hands on her hips.
“It’s none of my business, really. I do love your mother. She’s probably the spa’s favorite client, but this Adam Kingsley...” She begins to tsk-tsk me with her pointed index finger while shaking her head back and forth. It’s easy to see’s he’s definitely not a favorite of hers.
“So you know him?” I give her an opportunity to spill what’s on the tip of her tongue. I raise my brows to encourage her, hoping the floodgates will open up.
“I’ve never met him personally. I steer clear of men like him. He’s a player of the worst kind.” She bends toward me as I sit in my chair, and her voice becomes softer.
“I have this friend,” she says out of the corner of her mouth as if she’s giving me some super inside information. “She’s a pretty well-known model in town. Gorgeous. Legs to die for. She had a little romp with this Kingsley guy. They met at some charity thing. She left with him, thinking they were bound for his apartment or a hotel room.”
“Really?” I’m surprised this woman is ratting out her friend’s secrets to me. I’ve always hated torrid gossip, but for some reason I’m thankful she’s decided to share this with me. I feel as if she’s trying to warn me after my mother’s enthusiastic endorsement of him.
“Yes, but they didn’t even make it to a hotel room. His driver drove the streets around her apartment for an hour while they had sex.” She draws even closer to my ear. “That’s not all. He dumped her right out in front of her apartment building—without even an awkward handshake good-bye.”
“Wow. How did your friend take that?” This man sounds like a complete piece of work.
“She tried to brush it off as a lesson learned, but I think this man is very charismatic, and uses it to keep his dick happy.” She shakes her head in disgust. “Good news, though...my friend’s engaged now. To a nice, respectable man, too. For what it’s worth, stay away from Adam Kingsley. I’m pretty sure your sweet mother has no clue what this man’s really like.”
I nod, agreeing with her assessment and warning. As she finishes my makeup with a nice red color on my lips, I can’t deny I’m curious about this man, warts and all. It’s likely the professional psychologist in me is raising her curious head.
Once the last bit of makeup has been applied to my face, I head back to the Relaxation Room and wait for my mother. I select a comfortable chair and find a complimentary mimosa has been set next to me. The sweet drink goes down smoothly and quickly to my rather empty stomach—empty because I had to rush out of my apartment without lunch to make it here on time.
By the time I’ve finished my drink, my mother still hasn’t arrived. I rest my feet on the ottoman in front of my chair and gently lie back, careful not to mess up my freshly styled hair.
I close my eyes and recall my earlier Tantra session with Ross and Lily. Ross has begun to master the tantric sex trifecta I prescribe to: touch, simultaneous breathing, and constant eye contact.
I began my Tantra journey after Jean-Paul’s death, and have refrained from fucking any man. There had been countless experiences of intimate touching, but no actual penetration. Right now I’m certain any sort of touching will not take away the sexual ache that’s building up within me. It’s making me so damn restless. Lately I’ve been getting lost in my own desires during sessions, which would be unethical and unprofessional if any of my clients were to find out. But unbidden I start to imagine practicing Tantra with a man I am truly attracted to, his hands caressing my body. Our breaths become synchronized while we stare into each other’s eyes
I feel my skin warm under my clothes, and my nipples harden as if they long for the lover’s touch I’ve created in my mind. The familiar ache between my legs makes me uncomfortable in my chair.
Damn if that mimosa didn’t go straight to my head. I open my eyes and take a few calming breaths when my mother appears in the arched doorway, looking like a million dollars. She’s ready for the event with her tea-length gown of navy blue fitting her exquisitely. I can only hope I age as gracefully as she has.
“Oh, Mother.” I rise up out of my chair and walk across the small room to meet her, hoping the sexual fantasies I had just dreamt about don’t show on my face. “You look wonderful and ready to go. I guess you have to head over there now.”
�
��Thanks, darling,” she says to me while reaching for my hands. “And yes, I have to get to Lincoln Center. Natalie just texted me that I’m needed.”
“Yes. Time for you to kick butt and take a few names.” She cringes because she’s always hated the word butt.
“Kathryn. You and that mouth of yours.” I want to tell her what I said was tame in comparison to my normal conversation, especially when it comes to my sex sessions. But I refrain and play the well-mannered daughter for her.
“Yes, Mother dear,” I say mockingly, adding a smile to match. As I do, a woman from the spa crosses over the threshold of the arched doorway with a garment bag in her hands.
My mother turns to the woman as if she was expecting her and takes the bag. “Thank you for bringing this to me.”
“My pleasure, Mrs. Swanson,” the woman responds and quickly pivots to leave as she came.
“What do you have in there?” I nod toward the bag draped over her arm.
She locks her free arm with mine and walks us out of the Relaxation Room and back toward the women’s lounge. “What do you plan on wearing tonight?"
"A little black dress I bought in Paris. It’s perfect for an early spring night.”
"I hope you don't mind, but I brought a new dress for you at Barney's yesterday. I was walking by a mannequin and saw it.” She unzips the garment bag and pulls out a chartreuse-green dress. The shimmer from the rich silk makes me want to touch the fabric. It’s so soft and luxurious. I also notice it’s very low-cut, and my cleavage will be on full display.
“It’s beautiful.” I can’t deny it. She picked out a stunner.
“You like it?” I nod in reply. Who wouldn’t like it? “It looked like it was made for you. I couldn't pass it up. Black is the color for mourning. You need to be colorful tonight, Kathryn. I'd love for you to wear it."
I sigh, knowing she means well, but I hate to be pushed into anything. Deep down I know the dress would’ve drawn my eye, too. So I cave and take it from her, holding it up to my chest.
“Look at yourself in the mirror.” She places her hands on my shoulders and gently spins me toward the vanity mirrors. “That color green, your light complexion, and the color of your hair. It’s like the designer had you in mind when they created it.”
“Thanks, Mother.” I turn to face her and reflect her beaming smile. Who can turn down Ava Swanson when she’s happy like this? I can’t because her enthusiasm is contagious.
Chapter 5
The new green dress is wrapped tightly around my body, fitting like a glove. Gathering at my lower back, it highlights the curves Mother Nature gave me. Underneath, I’m wearing a black satin corset from a charming boutique I frequented in Paris.
The feeling of being confined by the tightly strung lingerie, with my breasts positioned high in my dress, is an erotic blend. My breathing is more labored than usual, and I can't place all the blame on the corset. The plain and simple fact is I need sex, because dammit, I’m strung up tight, literally and figuratively.
I can’t remember the last time I thought about taking a few shots of tequila before I went out for the evening. But the idea tempts me now. Instead, I shake off the thought and prepare to leave for the night.
I place a sheer black wrap around my upper body in hopes of keeping the evening’s chill away. After tossing one end of the wrap over my shoulder, I grab my clutch off the hallway table and walk out the door.
Tonight my mother’s driver is taking me to the foundation event. He brought her to Lincoln Center a couple of hours ago, and now his entire evening is free as he waits for the event to conclude. I do love Armand, her driver. He’s always on time, which means he’s likely waiting for me outside the building since I’m running a few minutes late.
Once I’ve made my way to the lobby, I see the first other human being since I closed my door earlier. From the look on my doorman Carl’s face, I believe this dress was a perfect choice because the usually talkative Carl is stunned to silence. His jaw also dropped open to his chest.
In a flirty fashion, I wave and blow a kiss as I pass by Carl. Between the hair and makeup perfection at the Red Door, my mother’s gift of the dress, and the snug corset, I feel a sense of expectancy. Although I have no idea why or what I am really expecting to happen. It’s likely the fact that I need to get out more and also this sexual drought I’m experiencing. I think finding the bar will be first on my list tonight.
*****
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 wi
th.”
“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.