Release Day: The Laws of Seduction by Gwen Jones
The Laws of Seduction
by
Gwen Jones
Description
When Rex Renaud, the COO of Mercier Shipping, is arrested for a crime he didn’t commit, he knows he’ll need a miracle to clear his name…and feminist lawyer, Charlotte Andreko, is the perfect woman for the job.
Charlotte has built her career defending pro-bono clients against womanizers like Rex Renaud, and she’d much rather let him sweat it out in a jail cell then defend him in court. Yet Rex swears he’s been set up, and when he offers her a shocking sum of money in exchange for her legal counsel, the financial security is too tempting to resist. The court dubs Rex a serious flight risk-how many people have their own jet?-and he’s released on one condition: Charlotte’s his new jailer and he’s stuck with her until his arraignment.
But when a violent threat sends Rex and Charlotte on the run, neither is prepared for the explosive chemistry and red-hot passion that flares between them as they hunt for the truth about his arrest.
Charlotte has built her career defending pro-bono clients against womanizers like Rex Renaud, and she’d much rather let him sweat it out in a jail cell then defend him in court. Yet Rex swears he’s been set up, and when he offers her a shocking sum of money in exchange for her legal counsel, the financial security is too tempting to resist. The court dubs Rex a serious flight risk-how many people have their own jet?-and he’s released on one condition: Charlotte’s his new jailer and he’s stuck with her until his arraignment.
But when a violent threat sends Rex and Charlotte on the run, neither is prepared for the explosive chemistry and red-hot passion that flares between them as they hunt for the truth about his arrest.
Chapter One
Alpha Nailed
Center City District
Police Headquarters
Philadelphia
Monday, September 29
11:35 p.m.
In her fifteen years as an attorney
Charlotte had never let anyone throw her off her game, and she wasn’t
about to let it happen now.
So why was she shaking in her
Louboutins?
“Put your briefcase and purse on the
belt, keys in the tray, and step through,” the officer said, waving
her into the metal detector.
She complied, cold washing through her
as the gate behind her clanged shut. She glanced over her shoulder,
thinking how much better she liked it when her interpretation of bar
remained singular.
“Name . . . ?” asked the other cop
at the desk.
“Charlotte Andreko.”
He ran down the list, checking her off,
then held out his hand, waggling it. “Photo ID and attorney card.”
She grabbed her purse from the other
side of the metal detector and dug into it, producing both. After the
officer examined them he sat back with a smirk. “So you’re here
for that Frenchie dude, huh? What’s he—some kinda big deal?”
She eyed him coolly, hefting her
briefcase from the belt. “They’re all just clients to me.”
“That so.” He dropped his gaze,
fingering her IDs. “How come he don’t have to sit in a cell?
Why’d he get a private room?”
Why are you scoping my legs, you big
douche? “It’s your jail. Why’d you give him one?”
He cocked a brow. “You’re pretty
sassy, ain’t you?”
“And you’re wasting my time,” she
said, swiping back her IDs. God, times like these I really hate
men. “Are you going to let me through or what?”
He didn’t answer. He just leered at
her with that simpering grin as he handed her a visitor’s badge,
reaching back to open the next gate. “Thank you.” She clipped it
on, following the other cop to one more door at the other side of a
vestibule.
“It’s late,” the officer said,
pressing a code into a keypad, “so we can’t give you much time.”
“I won’t need much.” After all,
how long would it take to say, No fucking way.
“Then just ring the buzzer by the
door when you’re ready to leave.” When he opened it and she
stepped in, her breath immediately caught at the sight of the man
behind it. She clutched her briefcase, so tightly she could feel the
blood rushing from her fingers.
“Bonsoir, Mademoiselle
Andreko,” Rex Renaud said.
Even with his large body cramped behind
a metal table, the Mercier Shipping COO never looked more imposing,
and in spite of his circumstances, never more elegant. The last time
they met it’d been in Boston, negotiating the separation terms of
his company’s lone female captain, Dani Lloyd, who had recently
become Marcel Mercier’s wife. But with his cashmere Kiton bespoke
now replaced by Gucci black tie, he struck an odd contrast in that
concrete room, yet still exuding a coiled and barely contained
strength. He folded his arms across his chest as his black eyes fixed
on hers, Charlotte getting the distinct impression he more or less
regarded her as cornered prey.
All at once the door behind her slammed
shut and her heart beat so violently she nearly called the officer
back. Instead she planted her heels and forced herself to focus,
staring the Frenchman down. “All right, I’m here,” she said en
français. “Not that I know why.”
“J’ai oublié que tu avez parlé
ma langue,” he said. “But we’ll keep to English so there’s
no mistaking my meaning.” His immaculate patent-leather shoe nudged
the chair opposite. “Have a seat, s’il vous plaît.” He
tsked. “I mean—please,” he added, smiling brilliantly.
If there was anything she remembered
about Rex Renaud—which was nearly everything because he wasn’t
easy to forget—it was how lethally he wielded his physicality. How
he worked those inky eyes, jet-black hair, and Greek-statue
handsomeness into a kind of immobilizing presence, leaving her weak
in the knees every time his gaze locked on hers. Which meant she
needed to work twice as hard to keep her wits sharp enough to match
his, as no way would she allow him the upper hand. Yet even though he
was in jail, even with him jammed behind that metal table, and
herself looming over him, it was still a battle. Because with every
advantage on her side he still dominated the room, the situation, the
very airspace between them, so much so that Charlotte had to curl her
hand around the back of the chair to steady herself.
Too much coffee today, she
reasoned. That’s all it is. Even though she knew that didn’t
even figure.
He nudged the chair again, his collar
opened where his bow tie had been, his only concession to the
situation. “Please sit. You heard the flic. We haven’t
much time.”
“We haven’t any time at all.” She
steeled herself. “It’s not like we have anything to discuss.”
“Non?” His gaze offered her
a challenge. “Then why did you come?”
She smiled, with delicious, malicious
intent. She waited a long time to wound him—and all men like
him who dismissed women so easily—and as swiftly and as deeply as
she could. “Maybe for the pleasure of seeing you behind bars.”
“Really,” he said, his eyes
darkening as he drew closer. “Though the idea of pleasuring you
does hold a certain appeal.”
Heat streaked through her as she
slammed her briefcase atop the table. “Then take a good look,
because my watching you rot in here is about as close as you’ll
ever be to getting me off.”
He sat back, amused. “The lady finds
her bliss in the strangest places. Though if watching people in pain
is your thing, I am acquainted with a few gentlemen who’d pay you a
nice piece of change to put all that aggression to use.” He cast
her a glance that near stripped the clothes from her body. “I
believe all you’ll need is a good deal of leather and some rather
kinky boots.”
Her jaw dropped. “Are you—you—”
She waved her hand in front of her.
“Me? Why non. I do like a bit
of spark in my women, but I always prefer it on top.” His eyes
hooded. “Metaphorically speaking, that is.”
“You bastard piece of shit,” she
uttered, pressing her knuckles to the worn steel. “I had to be out
of my mind to come here when it’s clear you’re guilty of
everything you’re accused of.”
“And what’s that?” he said,
rising. “I’d love to hear it out of your mouth.”
“Of sexual assault,” she spit out.
“Of everything vile and sick and violent that men and their
disgusting appetites are capable.”
“Oh, how right you are, mon amie.
How truly loathsome we are. Repulsive animals.” He leaned in, so
closely she could feel his breath on her cheek, his eyes malevolent
and cold. “Men are indeed beasts, always stooping to the lowest
common denominator. Using brutality to get what they want, pugnacious
and vicious to the end. Unlike women, who’ve crawled out of the
swamp and up the evolutionary ladder to become so much more
ruthlessly efficient. Who needs fists when you have feminine wiles?”
He leaned in even closer. “Why shed blood when you can suck out a
man’s soul.”
“What do you want from me?” she
said, backing away. “Why would you ask me to defend you, knowing
what I think of men like you?”
“Because I believe you’ll want to,”
he said, his eyes bleeding candor and reason and some indefinable
quality she found, God help her, unable to resist. “After you hear
what I have to say.”
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Author Info
GWEN JONES, is an MFA, HEA addict, politics geek, and part-time native of the Jersey Shore. She lives with her husband, Frank, and the absolute cutest cats in the world, Gracie and Tommy, near Trenton, New Jersey.
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