by Jones, Gwen
Rex sat back, crossing his arms. “So if Richette gets control of Mercier, they’d control enough to practically corner the LNG market in Europe.”
“And they’re using your little congresswoman friend as the pipeline to you,” Viviane said. “She never had any intention of trying to get that dredging bill passed, and that little escapade with the lobbyist was all part of it.”
“Are you saying Lilith knew?” Charlotte said. “That she was complicit in setting Rex up?”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Viviane said. “But discrediting Rex in order to devalue Mercier’s worth was definitely part of Richette’s plan. At least that’s what Jean-Paul intimated to me.” Her mouth curved seductively. “You see, I still know my way around a man, a martini, and a moonlit terrace.”
He looked to his aunt. “But what proof do you have the congresswoman is implicated?”
“How about lots of Richette stock in her blind trust?” Viviane said. “Deposited in her account in the last two months. That’s what they say, at least.”
“Deposited during my sabbatical away.” This time Rex was openly smiling. “How convenient.” He looked to his aunt. “Marcel knows about this, surely.”
Viviane flicked her hand dismissively. “Oh surely. That’s one man who knows everything. So what are you going to do with this little bit of information now?”
“There’s only one thing we can do,” said Charlotte. “Confront Lilith with the recording of the lobbyist and if she doesn’t play along, we’ll take all this info to the assistant DA. Codicil that with the fact that my phone was stolen from the property room.”
“Quoi?” Viviane said. “Then what will happen to me?”
“Nothing,” Charlotte said. “No one will ever own up to it. But my righteous indignation will speak volumes for sure.”
“Lilith will be ruined,” Rex said. “Absolutely and—”
“Completely,” Charlotte said. “And it couldn’t happen to a nicer girl.”
Viviane peered at them. “You two. You finish each other’s sentences. Interesting.” She looked to Charlotte. “Où est le toilette, s’il vous plaît?”
“Just up these steps,” Charlotte said, pointing toward the stairs.
“Pardon.” She left for the bathroom.
When she was gone, Charlotte slumped against the sink with a sigh. “Jesus Christ, Rex. Do you believe her?”
He rose, going to her. “I don’t know. But it won’t take me long to find out. I’m throwing this ball right into Marcel’s court just as soon as she leaves.” He reached up, his hands on either side of her face. “You’re exhausted, chérie.”
“Which I’m sure is just a polite euphemism for how shitty I look.”
He brushed a strand of hair behind her ears. “Would you like to go to bed?”
“Please? Or do I have to beg?”
He slid his finger along her bottom lip, making her shiver. “I think I’d love to see you beg.”
“Me too. I’d be a first.”
“You know, we got cheated out of the éclairs again. I’m still waiting to lick the custard off your—”
“Excusez-moi,” Viviane said, “but I must be going.”
Rex turned, all playfulness vanishing from his face. “I’m going to check out everything you said.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” she said, reaching in her pockets for her gloves. “You know Julie’s pregnant again.”
“I know,” he said. “We saw her just a couple of days ago.”
“With twins,” she said wistfully, looking away. “Just like me and your maman.” She looked back to Rex. “Knowing that, how can you think I’m not telling the truth?”
“Maybe if you go see Marcel while you’re here I would,” Rex said. “Maybe it would help if he could hear what you told me from your own mouth.”
She huffed with distinct Gallic dismissal. “He should come and see me. He knows where I live.” She pushed down the leather gloves between her fingers. “Beside, he’s on his honeymoon. Maybe this time it’ll even stick.” Her gaze shot to Rex. “Maybe you should tell him about yourself, you know.”
“That should’ve been your job, tante, not mine.”
“Well, nonetheless, someone should.” She offered her hand to her nephew. “Au revoir, neveu.”
He stared at her hand a moment, looking unsure what to do, then suddenly took it. “Au revoir, tante. No one hopes more than me that what you’re saying is true.”
“You’ll find out before too long.” She turned to Charlotte. “Au revoir,” she said. “You can do far worse, you know.” Then she nodded her head and walked out.
As they watched her walk across the street to her car, Rex said, “If what she says is true, what’s the legal implications? At least as far as my charges are concerned?”
“Well, let’s see . . .” Charlotte thought a moment. “False arrest and conspiracy, for starters.”
“Against who?”
“Now, that’s a bit trickier,” Charlotte said. “It would all depend who’s specifically behind this whole thing. I would expect that anyone connected with Richette would deny involvement. Hitchell would claim no knowledge of anything because the blind trust handles his investments. As far as the lobbyist is concerned, that’s a classic case of he said/she said.”
“Hm.” Rex tapped his finger against his cheek. “Then it would all come down to Lilith?”
“I’d imagine they’d be looking for a scapegoat, and she’s the most likely candidate if she knew what was going on while she was”—she eyed him up and down—“with you.”
He cast her a wicked smile. “Couldn’t happen to a nicer lady.”
“In the end, they all could be complicit. But what do I know.” Charlotte shrugged. “Like I told you, I’m not a criminal attorney.”
“That’s right. You’re a goddess. Now come here.” He pulled her to him. “Let me thank you.”
“For what?” she said, slipping her arms around his neck.
“For the coffee. What do you think?”
She yawned, the best she could do at the moment.
“My sentiments exactly,” he said, nipping the corner of her mouth. “Let me just give Marcel a quick call, and then . . .”
“And then we’ll be just fine,” she said, finishing the rest of his kiss.
THIS TIME IT took Marcel a little longer to pick up. “Talk to me,” he said.
“Your mother just paid me a visit,” Rex said.
“I was waiting for that,” he said.
Not the reaction Rex had expected. “And why is that?”
“Because I figured she was behind this whole thing when I found out she had your phone.”
Now Rex was really stymied. “And how did you figure that—oh, wait a minute. You were the one who hacked the phone. Or, Lee rather. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You never asked. Lee turned it on remotely, and then we did a location search. When it came up with a hotel in Philadelphia, we called and asked for Viviane Mercier. When they put us through to her room, we knew we had her.”
“You slick son of a bitch. But you’ve got it all wrong this time. She came to see me and told me everything. How Brendan Hitchell is pushing though his own bill to fill his bank account, how Lilith was in on it, too.”
“Yeah, well.” Marcel hardly sounded convinced. “We’ll have to check on everything she said. I don’t trust her, Rex. And you shouldn’t either.”
“I don’t have to. She’s your mother.”
“And she’s something infinitely worse to you,” Marcel said. “She knows where all your bodies are buried. Watch it. Ciao.”
Chapter Twenty
Filles et Femmes
CHARLOTTE PULLED HER legs up against her on the bed, wrapping her arms around them. She could hear Rex in the bathroom, doing thos
e little things that people usually did when they got ready for sex, like brushing their teeth, taking a quick look in the mirror. With women, that quick look was more like an assessment, checking to see if the curves were still curvaceous, if that bit of pooch here and there would just be another thing to obsess about. Which was ridiculous, really, as Rex had probably explored every inch of her body in the last three days. Even so, while she waited for Rex she dragged the teddy from her bag and slipped into it, not so much to add to the mystery, but to make sure the mystery stayed right where it was.
The sun had fully risen now, but the day was dawning cloudy and cool, just the type of fall day to stay snuggled under the blankets. Not that they could, as they needed to get back to Philadelphia. But for now she needed to sleep. Sleep, she thought, yawning expansively, oh for just a few hours of sleep, glorious sleep. But first there was that other imperative, that one thing that they both couldn’t seem to do without. They seemed to crave each other every few hours like the smoker did his smokes, the drinker, his drinks. And she craved him, more than she ever had anyone. In a perfect world she could see herself curled around him, head against his chest, riding its rise and fall, so happy.
A moment later she heard him turn out the light then pad into the hall, entering the bedroom in the dull light a cloudy day brings. But she seemed to sense him more than she could see, almost able to pick him out in total darkness, his naked body shining like a beacon. Was it through instinct that she knew him, their mutual attraction nearly primal? Whatever it was, it was as pervasive as it was persistent, a constant need, an unrelenting desire. She wasn’t used to feeling like this, certainly not so quickly, and it scared her a bit to think about what she’d feel like when he was gone. Because no matter what he had said to her in the moment, he would go, and maybe that’s just how it should be.
She needed to remember why she was in Margate to begin with. She’d left a lot of angry women behind. And although her initial impression about him had been wrong, and Rex hadn’t made her compromise her principles in any way, there were still too many men out there who would never give women a fair shake, and abandoning them for Rex would mean abandoning all that she believed in, and all the woman who believed in her. It was a dilemma she could angst long and hard over. Until she realized one thing.
He had never asked her to make that choice.
“Charlotte,” he whispered, crawling in beside her. “Charlotte, are you awake, ma petit?”
She turned, and there he was, eyes so black some would think them sinister. “I’m awake,” she said. Not so much sinister as boundless depth. Into which she could fall and fall.
“Charlotte,” he said, then he kissed her, his hand sliding down her back. He lifted up in surprise. “What’s this?” he said, his finger looped under the thin strap of her teddy.
“It’s called lingerie.” She affected a seductive pose. “I think you guys invented it. Don’t you like it?”
He bent over her as she lay against the pillow. “Of course you look lovely in it, chérie, but may I take it off?”
“You don’t like it,” she said.
“It’s not that.” He pulled the lacy string that held together the bodice. “You’re just a bit overdressed for this party, mon amour. Now come here.”
He rolled to his back, taking her with him, Charlotte settling atop him to straddle his hips. As she braced her hands against his chest his fingers fell to her crotch, unsnapping tiny snaps. Once opened, Charlotte raised her arms and he lifted the teddy over her head, tossing it to the floor.
“Ahh,” he murmured, resting his hand lightly on her hips. “That’s better. Now, let me take a look at you.”
“What?” she said, suddenly embarrassed. “You want to take a look at me?”
He reached up and opened the curtain behind the bed. “Oui,” he said, gazing at her.
She laughed, a nervous titter. “But it’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before. Why do you have to—”
“You talk too much,” he said, swirling his hand lightly over her belly, his eyes never leaving her. “Can’t I take a look at ma femme?”
“Femme?” she whispered. “That means ‘wife,’ doesn’t it?”
“Or woman,” he said, “my woman. That’s who my tante thought you were.”
“Am I?” she said, barely breathing it. “Am I your woman?”
“Oui,” he said, his thumb sliding against her belly. “You are my woman.”
“Oh . . .” she murmured, still not sure what he meant. Because the modern woman inside her, the one who battled the routine injustices women endured every day, rebelled at such a notion. But the elemental woman, the one sitting naked atop him, was secretly thrilled at his claiming her. His woman. And yet . . .
He tilted his head to the side, his gaze still grazing over her. He slowly slid one hand up her side until it curved under her breast, her skin pebbling as he let it rest in his palm. He slid his other hand up and let it circle her round and round. “So lovely,” he murmured, “so soft. How did I go so long not knowing you?”
“I don’t know,” she said, and she honestly didn’t, having wondered the same thing herself. As he slid his hands over her shoulders and down her arms she felt herself loosen, not realizing she’d been so tightly wound. With each sweep of his hand, with each press of his fingers, with each languid gaze he uncoiled her, breaking off all her fastenings, letting her glide smoothly down to earth. He brought his legs up and she leaned back, stretching herself as she relaxed against him. Now he could see her better, but she didn’t feel any more exposed. He had her in his grasp now, inside and out, and she went willingly, emboldened by his touch and in awe of it.
She could feel his cock under her, hard and slippery at its head, ready to enter her. “How do you feel now that you know me?” she asked, hoping it was more than just this.
“Amazed,” he said, sliding his hands all the way down to grasp her hips, his fingers hot against her skin. “I feel amazed to know you.”
He was being quite effusive in his praise, and she wondered where it came from. Then all at once she figured it out.
He had nothing to lose.
It would have been one thing to have him kiss her good night after a party, hoping he’d call the number she left in his contacts. It was quite another to have him fly off in his jet to another world. Either way he’d be gone. So what did it matter what he said now? Or how she felt when he said it? It didn’t necessarily mean they’d never see each other again. Perhaps they’d run into each other now and then. Maybe at a party or on a social network. Maybe even on the Rive Gauche.
“Knowing you was amazing, too,” she said. “And I’ll miss you.”
“Don’t miss me,” he said, his brow knitting as he palmed her belly. “I’m right here.”
“You are,” she said, her hand over his. “For now.”
“And you really have no idea what the future will bring.” His hands grasped her hips and he lifted her up over his cock. When he set her down, he thrusted.
She jolted, huffing, thoroughly impaled, as he flexed his hips, filling her, again and again and again. She braced her palms against his chest, falling forward, her mouth over his. He lifted his head, kissing her.
She closed her eyes, savoring his taste, the sweep of his tongue, the urgent press of his lips, the slightly manic way he wanted her, the way he always wanted her. Like she might suddenly poof away. He pulled back, his hand on her cheek.
“Êtes-tu ma femme?” he whispered, sweeping his hand up and over her hair. “Êtes-tu?” He stilled inside her, waiting for an answer.
She pushed up, her palms again at his chest. “Don’t ask me that,” she said. “I can’t give you an answer.”
“Why?” he said, slowly swiveling his hips. “Tell me what you feel. Or don’t you feel anything for me?”
“I feel . . .” Could she tell him? Then
suddenly he thrust hard and deep. She smiled. “Well, I certainly felt that.”
“Très bien . . .” he growled, thrusting again and again until Charlotte fell back against his upraised legs with a groan. “Because that’s me making love to you, and tell me, Charlotte—doesn’t it feel good?”
She groaned again, sparks shooting behind her eyes. “Oh yes, si bon . . .”
He slid his hand over to her pussy, thumbing her clit. “You’re so wet, ma belle, I can slide around inside you.” He stroked her a few times, Charlotte’s hips swiveling languorously. “Does that feel good, belle? Do you like that? Maybe because it’s me, Charlotte. It’s me inside you.” He kept on stroking her, thrusting at the same time. “That’s because I love to fuck you.”
“Oh God.” When she lifted up, he thrust into her hard, and kept thrusting until she was coming, clamping herself around him. Her orgasm rocketed through her in a violent, jolting crest, and so thoroughly she virtually shook around him. Then just before the last waves left her he lifted up then fell back, his hands grasping her hips so tightly she could feel his nails digging into her skin, his head arcing back into the pillows. She could feel him pulsing inside her with such a convulsing force it once again sent her over the edge.
“Mer-de . . .” he choked out, collapsing against the pillows, his chest heaving as she fell back against his legs. After a moment he looked up, his mouth curving. “Was it good for you, too?”
“Damn . . .” she said, swiping the hair from her face as she bent into him, meeting his kiss. “Rex, oh God, it always is.”
He shifted, pushing himself up against the headboard, still buried inside her as he pulled her into his arms. “Ma femme,” he whispered, kissing her lightly. “You’re like a marvel to me.”
She looked away. “You need to stop saying these—” She flipped her hand in front of her, embarrassed now that they were through. “Stop making this more than what it is. We both know the truth of it.”
“And what’s that?” he said, his arms still firmly around her. “Why don’t you tell me?”
