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 fin
ally met his. They 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.