The Laws of Seduction: A French Kiss Novel

by Jones, Gwen

  “I’ve told you already. We’re just two people filling the time in a mutually interesting way.” She looked at him. “We’re fucking. That’s it.”

  “Jesus,” he said. “You make it sound so filthy.”

  “And you’re wasting your shtick on me. Believe me, I’m sold. All you have to do is look at me and I’m already coming.”

  He laughed, a barely audible burst of incredulity. “Those three sentences were the oddest combination of insult and praise I’ve ever heard strung together.” He shook his head. “No—I’ve never heard them strung together. Charlotte, no doubt, you’re the strangest fille I’ve ever known.”

  “Is that so.” She slipped from his arms and lifted off him, climbing from the bed. “Excuse me,” she said, leaving for the bathroom. As she did, she could feel those dark eyes burning into her back all the way out.

  REX CLIMBED INTO his trousers, and throwing on his shirt, left through the French doors for the small porch off the room. There was a striped canvas awning covering it and a small table and chairs, and he thought it would be a lovely romantic spot to have breakfast in the summer with its easy view of the beach. And with Charlotte on the other side of the table.

  That stopped him cold.

  “Enculé de ta mère,” he cursed. He gripped the railing, looking down into the street. “Why now?” This wasn’t the right time. This was so inconvenient. Didn’t he have enough going on in his life?

  Why did he have to pick now to fall in love?

  Because he was, as surely as those waves crashed against the shore, she had crashed into him. And like those goddamned waves he couldn’t stop it. It just kept coming and coming, relentless. What was it about her that drove this overwhelming need to keep her close? To drown in her if he had to. Mon Dieu, he thought, how did it happen? But it did, and in spite of everything, it made him happy. Indescribably so.

  He loved the way her curly hair met the curve of her neck, how her lips parted just before he kissed her. How her nails looked a bit chewed, how her breasts tasted of salt and cream and how he could die, just lying atop them. He loved how he felt when he was inside her, like she could drive him out of his mind, yet how she also made him realize he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

  She was so much more than any woman he ever imagined.

  He loved her calculating mind, he loved how she held on like a dog with a bone. He loved her ambition, that when she believed in something there was no stopping her. He loved how she stood up to people and always questioned authority. He loved how much order she could find in chaos, and how that chaos defined her. He loved her fearlessness, and how she bowled over those seemingly tougher than she. But most of all, he loved how she could lay bare his many flaws, and still leave him a stronger man for it.

  There was no denying it, he loved her.

  But the bitch of it lay in what to do about it. The door opened behind him. He turned.

  She was wearing a sweater, probably an ancient one, and most likely one that only saw daylight from this vantage point. It nearly reached to her knees, a collection of mottled colors, pills, and frayed yarn, with a shawl collar and ribbed, folded-over cuffs. He could tell she wore nothing beneath it, as it molded each luscious curve it flowed over. It probably should’ve been thrown out a long time ago, but it was the comfort food equivalent of all her clothing, like a pastry or a warm mug of cocoa. She came up beside him, her fingers wrapping around the railing.

  “I’m sorry. I think I was mean to you back then,” she said. She looked up. “Are you angry with me?”

  He didn’t answer right away. He wanted her to stew in that awhile. He wanted her to feel a bit of his confusion and anger and hurt, even if he wasn’t confused or angry or hurt at all. He couldn’t be, not with her. Because when you felt like he did, you could forgive everything.

  “I’m not angry with you,” he said, looking down on her. “I’m in love with you.”

  Her eyes widened and she gasped, moving almost imperceptibly away. “You can’t be.”

  “Are you telling me how I feel?” He wanted to laugh. “You can’t, Charlotte, because I am. This is one ruling you can’t challenge. The proof is irrefutable.”

  “But . . .” She scratched her head, looking confused, like it was the last thing in the world she wanted to hear. “But I’m your attorney.”

  That time he did laugh. Loud and rib-crackingly hard. “You must be joking, ma belle. As if that makes a difference. Honestly, is that the best you can do?”

  “But Rex . . . I . . .” She had no answer, and that was hardly what he wanted to hear. He wanted her to say out loud she loved him, too. He wanted her to throw herself in his arms, kiss him all over his face. He wanted to feel the warm press of her body against his. He wanted to make love to her until neither of them could breathe. He wanted to . . .

  “You love me now. In this warm little cocoon,” she said, as reasonably as she did most things, in lawyerly tones meant to convince. “But what happens when it’s time to go home? How will you feel about me then?” She came closer, her hand on his arm. “How will you feel when it’s time to step on the plane?”

  He looked at her. She had a point. But he hadn’t thought it out that far. All he knew was what he felt now, looking at her through the lens of his heart. “I’ll know I’ll feel wretched.”

  “You might,” she said, “but you’ll go.”

  “Come here,” he said, throwing his arm over her shoulder.

  She snuggled into him as they looked to the sea, its gray waves crested and angry. He could feel its spray or was it just the rain, intermittently pattering on the lightly flapping awning. She had called where they were a cocoon and maybe it was, but it didn’t feel like it. Not with the fresh air and the ocean off in the distance, a long expanse of open sky and sea and beach yawning before them. He couldn’t help seeing the analogy of its endless possibilities, hardly something as insular as she imagined. He could dream of something more expansive, couldn’t he? Because what was a cocoon besides an incubator?

  “To tell you the truth, I don’t know what will happen,” he finally said. “It’s all come to me so quickly. All I know is when they arrested me you’re the first person I thought of.” He looked down at her. “Now why do you think that was?”

  “Because you were in Philly and I’m a lawyer,” she said. “It was a natural segue.”

  “True,” he said. “But that all changed when you walked in that room.”

  “How?”

  “Because then you became much more than just my lawyer. You became Charlotte.”

  She smiled, looking embarrassed. “You make me sound like such a formidable thing. I’m no one really.”

  He kissed her temple. “You were formidable today with my tante. Especially since she intimidates everybody.” He smiled. “Except me, of course. But then I never really got to know her. She was just some abstract legal guardian, a gatekeeper, a name scrawled on my permission slips. Her own children avoid her, though André seems to be seeing more of her lately.”

  “How is it your cousins don’t know about you?” she asked. “What’s the big secret?”

  “André does, but then he’s twelve, thirteen years older than Marcel, and by the time Marcel was old enough to be told, I was already making my way in the world.”

  He shrugged. “Who knows, maybe it just comes down to the simple fact Viviane is incapable of loving anyone because she needs to own them, and who can stand for that? And Viviane’s jealousy couldn’t allow for her sister to love someone more than her, and then go off and leave her alone. So she married the first person who came along—André’s father—thinking she could punish her sister by moving far away. It didn’t work. Then when my father died and my mother committed suicide, she realized how precious the years are that you lose. But where most people would see the lesson in that and try to mend things, it only made he
r angrier and wanting to seek revenge. Because really, that’s all Marcel is—a revenge tactic for all the hate she felt toward the Merciers. She tried to play him against his own father, much like André’s father had come between his own son and Viviane, demanding André tell him which parent he loved more. Maybe she learned it from André’s dad, who knows. But it didn’t work with Marcel. Maybe it’s why he keeps his own daughter from her. It just keeps going on and on.”

  “Maybe he’ll see the futility in that now that he’s married Dani,” Charlotte said. “But what’s that got to do with you? What would be the harm in his knowing who you are now?”

  “I’ve wanted to tell him, really I have. But Marcel needs to find his footing or he’ll never live up to what he could be. If he knew I’m his mother’s nephew, he just might hate me for it, especially since André hired me. It would almost be like a vote of no-confidence.”

  “Isn’t that what the board of directors have essentially given him?” Charlotte said.

  “Exactly. Which is how his knowing who I am could only make it worse. The Merciers pay me well to help him find his way, and I’ve never minded doing it. They’ve been very good to me, and I can’t ever forget that.”

  “But his apprenticeship has to end sooner or later, and you have to think about yourself.” She stood back, her gaze very stern. “Rex, you’re a natural leader and the strongest man I know. You shouldn’t let yourself be second to anyone.”

  He laughed softly. “Maybe I’m not as strong as you think I am.” He wanted to pull her into his arms her, but he resisted the urge. “Not when you can bring me to my knees.”

  “Oh Rex.” She sighed, going to him. He curled his arms around her, loving the way she fit against him. “Don’t think of me that way. Know for now you have my heart.”

  “Then that’s enough.” He kissed the top of her head. “For now.”

  “Let’s go back to bed,” she said, yawning expansively. “If I don’t get a few hours of sleep before we go to Philly, I think I’ll just end up babbling.”

  He turned them toward the door. “That’s an invitation I can’t refuse.”

  They crawled into bed, Rex spooning behind her, her body a warm press against his. Almost immediately he fell asleep, warm and comforted, for now.

  A FEW HOURS later, Rex’s phone rang. Still half asleep, he reached for it. “Allo?”

  “Oh, you’re so going down,” Lilith said.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Sounds Like . . .

  REX SAT UP, Charlotte snuffling awake beside him. “I’m sorry, but did you have something to say to me, Lilith?”

  “You may have thought you had me,” the congresswoman said, “but here’s the thing. You can’t go around being a bastard your whole life, then suddenly turn the white knight.”

  Charlotte sat up, leaning into Rex. Lilith? she mouthed. He nodded, switching to speakerphone as he pulled her closer, his arm over her shoulder. “I think you have me confused with someone else, Lilith. I’m never tried to be a good example for anyone. All I’ve ever wanted to be was a credible threat.”

  “Well, here’s one for you, except it stopped being a threat when you taped me talking. You’re being deported. I’m getting your L-1 visa canceled.”

  “Seriously, Lilith? Is that the best you can do?”

  “You won’t take it so lightly when you’re not allowed in the country anymore.”

  “Now isn’t that a tad ungrateful? Especially when I had every intention of going to you and working things out.”

  “As if I’d believe you, you son of a bitch. Gone are the days when you could hand me the tape and we could play like Mission: Impossible and it’d self-destruct in sixty seconds. For all I know whoever stole it sold it ten times over to someone before you got it back.”

  “Lilith, why are you arguing over a recording when at the present, that seems to be the least of your problems?” Rex said.

  Silence, then, “What the hell do you mean?”

  “I know how Richette’s been buying your loyalty. And they’ve been rewarding you by filling your blind trust with their stock. How this thing with the lobbyist has been a setup by Richette to make me look bad. How you’ve been bought.”

  “What are you talking about?” she said, with a distinct catch in her voice. “No one buys me.”

  “The hope was to build a scandal around me, to make Mercier look bad, so our value would tank and the investors would flee, and make it so much easier for Richette to swallow us up. Which would make you and Hitchell rich in the process, now wouldn’t it?”

  “Where are you getting this from?” she said, sounding a little desperate.

  “From the source,” he said. “But blood will always be thicker than your bank account, chérie. It’s not going to work.”

  Rex could hear her sputtering, cursing under her breath. “You son of a bitch—you took me for granted. You never cared about me. You just used me.”

  “Arguably, but at least I’ve always been up front about it,” Rex said. “And I always paid for the privilege. You, on the other hand wanted things I could never give you.”

  “All I really wanted was your heart,” she said, tears in her voice now.

  “That never was for sale,” he said, holding Charlotte closer. “I would have given it away for free, had I wanted to.”

  “You bastard, you’ll ruin me.” She was crying now. “My life is over.”

  “It doesn’t have to be,” Charlotte said, breaking in. “Use whatever influence you have with Hitchell or Richette to see that the girl recants. If you do that, Rex will make the tape go away.”

  “For good,” he added.

  “And how can I be sure of that,” Lilith said.

  “Because you have my word as an honorable man,” Rex said. “Believe it or not, I am one. But if you don’t . . .” His voice turned hard and steely. “Don’t think I have anything against spilling my guts with what I know to the DA.”

  “And go now,” Charlotte said. “We’re due in court tomorrow, and if those charges aren’t thrown out—”

  “I still have a witness tucked away that’ll attest to your collaborating with Hitchell to buy up Richette stock,” Rex said.

  “And it won’t even matter whether or not it’s legal,” Charlotte said.

  “Because it’ll make you look like you’re in Richette’s pocket, and that’s never good.”

  “What—are you two finishing each other’s sentences now?” Lilith grunted derisively. “What a pair of sharks.”

  “Thank you,” they said simultaneously.

  “You go to hell,” Lilith said. “Both of you.”

  “Fine,” Charlotte said. “As long as you get that girl to the DA first.”

  Rex hung up. “So what happens now?”

  “If the girl goes to the DA—which I’m sure she will once Lilith gets ahold of her—they’ll have to throw out the charges against you due to lack of evidence.”

  “Which only solves one of my problems.” He sighed, sliding his phone to the nightstand. “This whole mess is making the board of directors lose confidence, and that doesn’t look good for Marcel. Did you know the way our company is set up he can be replaced if he doesn’t perform?”

  “And what does that mean?”

  “They can ask André to step back in.”

  “Do you honestly think he would?”

  Rex tossed his hand. “I don’t know. But what I do know is I’m getting awfully tired of all this corporate intrigue. It all seems a bit pointless.”

  “Why Mr. Renaud, you shock me.” Charlotte slid down into the sheets, turning toward him. “I thought you loved this business. Loved the competition and the spreadsheets and”—she glided her hand down his leg, grinning wickedly—“that sharp, clean scent of money.”

  “Which only goes toward making more.”
r />   She made a face at him. “Some capitalist you are.”

  He lifted his chin. “I have nothing against making money. I think I’m pretty good at it. All I’m saying is there has to be more to life than that.” His hand fell to her back and he rubbed it. Charlotte groaned with contentment, laying her head on his thigh.

  “It’s you who’s made me see that,” he said. “You and your causes and those crazy women who think you walk on water.”

  “Who throw bricks through my window and threaten me with bombings?”

  He laughed slightly. “Oui. They’re passionate about you, Charlotte. They’d put themselves out on the line not only for what you stand for, but for you. Now who would get that passionate over a corporate executive made ridiculous by a twenty-two-year-old lobbyist? Who would get that excited over me?”

  “What are you saying?” Charlotte said, eyeing him wryly. “You want me to toss a bomb at your house?”

  “You already have,” he said, slinking down to her. “Or you’ve at least done the damage. Charlotte,” he said, kissing her lightly. “Do you have any idea how you wreck me?”

  “Oh, Rex,” she said, “I don’t know how to . . .”

  She didn’t continue, and perhaps she couldn’t. She simply slid down further and took him down her throat.

  “Mon Dieu—oh Charlotte,” he choked out, sprawling back against the pillows as Charlotte worked her way up and down him. She took it slow, torturously so, alternately licking and sucking, almost lovingly, he liked to think. As she did, her hands roamed across his belly, slid around his thigh and hip, stroking, exploring in tender caresses, teasing every pore to life where her hands passed. This time it was altogether different than the time she’d had him in the shower. This wasn’t any Cosmo girl version of fellatio. This was a long way from mechanical. He could be wrong, and chances were damned good that he was, but he couldn’t help thinking this was her way of telling him how she felt about him. This was her way of saying that she loved him. At least he could imagine it was. At least that’s the way it felt.

  “Charlotte,” he murmured, his fingers threading through her hair as she weighed his couilles in her hand, her fingers wavering under them. Her tongue trailed down and down, her lips parting to take them into her mouth, her hand wrapped around his shaft, gently sliding up and down. What he felt was beyond description though he tried—pleasure, comfort, intimacy. He wanted her to go on and on, but he also wanted more. He wanted to give her some of what he felt. He wanted her to feel as he did, only more so.