The Laws of Seduction: A French Kiss Novel (14 page)

Rex stopped, turning to look at her, weighing again, no doubt “I know I can,” he finally said, touching her cheek. “But I’m only guessing about this. I didn’t actually see her, so I can’t know for sure. But if it is her, then it’ll be up to me to protect Marcel again.”

“Wait a minute.” She thought she misheard. “What do you mean—
again
?”

“It was me André came to see at Richette,” he said. “I was the COO at the time. Marcel’s mother had approached us along with a couple of Mercier directors. But then André offered me a deal that would not only make me very rich, but would also tip the balance of Mercier shares to thwart his mother’s scheme.”

“So you double-crossed her.” She stared at him a moment before she laughed. “God, she must hate you.”

He laughed as well, though a bit harshly. “There are a lot of people who do. And that’s why I’ve been thinking this dredging bill’s passage is the link to this mess. Because if it passes, we can expand, and then Mercier only becomes more valuable. So if someone is truly out to discredit me, it could be the whole scenario starting up all over again.”

Maybe it was the sloping surface, or maybe because her shoes were in her hand, but up until then she hadn’t quite realized how large and imposing Rex really was. As was the enormity of what he was saying. “You do realize this complicates everything. Between us, I mean.”

“Because it means I’ll have to trust you.” His hands slid up her arms. “Can I?”

“Of course.” She knew she could do the same with him.

“
C’est bon
.” He pulled her closer, his thumb smoothing her jawline. “Because I think I’m going to have to.”

He kissed her, but it was a kiss different than any of the others he’d given her, and that made it all the more intimate. This wasn’t a kiss of lust or even longing. This went deeper than all the physical places he had taken her. Charlotte knew this closed and secretive man had never given this kind of kiss to anyone. This opened a door to his inner workings. And quite possibly to his heart.

“You can,” she said, her hand over his.

“
Ma belle
Charlotte,” he said, kissing her again. “Thank you. You don’t know how much that means to me.”

She set her hand to his cheek. “Just tell me what to do.”

He threw his arm over her shoulder and glanced toward the dunes, shivering a bit from the wind. “How about getting us the hell off this beach?”

She snaked her hand under his jacket and around him. “Follow me.”

From there they walked another couple of blocks to a bus stop, riding it into Atlantic City, to arrive just after four-thirty.

“Caesar’s is just up the street,” Charlotte said. “I know a little coffee joint around the corner. Let’s grab a couple of cups and have our éclairs.” Soon after they were sitting on a bench facing the casino sipping coffee, pastries in hand.

“A shame,” Rex said, staring at it. “I had such plans.”

“That’s the lovely thing about plans,” Charlotte said, biting into her. “You can always make more. Along with éclairs.”

“A shame, nonetheless.” His was gone in two bites. “Come on, let’s go into the casino. I’m running low on cash and I need some pocket money.”

“What? Your big, black AmEx run out of gas? I thought you one-percenters didn’t believe in folding money.”

He downed the last of his coffee, tossing it into a nearby trash can. “
Merde
, that tasted like shit. I could never get used to coffee in a paper cup. Listen
avocate
, first rule of thumb—paper money, no paper trail.”

“Ah, now I get it.” She stood, bending at the waist. “I bow to your superior conspiratorial skills. Lead on, Dreyfus.”

“
Jeune fille sarcastique
,” he muttered, grabbing her hand.

They wandered into the casino from the boardwalk, the floor subdued on the weekday morning. Most of the pits were closed except for a select few blackjack, roulette, and craps, the meandering cocktail waitresses serving more coffee to the pit bosses and clerks than drinks to the players.

“You know it’s getting close to five o’clock,” Charlotte warned as they strolled past the craps pits. “Don’t we have to pick the car up by five-fifteen?”

“This won’t take long,” he said, scanning the floor, bypassing craps as it fed into the roulette wheels.

“Why am I not surprised you’re not a craps man,” Charlotte said. “Roulette, of course.
Si français
.”

“And so wrong,” he said, aiming for the blackjack pits. He picked the only hundred-dollar table open and walked up to it, just as the dealer stifled a yawn. He threw a bill down, standing behind the chair.

“Aren’t you going to sit down?” Charlotte whispered from behind.

He set the single black chip to the table. “It won’t take that long.”

Five minutes later they were walking to the cashier’s window with a short stack of purple chips. “Holy shit, Rex—how much did you win?”

He gave it a quick count. “Only sixty-five hundred dollars. I could’ve won more if we had more time, but how much do you need?”

She eyed him suspiciously. “Are you a counter?”

“You’re joking, right? I’m almost offended.”

“An evasive answer if I ever heard one. You know, you’re quite good at that.” She waved her hand in front of her face. “Never mind anyway. I don’t want to know or before long I’ll be representing myself at my own trial.” They stepped up to the window.

He walked away with mostly hundreds and a selection of smaller bills. “Here,” Rex said, passing her a fold of cash. “We don’t want to keep all our eggs in one basket.”

“Christ.” She shoved the wad in her purse. “You’re like an ATM, aren’t you? Oh hurry—there’s the elevator.” They ran, catching it.

“Push four,” he said, the door closing.

They exited to a mostly empty floor lit by pale neon. Outside the sun hadn’t yet risen and a chill permeated the open structure, aided by the elevation and the cool ocean breezes. With a couple of cars slowly working toward the exit and hollow sound of their heels clicking against the tire-scarred concrete, Charlotte couldn’t help seeing the whole milieu as a bit sinister. She tightened the belt at her waist, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Chickening out?” Rex said, glancing toward her.

“What?” She glared at him. “No. It’s just cold in here.”

“Not that cold,” he said flatly, checking the numbers painted on each space: “402, 403, 404—it must be on the other side. Come on.”

They didn’t even walk halfway there before they found it, a sleek black Lincoln looking right out of the showroom. He went to the back of the car.

“Diplomatic plates, huh?” Charlotte whispered.

“
Oui
,” he whispered back.

She nodded her head slowly. “So that’s the invisible car.”

“
Précisément.
” He checked his phone, then punched the entry code into the door. The lock clicked open. Reaching in, he found the fob under the passenger side floor mat and opened the other door for Charlotte.

Rex slipped the seat belt over him and hit the ignition, the car roaring to life. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“Roger that,” Charlotte said, strapping herself in.

Chapter Fourteen

Everyday Folk

S
OMEWHERE PAST THE
Maryland border, Rex pulled into one of those down-homey restaurants normally seen near interstate exits. The huge parking lot was crowded with people in transit, businessmen and the usual assortment of big-chain denizens, including truckers, RVers, screaming children, and a healthy dose of the Great Unwashed. As they climbed from the car, Charlotte could almost swear there was a look of horror on Rex’s face.

“
Mon Dieu. M’épargner le commun des mortels
,” he muttered, wincing.

“You insufferable snob.” Charlotte slipped her arm in his, slapping it. “Seriously, their breakfasts aren’t bad.”

His Gallic nose lifted. “I’m not a
snob
,” he said pointedly. “I’m only bemoaning the sad decline of the average American.” He winced again. “Deplorable.”

“You wouldn’t know an average American if he bit you in your Guccis.”

He put an arm around her as a trio of kids ran past. “I don’t know why you couldn’t have waited until Washington. I know a place in Georgetown that serves a great kippers and eggs.”

“Because we’ve been in the car for over two and a half hours, and that’s all my bladder will stand.” He pulled the door open and they entered into a huge space that looked like the inside of a barn, filled with overflowing displays of knickknacks in every genre imaginable. She pointed toward the back. “I’m going to the ladies’ room. If you don’t have to go, amuse yourself with this”—she grabbed a book from a display of them and shoved it at him—“until I get back.”

He glanced at it. “
Uncle Jack’s Bathroom Reader
?” She thought he might gag. She left for the bathroom.

As she washed her hands, Charlotte noted that although they’d had a significant breakthrough on the beach, he’d really told her nothing about what he planned to do once they got to Washington. Did he really expect to walk into the dining room at the Hay-Adams and confront Lilith Millwater right there, out in the open? Charlotte was sure the congresswoman fully expected Rex to remain cloistered in Philadelphia after his arrest, but then again . . . She couldn’t help smiling as she dried her hands. If the congresswoman did, she hardly knew him at all. Then all at once she sobered. But if she didn’t . . .

She found Rex exiting the men’s room as she came out, every remaining strand of his beach-blown hair smoothed back to perfection. He reached for her hand. “Well, the best thing I can say about that experience is at least I didn’t have to tip anyone.”

“There is that,” Charlotte said as they approached the hostess.

A few minutes later Charlotte sipped coffee as Rex considered a plate of biscuits and apple butter. “I recognize the biscuits, but what’s that?” he asked, glaring at the dark sauce.

“Apple butter,” Charlotte answered, breaking off a piece of biscuit and smearing a dollop of apple butter on it. “Try it, it’s pretty good. Quintessentially American.”

He eyed the biscuit suspiciously, but took it, popping it into his mouth. He shrugged, chewing. “
Pas mal
,” he admitted, reaching for his coffee. “At least this is in porcelain.”

“Thank God for the little things.” She broke off a piece of biscuit for herself. “Anyway, I was thinking. You can’t just show up at lunch at the hotel. If you walk into the dining room the congresswoman’s going to bolt as soon as she sees you. That is, if she’s there at all.”

“I know,” he said. “I’ve thought of that, too. I’m assuming she thinks my getting arrested has somehow lessened the imperative of the situation.” He met her gaze with renewed fervor. “It hasn’t. Not by a long shot.”

“No doubt.” She took another sip and another bite, preparing herself for what she knew she had to say. “That’s why I think you need to hit her in her soft spot. Play on her”—she sipped more coffee—“feelings for you.”

His eyes didn’t leave hers. “Seems we’re thinking along the same lines. I thought perhaps we could meet in a room at the hotel. The same suite we always met in.” He broke off a piece of biscuit, toying with it between his fingers. “That’ll mean something to her. Should lessen her suspicions. Especially when she realizes I put my bail in jeopardy just to get to her.”

“I think she’ll find that quite romantic,” she said after a moment.

He paused as well. “How do you feel about it?”

“Why should I feel anything? You already told me—you do what you need to do.”

He dolloped apple butter atop the biscuit, his face passive. “Whatever it takes, right?”

Why was he doing this to her? Why was he
always
doing this to her? She leaned into him, calling his bluff. “Rex, if you feel you need to have sex with her to get what you need, then go for it. Don’t inject me into the situation. I hold no illusions about what’s between us.”

He dropped the biscuit into his mouth. “What
is
between us?”

“Your cock,” she said, wanting to bruise him. “I suppose that’s it.”

“Really?” He trained his eyes on hers, languidly sympathetic. “Is that all,
belle
?”

She could see now why he was so successful. All he had to do was unleash that soothing baritone and he could defuse any situation, no matter how volatile. At least it worked that way with her. But there was one it hadn’t quite worked on, and she’d do well to remember that’s why she was here. And what she was hired for.

“No, of course not.” She sighed, shaking her head. “You really are quite the bastard, aren’t you?”

“It’s what you find so attractive about me, isn’t it?” His mouth crooked ever so slightly, but his smile was as brilliant as ever. “I aim to please.”

“I think you have the pleasing part down to a science, at least as far as I’m concerned—ah, here’s the eggs.”

A few bites later, Rex said, “You know damn well as I do I’m not going to have sex with her, Charlotte. I wouldn’t have even . . .” His gaze caught hers before it arrowed back to his plate. “Even if you and I hadn’t gotten together.” He looked up, using his fork to make a point. “And don’t go making any more of your cogent observations. The fact is, if Lilith is in love with me as you say, it’s of her own invention. As far as I’m concerned, it was just business. I never gave her any reason to think more of it than what it was.”

She shoved potatoes around her plate. “And what was it?”

He shrugged. “Mutual masturbation.”

“Oh.” She went to take a bite of poached egg, then returned it to the plate. “You do that with all your business associates?”

“Only the female ones,” he said. Then his mouth crooked. “But then again, I’m pretty good at fucking the male ones, too.” He leaned in. “Except they never know it.”

Charlotte set down her fork. “Rex, I—”

“Charlotte.” He slid his hand over hers. “If you don’t know by now what we have between us is different, then there’s nothing I can say to convince you.
Chérie
, we both have a sexual past. Mine is spectacularly colorful, and there’s nothing I can do to change that.”

“Not asking you to,” she said. “Nor will I apologize for mine. All I’m saying is just do what you have to do and don’t let this”—she flipped her hand between them—“stand in your way to getting it done.” She sipped her coffee, looking askance.

He regarded her, knifing eggs onto his fork. “You do that a lot, you know.”

“Do what?” She had no idea.

“This flipping thing with your hand.” He demonstrated, waggling his between them. “When you don’t want to say something aloud. You wave your hand instead.”

“Seriously? Like for what?”

“As in the word you don’t want to call us.”

“Oh?” She pressed her hand into her lap. “What word is that?”

“
Les amoureux
.” He leaned forward, his eyes smoldering. “Lovers.” He lifted her palm to his mouth, kissing it.

“Rex!” She yanked her hand back. “Don’t go all French on me now, jeez,” she said, quickly sipping her coffee.

He answered
en français
, “I’d like to go French all over you right now, right on this table, right in front of all these . . .” He flipped his own hand. “Whatever they are.” He laughed, low and throatily. “Wouldn’t that shoot the apple butter right out of their quintessentially American asses?”

Charlotte slammed her cup down, coffee nearly shooting from her quintessentially American nose.

A
T A LITTLE
past ten Rex pulled off the gridlocked interstate and into the vehicular hell known as Washington, D.C.

“Well, that wasn’t too bad,” he said, the city of white looming in the distance. “We’re only an hour or so off schedule.”

“Not too bad for D.C.,” Charlotte remarked. “I was stuck on the exit ramp once for two hours.”

“Oh?” Rex was instantly curious. “Have much occasion to come down to D.C.?”

“I used to. Not so much anymore.” She flipped down the visor mirror, pulling a lipstick from her purse. “I used to date a D.C. lawyer. Worked for the State Department. We both went to Rutgers Law but I never knew him at the time. Hooked up with him at our ten-year reunion.” She glided the lipstick over her lips, then pressed them together, snapping the cap back on. She shot him a glance. “What a dick he was.”

They pulled up to a light, the corners thick with tourists and government workers. “Was he the one that messed with your head?”

She propped her chin in her hand, looking out the window. “He was one of them, that’s for sure. The only good he ever did me was introducing me to Trent Webster.”

Websters
. Rex fumed. He thought it best to keep his opinions to himself about that family, the sons, at least.

“Anyway,” she continued, “what’s plan B if you can’t get a room at the Hay?”

“I already have a room.”

“You do? Oh.” She seemed put off. “I didn’t see you call.”

“I didn’t.” The light changed and he still had to wait for a couple of tourists wearing shocking blue tricorns to cross. “My staff always reserves the same suite at the Hay whenever I’m in the U.S.”

“Seriously? On the off chance you’ll decide to go there?”

“Don’t be too impressed. It’s extremely hard to get a hotel room in D.C., especially during the workweek and when Congress is in session. And for the past year I’ve been coming down here every trip, ever since the bill was introduced.”

Charlotte considered that. “It’s a pretty important bill, isn’t it?”

“Damned important. Mercier wants to start using the new larger container ships, but we can’t if the harbor isn’t dredged in Elizabeth. These new ships use solar power and half the fuel. They’re crucial to our future bottom line.”

“Because the U.S. really needs more cheap clothing and shitty small appliances. And fast, too,” Charlotte opined.

Rex raised a brow. “The ships sails both ways, you know.”
Christ, she was a prickly woman.

They went a couple more blocks, then hit another light, idling again. He glanced over to his passenger who was trying to smooth that wild tangle of curly hair. Not that he thought she needed to. It looked just fine to him. Even better when she was under him, her hair spreading across his pillow, those long, luscious legs wrapped around him.

“Stop staring at my legs and get going,” she said. “The light’s changed.”

“I wasn’t staring at your legs,” he said, accelerating.

“Yes, you were. I caught you.”

“Then you were fantasizing. I was staring at your breasts.”

She laughed. “That’s even worse.”

“Perhaps, but it’s in an entirely different direction. If you’re going to accuse me of staring you should at least be precise about it.”

She turned to him, amazed. “That’s the first entirely reasonable justification I’ve ever heard for ogling. Bravo.”

“
Merci
.” He turned off the street and toward a portico, idling off to the side. “Well look at this. Here we are.”

“How convenient. Hey, why’d you stop here?”

He turned to Charlotte, his hand at the door. “I’d like to remain as unobtrusive as possible. Since the suite has a standing reservation, I’ll call right now and get your name listed on it. Just pick up the key and I’ll meet you inside.”

“You mean you want me to check in? As what? Your paramour?”

“Charlotte. Remember your place. As part of my legal team, of course. Paramours check in after seven p.m.” He opened the door, leaning over for a quick kiss before he slipped out of the car.

Having Charlotte get the key afforded Rex time to answer his phone that had been vibrating in his pocket for at least a half hour. Not that he didn’t trust Charlotte. In fact, after this morning, he was starting to find her opinion more and more important to him. But she was still straddling a fine line between lawyer and lover, and he didn’t want to put her in a position where she’d have to make a choice between the two. He took out his phone as he crossed the street toward Lafayette Square, calling the hotel before he retrieved its message.
Marcel.
He dialed.

He picked up on the first ring. “
Ciao
. I take it you made it to D.C.?”

“As a matter of fact I did. Thanks for the car.”

“Just make sure it’s back in the same slot by tomorrow morning, five a.m. By the way, I have some bad news for you.”

Rex sighed. Just what he needed. “What?”

“Seems someone found your phone and hacked it.”

Enculé de ta mère
. “Not entirely surprising. Do you know where it is?”

“The last location is Philadelphia. Any files on there I should be worried about?”

“All of them. But don’t worry, I had Lee encrypt them.” The year previous, Rex had hired the former Chinese hacker, considered the best in that shadowy business.

“He’s the one who found out about it.”

“That’s why we pay him so well. But I have more sensitive material to worry about than a just bunch of spreadsheets. Like the kind that could save my ass.”

Marcel paused. “I think you’re about to tell me something you neglected to earlier.”

Should he? He went with his gut. “I had my phone on record practically the whole time I was at the fund-raiser. When I was talking to Lilith. And when I was with—”