The Laws of Seduction: A French Kiss Novel (15 page)

“The girl?”

Rex sighed. “Yes.”

“Hm.” Marcel took a few moments to digest that. “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier—no, don’t answer that. I already know. Because you think you know this business better than me. You think you know it better than anyone. Because you’re a smug, secretive son of a bitch. Because you think you’re my goddamned mother. I already have one of those and that’s one too many, you self-righteous bastard.”

“Speaking of your mother—”

“What about my mother?”

Oh, he’d hit a soft spot there. Or rather a festering wound. Marcel hadn’t forgotten how Viviane had tried to sell his birthright away, and Rex doubted if he ever would. “I think I saw her last night outside Charlotte’s house.”

“She’s tailing you?”

“It’s possible.”

“Son of a bitch. What the hell does
that
mean?”

“That she may be at it again,” Rex said.

He took another few moments to ruminate on that, and Rex couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. “You gave me a lot of shit to think about,” Marcel finally said. “I’ll get back to you.”

“Then I’d better go do what I came down here for.”

“You do that.
Ciao
.”

Merde
. He slipped the phone into his inner pocket. It was a good thing he put two hundred dollars on it, or by now he’d soon be dropping quarters in a pay phone. He turned from the park, heading back to the hotel.

They’d both been the arbiters of each other’s bad news, he and Marcel, giving each other an equally shitty day. Now he had to think about his phone being hacked. Christ—how could he have let this whole thing happen in the first place? The light changed and he trotted across the street. It happened because he got sloppy, thinking with his
dard
instead of just doing what he had to do, then going back to Marseille. But no, he let his ego get in the way. Let some pretty young thing stroke it as if that would keep the gray out of his hair or his kilometer under four minutes. He laughed to himself, the smug, secretive son of a bitch that he was. Might as well tell the clock to stop ticking.

Pretty presumptuous of him to think he could stop it. He was now forty, after all—
forty
. Hardly old, but not so young anymore either. Certainly old enough to know better. Because as rich as he was, sooner or later the girls would stop looking, and he’d either end up with a string of gold-diggers or face his decline as a lecherous old man.

Quite a future to look forward to. And with this charge, he was already well on his way to greet it. He entered the hotel, going straight to the elevator. After all this time, he could find the suite in the dark. It occurred to him dark was something he ought to get used to, as soon he’d be spending a lot of time in it, alone.

He grabbed his forehead. Jesus—where the hell were these thoughts coming from? He couldn’t let what happened throw him off his game. If he let it get to him, if he gave up, he could never get back on top again, and he fought and clawed too hard and too long to get where he was and lose everything. He was Rex Renaud, for Christ’s sake. Sought after, lusted after, envied and imitated. Suave and sophisticated, an international icon of business, a born leader of men. He needed to remember that. And something else.

It was all a lie. Right down to his roots.

He was the original manufactured man.

What was he really—the son of farmers? No, even that was too lofty. Of grape pickers, of people who never owned the fruits of their labors, though they always worked as hard as if they had. And it wasn’t any different now with Marcel. Rex was still a grape picker, only with shinier packaging.
I’ll get back to you.
Simple truths were in that simple statement. Marcel was the born leader of men. Rex was the born follower. And there was nothing he could ever do to change it. The elevator opened and he went to the suite and knocked. When the door opened, she was behind it.

“Well, hello there,” she said, leaning into it.

Charlotte.
Mon Dieu.
Charlotte. The only bright light in this whole fiasco.
Ma belle
Charlotte. The
Parisienne
, born into the bar. And who was he? The grape picker, born to follow. He shut the door behind them, taking her in his arms.

“Charlotte,” he said, smoothing her hair, sliding her coat from her shoulders. It fell to the floor as his mouth fell to hers. “Charlotte,” he said, whispering it.

He didn’t deserve her either. But oh God how he wanted her. Wanted it all. Wanted
everything
he never had a right to.

“I’m right here,” she said, her arms around him inside his jacket. “What the matter? What happened? You seem upset.”

“Crisis of conscience,” he said, kissing her neck, her ear. “I just talked to Marcel. Someone found my phone and hacked it.”

“Oh. Damn,” she said. “But still. I get the crisis part, but where does the conscience come in?”

I don’t have one.
He held her out and looked at her, really looked at her. She was so beautiful, she made his chest ache. “I want to show you something, all right?”

“Sure,” she said, eyeing him warily. “What is it?”

He let her go, and took her hand instead. “Come here.”

They left the big living room and went into the bedroom just off it. On the side was a credenza. Solid cherry, about a meter and a half high, brass knobs on the doors. It was where he’d keep his wallet at night. Keys, if he had them. His portfolio. His watch. And jewelry, if he chose to wear it.

“This,” he said, pointing to it.

“It’s a . . . what do you call it—a credenza,” she said.

“
Oui
, that’s what it’s called.”

She stared at him, mystified. “And . . . ?”

He didn’t answer. He just kissed her. Tilted her against it and kissed her with everything in him. “Charlotte,” he said.

“What?” she whispered back, breathless, with as much longing as he had in him.

“Charlotte,” he said, biting, nipping her neck, his hand sliding up her leg until he reached her panties. “
Je veux baiser. Je veux te ramoner grave. Tout de suite
.”

“Okay.” She arched her neck as he turned her around, lifting her dress. “Okay, okay. Just let me . . .”

“
Non
—now.” He kissed her neck, her ear. “Charlotte, let me . . .” He unzipped, opening himself.

“Okay. Okay.” She bunched her dress around her and almost immediately he slid her panties down her legs and off.

“Charlotte.” His hands on her hips, he tilted her up and drove himself in.

“My—God,” she murmured, moaning from the impact, grasping on to the credenza to keep herself upright. “Oh Rex—Rex, that’s so . . . ah . . .”

He pounded her mercilessly and without interval. She turned her head so he could kiss her, but he just looked away. There was nothing affectionate about what he was doing, just a long, hard, impersonal fornication against the credenza. In less than a minute he was gasping, ready to come.

“Rex—wait! You didn’t—”

“Charlotte,
mon Dieu
, Charlotte!”

“Oh, damn. Rex. Go ahead and—I-I don’t—” She straightened, her head back against his shoulder as her climax ripped through her. “Okay, I don’t care . . .”

He grabbed her hips and shoved her forward, her hands slapping against the credenza as his groin tightened and he was coming, a long, hard, vicious eruption he planted as deeply as he could inside her. When he was through he immediately pulled himself from her and she turned, letting her dress fall.

“Oh my God, Rex.” She panted, slumping on her arms. “That was intense.”

“I suppose it was,” he said, cleaning himself with his handkerchief, zipping up.

“Hey, that was kind of hot,” she said, slinking to him, her hand sliding up his chest. “I’m going to assume you were a good boy and had no communicable diseases. I’m on birth control and well . . .” She traced a finger to his cheek. “I have had you in my mouth.”

He eyed her blankly. “
Oui
, you have.”

“I do have a question though.” Her laugh was like silk. “What was the big deal with the credenza? Why did you want to show it to me? I mean . . .” She laughed again. “That was really hot, but . . .”

All he knew was he wanted to hurt her. Hurt her as badly as all those people who thought they were better than him had hurt him through the years. “The credenza?” he said, tossing his hand toward it. “That’s where I used to fuck the congresswoman. Right up against it. I’d lift her skirt and fuck her from the back.”

“What . . . ?” she whispered, blanching. “
What
?
”

Suddenly he felt dizzy. Like the world was tilting under his feet. “Charlotte—I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“You.
Motherfucker
!
” She hauled off and cracked him across the face.

His head snapped to the side but otherwise, he just stood there, taking it. What did he expect? What else could he do? Charlotte grabbed her purse and ran from the room and out the door.

“
Sale de merde
. . .” he muttered, believing it.

Chapter Fifteen

Lafayette Squared

C
HARLOTTE TOOK THE
stairs out of the hotel because she needed to run, needed to move her body and not just stand placidly in the elevator. She threw open the door to the stairwell and tore down the steps, agile even in her pumps. When she reached the lobby she finally stopped running, walking as fast as her awareness of propriety would allow. Soon she was out of the hotel and crossing the street, heading toward Lafayette Square.

The morning was warmer now that the sun was out, and with summer holding on a bit longer in D.C., she could feel the sweat blooming on her chest, matching the dampness under her arms. She found a grouping of benches that faced away from the street and collapsed atop one, staring blindly at a pair of squirrels chasing each other up a tree. She pulled her purse into her lap, folding her arms atop it.

“What did I do to myself now?” she muttered, shoving her damp hair from her face.

It was bad enough she had very few girlfriends and none who were really close. Which was a shame because she could sure use another woman to talk to right now. How ironic was it then, for all of the defending of women she did, that there was no one there for her to lean on now when she needed it? But wasn’t that typical? Because no one wanted anything to do with the rebels after the gates had been crashed. What was the first law of a revolution? Wasn’t it kill all the lawyers?

But what would she tell a girlfriend anyway? That she was sleeping with a client and now he’d turned on her? A girlfriend would probably chastise her pretty good on that one, wouldn’t she? What was that saying she once heard?
Don’t look for meat where you make your bread and butter.
But that didn’t apply to this case, did it? Not when he came looking for her. Tracked her down and trapped her, then flung her back like he probably did all the others. Just like the well-fed cat when it’s done with a mouse.

My, she was up on her aphorisms today. She groaned. So much for original thinking. Then again, after what just happened, she couldn’t form an original thought if she tried.

Rex had been right, at least partially, though she’d hate to admit it. Sure men had screwed her over. Just like she’d done herself, so many times before. With almost every man she’d ever been with. Except the one she decided to take seriously. The one she’d hoped to spend the rest of her life with. Perhaps therein lay the true irony of her situation, as well as the bitch of it.

So this was nobody’s fault but her own. Except this time she almost hoped it could be different. Thought
he
was different. Yet the only thing he proved was that although the packaging could change, inside they were all the same. She dropped her head in her hands.

A little while later she heard his footsteps approaching, felt the wood sink as he sat beside her. Of course it was he. Who else would it be?

“Charlotte,” he said.

She looked up. His tie was askew, eyes were bleary, the imprint of her hand still visible on his face. He was pale and rigid, and staring straight ahead. This wasn’t the Rex she knew. But neither was that man she slapped a few minutes ago. Where was the old Rex? She wanted that man. “Why did you follow me down here?”

“To tell you what a bastard I am.”

“I already know that, but it’s refreshing to hear you admit it. Why don’t you tell me something new instead.”

“That I’m sorry I said those things to you? Would that work? Even if I know you won’t forgive me?”

When she’d run down to the square she had no idea where she’d go, only that she needed to get away from him. To get away from those ridiculous feelings he stirred inside her, the deep-down ones he shoved to the surface. He was starting to make her think of the possibility of permanence, and what a fallacy
that
was. If there was one thing for certain, it was what you saw on the outside hardly hinted at what lay beneath. Men were little more than icebergs, cold, secretive creatures. And self-centered to their frigid core.

“Why should I?” she finally said. “What explanation could you possibly offer me?”

“None that’d justify it, I suppose. At least not for you.” He clasped his hands on his knees, staring at the ground. “I don’t know if I can explain it at all, besides the fact it was unspeakably cruel. Because what I did in that room”—he swallowed hard—“
before
, with the congresswoman, I did it just like that, every time I was with her. I never would have thought she would think of it with any more meaning than I did. It never even entered my mind. So when I was with you just now, I was trying to apply the same level of logic. To test myself, I suppose. To see if it could be the same disconnected way with you.” He cleared his throat and straightened, turning toward her. “But it didn’t work.”

She had no idea what he was talking about, or how he was trying to justify what he did by saying it. “Why are you telling me this, Rex?”

“Marcel gave me something to think about when he told me my phone had been hacked. He was angry about my not telling him about the recording. He gave me a dressing-down over it.” He looked at her. “Can you believe that?”

She shrugged. “Well, he is your boss.”

“Right. He wasn’t about to let me forget it. And it gave me a glimpse into my life as it really is. How I’m really nothing more than his employee, no matter what I think of myself.”

“I think you’re a little bit more than that. You know you are. What would he be without you?”

“He’d still be Marcel Mercier. But what am I without that relation to him? The thought of that just kills me. As does all the people who know that, like Marcel, like Lilith, perhaps even you. And that’s what got between us upstairs.”

He looked back to the ground, his hands between his knees. “I know now because of my own stupidity I’m in this fiasco. I let my ego get in the way with that recording and with that girl. To prove I’m something more than I am. I wanted you and I always get what I want. But in the end, when you should have been gone, you were still there, seeing right through me. Charlotte.” He looked at her, raking back his uncharacteristically tousled hair. “Do you know how hard it is taking that good of a look at yourself?”

She couldn’t answer him. Maybe she hadn’t gotten that far yet. “All I know is what I see when I look at you.”

“A bastard, right? Well, I can’t blame you for that. But please realize how sorry I am. And how I very much want your forgiveness.”

That angered her. “And what difference would that make? Who am I anyway? Should I give you my forgiveness just so you could feel better? Because tell me the truth. What am I besides just another broad in your sweaty stable of them? Just another way to top off your evening after a long day of toeing the corporate line, right up there with a belt of scotch. Well, here’s a news flash for you, Rex. You weren’t any more than that for me either.”

His gaze snapped to hers, his eyes darkening. “Oh, I sincerely doubt that.”

“Ha!” She jabbed her finger at him. “That turning table hurts like a bitch, doesn’t it? Find that hard to believe? Well, isn’t that too bad. Because I know how to fuck my way around a deal, too.”

His jaw tensed, twitching almost indiscernibly. “I’m sure your standards weren’t ever that low.”

“What standards?” She looked at him blankly. “It was just business, wasn’t it? Isn’t that what you said? Well, that’s how I used it, too. Until I fell in love. She scoffed at it. “
Love
. What bullshit. It wasn’t until I fell out of it that I really got smart. When I found out what my vagina was really good for.” Then she glared at him. “I should have kept it that way.”

He fell back hard against the bench, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’m sending you back to Philadelphia. Or Margate or wherever the hell you want to go. But I’m also sending you back with a check for two million, no strings attached. Then take the money and screw as many men as you want with it.” His gaze, full of acid, shifted to hers. “Literally or metaphorically, if it suits your purpose. All I ask is that you remember where it came from. That’s what a bastard
I
am.”

“So you’re going to send me home,” Charlotte said.

“
Oui
,” he said, practically hissing it. “Take the train or fly first-class. Hire a limousine if you want, I don’t give a fuck. I’d send you on my own plane but I believe they’ve impounded it.”

“Yeah, I believe they have.” Two more squirrels were chasing each other, or maybe they were the same pair. These two were circling around and around a tree as they ran up it. What would happen when they got to the top? “And what if I don’t want to go?”

He shook his head. “You’re going. I don’t want you here.”

“Is that so.” She had to hand it to him. Had she ever met anyone who could clamp hold of a situation better than he could? He had come to her with his tail between his legs, and now he was trying to get her on the defensive. The fact was, had she been any other woman, that tactic would probably have worked beautifully. But she wasn’t any other woman.

“What if I don’t give a damn what you want?” she finally said.

“Why are you arguing with me?”

“Because you’re not listening to
me
,” Charlotte said, poking him. “If I go back without you, then what will happen to me? I’m responsible for you, and I’m not getting fined or even worse for you or anyone. So I have to stay. For purely selfish reasons.”

His mouth crooked. “You’re throwing my own attitude back at me, aren’t you?”

“Why would you think that? Or are you letting your ego get in the way again?”

He squinted at her. “What are you, some kind of a taskmaster?”

“You need one. You accused me of being messed up, but you’re way more fucked up than I am.”

He laughed softly. “Probably more than you realize.”

“No, I can recognize it when I see it.” She looked for the squirrels, but they were gone. “I’ve spent quite a bit of time on the crazy bench.” She spread her hands. “See? I’m on it again.”

“We both are.
Merde
.” He laughed again, harsh and low. “So what do we do now?”

“What we came to do, I guess.”

He fell silent for a few moments, his expression more earnest than she’d ever seen it. “Does that mean you forgive me?”

She supposed she did. “You know what was the worst part of what you did?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Everything?”

She looked to his mouth, loving the way it curved when he looked at her. It pained her to think of how many women he had kissed with it, and how possessive of him she suddenly felt. “You didn’t kiss me. Not once. It was like I wasn’t even there.”

“You were there,” he said adamantly. “You were all around me. And you’re right—that was the worst part. Because I didn’t want to.”

“Do you want to now?” she said, aching for it.

He turned to her, sliding his arm over the back of the bench. “Oh
oui
. Very badly.” He moved closer. “If you’ll let me.”

She couldn’t wait. She leaned in, kissing him.

“Charlotte,” he whispered against her mouth, “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Just kiss me,” she said, falling into the crook of his arm.

After a few moments he looked at her, his hand smoothing her cheek. “There’s another thing I didn’t do . . . back there in the room,
ma belle
.” He sighed. “In the heat of the moment.”

“I know.” A little shiver raced through her. “My thighs are all sticky.”

He laughed. “Only you can make that sound so decadent.”

“It
is
decadent.” She slid her hand down his chest. “I’m also sitting here without my underwear.”

“Now,
that’s
decadent. And very, very convenient.”

“Why? Are you going to lift my dress right here?”

“Over there,” he said, jutting his chin toward a tree. “Behind that quintessentially American oak. But seriously, Charlotte.” He turned very serious. “I always use
un préservatif
, so I don’t want you to worry about that. And always have. In fact, that’s the first time I haven’t used one since my fiancée.”

“You were engaged?”

“
Oui
. Once, about five years ago.” He shook his head. “It didn’t work out.”

“What happened? If I may ask.”

He touched her cheek. “I’m starting to learn we can keep very few secrets from each other. Let’s just say her nature didn’t align with the nature of my job. She was very traditional. Home, family—hers was enormous. Children. She wanted a husband who left every morning from her breakfast table and returned promptly at six, for his slippers by the hearth and her
cassoulet.
I couldn’t promise her that.”

She leaned back into the crook of his arm, the morning sun feeling good on her face. “I know what you mean. My fiancé was a lot like that. Except he only wanted it for me.”

“
You
were engaged?”

She turned to glance at him. “You sound surprised.”

“
Non, non
, that’s not what I mean. It’s just coincidental that we both were, and now we’re not.” He squeezed her shoulder. “It was the D.C. lawyer, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “I knew that he eventually wanted to get into politics, and that thrilled me. I had visions of us being this power couple, living in Georgetown, and I could run his campaign. It sounded all so exciting.”

“So what happened?”

“What happened was he wanted all that for himself, but none of it for me. I wanted Bill and Hillary, and he wanted me home and having babies. The fact was he had the Bill part down, but unlike Hillary, I wasn’t so forgiving.”

“He cheated on you?”

“Constantly. I know that’s not a big deal for your politicians at home, but I like my men monogamous. If that’s what they’re telling the world at least.”

“You know, there are people back in my
région
who want me to get into politics. Been pressing for it, in fact.”

“Have you considered it?”

“I’ve thought about it. I feel like I can do some good. But . . .” He waved his hand. “Who has time for that. This job takes everything out of me.”