The Laws of Seduction: A French Kiss Novel

by Jones, Gwen

  “Good-bye,” Charlotte said, watching as the patrolmen returned to their cruiser and pulled away.

  “He acts as if we’re here on holiday,” Rex said, massaging her neck.

  Charlotte shook him loose. “Okay, they’ve left, game over,” she said, brushing past him and in through the side door of the house.

  Rex went after her, catching the door before it closed. “So now you’re going to make me sleep on the porch?”

  “No need for that when the beach is just two doors down.” She tossed her purse to the table, turning toward him. “Look, I don’t know what you were trying to do back there—”

  “I was throwing them off the scent, Charlotte,” he said, coming toward her. “So if I decide to give them the slip, which I think I’m going to have to, they won’t bother us if they think we’re inside . . .” He came even closer, backing her up against the sink. “Well, do I have to spell it out for you?”

  “No,” she said, crossing her arms in front of her. “My imagination works just fine. And that’s exactly where it’s going to stay.”

  “Why?” he said, those blue, blue eyes watching as his gaze traced the curve of her jaw to her lips, still rouged from their kissing. “You want me and I want you. And we started something back there I’m very eager to continue. Aren’t you?”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Her chest rose, fell. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  He leaned in, whispering, “Then give me a reason why, chérie.” He brushed his nose against the shell of her ear, making her shiver. “When it’s something we both want.” He brought his hand to her chin, angling his lips over hers. “When I’d very much like to kiss you again.”

  “Yet you won’t,” she said, her hand against his chest.

  “I don’t think so, ma petit,” he said, his mouth falling to hers.

  After a moment, she tore her mouth away. “You have an ongoing problem with the word no, don’t you?”

  Rex froze, his hands dropping to his sides.

  THE MOMENT THE words left her mouth she wanted to take them back. “Rex—oh my God, I didn’t mean that.”

  He backed away, his face blank. “It’s all right. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” Then he turned and walked out the door.

  Charlotte watched him leave, unable to move. What she’d said had been cruel. So why did she say it? How could she? But then how could she be so undeniably attracted to him yet repelled by all that he was? What was the female equivalent of misogyny? She recalled reading about it once. Misandry. Was that what she was—a misandrist? Did she really hate men? She never thought so. It was always more the things they did. Yet one thing she knew for certain. She didn’t hate Rex, no matter how hard she tried. Then why had she said it? Did she want to hurt him?

  It didn’t matter because she had. She pushed away from the counter and ran out the door.

  Where had he gone? She trotted to the end of the driveway, looking down the street, the rows of houses on either side of the mostly summer homes now unoccupied. She looked up the street, only one more house on her side and then the beach, the bright white sand gleaming in the autumn sun. It was there she spotted a pair of sock-stuffed men’s shoes atop the short seawall at the head of the beach, and halfway down it, Rex with his trousers rolled to his knees, his hands in his pockets as he strolled toward the water.

  She laughed to herself. How did he know everyone did this at the shore? During the summer, there’d be rows and rows of sandals at the entrance to the beach, no one ever bothering them. Could they do the same now, with their thousand dollars’ worth of shoes? She slipped out of her pumps and left them beside his, running up the steps and down to the beach after him.

  By the time she reached him he was standing in the surf. Although the dry sand had been warmed by the sun, by late September, the ocean temperature was always a crapshoot, though it wasn’t unusual for it to be as warm or even warmer than August. Whether or not it was, it apparently didn’t bother Rex, as he was in it past his ankles, his sunglasses on, his jacket shoved back by his hands buried in his pockets. Obviously, he was deep in thought about something, and Charlotte wondered if it could be about her. In a way, she hoped he was. She aimed toward him.

  On anyone else a suit and tie with rolled trousers and bare feet might have seemed silly, but not on Rex. With his broad shoulders, with his shirt molded to his chest by the breeze, his thick hair ruffling, Charlotte thought him impossibly gorgeous. And herself, a probable idiot. Something happened to her when she was around him, and that kiss in the car—and what she said to him after because of it—had only made her seem like a fool. She stepped onto the dampened sand and into the surf. Tolerable, she thought, tapping her toes. When she went up to him she hoped he’d think the same of her.

  “Rex,” she said, the cool breeze sending her hair flying around her. “I didn’t mean what I said. Please, let me apologize.”

  He turned to look at her, his shades adding to his unreadable expression. He really has a beautiful mouth, Charlotte thought with a shiver, recalling his kiss. Or was it just the chill salt air? Either way she folded her arms over her, her thin silk shirt rippling in the wind.

  “Here,” he said, pulling off his jacket. He slipped it over her shoulders, his elegant scent enveloping her, his hands lingering just a few seconds longer than necessary. Then he turned back to the ocean, those hands once again in his pockets.

  “Thank you,” Charlotte said, pulling the jacket tighter. They let the sound of the rolling waves speak for them the next minute or so.

  “You know, all I’ve seen of the New Jersey shore was what I could see from either the window of a plane or a casino in Atlantic City,” Rex said. He picked up a broken oyster shell, skipping it across the surf before it got caught by the curl of a wave. “It’s so different when you see it up close. It’s really lovely.”

  The tide rushed in, swirling around their ankles. “Yes it is,” Charlotte said. “I don’t know where I’d be if I didn’t have this place. It’s always brought me a sense of clarity.”

  “So it was your grandmother’s . . .”

  “Yes,” she said. “Where she spent her retirement.”

  “I can see that,” he said. “Somehow it makes perfect sense.”

  She wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but then again there were so many things about Rex Renaud she didn’t understand, including her feelings about him. In so many ways he represented all she hated about men and their selfish ambitions. But in so many other ways she was inexplicably drawn. And that was the most confusing part of all.

  He turned to walk, beckoning for her to join him. Like a gentleman, he took the side closest to the surf, crossing through a short tidal pool and half dozen or so gulls breaking open clams on the jetty rocks. They walked in silence, passing the scattered fishermen and strollers enjoying the sunny day. He hadn’t accepted her apology, so it still loomed between them, making their silence all the more deafening.

  “Rex, I am sorry for what I said. For the way I acted. Can you forgive me?”

  He stopped, turning to her. “I shouldn’t have ever gone off with that girl. She was too young and I was just being stupid and vain. Out of all the things I’ve told you about what happened, I want you to know that above everything else.”

  “And I’m sorry, too,” she said. “For the cheap shot. Please forgive me.”

  “But I deserved it. I shouldn’t have kissed you. And now I need to apologize to you.” He nodded his head. “I’m so very sorry.”

  She was flabbergasted. Because somehow she knew apology wasn’t anything that came to him easily and was likely even more rare. “Are you now.”

  “Oui,” he said, smiling briefly. He reached out to her, his thumb tracing a line down her jaw. “I want you to like me. If only for a little while. It’ll make things easier.”

  She laughed, incredulous. “As if
this situation needs more complications.”

  He looked to the water and back. “You said this place brings you clarity. So perhaps I’ve had a bit of my own. We’re attracted to each other, Charlotte. We’ve both admitted to it. But whether or not we act on it anymore really doesn’t matter because it’s out there.” He stretched out his arms as if holding a rifle. “Boom!” he said, pulling the imaginary trigger. “Now our elephant’s dead.”

  “Aw, that’s a shame,” Charlotte said. “I really like elephants.”

  He waved her off. “Oh, I just shot a bullet over her head. See? She’s still there.” He pointed toward the street and where Lucy still loomed. “I just chased her off.”

  “Well that’s good. But the problem is, she is still there.”

  “Though not between us anymore,” he said. “She’s out in the open.”

  “So what do we do about it?”

  “I’ll leave that up to you,” he said. “When you decide, I’ll be right here waiting.”

  “Hm . . .” she mused, crossing her arms as she turned to walk back. “Ought to be an interesting next couple of days. But it’s not like we should lack for conversation. There’s still your little problem.”

  “Oui, there’s that,” Rex said, chucking another oyster shell into the water. He fell in step beside her. “If anything, what’s between us will teach me tolerance. Strengthen me to not go chasing after les filles in the future.”

  She slanted a glance at him. “I’m not sure I know how to take that.”

  He laughed. “Let me put it this way. Resisting you will no doubt drain my very reserves.”

  “Let’s try to stay on topic.” She had to. Because resisting him would be just as daunting. “So if you’re innocent—and I do believe you—why would she accuse you? What’s in it for her? Do you think she’s just out to get your money?”

  “That would make sense if it were just the girl behind it. With the way she looks, why would she pick on me? Not to seem smug, but there are too many old letches out there that’d be easier targets.” He looked at her, as if obvious. “I don’t think I’m quite in that category. Not yet, anyway.”

  Absolutely not. “So you don’t think she’s acting alone.”

  “I thought that the moment she started screaming. I should have realized it when she got so insistent about my ripping her panties.” His mouth crooked. “To tell the truth, even though I’ve heard the request before it’s always been, how shall we say . . . spontaneous.”

  “Yes, okay, all right,” Charlotte said, not really wanting the details. “Any ideas who might be behind her?”

  “You mean if there’s anyone out there who would like to see me ruined?” He laughed with honest mirth. “The queue would probably stretch around the world. Including a few women whose panties I have ripped.”

  “Way too much information,” Charlotte said, veering toward the water.

  Rex pulled her back before the surf broke halfway up her leg. “The thing is, I have no idea. I’m well aware there are people who hate me, but to do this?” He just shook his head.

  “I think the congresswoman should be at the top of the list for taking your phone, but at this point that seems incidental. One may have nothing to do with the other.”

  “Yet I can’t help thinking everything that happened that night is somehow connected.” He threw a frustrated hand in the air. “Lilith should have had that bill up for a vote a long time ago. Why didn’t she just do it? I don’t understand.”

  “Why do people do anything? Really, it’s all for the same reasons. It’s all about power, I guess. Or sex. Money.” She looked at him. “Even love.”

  “In which case at least three out of four are involved.”

  “Who knows? Maybe it was love.” The wind gusted, and she pulled the jacket closer. “Haven’t you ever been in love, Rex? It can make you do strange things sometimes.”

  He looked at her, smiling vaguely. “I’m sure it can. Are you speaking from experience?”

  “I’m not sure if I’ve ever been was in love. Perhaps I thought I was. The only thing I do know is that men most definitely make me crazy. I’m still trying to figure them out.”

  He switched sides with her as the swells started getting rougher. “You might call it your life’s work.”

  “You might,” she said. “You know I really am sorry about what I said before. I think sometime I get a little too wrapped up in my own dogma.”

  “Or not deep enough into it. True feminism encompasses either sex, doesn’t it? All it really means is working toward the advancement of women.”

  “That’s right,” Charlotte said. “Though that statement’s definitely in the minority with how most men feel. At least in my experience.”

  Before long they were back at the top of the beach, both sharing a little laugh over the value of their shoes versus the economic strata of her neighborhood.

  “Some of these homes are legacies from the time the average middle-class worker could afford a vacation house,” Charlotte said. “Now you’d need at least six figures a year.”

  “You mean lunch money?” he said, at which Charlotte shot him a smirk. “If that’s true, it also means you’ll have to do a whole lot better than those Louboutins if you expect your shoes to be stolen.”

  “Okay,” she said, looping her fingers into her shoes. “Next time I’ll leave Hermès.” They walked up the driveway, Charlotte stopping at the garage door. “We should get our stuff out of the . . .” She trailed off.

  “Car,” he finished, his gaze locking onto hers.

  All at once she was flooded with trepidation. What now? she thought. They’d get their clothes out of the car and then go inside and there’d they be, in this suddenly tiny little house with the two of them and the elephant once again, crammed between them.

  “She’s not here,” Rex said, reading her mind. “Remember? We shot that bullet over her hear. She took off.”

  But it was only a warning shot, Charlotte knew. She was still there but just off to the side, still watching, still waiting.

  They got their bags and went inside, both dropping them to the kitchen floor.

  “Charlotte,” Rex said, turning toward her, right back where they were before.

  Chapter Eight

  Egg MacGuffin

  “CHARLOTTE . . .” REX said, his rumbling baritone prickling her skin with the very sound of her name. He gripped her shoulders, looking into her eyes. “I need to ask you something.”

  They were alone now—really alone, the vacant street, the closed door, the emptiness of the house, all working to seal them in. Charlotte fell into his gaze, the jacket still around her feeling as close as it could get to his actual embrace.

  “What?” she whispered, her heart pounding in her ears.

  His hand slid lightly down her arm and he smiled a bit sheepishly “Charlotte,” he said, “I’m ready to gnaw the furniture. Can we please go get something to eat?”

  “Is that it?” She sighed. Although whether it was from relief or disappointment, she couldn’t say. In all actuality, she wanted to smack him. “Oh. Sure.”

  He eyed her with trepidation. “What, were you expecting—”

  “I don’t know what I was expecting.” She pulled off his jacket, tossing it at him. “Damn you and your goddamned sexy voice. I’ll bet you can read a menu and make it sound like pornography.”

  He stared at her a moment, then burst into laughter. “Right now even a piece of toast sounds pretty decadent to me. But if you’re expecting more . . .” He leaned in, kissing her lightly on each cheek. “Just let me know and I’ll be happy to oblige.”

  Charlotte pulled back, peeved. “Goddamned Frenchmen. I know too many of them. And they all give me a pain in the ass.”

  He tilted his head, scoping her derrière. “And a fine little cul it is.”

 
She threw him a scowl, grabbing her overnighter.

  “Hey.” He looked around. “What time is it?”

  She glanced at his wrist. “Didn’t I see you wearing a Hublot in Boston?”

  “You don’t wear a thirty-thousand-dollar watch to go begging for money.”

  “But five-thousand-dollar cuff links are all right?”

  He lifted that Gallic nose in indignation. “How do you suppose I was to close my cuffs?”

  “The clock’s just over your head, above the sink,” she said. “Sheesh.”

  He turned. “Two o’clock! No wonder I’m starving.”

  “Just give me ten minutes to clean up.” She brushed the front of her skirt. “I think I’m still covered in all the vacuuming I didn’t get a chance to do this week.”

  “Explain this vacuuming,” he said, eyes narrowing in faux curiosity. “Is it some kind of a native term?”

  “Oh Jesus Christ . . .” She sighed, shaking her head. “If you’d like to crawl out of that socioeconomic bubble for a bit, there’s a bathroom right behind you, though I’m sure not as elegant as you’re used to.”

  “Yes, I’ve noticed the distinct lack of a bidet, but I’ve been known to slum now and then.” He set his own bag on the table, rummaging through it. “I’ll survive.”

  “I sincerely hope so. When I’m through there’s a nice little café not far from here we can walk to. You remember walking, right?” She left for the upstairs.

  My God, she thought. I can’t imagine what he’s thinking.

  MON DIEU, I can’t imagine what she’s thinking. Rex peeked around the kitchen archway, watching that gorgeous little cul traipse up the stairs.

  Screw thinking. What the hell was he going to do? He left for the bathroom, unable to think of anything beyond the visceral at the moment, leaning over the toilet as he drained himself of the morning’s bad coffee. From the upstairs he heard Charlotte turn on the shower, and he was half tempted to run up and jump in with her. Then his belly rumbled and he remembered how much harder it was to run this engine on an empty tank.