Page 49 of Inside the Maelstrom: Part One
“Let’s go, lovebirds.”
I looked up at Otto, and noted he was just as shocked. Hmm. He shook his head, ushering me out of the apartment.
Luckily, our apartment had underground parking because the French did not believe in leaving a buffer space. It was nose to bumper if you had to park on the street. Sampson climbed into the front of the car, and I was sandwiched between Otto and Hendrick in the back.
Let me just say, it was an enviable position to be in.
Librairie Jules Verne was in the Latin Quarter, and I was going to beg Evan to drive past the Pantheon and Notre Dame on the way back to our apartment. We finally made it to the right area and drove past the actual bookstore five times looking for a parking spot in the narrow, one way streets.
Evan was beginning to mutter under his breath before he finally found a place to park, and while it was a little walk away, I didn’t mind. The streets were beautiful here, the setting sun making the white stone buildings look blush-colored. My breath caught in my chest as I took in the moment.
Paris. I was in Paris.
Sampson rested his hand possessively on my spine, walking closely beside me as we strolled down an honest-to-goodness French lane.
The bookstore was everything you’d want a bookstore to be. It had a brown and tan striped awning over a huge plate window displaying secondhand books. Hand-painted lettering on the glass declared it the Jules Verne Bookstore—but in French.
“I’ll wait here,” Evan grunted, and Sampson slapped him on the shoulder.
Hendrick pushed open the door, and a little bell tinkled above it. It smelled musty, like that indescribable antique book scent, and I inhaled deeply. Used bookstores had a magic that normal bookstores lacked. It was always like being transported to a sepia-colored paradise.
“Bonjour.” A pretty woman with straight blonde hair and red lipstick greeted us. Gosh, she was beautiful. I wished I had the confidence to pull off her understated sensuality.
I winced, because I was about to sound dumb. “I’m sorry, I—”
Otto let out an easy flow of French that had me gaping. The woman happily answered, directing us toward the back. “You speak French?” I whispered, and he chuckled.
“Yep. And Mandarin, Spanish and German.”
“Show-off,” Sampson muttered, and Otto punched him in the back.
We weaved in a single file through the shelves of books to an entire section for Jules Verne. “Holy shit, there must be a hundred books here,” Hendrick whispered, and I looked at it, disheartened.
How were we going to find the right fucking book?
Sampson nodded. “Otto and I will take the top corner; you two start at the bottom corner. We’ll meet in the middle.”
I shrugged off my jacket and pulled out the first book.
Chapter26
Hendrick
Islumped back against the shelves, watching Aviva as she checked books, mainly so I could look at her ass. It was a great ass. I wasn’t nearly done with it yet.
Sam looked over his shoulder at me. “You could help, Drix.”
I raised both brows and waved a hand toward the gloriousness of Viva’s peach butt. “And miss the view?”
She gave me a dirty look, and I grinned back at her. I kept having vivid flashbacks to her mouth wrapped around Otto’s dick, and Sampson buried deep inside her. I wanted that too, fuck it. I wish we could forget this Vernian bullshit and just stay in Paris, fucking and eating, drinking and laughing. Better than this goddamn wild goose chase for some pompous asshole who thought he was Hemingway.
“Found it,” Sampson muttered, a book flipped open in his hands. He studied Aviva as she snatched the book out of his hands. Her eyes scanned the words like she was gobbling them up like candy, and for some reason it irritated the hell out of me.
“Out loud, Viva. Don’t leave us in suspense.”
“It says, ‘There’s a fine line between courage and insanity. Penny Lane, Calcutta.’ That's it.”
“India? You have to be joking. I thought we were hitting up Europe.”
