The Laws of Seduction: A French Kiss Novel

by Jones, Gwen

  “Exactly.”

  They came to another light and she paused, her face creasing. “But she’s still in love with you, you know.”

  “Right. That’s the vig.”

  It changed, and they continued on. “The what?”

  “The vig. The juice. The slice I take for doing her the favor.” She wanted the iceman? Oh boy, was she getting him. “The part that sinks the knife when I drive it home.”

  That stopped her cold. “But that’s horrible.”

  “She taught me the Washington rules, Charlotte. I’m just playing by them.”

  She walked faster. “I don’t want to hear any more. I’ve been hired to defend you against a charge, and your liaisons are none of my business. As far as I’m concerned, the two have nothing to do with each other. I’m sorry I stuck my nose in your affairs. It won’t happen again.”

  Hearing that hardly placated him. He didn’t want her being so civil. He wanted her coming at him in a huff and screaming with jealousy, and not like so many woman of his acquaintance, cavalier and dismissive of their relations. Because deep down he actually hoped she was jealous, and not this outraged feminist, blindly defending a woman who’d cut her down as quick as breathing. He didn’t want Charlotte living by the rules she adopted for herself. He wanted to be the exception to them.

  Ahead lay the beach, Charlotte aiming for the pavilion at the foot of the strand. The wind was freshening the closer they came, and it was a good thing she’d slipped on her sweater as he didn’t have a jacket to lend her. Somehow he wished he had, if he could offer her some kind of peace offering, no matter how insignificant. A distance now gaped between them, and the fact that it bothered him startled Rex considerably.

  When the street ended they stepped up to the pavilion, Charlotte crossing it to the railing at the entrance to the beach. As she looked toward the ocean, Rex came up beside her, leaning back so he could face her.

  “Charlotte,” he said, his finger brushing her arm.

  She glanced to it before turning her gaze back to the water. “Seriously, Rex, I don’t need to hear any more about your affair.”

  “To call it an affair would be like calling McDonald’s haute cuisine,” he said. “I’d come to Washington, I’d get the latest story on the bill, we’d have some drinks, and then I’d—”

  “Please,” Charlotte said, turning toward him. “No play-by-play. The only reason I mentioned it in the first place was because it’ll complicate things.”

  He straightened. “It seems it already has.”

  “Apparently. Now you have a jealous woman behind this whole thing.”

  “I wasn’t talking about the congresswoman,” he said, taking her by the shoulders. “I was talking about you.”

  “Me?” She palmed her chest. “Do you think I’m jealous?”

  “Are you?”

  She huffed. “No, of course not.”

  “Then what is it?” He swept his hand over the top of her head, smoothing her flying strands. “Because it feels like more to me.”

  She seemed surprised. At least he hoped she was. “Maybe it is. But I don’t want it to be.”

  “Maybe I don’t give a damn what you want,” he said, his mouth falling to hers.

  Perhaps that was the last thing Charlotte expected, Rex kissing her, but he didn’t care. After just a couple of hours he already missed the taste of her, the feel of her in his arms. He couldn’t remember the last time he reacted to anyone this way, maybe he never had. He pulled her closer, hardly caring if anyone was watching or if he was a grown man making a fool of himself. When she sighed and deepened their kiss, he turned to pin her against the rail, his body pressing against hers.

  “I want you, Charlotte . . .” he murmured against her lips. “I want you very badly.”

  “Maybe I don’t give a damn what you want,” she whispered back, nipping the corner of his mouth.

  He growled, “I could take you right here . . .”

  “Do you always take what you want?” she said, her hips shifting in a tantalizing pass.

  “Oui,” he wanted her to know. “Though it usually comes willingly. I choose my targets carefully, you see.”

  “Is that what I am?” Charlotte’s blue eyes sparked fire. “A target? An objective?”

  “Oui,” he said without hesitation. “I go after what I want and I don’t stop until I get it.” He kissed her once more, then pulled back, caressing her cheek. “Are you gotten, Charlotte? Or is that exceedingly bad English?”

  “Oui à la fois,” she said, toying with a button on his shirt. “And God help me—I don’t want to be. In fact, you’re scaring the crap out of me.”

  “Très bien,” he said, kissing her again. “That’s what I expect from all my conquests. How do you think I’ve gotten as far as I have?”

  “I’m not joking, Rex. You do something to me. Do you think I react this way to all of my clients?”

  “Since most of your clients are women . . .” He broke into a wicked grin. “Why, you saucy little thing, you.”

  She turned six shades of red. “Oh—stop,” she whispered. “I’m serious.”

  “Believe me, I know,” he said, throwing his arm over her shoulders as they walked back to the street. “Your demons are mine, ma belle. I find you very, very hard to resist, too.”

  He felt her laughing as she tipped her head against him. “Oh, if only you knew what was going through my mind now.”

  “Are you still thinking of Lilith?” He kissed her temple. “Oh, merde, I’d still like to meet that guy who messed you up.”

  Her arm tightened around his waist. “Then you’re jealous, too?”

  “Aha!” he said, pointing at her. “You were jealous.”

  “Only because I had a reason to be. You, mon ami, don’t.” A tiny derisive sound came from the back of her throat. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she coerced that lobbyist just to get your attention.”

  Rex stopped. “What are you saying?”

  “You mean you hadn’t thought of that?”

  “It’s obvious someone had, but Lilith?” He wouldn’t put it past her to steal his phone, but this added a whole other dimension.

  What possible reason would the congresswoman have in alienating Rex? Their relationship, if it could be called that, had been centered around the dredging bill, their coupling hardly more than a pleasant way to settle the day’s work, much like the old-school backroom boys would use a glass of scotch and a cigar to seal the deal. It hadn’t entered his mind to look for anything deeper, and if Lilith had ever shown any strains of jealousy, it was only because she was protecting her turf. Rex well knew that information was the lifeblood of D.C., and it didn’t hurt having the ear—and the cock—of the chief operating officer of one of the biggest privately held corporations in the world. But son of a bitch, why would she have to do something like that? Didn’t she trust him? As if he didn’t know. In Washington trust was a currency at ten thousand percent inflation, as worthless as a day-old newspaper.

  “It’s a possibility,” Rex finally admitted. “Though the girl would owe her big-time.”

  They stopped at a corner to wait for the light to change, his arm still around her. “And for what?” Charlotte said. “What would induce a young woman to compromise herself like that? The victim would always take a character hit. She’ll always be seen as complicit in some way.”

  He eyed her skeptically. “Always? Do you really think so?”

  Charlotte looked miffed, slipping from his arms. “All right then, we’ll say usually. But she’ll still bear the brunt of the stigma. People will always view her through the sexual lens of the crime. They’ll picture her with her skirt hiked up around her waist and naked beneath, not screaming or shaking in terror. That’s why so many women never report it.”

  “And it’ll only get worse when her story turns o
ut to be false.”

  “Exactly,” Charlotte said, apparently appeased as she allowed Rex’s arm around her again. The light changed and they crossed. “She must have been paid one hell of a sack of money. Did she seem like the type?”

  “I hardly remember. Do you think I was actually listening to what she was saying? I was looking at her lolos.”

  Charlotte peered at him, moving away. “Do you have any idea how chauvinistic that just sounded?”

  Christ, she’s a prickly woman. He slipped his arm around her waist. “Yes, though it just proves how little attention I actually paid to her. Now you, on the other hand . . .” He caressed her hip. “I listen to every word that comes out of that smart mouth of yours.”

  “I’m not sure how I should interpret that,” she said, lifting her chin.

  “It means you most definitely have my attention.” Then he kissed her, right there on the street, amid the traffic with the pedestrians having to move around them, making a spectacle of himself for all of Margate to see. Not that he cared. He was quickly discovering Charlotte was like a blast of sea spray, too much champagne, closing a billion-dollar deal. But as intoxicating as she was, he also needed to remember he had too much to do and so little time to accomplish it, and Charlotte was too smart and intuitive to treat lightly. He needed her and her expertise to extricate himself from this mess, but if he let things get too complicated between them, well . . . he didn’t want to think about it. All he wanted to think about was now.

  “I have to get a few things,” he said as they walked toward the boulevard. “Does there happen to be a men’s store around here?”

  “Burberry? No,” she said, casting him a wary glance. “But I think we may be able to find something within walking distance.”

  “Good, because as much as I’d like to be out of my clothes around you, I still have to deal with the world.”

  She squeezed his hand. “Don’t I know.”

  A short statement with more implications than she realized. He stopped in front of a bakery, clutching her in front of him as he caught her reflection in the window. “The congresswoman’s in D.C., ma petit. You know I’m not going to find out what’s behind all this from up here. I have to make a call in a couple of hours about picking up a car in Atlantic City, then I’m taking it down there to see her.”

  “But how can you be sure she’s even there?”

  “She has to be. Congress recesses after Thursday, and as I mentioned before, that’s her last chance to get the bill out for a vote.”

  “Yes,” she said dryly. “She has to at least pretend like she’s trying.”

  “As I said before, I don’t write the rules. I only play by them.”

  She peered back at him, her reflection hovering over a row of éclairs. “Have you ever thought of running for office? You’d make a damned good politician.”

  “Ha! I’ve heard that before. But what would be the profit in it?” He leaned in, whispering, “Have I mentioned you look good enough to eat?”

  “Have I mentioned the poll that said Frenchwomen prefer chocolate over sex?”

  He was horrified. “Where’d you read that—the Onion?”

  “The New York Times, I think. It was very scientific.” She tapped at the window. “We’re stopping here on the way back. I want that éclair.”

  He kissed her neck. “And I want you,” he said, one hand sliding to the underside of her breast.

  “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “It’ll be a friendly competition.”

  They walked on, coming to a row of shops on Ventnor Avenue, Rex finding a store that sold men’s furnishings, surprising him how upscale it was. He bought underwear, two pairs of Jack Donnelly khakis, four Lacoste polos, socks, a belt, a pair of Top-Siders, and a gray tweed sport jacket from which he snipped the tags and slipped right on.

  “Planning on staying a month?” Charlotte asked.

  “I only planned on staying overnight. The rest of my things are on the plane, and it’s not like they’ll let me get within a klick of it.”

  “I know how you feel,” she said wryly. “The rest of my things are at my chateau.”

  The extremely obliging shop owner beamed at Rex from over the piled items. “And how do you wish to pay for this, sir?” he asked, teeth gleaming.

  Rex slid a black metal card across the counter. The man stared at it, eyes widened in awe. “I’ve heard of these,” he murmured, pinching it off the wood. He held it reverently between his fingers. “Though I never actually saw one.”

  “Is there something wrong?” Rex said.

  “Oh no!” the man said, alarmed. “Everything’s perfect. Please—it’ll just take a minute.”

  “Show-off,” Charlotte said to Rex.

  He arched a brow. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “No, I expect you don’t,” she said, rising from the chair where she’d been waiting. “I don’t suppose it’s often you float down to earth and mix with the little people.”

  “I’ll have you know I used to be one of those little people,” he said, turning toward her.

  He could see the bare outline of her nipples beneath her dress, the fabric shifting tantalizingly as she came up to him. “And how many eons ago was that?”

  “I was born into them,” he said, Charlotte drawing him out again. She could make him tell her things he’d never said to anyone, and he had to be careful of that. So he tossed a wrench as he usually did when someone got too close. He traced his finger over the hem of her bodice. “Back then my car seat had to suffer the indignity of a Benz instead of a Bentley.”

  Charlotte squinted at him, properly thrown, before she caught the joke. “Oh, how horrible for you. I’ll bet you had to go from a golden spoon right down to silver.”

  “You know me so well,” he said, his finger trailing up to her chin. “Why don’t we duck over there into that dressing room again, so I can get to know you a bit better?”

  “Your card, sir,” the shop owner said, his smile ready to crack the plaster off the walls. “Would you like some assistance carrying your purchases to the car?”

  Rex asked him if they could be held while he did a bit more shopping, and the man readily agreed, though he seemed puzzled why any more shopping was actually necessary. As did Charlotte as they walked out the door.

  “What else?” She smiled suggestively. “Besides éclairs, I mean.”

  “I need to get a phone,” he said as they stood on the sidewalk.

  “There’s a Verizon right over there,” she said, pointing down the block. “See?”

  “I’m looking for the throwaway kind. Is there a convenience store around here?”

  “Now I get the black AmEx. What are you really, a drug lord?”

  “Non, just a businessman, remember?”

  “How could I forget.”

  “But now I’m also a cautious one.”

  She looked to the other end of the block. “There’s a store down there.” She slipped her arm in hers. “Come on, Bentley. After we’re through there, I know a place where we can hook up with some black ops.”

  Rex pulled her close, whispering in her ear, “Ma chérie—tu es complètement givrée.”

  THE FIRST THING Rex did when he got back to the house was call Marcel. This time he picked up on the first ring. “Allo?”

  “Turning adventurous, are you?” Rex said. “You didn’t even wait to make sure it was me.”

  “Who the fuck else could it be, calling precisely two hours later?” Marcel said. “Okay, are you ready?”

  “Go ahead,” Rex said pen poised over a Chinese take-out menu.

  “A black Lincoln will be parked in Caesar’s garage, fourth floor, slot 450. It’s keyless entry and the code is 58292. There will be a fob under the passenger side mat once you get in.”

  “You said will be,�
� Rex said. “When is that?”

  Marcel sighed. “Well, that’s the thing. You wanted untraceable so we ordered one with diplomat plates.”

  Rex couldn’t help being impressed. “No shit. Where’d you get that—non, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

  “Don’t worry, it’s legal. I just called in a favor. The thing is, it won’t be there until five tomorrow morning.”

  That’d cut into his time in Washington, but then again . . . it would give him a whole night with Charlotte. “I think I can manage that.”

  “Work it into your schedule. Because if you don’t pick it up by five-fifteen we’ll assume you’re not coming, and it’ll be gone. And one more thing,” Marcel said. “You’ll only have it for twenty-four hours. Seems someone’s on holiday, and they’ll be back to claim it. And you don’t get it back to the same spot by five the next morning it’ll be reported stolen, and I won’t be able to help you.”

  “I thought you said it was legal?”

  “It is legal, but shades of gray, mon ami. Just get it back to the same spot at Caesar’s by five Thursday morning and all will be right with the world. Can I reach you at this number?”

  “Oui. It’s my new thirty-dollar phone. At least until I get my old one back.”

  “So, do you have a plan?”

  “Of course I do.” Liar.

  “Well, good luck with that. Keep in touch. Ciao.” He rang off.

  Rex glanced at the time: 6:02. A plan. Eleven hours to think about what the hell that was and what he was going to do once he got to Washington. A plan. And four hours more after that once he was in motion.

  Out in the living room, Charlotte was trying to remain unobtrusive, on the sofa with her legs crossed, scrolling through her phone. Should he tell her it wasn’t working? That he was almost more aware of her than he was of his own hands? He flexed his fingers, imagining smoothing them down her naked body, her skin rippling under his trace.

  “Charlotte?” he said, heading toward her, the Chinese take-out menu in his hand. He looked to it, then to her.

  For this, he most definitely had a plan.