The Laws of Seduction: A French Kiss Novel

by Jones, Gwen

  The judge repositioned herself and gave her a quick once-over, both actions designed to telegraph Charlotte’s insignificance. But she wasn’t buying it. She’d met her kind before. Women were always infinitely crueler than men as their standards were always higher. She thought back to Rex’s earlier observation. Why shed blood when you can suck out a man’s soul. He’d nailed it without even trying.

  He did know women. At least that was one thing to admire him for. Had she the inclination.

  “Ms. Andreko,” the judge went on, “I’m not trying to tell anyone what to do, and you’re certainly free to conduct your business anyway you want. But personally I’m a bit confused how you can risk the backing of your many female supporters by representing a man who’s obviously just out to use you. Don’t be surprised if they’re angry and see it as a betrayal, wondering why you’re not directing your efforts toward the woman in question. I mean—my goodness.” She squinched her face in horror. “What would Gloria Allred say?”

  If Charlotte had been taken aback by the judge’s reaction she knew she shouldn’t have been. Her motives had been questioned before. Even so, the judge had picked the wrong morning to give her a schooling. It was bad enough she was flying on no sleep and bad coffee, not to mention a week with Rex waiting on the other side. She hardly needed this woman maligning her judgment, as that always got her hair in a kink.

  Even more than it usually was.

  Charlotte planted her Louboutins, pressing her fingers to the desk. “All due respect, your honor, but I think Gloria Allred or Gloria Steinem or even Gloria Vanderbilt would do the same as me—correct an injustice when they see one and the sex be damned. You of all people should know that.”

  The judge’s eyes widened in outrage. “Are you questioning me again?”

  “You’re questioning me, and I haven’t gotten as far as I have by letting you or anyone roll over me. Believe me, I know what I’m up against.”

  The judge stood, slowly and with a glare Charlotte was sure could have melted steel. “Then you better hope to God that man is innocent or I’ll make it my personal mission to drag your name so low you’ll be looking down to look up.”

  Charlotte met her gaze. “If he’s guilty you won’t have to. My obituary will already have been written.”

  “Especially since there’s this. You and that man better be making like Siamese twins until the hearing because if either of you try to flout my order, and I find out he’s even crossed the street without you, I’ll issue a bench warrant so fast his derrière will back in jail at the speed of light.” Her eyes narrowed. “Not that that should be a problem. I saw the way he leered at you.”

  Charlotte turned to leave. “Then you’ve nothing to worry about because I’ll be only one getting screwed, won’t I? You have a wonderful morning.” She opened the door and walked out.

  She wondered if she went too far. But hadn’t she done that the moment she said yes to Rex? As she left for the elevator bank she shuddered, thinking of how many more times in the next few days she would again.

  CHARLOTTE ROSE FROM the bench in the lobby as Rex entered from the street. “Where in holy hell have you been?” she said.

  It took him a moment to register what she’d said before he could speak. “I got a ride back to the station to get my things,” he said. “But when I got there . . .”

  She tossed her hand, hoisting her briefcase atop her shoulder. “Yes . . . ?”

  “My phone was missing,” he said, still not believing it.

  “What?” She looked incredulous. “How is that possible? Didn’t you sign for it?”

  “Oh course I did,” he said, irritated she’d even ask. But it wasn’t there, and they could offer me no credible explanation why it wasn’t. They said they’d look and call me if they found it.”

  “This was at the property room?”

  “Oui. They took my phone from me at the scene, but after I was brought to the station they gave me a receipt for it there. Look.”

  She scanned it. “And here’s the phone. Was anything else missing?”

  He looked over his shoulder and back. “Can we continue this discussion someplace else? I’d really like to get out of here.” He flicked the lapel of his tuxedo. “And out of this.”

  “Not before I have a chat with the nice folks in the property room.” She grabbed her briefcase. “We’re going back.”

  “Don’t bother,” he said. “You won’t get any cooperation from them. I left them with a string of French curses that are probably still hanging in the air. Besides, they don’t have it.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because if they were out to just steal anything of mine,” he said, pulling up a sleeve, “it sure as hell wouldn’t be my four-hundred-dollar iPhone.”

  She stared at his diamond and platinum cuff links. “Jesus,” she whispered. “What’s something like that worth?”

  “Maybe five grand.” He shrugged, pulling the sleeve down. “Give or take a grand.”

  “God. How good does it feel to be that rich?”

  He pointed to a tear in her leather briefcase. “How bad does it feel to be that poor?”

  “You’re such a smartass.”

  “And you ask too many rhetorical questions.” He pointed to the door. “Can we go now?”

  “Sure, but I have to warn you that after your arraignment, you can fully expect some of the media to approach you. See what I mean?” She jutted her chin toward the door. “There’s news vans out there now. And I’m not entirely sure they’re just out to get you. I’m sure there’s one or two of them ready to make an example out of me.” Then she stopped. “I know a back way out to the street. C’mon.”

  As he did, Rex almost felt sick. What the fuck would he do now? Who the hell would want to steal his phone? Who would gain by it? Could it possibly have been . . . Lilith? With her husband a judge, the idea fell within the realm of possibility. But it was also true they hated each other. At least that’s what Lilith led Rex to believe. But then you never could tell what went on between two people. Maybe they had struck a bargain a long time ago to cover for each other, both living so visibly in the public eye.

  Charlotte pulled open a door, entering into a stairway, Rex watching her as they descended. She truly didn’t know how goddamned hot she was, did she? How effortlessly seductive she was with her blonde hair piled high, allowing a few strands to frame her long neck, her silk shirt straining across her breasts, a pencil skirt hugging up and around that gorgeous cul. And those legs. Even though they went on forever, he had a good idea how to make them stop. By wrapping them around his hips and burying himself inside her.

  Not that he needed to be thinking any more about his libido. Had he paid it a little less attention, he wouldn’t be walking out of a courthouse now.

  “So where are we going?” she said, opening another door to a service corridor.

  “How about my hotel?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Oh, that’s so not happening.”

  One more door and they were out on the street. “Quench your dreams of glory, mademoiselle. I need to wash and change. Though you’d better decide where we’re going after that, as it’s either your place or mine.”

  Which she looked none too happy about. “All right, mine then.”

  “Très bien.” He looked up and down the street. “Where’d you park your car?”

  “I didn’t bring it,” she said. “I don’t use it much in the city. It’s easier to take the subway.”

  He gaped at her with mild horror. “You honestly don’t expect I’d get on—”

  “Calm down, your majesty. The Ritz is just down the street. See?” She pointed to it. “We can walk.”

  “Oh, stellar,” he said, taking off his jacket to sling it over his shoulder. He thumbed his collar. “Nothing says Eurotrash like evening clothes in daylight.”
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  Charlotte laughed. “But you wear them so well.” She slipped the briefcase strap to her shoulder with a wince. “This way.”

  “Give me that,” he said, taking the heavy leather satchel from her.

  She pulled back. “I can handle it. I don’t need your help.”

  “I’m sure you don’t,” he said, yanking it back. “But the cad in me is just gentlemen enough not to ignore a lady struggling in the street. So indulge me, please?”

  She let go, crossing her arms. “Fine—it’s all yours.”

  He hoisted the handle, wincing. “What do you have in here, hammers?”

  “No, just the evidence of your guilt.”

  “Which means we’ll have to hire a truck to carry the evidence for my side.”

  “Hm . . .” was all she said.

  They walked for half a block more before he finally broke the silence. “You didn’t think I’d get out today, did you?”

  She slanted him a glance. “I didn’t think it’d be easy. There was that jet to consider.”

  “You still think me capable of all kinds of mischief, don’t you?”

  “I wasn’t the one you had to convince.”

  He took her arm, steering her around a pile of broken glass. “You do have a point.”

  One more block and they were at the Ritz-Carlton, entering into the cavernous marble lobby. She aimed for a sofa. “I’ll wait here.”

  “Not on your life,” he said, taking her arm again. “Remember the judge’s order. We’re to remain as thick as thieves.”

  “Doesn’t mean I have to visit your den of iniquity,” she said.

  He turned, regarding her. “Ma cher avocate, if you so fear my turning into a sex fiend the moment you and I occupy the same enclosed space, then by all means, wait near an opened window. I’m sure your screaming is pure poetry.” He pressed the up button for the elevator. “For Christ’s sake, what are you going to do when we get to your house and we’re really alone?”

  She didn’t reply, watching the floor indicator instead. “Where was that fund-raiser last night?”

  “The ballroom. On the second floor.”

  She looked at him. “Take me there.”

  He had no idea what she was about. “All right.”

  The fund-raiser had run late into the night, and the staff was still shuffling tables and setting up for the next reception. As they stood in the doorway Charlotte said, “How crowded was it last night?”

  “Packed to the jowls,” Rex said. “Took us quite a while to squeeze through the crowd to get out.”

  “When you left to go . . . ?” She let the obvious simply hang there.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Take me to it.”

  As they walked across the ballroom he became inordinately aware of her beside him, the way her hips shifted beneath her skirt, the clip-clop of her heels across the parquet flooring. It stuck him how different she seemed alongside him than that girl did from the night before, so much more natural, unlike how he had felt chasing down the scent of rut. How foolish I’d been, he thought.

  “It’s through here to the right,” he said, holding open the exit door for her.

  She slipped past him, then halted almost immediately. “Oh,” she said.

  Bright yellow and black tape X’ed the door with “CRIME SCENE—DO NOT ENTER,” the knob and moldings still white from the fingerprint dusting.

  Rex shook out his handkerchief and tried the doorknob. “It’s locked.”

  “As I figured it would be. Yet our coming was inevitable, wasn’t it?” She laughed, a short harsh burst of irony. “They say the perp always returns to the scene of the crime.”

  He hadn’t seen the point in coming, and he sure didn’t want to pursue it any further. He knew he had enemies, but he didn’t understand why they had followed him here. “Are you through?” he said, turning to the elevator bank. “Or would you like to see me squirm some more?”

  She regarded him a moment. “No, I’ve had enough. Let’s go.”

  A few silent minutes later they were at his suite, Rex surprised when his key card actually opened it. But then again, suspected felon or not, wealth did have its perks. She followed him inside to a sitting room.

  “Can you give me a few minutes?” he said, setting down her briefcase. “I need to decontaminate myself after a night in that cell.”

  “Go ahead,” she said, positioning herself on the sofa and crossing those long, creamy legs. Suddenly he found it almost unfathomable how he could have thought someone so much younger could look better than what he saw right in front of him. “But can I ask you a question first?”

  “Sure,” he said, further loosening his collar, something he would have done long ago if he didn’t look so ridiculous already. “What is it?”

  “It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while now.” She seemed to ponder it a bit more. “Why is it that when older women go after younger men they’re called cougars, but older men are almost expected to trade up for younger women?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, removing his cuff links. “I’ve always appreciated experience.”

  “Yet you left the congresswoman for the little lobbyist.” She looked askance. “Huh.”

  “Let’s get one thing straight,” he said, going to her. “There was never any love lost between me and Lilith.”

  “Yes, I know. It was strictly business.” She spread her arms across the back of the sofa. “Or so you said.”

  He huffed, yanking off his jacket. “I’ll be in the shower,” he said, closing the French doors to the bedroom.

  “Damnable woman,” he muttered en français. He ripped off his clothes, leaving a trail of them to the bathroom, knowing there’d be no housemaids to pick up after him like at home. Maybe he’d gotten used to too many things he shouldn’t have these past thirty years. Maybe he should try to remember what it was like before. Didn’t matter, he knew, as he stepped in the shower. He broke his back to get where he was. He soaped his face, grabbing his razor. Just like he’d break his back to stay there as well.

  After he shrugged into his jacket he returned to the sitting room, still tying his tie when suddenly he stopped short. There was Charlotte lying on her side atop the sofa, her clasped hands tucked under her chin, dead asleep. It was a sight that shot straight to his core, and he would have drawn the curtains and left her there had her eyes not popped open. She sat up, her hair tumbling down around her.

  “Oh,” she said, red-faced and yawning, “I think I fell asleep.”

  “I think you did, too,” he said, finishing his Windsor knot. “Would you like to go lie down on the bed for a little while?”

  She stared at him as if he’d just proposed a leap out the window. “No,” she said pointedly, standing. “If I’m going to do any sleeping I’ll do it in my own bed, thank you.” She eyed him up and down. “Are you ready?”

  “Just let me grab my bags,” he said, leaving a hundred-dollar bill for the maid.

  As they rode the elevator down, as he settled his bill, increasingly Rex became aware of her, so much that even the smallest things, like signing his name and retrieving his wallet, became distractions. How would he ever spend the week with her? Perhaps it wasn’t so much Charlotte who was disorienting, as how the little things she had said made him inordinately mindful of himself and his position. She had no idea what he had lost and how hard he had fought to get where he was, though he thought that maybe one day he would tell her. But at the moment he hardly found her perspective endearing. So when they finally hit the sidewalk it was with some relief he found a bit of secondhand familiarity parked at the curb. Julie Knott’s Channel 8 News van.

  “And where do you think you’re going?” said her cameraman, Denny O’Brien, as he rolled down the driver’s side window.

  “That would be my house,” Ch
arlotte said. “Hey, is Julie in there?”

  “Yes,” Julie said, her monstrously pregnant belly hardly allowing her to swivel toward them from the passenger seat. “Oh hello, Rex. Sorry about what happened last night, but I do love how the family keeps feeding me copy.”

  “As well as how it keeps you in maternity clothes,” Charlotte said, gaping at her enormous belly. “Jesus, Julie, ovulate much?”

  She laughed. “Not lately. But I’ll tell you, when they start coming in pairs, it’s time to stop.” The TV reporter winced as she adjusted herself in the seat. “So Charlotte, what the hell are you doing here? I came for Rex’s story, but yours is a hell of a lot better. Jump in and let me give you a ride while you tell me all about it.”

  “I don’t want to inconvenience you,” Charlotte said. “We can take a cab.”

  “Not on your life,” Julie pressed. “Or would you rather someone outside the family gets ahold of both your stories, and who’ll be sorry then?”

  Rex tapped Charlotte’s arm. “Better get in,” he said, and reluctantly, she did. The inside of the news van was so crammed with production equipment there was hardly room enough for her and Rex to squish themselves into the jump seats.

  “So Rex,” Julie said, struggling to turn to face him, “ça va, mon ami. Andy assures me you may be a conniver and an opportunist, but a ravisher of women, you’re not.”

  “How gracious of him,” Rex opined, his knees nearly hitting his chin.

  “Then what’s the story?” Julie asked. “Come on, I’m having a drought here.”

  Rex knew in order to control this story he had to own it, and the only way to do that was to feed his version directly to Marcel Mercier’s sister-in-law. Even though she usually did the lighter side of the news, he was well aware that was hardly why she was here.

  “I didn’t have sex with that woman,” he said.

  “Gee, where have I heard that before?” Julie said. “But we’re not exactly talking a tryst. We’re talking assault.”