The Laws of Seduction: A French Kiss Novel (2 page)

“Someone is out to ruin me—for whatever reason, I’m not sure yet. But when I find out  . . .” His eyes narrowed, face turning hard and steely. “Look, if you defend me I’ll make it more than worth your while. I’ll make it so goddamned worth it you’ll never have to depend on anyone again, let alone those two-faced sycophants at your firm. And we can win this, I know we can, because anyone who puts as much passion into their work as you do will always succeed. And Charlotte . . .” The look he gave her was as close to pleading as a man of his kind was capable of. “I need you to work that passion for me.”

She didn’t answer, turning to the window instead. Which was pointless, the outside as dark and muddied as her thinking, her mind racing so fast she was unable to process a sensible thought. Maybe because nothing made sense anyway. Because if it did, why would she even contemplate representing someone like Rex Renaud, a man who could’ve been CEO of any of a dozen multinational corporations, but chose to stay on as chief operating officer for a company as misogynistic as Mercier Shipping? True, perhaps now it was a bit more friendly to women since its president, Marcel Mercier, married the independent-minded Dani Lloyd, the company’s only female captain. But Rex Renaud, second in command or not, was his own man in every sense of the word. And that made her trust him even less, no matter how physically aware of him she felt every time she was around him. As she was now, catching his reflection in the window, watching her. Waiting for her answer.

“Charlotte,” he said, his rich baritone enveloping her from halfway across the room, “You need my money and I need your expertise. Now I want to hear you say you’ll do it.”

W
ANTED HER TO?
Rex
needed
her to. And for one more reason than the obvious. From the moment he met her in Boston he couldn’t get her out of his mind. A frustration almost as bad as being in this hellhole of an American jail.

Quite frankly, he wanted to get
out
of it so he could get
into
her as soon as possible.

Crude, but he also knew there was only one way to get over an obsession and that was to confront it directly. And Charlotte Andreko was quite simply a confrontation waiting to happen.

And why was that? Because she certainly wouldn’t be the most beautiful woman he’d ever been with, the amount of which he stopped counting by the time he’d turned twenty. The same number of years later his choices in women had only become richer and more varied. Yet the moment he made Charlotte’s acquaintance all the others seemed lacking. There was just something about her, whether it was her overconfidence or sense of self-importance or an intelligence that always kept him on his guard—he couldn’t be sure.

Because it couldn’t just be her juicy breasts, her slim waist, that delicious double handful of
cul
he ached to squeeze, those slim, endless legs he longed to part. Could he really be that base? He smiled to himself—
oh, he most certainly could
. Ever since Boston he dreamed of burying himself inside her, taking her fast and hard and in someplace not quite respectable. Against a car. In some dark corner of a barroom. He glanced over. Right atop this table. Fist those blonde twists of hair between his fingers as her neck arched back, those lusciously plump lips open in a silent scream of release as he pummeled her senseless.

But there was something else he needed to accomplish before he’d let his lust take over, and that was to destroy whoever was doing this to him. And as with any business challenge it’d be a complete annihilation, no prisoners, no looking back. Except, he knew, for Charlotte.
Charlotte
. Because as much as he wanted out of this jail, this ridiculous charge, this whole infuriating mess, he wanted her more. Infinitely so.

“Get me out of here,” he said.

She snapped her fingers. “Just like that. Do you really think it’ll be that easy?”

“Why wouldn’t it? Are you thinking I can’t make the bail?”

“Oh, I’m sure you could. But what was it they called you?” Those blue eyes swiveled upward. “Ah yes—an extreme flight risk. And your own jet to do it with.”

“I’d have to be an idiot to jump bail.”

“You would think.” She bent toward him, her creamy décolletage in plain view. “And then you thought to call me. That alone has me questioning your sanity.”

“You’re here, aren’t you?” As he knew she would be. “What does that tell me?” Hopefully, that she found him as irresistible as he found her.

“That maybe you should be questioning my sanity as well.”

“At this point I really don’t care,” he said, strangely apprehensive. He wasn’t used to feeling this on edge. But then again, he’d never been arrested for sexual assault before. “Will you do it or not?”

“Don’t you think you’d better tell me your side of the story?”

He shrugged. “It’s actually pretty simple. There’s a funding bill Mercier wants Congress to pass. It has to do with dredging harbors to deepen them for the new larger ships and tankers we’d like to purchase. In this region there’re two ports vying for consideration. Here in Philadelphia, and Elizabeth in North Jersey where Mercier has a terminal. Naturally, Mercier wants the funding for Elizabeth, but the bill has been stuck in committee so long, it’s becoming more and more apparent it’ll never get to the floor for a vote. Especially since Congress is due to adjourn this week until after the elections. After that the bill may as well be dead.”

“You seem to know a lot about American politics,” Charlotte said.

“When you’re working with international trade deals, learning what you’re up against becomes second nature.”
Just as when you’re working with women, you learn their vanity comes first.
“Just as I’m sure you’ve come to know every labor law on the books to be as good as you are.”

She tilted her head slightly, a subtle nod to his praise. “I suppose. But what does that have to do with you being in Philadelphia? You’d think you’d be haunting Elizabeth.”

“Not when one of the committee members is in town for a fund-raiser.”

“You mean Congresswoman Lilith Millwater?”

“Well, this is her district.”

She eyed him over. “Hence the tux. So you were here for a bit of a schmooze.”

“Only because nothing gets done in Washington anymore,” he said, shaking his head. “Used to be ninety percent of business was accomplished during cocktail hour. Now the righteous lot of you are afraid to be seen with a drink in your hand. You seemed to have forgotten the immense value of a tumbler of scotch. Why is that?” He looked at her, truly curious. “Why is it that Americans have created every type of pleasure for themselves but are vilified if they indulge?”

“Perhaps because some forget there’s a time and place for everything.”

“Perhaps they should realize it doesn’t have to hurt or taste bad to be good for you.”

“Is that what happened, Monsieur Renaud?” she asked. “Were you looking for lightning in your glass of champagne?” She crossed her arms in front of her, throwing up the gate. “Perhaps you were showing someone the value of pleasure only to have it explode in your face? Is that what happened when you took that lobbyist in the next room and tried to rip her clothes from her?”

He clenched his fists. “Bravo. You’ve well-proved you can read a police report.”

“And a good thing I did as you’re telling me nothing.” She huffed, tossing her hand in futility. “You know, out of everything you’ve said so far the one item you’ve omitted is that you’re innocent.” She eyed him speculatively. “Are you?”

He rose, coming around the desk, remaining at a respectful enough distance so he could read her reaction. “They say a good defense attorney doesn’t need to know that. That all they need are facts and evidence.”

“But I’m not a defense attorney, am I?”

Now she was just irritating him. “Don’t be flip with me, Charlotte.”

“And don’t play me for an idiot. The one thing I need more than facts and evidence is to absolutely believe in what I’m doing, and I can’t defend you if you lie to me. So I’m only going to ask you this once, and I expect absolute truthfulness.” She met his gaze squarely. “Are you guilty of what they’re accusing you of? Did you sexually assault that woman?”

A knock came at the door. “Ten minutes,” they heard the guard say.

He looked down on her. “Well, let me tell you . . .”

Chapter Two

By Any Other Name

Earlier at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel

Philadelphia

R
EX NEEDED A
drink like a car crash needed an ambulance.

The day had not started well in Marseille, not with the dockworkers threatening to strike again, and rumors of the board entertaining the idea of going public. Prospects weren’t looking much better on this side of the Atlantic either. Credit that to U.S. Representative Lilith Millwater, staring daggers at him from across the ballroom. What a couple, she and her horndog of a husband, the Honorable Stanley Millwater, a circuit court judge. They’d make a fine pair of blackmailers if they ever decided to leave politics, but then why give up when they’d honed their skill to a polish? For now the judge was busy keeping his mojo in form with a pair of female law clerks he was energetically chatting up. Rex caught Lilith’s glare and held it for a moment before he aimed toward the bar, knowing she’d soon follow.

He ordered scotch, narrowing it to Glenfiddich when asked for a preference. He told himself even before he left France that if he didn’t get what he came for on this trip, there’d be no point in pursuing it any further. And if that happened, he was going to need a good deal of Glenfiddich for the anger-fueled binge he intended in the aftermath. But he wasn’t about to give up yet. He had one last try in him. Too many jobs, too many billions of dollars depended on his success getting this harbor dredging bill passed, and this time he’d do whatever it’d take, even throw her own words back at her. So he took out his phone and turned on the voice recorder, setting it on the bar. By the time Lilith joined him, he was already sipping his scotch.

“Malbec—any kind,” she said to the bartender. When he left she turned to Rex. “You were supposed to be here last night. What happened?”

He took another sip, staring straight ahead, like he was listening to the jazz quartet or watching for a friend to arrive. “Sorry,
ma chérie
, but some people actually work more than two days a week. A strange concept, but true.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” Her gown rustled as she reached for the wine, a strand of silver-blonde hair slipping from her otherwise impeccable up-do. She lifted the glass to her lips. “I’ve missed you,” she said, sotto voce.

He glanced to her husband, his stomach jiggling as he laughed.
And my contributions to your campaign.
“So nice to be wanted, Lilith.”

“Two months,” she said. She snatched a napkin from the bar, blotting her lips. “That’s a long time to make me wait,” she said, looking down at the ruby-red oval her impression had left.

“
Oui
, it is. Even in the congressional time-space continuum. Two months more the goddamned bill’s been in that vacuum you call a committee.”

“That’s right. Go ahead and blame me,” she said, crushing the napkin and tossing it. “I’ve tried to get it through, but no one wants to budge. No one wants to admit to spending a dime these days, not with the midterm elections a month away.”

He swore under his breath. “Not with any election ten
years
away. It’s going to die in committee and you’re not going to lift a finger to save it, are you?”

“Who says I’ve given up?” She reached to her hair, setting the single strand back into place. “In fact we may get it out on the floor for a vote this week. We’re just waiting on one member.”

Rex knew exactly who. “It’s still Brendan Hitchell, isn’t it? Jesus, why haven’t you closed it with him by now?”

“I will. He’s assures me—”

“That it’s going to die.” Suddenly a girl across the ballroom caught his eye. She looked vaguely familiar. And she was staring at him hard, unwaveringly. He drained his scotch, signaling for another, the bartender filling it before he continued. “Madame Congresswoman, you need to tell me something new, or your campaign funding will dry up before it gets another dime out of me.”

“Rex. Please.” She gripped his arm, but one withering glance and she snapped it away. “I’m meeting Hitchell for lunch on Wednesday. He assures me we can work it out.” Her mouth crooked. “At the Hay-Adams. You do recall the hotel, don’t you?”

The last thing he wanted to do with her was take a trip down memory lane. “Get to the point, Lilith. Why is he taking so long?”

She took a sip of wine, waving dismissively. “Oh, he wants to tack some waivers onto the bill. But I’m certain we can work it out.”

“And you will. Because I’ll be there alongside you to make sure you do.”
I’ve seen that girl before. She most definitely looks familiar.

Panic flared in Lilith’s eyes, but she quickly suppressed it. “That’s not necessary. If you know anything about how D.C. works, you’d know it always goes down to the wire.”

“Perhaps. But unfortunately, time is a luxury I don’t have.”
The Hay-Adams Hotel
. . . “I’m going to your meeting with Hitchell. Twelve-thirty, the usual time?”

“Rex, please, it’s not necessary.” She laughed lightly, but he could tell it was forced. “I can handle him. If you show up, he may get suspicious.”

“About what, Lilith? He’d have to be an idiot to not know I want this dredging bill passed. Why should he care if I’m there?” He leaned in, gifting her with his most seductive smile. “Are you afraid he might read more into it?”

“What’s to read?” she said, eyes flashing. “Tell me the truth. You wouldn’t even have bothered to come here if it wasn’t for the bill. You didn’t come to see me.”

“Who says I didn’t?” His finger brushed her arm. “Didn’t I just cross an ocean for you?”

“Oh, don’t tease me, Rex.” She turned to the bar, looking into her wine. “I really did miss you. Why, I was as excited as a teenager getting ready tonight, knowing I’d see you. Rex . . .” Her face softened. “I’m not leaving for Washington until tomorrow. How about I come to your room later and we could . . .” She squeezed his hand. “We can talk about the bill. Then we can both take the train down in the morning.”

“Talk? Seriously?” He swirled the amber liquid in his glass. “That’d be a first.”

Her jaw tightened, her anger returning. “All right—fuck, then. You remember fucking me, don’t you?”

He could see the rage building inside of her, which was precisely why he couldn’t ever let his guard down. Lilith Millwater was as useful as she was unpredictable. Which was also why he’d have to take every precaution. He gripped the bar rail and bent into her. “Oh yes, Madame Congresswoman. I remember fucking you and fucking you often. It’s what you required. That, and regular contributions to your favorite political charity—yourself. But I’m here tonight to tell you I’m turning off the tap unless you get that bill out for a vote.” He picked up his phone. “And this is to make sure you do.”

Her jaw dropped. “Rex,” she whispered, her hand flying to his wrist, “you
didn’t
.”

“Didn’t what, Lilith? Besides insure the price of doing business?”

“Who do you think you are?” she said, her voice seething. “If that ever gets out, I’m ruined.”

“This is just between the two of us, of course. You get that bill out for a vote, and whatever’s on here goes away.” Rex removed her hand, slipping the phone into his inner pocket.

“You son of a bitch,” she uttered, her throat emitting that tiny, desperate sound women often made before they broke into tears. “You’re a cold, hard man, Rex. Is this how you treat your friends?”

“Friends bleed the bottom line,
chérie
. I buy acquaintances when I need them.” He took one last pull on his scotch. “
Bonsoir
, Lilith. Until lunch on Wednesday.” He set the glass to the bar and walked off, leaving her white with rage.

Not that she had a right to be angrier than he. He had spent nearly a year cultivating Lilith in order to get that bill through, only to have her end up whining and simpering like a thirteen-year-old.
Goddamned
ridiculous
, he thought, weaving through the crowded ballroom. This was what happened when women tried to play the same game as men. When they’d get their emotions all mixed up with what they wanted and what they needed to do, when they should know the two were totally separate things.

He stopped, staring straight ahead.
I have seen that girl before.

The
Hay-Adams
—
of course
. All at once the memory tumbled back.

Along with the realization he could always feel miserable later.

The girl pushed away from the piano. Their gazes met and she smiled It
had been
the Hay-Adams where he first met her. She was the little lobbyist he’d met in the bar.

This was exactly what he needed. Nothing like the balm of a warm body. He aimed for her, grabbing a champagne from a butlered tray of flutes. She kept her gaze locked on his, conveniently moving to a velvet settee near a darkened corner.

Perfect
.

He didn’t waste any time. “Haven’t we met before?” he said.

She looked up, her expression noncommittal, her long, straight hair curling under the bodice of her low-cut gown. “My goodness,” she said dryly. “
Très originale
.”

He stared her down. “Apparently not,” he said and so lethally, even he was surprised at the speed her jaw dropped. “
Pardon
moi, mademoiselle
,” he said. “
Je suis vraiment désolé
.”

“Oh no—I
do
remember, Monsieur Renaud,” she said, jumping to her feet, her hand on his sleeve. “You bought me a Gibson and you had—a scotch, wasn’t it? A single malt?”

That impressed him. Her memory was certainly better than his. “I believe it was.”

“It was. I haven’t forgotten . . . You see . . .” She tilted her head, blushing as she smiled coyly. “I’ve been hoping we’d run into each other again.”

Mon Dieu
, she was delicious little thing. Still on the juicy side of twenty-two. He recalled very little of their conversation, only that he wanted to take her back to his room. Just as he wanted to now.

“Well, it looks like you got your wish . . .” Rex racked his brain. “ . . . Amanda, isn’t it?”

She beamed. “You remembered, Mr. Renaud. I’m flattered.”

“Please, call me Rex.” He was probably old enough to be her father. “So . . .” They began to stroll. “What brings you to Philadelphia?”

“I’m
from
Philadelphia,” she said, grabbing her own champagne from a passing tray. Her hip brushed against him before they squeezed through another bar line for drinks. “I suppose I didn’t mention it.”

“Visiting your parents, then?” he said, rejoining her on the other side.

She laughed. “That’s as good a reason as any, I suppose. But actually I’m here with my boss.” She turned, her bare shoulder pressing against his arm. “There he is, over there. See?” She held up her flute, one manicured fingernail indicating the direction.

“Oh. Really,” he said, not seeing and certainly not caring. The only thing he did see was how pert and perfect her body was encased in that burgundy gown, and how much he’d like to hike it over her hips. “So you’re working then?”

She gritted her teeth. “Seems like I always am—ooh! I think I just made the mistake of making eye contact with my boss.” She whirled around. “Don’t look now, but standing next to him there’s this flabby old man with really bad breath he wants me to keep schmoozing. But I’ve already spent an hour with him and the only thing I got out of it was an ass grab and his cell number.” Her nose wrinkled. “Ew. Look at that gut. Talk about gross.”

Rex silently gave thanks for his personal trainer. “You poor thing.”

“I know! And he wasn’t the only one who grabbed me tonight.” She ran her hand down the slope of her
derrière
. “This crowd’s like wading through an octopus tank. I bet I won’t be able to sit down for a week.” She frowned. “I’d duck out of here, but I’m getting paid for tonight, and with all the student loans I have, I really can’t turn down the money.”

He was all about seizing opportunity. Rex leaned into her. “We could go hide.”

Her eyes lit. “Could we? Where?”

“I’m not sure, but there’s the exit.” Which led to the elevator right up to his suite.

She thought a moment. “Oh! I know. There’s some conference rooms right outside that door. But first, why don’t we—”

She gulped back her champagne, Rex doing likewise before they stopped a butler. They replaced their empty flutes with two fresh ones.

“Perhaps if we stood here long enough the tray of canapés would also pass by?” he said, his stomach rumbling at the thought. He really didn’t remember the last time he ate.

“Who has time!” Amanda chirped. She grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the exit. “Let’s go!”

They scuttled from the ballroom and into a conference room right out the exit, closing the door behind them. Inside was a long table surrounded by chairs and on one side, a credenza with a towering bouquet of fresh flowers, on the other, the city skyline shining through the casement windows. Amanda whirled around, sitting on the edge of the table.

Rex went to the flowers and plucking out a rose, brought it back to her.

“Mademoiselle,” he said, handing it to her. “
Pour vous
.”

“
Merci
,” she said, bringing it to her nose. She laughed. “And with that, I think I’ve exhausted my French.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’ve enough English for the both of us.” Actually, he preferred if they didn’t talk at all.

She slid the rose against her jaw, regarding him. “Then what do you suppose we should do? Now that we’re properly hidden.” She leaned back on her arm, the thin strap of her dress, sliding off. She glanced toward it. “Oops.”

“Lose something?” Rex said, moving closer, slowly sipping the champagne.

She glanced to the strap. “This is what happens when a fat man sits on your dress. Got all stretched out when I tried to get up.” She set down her flute, slipping the strap back into place. “There,” she said. “All fixed. Or if you’d rather . . .” She flipped it back down, then, looking to the other shoulder, flipped that one down, too. “Or better yet . . .” She gathered the two straps together in front and tugged, both easily breaking loose from the back. Then she let go, the bodice falling to her waist.