The wife of Senator Tom Swanson, the most coveted but untouchable wife he had ever met, an established, conservative woman with an impeccable reputation, would not be committing adultery in the back seat of Kenji Yamada’s car. Notwithstanding that he was a successful businessman, polished, sophisticated, a powerful looking fellow with exotically handsome eyes. He was also notoriously married.

She looked at him, the moonlight spreading across lips that now formed a challenging smile. Stifling his doubts, goaded by the smile, he pulled the zipper down to her waist.

“Kiss me,” was all Catherine said as he lowered the gown.

He had never hungered for a woman as he did for Catherine Swanson. It was love, but love of power; it was the dream of forbidden fruit nurtured since boyhood; it was the raw animal attraction; it was his circumstantial celibacy now five days old; it was his age; and it was that life might be escaping him without him having grabbed enough of it.

He thought he detected something in her glancing eyes—he knew it wasn’t desire.

Ignoring the sense of caution, he kissed her deeply. And then his world changed forever. The door flew open; a blinding strobe lit the night air.
“You son of a bitch,” Catherine shouted at the photographer.

Kenji said nothing, grabbing for his loafers, trying to figure out how he could climb across Catherine to the man popping the pictures. Realizing such a move was impossible he reached instead for the door handle on his side of the car. Catherine tried to cover her brassiere then get the dress down somewhere near her knees, but it was too late. More efficient-sounding clicks and whirs and flashes. The camera was getting it all.

As Kenji ran around the car, his fear, the humiliation, the shattering of his sense of personal control vanished, and he became the pragmatic old Kenji who had climbed the corporate ladder with a measure of ruthless ambition equaled by few.

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