The Laws of Seduction: A French Kiss Novel by Jones Gwen

Author:Jones, Gwen [Jones, Gwen]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2014-11-17T16:00:00+00:00

VIVIANE MERCIER WAS at it again. He raked back his hair with an exhausted sigh. When the hell would she finally give up?

It had to be her. Who else did he know that rode around in a chauffeured Rolls-Royce? Still, it made no sense to worry Charlotte until he was sure what she was up to. Which could be almost anything.

Rex knew she wouldn’t answer his call, not with this cheap pay-go phone number, so he’d send her a text instead:

I don’t know what your game is, but I’m on to you. See you soon, chérie.

He kind of liked the look of that. Seemed much more sinister. Which was how she liked to operate. He also knew she wouldn’t answer his text either, but he hit send anyway, then went to take a piss. If the Mercier matriarch was part of this fiasco, then maybe things were finally starting to make sense. But she was only point A to a very distant point B. The real trick would be in figuring out what—or who—was the connector. And that would prove very complicated indeed.

He flushed the toilet, bracing his hand against the wall. Jesus Christ, when would she ever give up? A lesser mortal would’ve been crushed by the weight of that vendetta a long time ago, but there she was, still carrying it around. When would she ever find peace? When would she ever leave him alone to find his?

He was a businessman, for Christ’s sake. He was supposed to sit behind a desk, consult with his board members. Take conference calls. Drink martinis at lunch. Give speeches at consortiums and conventions in Paris and New York. Pore over reports. Vacation on the Riviera. He loved what he did, right down to the very last spreadsheet. And he’d been told he was very, very good at it. Which was only logical. It was what he was raised to be. It’s what Marcel was born to do. Why didn’t she just leave them be and let them do it?

Though when had anything gone according to plan?

He turned to the sink, washing his hands and splashing his face with cold water. If it had, he’d be married by now to a beautiful but empty-headed woman, who’d run his home and bear him a boy and a girl, a woman he’d shower with diamonds and Prada so she’d look good on his arm at corporate galas. Be an asset to his image, an icon to all the other corporate wives, and the object of envy to his friends. No independent thinking wanted or required. Well, as long as her independent thoughts aligned with his.

He leaned into the sink, brushing his teeth before he dried his face and shut off the light. When he went back to the bedroom she was waiting for him in the dark, the pale light from the street gilding her. She didn’t look or act or think like anyone he’d long been told to look for and, he suspected, she never would.

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