Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 110103 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 551(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110103 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 551(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
I practically rushed past her door on my way downstairs. I didn’t want to be caught, and I couldn’t bear the thought of overhearing them getting it on. I wasn’t sure why the thought of hearing them was too much for me when I’d already seen Santino bang Mrs. Alfera and Mrs. Clark. Maybe because I felt like we’d been getting closer over the last few weeks, especially today.
I took a taxi to Notre Dame and paid cash, in case Santino was tracking my credit card. I recognized Maurice at once. He leaned against the stone wall at the bank of the Seine. He was dressed in dark chinos and a white T-shirt, and held a bottle of wine in his hand.
I smiled and greeted him with the usual number of three kisses. The “Faire la bise” how the French called it.
“You look beautiful,” Maurice said.
“Thanks.”
He glanced behind me with an ironic smile. “Where’s your bodyguard?”
“Busy with a lonely, married French woman.”
He laughed. “He’ll be busy for a while then, huh?”
I laughed too because it would have been weird if I’d acted annoyed. To my ears, it sounded horribly fake but Maurice didn’t seem to notice.
“I’ll keep you busy,” he said with a slow smile, lifting the bottle with Viognier, one of my favorite wines.
“I’m counting on it.”
I knocked at Veronique’s door. When she opened it, she made a badly played surprised face, closing a bathrobe over her very naked body. It was a lovely body, one few men would say no to, but it left me annoyingly cold.
“Oh, I didn’t expect you so soon. I took a shower.”
“Should I come back later?” I asked, even if I knew the answer.
She grabbed my upper arm with a dismissive laugh. “Oh no. Don’t be ridiculous.”
I stepped into the corridor of her apartment. It was smaller than the one I shared with Anna but still not cheap. Her husband probably earned good money on that oil rig while his lonely wife sought the company of men like me.
“Come in,” she said, leading me toward the kitchen. “Maybe you can take a look at my table as well? It’s wobbly.”
I nodded and got down on my haunches to inspect the table. Veronique positioned herself right beside me, her bathrobe slowly becoming loose and revealing long legs and the hint of a shaved pussy.
I peered up at her face. It spoke a clear language. She wanted a night full of hot sex, and she knew I was a man who could provide it.
Problem was, my head wasn’t down here. I couldn’t stop thinking about Anna, about the conversation we’d shared, and about the way my pulse picked up whenever she flirted with me. Anna too wanted me for the fun I could provide. I’d never minded being the fling-kind-of-guy but with Anna, the idea simply didn’t sit well with me.
Veronique touched my shoulder. “Santino?”
I glanced at her pussy once more. I could spend the night banging a lonely, horny woman, or I could return upstairs. For what?
I wasn’t sure what I wanted anymore. Anna. Definitely. That was the damn problem.
I shoved to my feet. “The table is fine. Let me check the window now.” I strode toward the window, which was jammed but I couldn’t see how I could fix it.
“Do you want a glass of wine?”
I shook my head. “I should go.”
Not waiting for a reply, I left the apartment and hurried up the stairs. Anna had become my cockblock.
I went to unlock the door but it wasn’t locked anymore. I shoved open the door and stormed in. Anna wasn’t in the bathroom. I only found her nightgown thrown over the bathtub rim. I whirled around and checked her bedroom, even if I knew I wouldn’t find her there either. What I found was her cell phone. She probably suspected the tracker we’d put in it. Did she even realize how dangerous it was for her to run around without a way to contact me?
“Damn it!” I roared as I rushed back down the stairs and knocked at Veronique’s door. She opened a moment later, looking confused. “I need your Vespa. My sister’s run off and I need to go looking for her.”
She took the key from a hook on the wall. “Do you want me to call the police?”
“No,” I clipped as I grabbed the key of the fucking Vespa and hurried down the stairs. Taking a car would take longer, so even if I hated the yellow-colored thing, it would do me a better service if I wanted to find Anna as quickly as possible.
I meandered through traffic, regretting not checking Anna’s text. Where would a French Casanova like Maurice take Anna? Probably some cozy nook where he could put his paws all over her.
Fuck, and what if something happened to her? I’d never forgive myself.