The Laws of Seduction: A French Kiss Novel

by Jones, Gwen

  He pulled her aside. “We need to talk.”

  She huffed. “Rex, you must be joking. Trent and I are just old friends. As I told you, my fiancé introduced us, and we were never, ever an item.” Then she sighed. “Okay, maybe we were, for about two weeks. After my engagement ended we did date for a little while, but I swear, it never went beyond flirtation and a few make-out sessions. I mean, I’m almost seven years older than he is. Not that it should matter, but honestly, I’m no cougar. I prefer to date men my own age. I never even slept with the man. But don’t get me wrong. He tried, but I guess I just wasn’t into—”

  “Charlotte,” he cut in. “Mon Dieu—it’s like you’re stuck in sixth gear and the brakes are out.”

  “Sorry,” she said, shoving her hands into her coat pockets. “But you’re annoyed with me and I don’t want you to be. Sure, he was a bit attentive, but it didn’t mean anything. And you shouldn’t judge me, not with your rep. A little while ago I had to put up with one of your old girlfriends, didn’t I? You didn’t see me treat her in any other way than civil—”

  “Christ! There you go again.” He pulled her away even further, into the stairwell. “Charlotte, shut up already.” Then he cupped her chin in his hand and kissed her.

  “Mmmm—mmm,” she muttered, tilting her head back as he opened her mouth with his tongue. It was a quick kiss but no less ardent, Charlotte leaning into him as his hand fell to the small of her back. Just as they finished a passerby gave a low whistle.

  “Must be a liberal,” Rex whispered against her lips.

  “Nah, that’s a conservative,” Charlotte said. “Dark corners are their preferred milieu. Liberals are notoriously shameless.”

  He looked at her. “So what does that make us?”

  “In dire need of one of those private places you suggested.”

  “Moderates. A dying breed.” He kissed her again, then let her go. “Let’s take care of business, then we’ll go look for a nice dark corner. And it won’t take as long as I anticipated.”

  “Didn’t you want to talk to me about something?”

  “Yes.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t have any proof besides a feeling I’m having, but I believe Viviane—Marcel’s mother—may be here.”

  “You’re joking.” She looked over her shoulder, as if she were standing right behind them. “Because of what Trent said about Richette?”

  “Oui. I’m almost thinking that if she is, it would confirm their involvement.”

  “As well as their attempt to take Mercier down.” Panic streaked over her face. “And you with them.” She gripped his arm. “Oh Rex, if that’s true, then you’ve got to get out of here. If anyone recognizes you they’ll be a bench warrant out for you for sure.” Her eyes widened. “Or maybe that’s just how they planned it.” She tugged at him. “Come on.”

  He pulled back. “No. Not until I see for sure.”

  “Are you insane?” She stared at him as if he were. “How could you take that chance? If Richette is truly out to get you, she’s their first line of offense. We have to leave—and now.”

  “And we will. But not before we get what we came here for.” He led her back to the floor toward the stairwell.

  “Rex—no,” she said, pulling back.

  He turned to her. “Charlotte, I’m not leaving until I see if she’s here. Are you coming or would you rather wait out here?”

  She winced. “Rex, please. I mean, really—do you want to get caught?”

  He felt a perverse pleasure in Charlotte looking so pained. That level of anxiety must mean she cared for him a great deal. And that only emboldened him further. “Charlotte, chérie, I have to see this through so I’m going with or without you. But I’d really rather have you by my side.” He reached out for her hand. “Will you come?”

  She sighed, and after a moment, joined him. “My God, you really are an impossible man. You’ll have us both in jail before long.”

  He tucked her arm into his. “Then let’s hope for conjugal visits. Now let’s go. It’s almost three.”

  The gallery was filling up with individuals and tour groups, as the House members gathered onto the floor. Legislators on both sides mingled within their own party and occasionally with those across the aisle, the floor and podium teeming with aides, staffers, and press. Off to the side a congresswoman spoke with an easel to her left full of diagrams and charts, playing more for the C-SPAN camera than the few people who were paying attention. Rex and Charlotte took a seat in the top row not far from the doorway, affording Rex a higher vantage point. And, he knew, a quicker way out.

  “Can you see Congressman Hitchell from here?” Charlotte asked.

  He started looking as soon as he entered the chamber. “No. But it’s almost three, so I imagine he’ll be up there soon in front of the camera, where that congresswoman is now.” He also scanned the gallery for Viviane, but as far as he could see, she hadn’t arrived.

  He thought back to the only other time he’d sat in the congressional gallery. It’d been the day Lilith had first brought H.R. 22186 to the floor. He had such high hopes for the bill passing, especially after they had sealed their mutual ambitions with a quick baiser atop her desk. Was that the price of his ambitions? If it was, then who had been the real whore? Even though the bill could be reintroduced in the next session, it took it failing to realize he didn’t have the stomach for Washington politics any longer. He gripped Charlotte’s hand and she smiled. Especially with who was sitting next to him now.

  Then Viviane Mercier walked into the gallery.

  His breath caught—how long had it been since he’d last seen her? Years, he knew, yet she was still as devastatingly beautiful as she’d ever been. She made her way down the steps to the first row, just as the congresswoman yielded to Representative Brendan Hitchell.

  “She’s here,” Rex whispered.

  Charlotte gripped his arm. “Where?”

  “Front and center,” Rex said, tilting his chin. “The one with the bright blue coat and dark hair.”

  “Good God,” Charlotte whispered as Viviane turned to the left. “Who could deny Marcel’s her son? He’s her spitting image.” She looked to Rex. “Okay, there’s your answer. Now let’s go.”

  “In a minute—there’s Hitchell,” Rex said, leaning forward.

  Representative Hitchell shuffled his papers atop the podium and looked to his colleagues. “Let me begin by saying I believe in climate change.”

  “Oh boy, a heretical admission for the right, but a new hero for the liberals,” Charlotte whispered.

  “And because of that,” Hitchell continued, “we’re constantly on the lookout for fuels that even out or eliminate carbon emissions, especially for developing nations and even in Europe. And that’s why I say if we introduce new technology we can solve these problems and bring about a cleaner world, and in the process . . .”

  “Please, Rex, he’s sucking all the oxygen out of the room,” Charlotte said. “Let’s get out of here before you get caught or I die of boredom.”

  Viviane took a seat, loosening her coat, but she was hardly settling in. Rex leaned forward, watching her.

  “And because of that I’m introducing H.R. 12953,” Hitchell continued. “The LNG Carbon Reduction Funding Bill, that will make the United States the largest producer of clean fuel in the world . . .”

  She’s not listening to Hitchell, Rex thought. She’s looking around, searching for someone.

  Charlotte noticed. “Five more seconds and she’s going to see you.”

  “Just a second,” Rex said. Who are you looking for, Viviane? Are you looking for me? Just a couple millimeters more and— She turned, looking dead into his eyes. Then just as quickly, she looked away. Like she couldn’t quite believe what she saw.

  He wasn’t about to give her another chance.

  Rex rose. “Let’s go. Now.�
� He grabbed Charlotte’s hand. “Hurry.”

  They trotted out the gallery as fast as they could, and were out on the street and chasing down a cab before Charlotte could catch her breath.

  “Jesus—Rex! Hold up!” she cried, running to the curb, Rex already sliding into the taxi Once they were out in traffic, she turned to him, her chest heaving. “Damn, that was close. As it was, I could almost hear the jail door clanging shut.”

  He took her hand, kissing it. “It was kind of exciting though, don’t you think?”

  “Almost getting caught?” She shook her head. “You’re crazy. What if she saw you?”

  He was excited, the blood pumping, pounding in his veins. He hadn’t felt this charged in as long as he could remember. “That’s the thing. She did.”

  “What?” She looked horrified.

  “And you know what? I don’t think she quite believed what she saw.”

  “You’d better hope not, or there’s going to be five million less dollars in your bank account.”

  He leaned back, throwing his arm over her. “Oh, the look on her face . . .”

  “Rex, stop. Please,” Charlotte said, an ironic twist to her voice. “You’re scaring me.”

  He looked to her, astonished, tilting her back in his arms. “Scared? Of me? When all I really want to do is kiss you?”

  She held him off, her hand to his chest. “I’ll bet that’s the least of it.”

  “How well you know me already,” he said, his mouth lowering to hers.

  AS SOON AS they got back to the suite Rex was like a bull in rut. Only randier.

  “Come here . . .” he growled, pulling her into the bedroom. He ripped back the sheets, then proceeded to strip every piece of clothing from her body.

  “You know I can do that,” she said, standing there as he kissed her cheek, her neck, as he opened her coat and slid it from her. “And probably faster, too.”

  “You’re like opening up a piece of candy,” he said, slipping off her sweater before he proceeded to unbutton her dress, sliding that off her, too, until she was only in her bra and pumps, a puddle of clothing at her feet.

  He raked his gaze down her, his eyes heavy and lidded. “You weren’t kidding about the panties, were you?”

  “Told ja,” she said, as if it was obvious.

  He pinched his thumb and forefinger between her breasts and let her bra snap open, sliding it off her shoulders to the floor. After a moment of openly gaping he stood back to gape even more.

  “Like what you see?” she said, hands to hips, thrusting her breasts forward.

  He shook his head slightly, like coming out of a stupor. “Merde,” he said, low and throatily, “get in the bed.”

  “I will,” she said, crawling into it, “but I don’t care what your kinks are. These are not coming with me.” She kicked off her shoes, then propped herself against the headboard. “Now it’s my turn,” she said, openly gaping as well.

  Rex slipped off his shoes and socks and unknotting his tie, yanked it off, removing the rest of his clothing in record time.

  “You’ve done this before,” Charlotte observed, bringing her legs up to her chin.

  He was left with his boxer briefs and for a split second, Charlotte wished he’d leave them on. Much like what lingerie does for a woman, she savored the mystery beneath the form-fitting cotton and silk below his broad chest and tightly packed abs. After a few moments he slid them off and came toward her, cocked and loaded. He slipped in beside her, taking her in his arms.

  “You know, I . . .” He sighed. “Look, chérie, it’s up to you of course, but we kind of dispensed with the wrappings before, so it probably wouldn’t matter if we did it au naturel now.” He stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. “But even so, I kind of did it without your permission before, so . . .”

  She cocked a brow. “It’s kind of late for that now, don’t you think?”

  “Ma belle,” he murmured, laying her back against the pillows. “I just want you to be sure.”

  “I’m sure,” she said, stretching out beneath him. “And I trust you. Any reason why I shouldn’t?”

  “Mon Dieu, Charlotte,” he said, his kissing her as he lowed himself, “there’s every reason in the world.”

  Her breath caught as he slipped himself inside her, the feeling of fullness almost overwhelming. She arched her back as he drove himself in, his hand slipping under her thigh as he pulled her leg up to bury himself to the hilt. “Charlotte . . .” he whispered, groaning as he sank himself deeper. She smoothed her hands lightly down his back, Rex shivering under her trace. “Charlotte . . .” he whispered, nipping the corner of her mouth. She shivered as well. How couldn’t she?

  Because it was becoming harder and harder to separate the woman she was to the outside world, to what she became when she was with him. She’d been hired as his lawyer, but her feelings for him were so much more personal now. Maybe she needed to forget the inclusive feel of his arms around her, the desire in his eyes when he looked at her, that sense of belonging to someone other than herself. Because she didn’t belong to him. Whatever they were together, she knew it was only temporary, a faux security unlikely to become permanent.

  Yet when she touched his cheek, he smiled.

  She couldn’t help smiling, too. There were worse things she could fool herself with, she supposed.

  She tossed her head back and let his steady stroking take her higher and higher, his eyes blissful as he rolled them over the edge. For now it had to be enough. For whatever would come, she’d always remember this, the two of them joined, a perfect illusion of one.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Thicker than Blood

  REX HAD FALLEN asleep almost immediately after, sliding off to spoon behind Charlotte, his arms tightly around her. She awoke to find she could hardly move, but why would she want to? How long had it been since she’d spent this much time in such close proximity to another human being? Too long, she knew. And she was going to miss it after he was gone, not so very long from now.

  She could feel him breathing against her neck, the soft hairs of his chest against her back, the taut muscles of his thigh as it rested on hers. He had been in her and now he virtually surrounded her, his arm flung across her chest in a possessive clutch. He was warm and she felt safe, from what, she wasn’t sure, but if it was out there she knew he’d keep whatever it was away.

  She opened her eyes and fixed on his hand, or what she could see of it lying loosely across her shoulder. For as much as she knew of him, these weren’t the pampered hands of a businessman. There was something in his life that had caused those calluses below the curl of his fingers. Probably indicative of all his mysteries, like a tiny glimpse into a life she’d never know. And suddenly she wanted to, very badly.

  She wasn’t sure why she was feeling this way now. Maybe it was because of what happened just before, how excited he got over playing a little too close to the edge. It had almost seemed that he wanted Viviane to see him. Why was that? What lay between them besides the obvious fact of his betrayal? She’d have to ask him as up until now, they seemed to have been following the same tack. Maybe that was significant. Maybe that proved whatever he came here to accomplish, he had. And that saddened her that this thing, whatever it was, was playing out.

  Strange that it had happened to begin with. When they first met, she had hated him on sight, as she did all his breed of corporate bulldog. They were her bread and butter and she ate them alive every day, but somehow she could tell Rex was different. He didn’t stare past her and let his minions do the talking. He listened and spoke his own piece, then let her do the same. He was courteous and gracious, but that only made her suspicious, having seen that ploy before. He reminded her of an old saying: The knife will enter so much easier when it’s oiled. But not once did she feel as if she’d been played. She came in with her demands, then left
with more than she expected. It’s just good business, he had said. Suddenly Rex shifted against her and she moved along with him. Was this good business, too? She had to wonder.

  He kissed her neck and she rolled over to face him. “Salut,” she whispered.

  He yawned and raked back his hair, his eyes even more sensual in their somnolence. “Bonjour. I must have fallen asleep.” He kissed her shoulder, looping his leg over her again. “Pardon. Toutes mes excuses. Do you forgive me?”

  “I always do.” She took his hand, smoothing the pads below his fingers. “Tell me, how does a desk jockey like you get calluses as thick as these?”

  His mouth crooked as he threaded his fingers into hers. “Maybe because real jockeys have something in common with me.”

  “Like betting on the ponies?” she said, trailing a finger up his chest.

  He grabbed her hand, kissing it. “Like riding them.”

  “You ride horses?” She had to stifle a laugh. “What—polo ponies? That would fit.”

  He took exception, his chin lifting. “I’ll have you know I’ve been riding since before I could walk.”

  “On little tiny baby polo ponies,” she said, curling into him. “With training wheels.”

  “Non,” he said, trying not to laugh. “On big, strapping Percherons.”

  Charlotte thought a moment. “Aren’t they draft horses? Work horses, I mean?”

  “Oui. They pull things. Like wagons full of grapes.” He brushed back her hair, smoothing it down her neck. “I grew up on a vineyard, and I used to ride all around it.”

  “Did you now?” It thrilled her he was telling her this. “Is that where you live now?”

  “Too far from the office. I live in a little house by the sea in Vallon des Auffes, a fishing port in Marseille. But I ride every chance I get.”

  “I’ve never been to Marseille. I’ll have to come visit you next time I’m in France.”

  “Chérie . . .” he murmured, kissing the slope of her jaw, “but I’m here, right now, with you.”

  He certainly was. But for how long? And that was the truly scary part. Because she was starting to ask herself—could she fall in love with him? He slid down her body, kissing the hollow of her throat. “Yes, you are. It seems I can’t get you out of my bed.”