The Laws of Seduction: A French Kiss Novel

by Jones, Gwen

  Goddamn—he was starving.

  What a day it had been. And it was hardly past two p.m. So far he’d woken up in jail, stood before a judge, dropped five mil on a bond, was nearly brained with a brick, got kicked out of Philadelphia on the threat of being blown up, outran a tail—all to land in some godforsaken town on the New Jersey coast, complete with voyeuristic cops and a six-story high wooden elephant. He shook and flushed. Not his usual morning. But then again, there was that hot little avocate and some stellar scotch tossed into the mix, just to make things interesting.

  Christ almighty, he could still taste her on his lips. A rather nice taste at that.

  He turned to the sink and set the water running, washing his face and wetting down his hair. He opened his shaving kit and found his toothbrush, and scrubbing his teeth, brought himself back to a semblance of normal.

  Normal. Is that what this was?

  Normal on his last trip stateside was the Hay-Adams in D.C., drinking Stoli martinis and banging the congresswoman in the elevator.

  Between floors, of course.

  Oui, now that was normal. Or at least it had been. Until everything suddenly went wrong. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to find out how that happened holed up in some off-season tourist town. He slipped off his tie and opened his collar, reflexively checking his hip pocket. “Merde.” He’d really like to get who stole his goddamned phone so he could break their fucking neck.

  And he would, too. After he found a way out of here. And for that he needed to make a phone call.

  From upstairs, he could hear Charlotte’s shower just shutting off. He left for the kitchen and the landline on the wall. Did it work? Or was it just some relic from a World War II war bride? He picked it up—a tone hummed in his ear. He started to dial, then stopped halfway. Maybe he was just being paranoid, but since the cops had already come to the house, maybe they were listening as well.

  This was America, after all. He set the receiver back on the hook.

  Better to find a pay phone somewhere or get one of those cheap phones they kept behind the counter at the 7–Eleven. Paranoid or not, he was charged with a felony and out on bail, and that was a sticky situation no matter what country he was in.

  No watch, no phone. He felt almost naked—and without the benefits. He glanced at the wall clock. Two-fifteen. Had he been in Marseille he’d just be finishing off a salad and a nice Grenache, with either a board member or his latest objet d’affection, if she still had his attention from the night before.

  Was that what Charlotte was? He heard her moving things around upstairs, imagining her stepping into her panties and slinging those luscious seins into her bra. Shame. He’d like them better out of it. He’d like them heavy in his hands where he could caress and squeeze them, lower his mouth to them, run his tongue over . . .

  He cleared his throat. And moved away from where he could hear her and toward the next room. After just one kiss, Rex quickly learned Charlotte wasn’t the type to be toyed with, no matter how much she shivered and sighed. And no matter how much he wanted to make her do it again.

  He entered through an archway into a large room, all arranged in a simple chic style. A dining area on one side, the living room with overstuffed cane furniture on the other, a screened-in porch just out the front door, hardwood flooring with the occasional rugs scattered around. And off to one side the stairs, and Charlotte just coming down them.

  “I hope I didn’t make you wait too long,” she said. She wore no makeup, her damp hair piled in the back of her head into a kind of curly froth, her shoes low leather sandals that matched the color of her simple sleeveless dress. “I know you’re probably as hungry as I am, so I just threw myself together so we could go eat.”

  Rex perched on the edge of the sofa, pleased with what he saw. “If that’s how you throw yourself together I’d sure like to see when you make the effort. You look lovely.”

  “Oh stop,” she said, blushing slightly as she grabbed a sweater out of the closet. “I already know you’re hot for me, so save it.”

  Yet her blithe attempt to blow him off only irked him. He latched hold of her hand as she passed. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”

  “Yeah, well . . .” She slipped away from him and toward the kitchen. “If you really meant it, you wouldn’t have to say it.”

  “What kind of sense does that make?” he asked, going after her. “Christ, he really must have been a dick, right?”

  She fumbled with something in her purse, not looking up. “Aren’t they all?”

  “I’d like to meet that asshole who took you for granted,” he said, slipping his arms around her. “All you’d have to do is ask and I’d pound him right into the ground. And you know why?”

  “No,” she said, looking up. “Why don’t you tell me?”

  He kissed her forehead. “Because, damnit, I’m starting to find out I like you.” He tipped her chin with his finger. “So be honest. Is that going to ruin our relationship?”

  She stared at him a moment, then she laughed, slapping his chest. “Oh my God, let’s go eat, okay? I’ve so had it with dicks for a while.”

  “Hey,” he said, following her out.

  THEY WALKED TO a little café a few blocks away, which had about a half-dozen tables outside. Away from the beach the temperature was warmer, Charlotte slinging her sweater along the back of her chair, Rex grateful he’d left his jacket at the house. With his tie off and the few top buttons of his shirt open he felt quite the libertine, as usually his stateside visits were all work and no play—no matter the degree of his indulgences—warranting his usual business attire. But there in the salt air and afternoon sun, sated by a tolerable bottle of local wine and an asparagus omelette, Rex felt able to breathe for the first time in over twenty-four hours. And it wasn’t only because he was starting to form a plan. It was also because of the woman sitting next to him, and the not-so-placating admission he’d just made. For all their blathering and fussing, he really did like her.

  And because of that, he also needed to find out if her could trust her.

  They sat facing the street, cars and pedestrians crossing and cruising past them, as Rex eyed the dinosaur on the corner. Not the kind that Charlotte accused him of being, but one of the more recent kind.

  “I have to make a call,” he said, sipping his wine.

  Charlotte grabbed her purse, saying around a mouthful of omelette, “You con huse ma hone.”

  “What?” He leaned in, grinning wickedly. “Swallow, chere.”

  She did, her brow arching. “I said, you can use my phone.”

  “No.” He slung his arm over her shoulder, leaning in. “Not for this.”

  “Who are you calling?”

  “My boss.”

  “Oh. Him.” She retrieved her phone, holding it out. “You can still use it. Go ahead.”

  He wrapped his hand around it, guiding it back to her purse. In the split-second he had to figure, he pondered again whether to tell her. Ultimately he knew he’d have to. “Thanks, but no. I’m contemplating something illegal, and I’d rather not leave a trail.”

  “You are?” Her face lit up. “What? Can I help?”

  He was surprised how relieved he was at her reaction. “You just might,” he said, his finger twirling a curl at her neck. “I need you to cover for me while I dash down to Washington.”

  “You—you want to go down to D.C.?” When he nodded, she stared at him, aghast. “But that’s jumping bail. It’s bad enough we’re here in Margate, but at least the cops know about it. Why would you deliberately jeopardize your case? Do you want to be thrown into jail?”

  “No, I want to find out why I was arrested to begin with.”

  “But why would you think the answer’s in D.C.?”

  “Because that’s where all the players are.”

  Charlotte was myst
ified. “So you’re thinking it was the lobbyist or the congresswoman who set you up?”

  Rex dug into his pocket for change. He couldn’t remember the last time he used a pay telephone, let alone an American one. “It could be either one of them, but I’m not going to find out from up here.”

  “But what’s the point?” Charlotte said. “As bad as it seems now, maybe you won’t need to prove your innocence. This is turning out to be a classic case of he said/she said. If there’s no forensic evidence, then the charges have no teeth. That’ll come out in the investigation.”

  “The point is why did it happen in the first place?” He rubbed his chin, his beard bristling. “The only thing that connects me to Washington is that dredging bill. What other reason would anyone have to discredit me or Mercier or both? But I only have until Thursday to find out who is out to nail me and why.”

  “Because after Thursday Congress clears out of town until after the November elections.”

  “Oui.”

  Charlotte set down her fork. “Or, more specifically, the congresswoman?”

  “That’s about as specific as it gets.” He took a sip of wine, his gut roiling with that realization.

  Charlotte gripped his arm. “So to prove your innocence you’ll need to confront the congresswoman—”

  “—who’s down in Washington and has a fifty/fifty chance of losing her seat.”

  “And if she does, that’ll make her a lame duck, then the bill and—”

  “—the mystery dies with her.” He lifted his wine in salute. “Exactement.”

  “Oh God.” She backed up. “Don’t tell me we’re finishing each other’s sentences.”

  “It appears so.” He took one more sip of wine and got up. “I’ll be right back.”

  The pay phone was outside a pawnshop and Western Union, looking as neglected and forlorn as those dinosaurs of the pre–cell phone age typically did. As with the house phone and all similarly abandoned instruments, Rex wanted to make sure it still worked, so he picked up the receiver, listening for a dial tone. He heard one so he dropped in a couple of coins and dialed, knowing full well Marcel wouldn’t answer a strange number. And since he couldn’t text him to let him know who it was, Rex knew he’d have to leave a voice message.

  “Call me back ASAP.”

  He hung up to wait. In less than a minute, the pay phone rang.

  Rex picked it up at half a ring. “Allo?”

  “Don’t give me ‘allo’ motherfucker,” Marcel said. “Where are you?”

  “Mon frangin, your voice is music to my ears.”

  “Too bad I can’t say the same. Christ, how the hell did you get yourself arrested? And why aren’t you calling me on your own phone? It couldn’t have taken you this long to get out of jail. Come on, I’m busy.”

  Busy getting laid, he knew. Son of a bitch was on his honeymoon off the coast of New England while Rex rotted away for la firme. “It did take that long. And my phone’s missing.”

  “Fucking flics. I’ll get it cleared.”

  “No—don’t!” Rex said, much too quickly. Merde.

  “Christ! Okay! But why not?”

  Should he tell him how he taped the congresswoman? Should he say what his suspicions were behind this whole thing? Or should he just let it ride until he knew for sure? Rex let his instinct decide for the latter. Better to play it off for now.

  “I have some files on it I can’t afford to lose, that’s all. I’m sure they’ll find it sooner or later.”

  Marcel paused. “You’re hiding something from me, but I’ll let it go for now. But I’ll have it traced.”

  “It won’t work. I shut it off when I gave it over. But that’s not the larger issue anyway. Someone is trying to frame me for whatever reason. But I’m not going to find out up here in this bourgeois Riviera. I need to get down to D.C. And I need you to get me a car that can’t be traced.”

  “I’m no expert on American law, but didn’t you just post a five-million-dollar bond?”

  “Which is why I have to do this under the radar. Can you get me a car or what?”

  “Can’t you get your own?’

  Jesus, talk about dicks . . . “No, because they’re watching us. Even sent the goddamned cops over to the house.”

  “Us? Whose house are you at?”

  Fuck. Rex pinched his eyelids. “My lawyer’s.”

  “So you called Legal. Though I don’t know how good they are at criminal bullshit. But I heard that Bélanger once clerked for a district—”

  “I didn’t call Legal. I got my own lawyer.”

  “Who? Do I know him?”

  “Her.” He may as well tell him. “Charlotte Andreko.”

  Rex could almost hear his head exploding. “Her? Why in the holy fuck would you pick that crazy salope?”

  Was that his own nails cutting into his palm? He forced himself to stay calm. He needed Marcel to help him and besides, he couldn’t smash his face from here. “Can you think of a better person to defend me on a sexual assault charge than a feminist lawyer? Especially one who’s a partner in a firm in the city where I’ve been charged?”

  “Okay, I get it. I also get the big, juicy lolos.”

  “You know I haven’t forgotten that sucker punch in Boston. You still have one coming.”

  “All right already. Where are you?”

  “Not too far from Atlantic City. At least I can see it from the beach.”

  Silence, then, “Get back to me in a couple of hours.”

  “Don’t take too long.” Rex said. “I don’t have much time.”

  Rex heard something bang in the background. “Neither do I. Call me in two. Ciao.”

  When Rex returned to the table Charlotte was staring straight ahead, her chin propped in her palm. “The congresswoman,” she said, not waiting for him to sit, “she’s in love with you.”

  “What are you talking about?” he said, even though he did.

  She looked at him directly. “I’m talking about Lilith Millwater.”

  “In love with me . . .” Merde. He flicked his hand. “What difference does that make?”

  “What difference?” She looked flabbergasted. “She’s in love with you.”

  “Non,” he said, continuing en français, “I was fucking her. She was fucking me. It was servicing. That’s all there was to it.”

  She looked up, answering in kind. “You’re wrong. It makes all the difference in the world. Women never just fuck. They’re always emotionally invested in one way or another. It could be because they’re unhappy, or they need the attention, or yeah, maybe they’re in love. But it’s always something.”

  “Right. She liked my cock and I wanted the bill passed. A simple barter system.”

  “But what if she stole your phone and listened to your recording of you hooking up with that lobbyist? My God, it’d be like a double whammy. An insult to injury. Rex, if she is in love with you, it would destroy her.”

  His jaw tightened. “Wouldn’t that be the intention?”

  “What?” She seemed incredulous. “Let me wrap my head around this. I thought you taped your conversation with her for your own protection, because who trusts politicians these days? But it never was for that, was it? You’d blackmail her if necessary, wouldn’t you?”

  He laughed softly, hardly believing his ears. “Wouldn’t you? What kind of lawyer would you be if you didn’t throw every wrench in your toolbox?”

  “It’s not the same thing,” she said, slowly rising. “You don’t hit them below the belt.”

  “But why not? That’s the softest spot.”

  Charlotte stared at him. “God, you can be cold. It’s like you throw a switch and you turn into this iceman. How do you sleep at night?”

  He picked what was left of his wine, downing it. “Like a baby.”

 
She turned, hurrying down the street.

  Chapter Nine

  Filling in the Blanks

  “CHARLOTTE, LET ME explain!” Merde. Now he really screwed it. He went after her.

  When she stopped at a traffic light, Rex caught up with her. She turned to him before he could speak.

  “You must forgive me,” she said, looking back to the street. “As you may have noticed, I have a tendency to say the first thing on my mind. It’s a bad habit and why I don’t have many friends. You owe me no explanation.”

  “Of course I do.” The light changed and they continued on. “You’re my lawyer, so you need to know the facts. Why do you think I recorded her to begin with?”

  “That’s easy. To throw her words back in her face.”

  “And why would you think I’d have to?” This was the part that sent his blood pressure through the roof. “I’ve come to realize she doesn’t give a damn about the bill or the thousands of jobs it could create, even though that’s what she’s been campaigning on. She doesn’t give a damn because she’s a shark, Charlotte. She’s such a shark she makes you look like a fucking jellyfish.”

  That got her attention. “Gee, thanks.”

  “I’m serious. She hates her husband, her kids are grown and off on their own careers, and she’s in real danger of losing her seat because she’s been accused of not hating Washington enough. So she’s keeping this bill in limbo just so she can show her voters how hard she’s fighting for them, as well as show the party bosses how much she hates Washington by letting it die.”

  “Yet you were fucking her.”

  “Oui. I was taking one for the team.”

  Charlotte looked at him, incredulous. “That’s disgusting.”

  “You do what you have to do.”

  She considered that a moment. “Then she’s using you.”

  “She thinks she is.”

  Her lawyerly radar was on, her face lighting. “So by recording her, you’re really calling in your marker?”