The Laws of Seduction: A French Kiss Novel

by Jones, Gwen

  Her eyes widened at that. “All right.”

  “Then the sea it is,” he said, squeezing her hand lightly before he let it go. “Now go up and pack. And don’t forget your bikini.”

  She swallowed hard. “I don’t think I’ll need one.”

  “You’re probably right,” he said, stepping back.

  EITHER SHE WAS really drunk, or she could’ve sworn Rex was just about to kiss her. She reached to the top shelf of her closet and dragging down an overnighter, tossed it to her bed. “Oh God . . .” she groaned, she must have been drunk. For all his gallantry and double entendre, she needed to remember the man was a cad to the core.

  Which meant he probably only wanted to sleep with her.

  Huh, she thought, opening the bag, big surprise there. It’s what most men wanted, and why should he be any different?

  But the difference was she almost wished he had kissed her—no. There was nothing almost about it. She wanted him to. So badly if he hadn’t stepped away she would’ve done it herself. Maybe even a whole lot more. Way more. Just to see how it felt.

  Yep, she told herself. Drunk.

  She yanked the zipper back, spreading the bag wide. The thoughts she was entertaining were so unethical. And even though there was a definite bond between her and her clients, Charlotte sincerely doubted sleeping with Rex was the attorney-client privilege American jurisprudence referred to. And wasn’t that a goddamned shame.

  Oh, most definitely hammered.

  She made a quick sweep of her bathroom, stuffing a cosmetic bag with all the essentials—mascara, face cream, lipstick, anything that wasn’t already down there. One thing that never was loomed in her medicine cabinet—glaring at her like shrapnel from her latest exploded relationship. She slid the packets between her fingers, counting. Twelve. Twelve! The number nearly made her blush. Twelve times with Rex? She felt a twinge deep down. Would it be enough to get him out of her system? She pictured him out of that million-dollar suit, his broad shoulders, the hard planes of his chest, thighs like iron and oh, what lay between. She imagined even one time, her hips twisting with the thought. She had to be crazy for even picturing it. Still . . . She dropped the twelve into her cosmetic bag. Better to be safe than sorry.

  Shit-faced, oh yeah.

  She went back to her bedroom yanking open her dresser drawers. A sweater, T-shirts, jeans, a skirt, underwear, bras. A teddy. She fingered its lace, its button-up back, the oh-very-slippable straps. Charlotte glanced to the overnighter.

  She was lit. Défoncée. Totally.

  She tossed the teddy in and zipping it, left for downstairs.

  DETECTIVE SPENCER WAS just getting out of Charlotte’s Ford when she and Rex slipped from the alley to the street. “Did anyone see you?” he asked.

  “I don’t think so,” she said. At least she hoped. “I didn’t see anyone, at least.”

  “We didn’t,” Rex affirmed. “I would have noticed.”

  “Now tell me where are you going,” Spencer said, passing the keys to Charlotte.

  “Do you absolutely need to know?” Charlotte said.

  “Yes,” he said. “Have you forgotten about your little friend here? I believe the judge said you need to tuck him in at night.”

  “Oh don’t worry about me,” Rex said, plucking the keys from Charlotte’s hand. “I can brush my teeth and everything.”

  “Hey,” Charlotte said, watching as Rex slipped into the driver’s seat. “I can drive.”

  “Oh oui? So now you’re up for the jail experience?” he said, sliding the key into the ignition.

  “Hey—jurisprudence.” Spencer looked to Charlotte. “Just call me OnStar. What’s the destination?”

  Her head was starting to ache. “Margate. Down the shore,” she said. “I have a house there.”

  “Jersey?” He stared at her. “You’re taking him out of state?”

  “You’re kicking me out of my house, remember? You asked me if I have anyplace I could go, and that’s the place. Unless, of course, the Philly PD wants to foot the bill.”

  “Go,” the cop said. “Just don’t forget to check in with the police when you get there. Because if you don’t, say, by three this afternoon . . .” He glanced at the back of her car. “We’ll just have to go looking for that license plate.”

  “Fine.” Charlotte tossed her bag in the back before she climbed in. She glared at Rex. “Do you always have to be in the driver’s seat?”

  “Another rhetorical question,” he said, looking over his shoulder as he pulled into the street. “Do you actually think I’m just going to sit there while you drive me around, half-cocked?”

  “It’s my car, for Christ’s sake. And it’s not like you know where you’re going.”

  “Who says I don’t.” He glanced to the rearview. “But first we have to lose the cops tailing us.”

  Charlotte looked to the side view mirror. “You mean that white van about a block back?”

  “That’s the one, with the municipal plates,” Rex said, making a quick left down a side street. “We passed it while we were walking to your car, parked a few spaces down.” He mashed the gas, making another quick left before he speeded up and whipped the car into the opened garage door of A–1Auto Repair.

  “Yeah?” a man said, wiping his hands on a rag as he sauntered over.

  “I think I have a slow leak in my right back tire. Can you take a look?”

  The man tossed the rag. “Let me pull it up on the lift.”

  While he did, Rex peered out from the edge of the doorway, Charlotte close behind. After a minute or so the white van rumbled past, the Ford already on the lift and out of view.

  “Smooth,” Charlotte said, honestly impressed. “Credit the criminal mind inside every successful businessman.”

  “Strictly nonviolent,” he said blithely, though the intent was clear. “But yes, you’re right.”

  “So where’d you learn to do that? Rum running?”

  “Father running. I just couldn’t get them home before midnight.” He looked over his shoulder. “What’s your curfew?”

  “What’s a curfew?” she said, pivoting toward the lift and inside.

  “WHAT THE HELL is that?” Rex said, neck craned into the windshield. “Damned thing must be fifteen meters tall.”

  Charlotte jolted awake, eyes blinking into the late-morning sun as she tried to focus. As soon as she’d set the GPS the combination of scotch and a lost night’s sleep had claimed her, and she collapsed against the door. She followed Rex’s sightline to the wood-and-metal pachyderm complete with howdah.

  Too funny, she thought. I’d forgotten about her. “You mean Lucy?”

  He was still staring at Margate’s own elephant even after they’d passed it. “What the hell is it for?”

  Charlotte yawned, straightening. “Lucy was built in the late eighteen-hundreds for a real estate scheme. Now she’s on the National Register as an historic site . . .” She yawned once more. “She’s quite famous.”

  “Really,” Rex said. “For a moment I thought it was our little metaphor come to life.”

  She may well have been, Charlotte mused. Because Lucy’s compatriot had certainly been in that car with them, crowding out all that lay unsaid between them and surely what was coming. Up until a moment ago it’d been easy enough to ignore, which made her falling dead asleep so convenient.

  “Sorry I passed out,” she said, flipping open the mirror on the visor to the dark circles under her eyes. After too much coffee, court, and the cops, not to mention a healthy dose of scotch, she looked like shit and felt even worse. “I just couldn’t keep my eyes opened anymore, and long car rides always seem to put me to sleep.” She smiled briefly. “Must be a holdover from my childhood.”

  He glanced at her. “Oh? I’ve heard of parents riding their squalling kids around until they’d fall asle
ep. Was that how it was with you?”

  She flipped the visor closed and sat back, looking out the window. “I have no idea. Though I’m pretty sure my father never did.”

  “You never said what happened to your father,” Rex said.

  “Didn’t I?” She laughed. “Tells you how much I give a shit. He moved out to California a few years after he and my mother divorced. Got even richer defending Hollywood scumbags. I’m surprised O.J. didn’t show up on his doorstep. He never sent me as much as a birthday card. My mother hung around a few more years after that, waiting for my grandmother to retire so she could dump me on her and go back to Paris. She hasn’t been back since.”

  “Which is why your grand-mère raised you,” Rex said, stopping for a light.

  “That’s it.” She rolled down her window, looking out. “Someone had to.”

  “Ma pauvre petite fille perdue.” His arm stretched across the back of the seat to her headrest. “I don’t remember much of my parents either. My tante mostly raised me, when anyone actually did. I had my aunt and you, your grandmother. Looks like we have that in common, at least.”

  “Yeah, similarly hellish childhoods. We ought to write a book.” She flicked her hand out the window. “Make a right at that next block.”

  He shifted his arm away, murmuring something in French. The closer they came to her neighborhood, the more edgy she felt. She couldn’t dismiss the feeling something was simmering between them, almost since the moment they met up in Boston, and whatever it was, it was quickly coming to a head. And once it did Charlotte knew there’d be no turning back.

  Couldn’t blame it on the scotch now. She was stone-cold sober.

  “Turn left.” They passed a mix of small, squat cottages and older two- and three-story houses on either side of a block to the end of the beach. Many of the homes had flowerboxes under their windows, and above, striped canvas awnings, giving the block a comfy, old-school feel. “That’s it, the next to the last house. The one with the geraniums out front.” She pointed to a smallish two-story with a green canvas awning over the second-floor porch and a separate garage off to the side.

  Rex pulled the car to the curb before the driveway. “Is there room in the garage for the car?”

  “Yes. Good idea,” Charlotte said, reaching into the glove box for the remote. She aimed and pressed and the garage door opened, Rex pulling it in. He shut off the car as it closed behind them, leaving them in near-darkness.

  “You know,” Charlotte said, “it’s such a lovely day, we should go to this great little outside café just up the street. We could have lunch and talk about what we’re going to do next.” She unbuckled and twisted toward the back seat. “Just let me get my—”

  “Non, not yet,” he said, his hand on her shoulder. “Not with Lucy still breathing down our necks. There’s something we really need to get out of the way first.” He unsnapped his seat belt and turned to Charlotte, his hand suddenly cradling her cheek. “Ma belle . . .” he whispered, drawing her in.

  Chapter Seven

  Shooting an Elephant

  DAMN IT TO hell, he couldn’t help himself.

  Rex kissed her, savoring the warm, soft feel of Charlotte’s lips until he deftly parted them, his tongue lacing around hers. Then something so incredible happened he damned nearly lost his breath.

  This beautifully gorgeous woman kissed him back.

  “Rex . . .” Charlotte murmured, her hand falling against his chest not to push him away but to pull him in, her fingers twisting the fabric of his shirt until he could feel her nails beneath, her hitching breath matching the eagerness in his own.

  “Charlotte . . .” he whispered, leaning her back against the seat, Charlotte sighing as he cupped her chin and explored every corner of her mouth. She tasted of sleep and cinnamon—no idea where the last came from and he didn’t care. All he knew was he wanted more of her, as much as he could get.

  “Très belle, très belle . . .” he whispered, kissing her neck. She had to know—how couldn’t she? He wanted her from the second they met back in Boston.

  “Oh Rex, please . . .” She squeezed his thigh—as if he needed that. He was already hard. Had been, from the moment his mouth met hers, and he knew he’d stay that way until she offered him sweet release. “We really shouldn’t,” she whispered. “We can’t. We—oh damn.” She kissed him hard, her hand sliding straight to his cock, caressing it.

  “Jesus,” he whispered, groaning, his hand falling to her breast.

  “No,” she suddenly said, pushing him off. She scrambled back against the door. “No, goddamnit.”

  “Okay,” Rex said, moving away. “I do understand the meaning of the word.”

  “Thank you,” she said, straightening her blouse. She tousled her hair in a nervous gesture, all at once looking very beautiful, and very grave. “I’m very sorry for that”—she blushed profusely, tossing her hand—“grossly improper gesture.”

  “Don’t apologize to me,” Rex said. “Obviously I was all for it.”

  “Obviously.” She blushed even deeper, glancing down. “But that needs to stay right where it is. For both our sakes.” She dug her fingers into her hair again and sighed. “I’m not going to lie, Rex. I am attracted to you.”

  “The feeling is mutual,” he said, relieved he could finally say it.

  “Even so, outside of the ethical issues, I still have problems with your reputation and what you represent.”

  He couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. Not with his cock still hard and her lips lusciously swollen. “I’m not the enemy here.”

  “And I’m not one of your employees,” she snapped. “You may be buying my services, but you’re not buying me. Know that everything I’m doing, everything that happens between us, I’m doing because I want to and for my own reasons.”

  That stung, even though he could sense her true intent. Because what she said earlier was right. He did like being in the driver’s seat. And because of that maybe he also needed to put her in her place, if only momentarily. “And we know exactly how much those reasons are worth, don’t we?”

  Her eyes flared. “Keep your two million. Do you think that’s buying me?”

  “It certainly got your attention.”

  “You bastard,” she spat, snatching her purse. She threw open the car door. “And just so there’s no mistaking my meaning—” She slammed it, leaning into the opened window. “Va te faire voir!”

  “Son of a bitch,” he muttered, hurrying after her. “Damnit Charlotte, you know I—”

  He found her at the opened side door of the garage, her hand still gripping the knob. Two uniformed men stood on the other side of it.

  “Hi ya, folks,” the police officer said, touching his hat. “How are you doing today?”

  Did he just catch a snicker coming from the man behind him?

  “We’re fine,” Charlotte said with perfect courtesy. “And you’re here because . . . ?”

  “Oh.” He grabbed a notepad from his top pocket. “You’re Charlotte Andreko, right?”

  “I am,” she said, her thumb jutting over her shoulder. “And this is Rex Renaud, to answer your next question.”

  “Bonjour,” Rex said, sliding past her to stand outside.

  “Yeah, they told us you were French,” the other patrolman said. “We get a lot of French tourists down here from Quebec.” He smiled. “I’ll bet you’re from Montreal.”

  “No,” Rex said. Jesus.

  “Anyway,” Charlotte continued, “who did you speak with?”

  The first patrolman glanced to the notepad. “We got a call from a Detective Spencer from the Philly PD. Said you were going to check in with the department when you got down here. He said Mr. Renaud is out on bail.” He eyed him directly. “For a felony.”

  “We just arrived,” Rex said. “We’ve hardly had the chance.�
�

  “Right.” The first patrolman cleared his throat. “But that’s not mainly why we’re here.” He looked to Charlotte. “He told us about the bomb threat you received.”

  “And the brick,” said the other cop.

  “Anyway,” continued the first officer, “we were patrolling the area and just happened to catch your car pulling in the garage, so we figured we’d save you the trip down the station.” He slid the notepad back into his pocket. “But when you didn’t come out right away . . .” He smiled briefly. “We decided to give you a few minutes.”

  “Oh,” Charlotte said after a moment.

  Funny how Rex could already interpret her subtle reactions, how her seemingly calm exterior belied a range of emotions inside. More than likely she was mortified, but anyone looking would only have noticed a slight hesitation. Anyone but him, that was. Which gave him an idea exactly how to play this.

  “Thank you for saving us the trip,” Rex said, moving back beside Charlotte. He slipped his arm around her waist, feeling her flinch, but to her credit, that was the extent of it. “Charlotte’s been a bit worried, but knowing you’re keeping an eye out will make her feel a lot better.”

  “Yes,” she said, tensing a bit as his hand fell to her hip. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome,” the patrolman said. “We’ll do a drive-by a few times a day, but do give us a call if you see anything suspicious.”

  “Of course,” Charlotte said. “We should only be here a couple of days.”

  Rex slid his hand up her back to the back of her neck. “And it’s not like we’re planning on going out much, right, chérie?”

  She turned to him, her glare lethal enough to melt glass, Rex instantly grateful the officers couldn’t see it from this angle. “Oh, you’re so right, hon,” she said, eyes narrowing.

  “Stay as long as you like—or don’t leave at all. As you can see . . .” He looked around him. “We’re having some great weather and almost everything’s still open. So go on, have a good time.” He touched his cap again. “Take care now.”