Chapter Four
Melinda scanned the street one more time.
Nothing. Not a single sighting of Mr. Excalibur or Louis all day.
Two days ago, Louis had stood at her door inviting her to their apartment for drinks on Saturday.
Tonight. She’d checked the security feed.
He hadn’t lied when he’d said he’d invited all the neighbors.
More than the ones on this floor. Mr. Excalibur had popped up on the security feed, knocking on doors on the floor above and the one below.
Maybe they were nothing more than new neighbors being friendly.
Louis’ words came back to her. You’ll want to taste my nuts, I promise you. More than friendly. His cheeky grin as he’d spoken had left no doubt it wasn’t an unfortunate mistake because of the language barrier.
She didn’t know what had possessed her to open her door.
Melinda could’ve ignored his knocking, pretended she wasn’t at home.
Perhaps it was the impulse to treat neighbors as family, something her mother had instilled in her since she was old enough to walk.
Or the desire to see him in the flesh, face to face.
Not the quick glance at his back and glutes she’d caught in the bakery.
Or the distorted view of him through the peephole.
No. In truth, she was curious. They were identical twins, but how different were they, really?
The more times she viewed the security feed, studying the two men—too many times in the last two days—the more differences she found.
Louis, with his loping gait and ready smile, was playful, bouncing to the beat of whatever music he listened to in his ear buds as he hit the stairwell, greeting other tenants with a big grin and an exchange of words.
Mr. Excalibur, with his fancy watch and serious expression, strode with purpose, acknowledging others with a brief nod, more reserved than his twin, but his intensity was no less disarming than Louis’ boyish charm.
They were a powerhouse pair. Though the security feed was grainy, it hadn’t diminished the effect of their taut asses and defined pecs in those snug jeans and fitted black shirts. Hell. If she watched any more footage of them, she’d soon be offering to have their babies.
When she wasn’t drooling over their black-and-white images going to and from their apartment, she’d been digging into their identities.
Trying to establish who these men were, running them through all the software she could think of, and trolling through social media platforms looking for them.
She’d even hacked into the online sales data of Roger Dubius, for goodness’ sake.
Two sleepless nights, hours in front of her screens.
Having a name helped, but she’d learned very little.
Every morsel hard won. What she’d found would barely justify the file she’d created for it.
Louis and Pierre Montagne. Thirty years old.
Unmarried. Residents of Paris, France. Employees of Wolf Enterprises.
The more she dug into Wolf Enterprises, the more convinced she became it was a shadow company, a front.
Created for whatever purpose they were in London?
Possibly. What they did for this company also remained a mystery.
She’d found a few photos of them on social media—not their platforms, for they had none she could find—looking sexy as hell in designer suits.
They had taste and money. Never alone, always with women.
Beautiful women. Usually sandwiched between the two of them at events, all high-end.
Never the same woman twice. Her body lit up every time she looked at those photos, imagining what happened when the cameras were gone.
The implication was clear. These twins liked to share.
It wasn’t as if she hadn’t had that exact thought.
Every time she saw them on the security feed.
Every time she’d lain in bed, her eyes closed, her hand sliding down her body and into her sleep pants, visualizing them slipping between her sheets.
Was that all they were? Two playboy twins? That they’d purchased an apartment down the hall from her merely a coincidence? Nothing to do with her client?
Her blank screen, the victim of malware, taunted her.
She would feel much better if she knew what Wolf Enterprises specialized in.
It had a predatory ring about it. Maybe it was an ultra-discreet security firm.
Or a private investigator for the wealthy.
But had the malware attack come from them, or from someone else?
Melinda rubbed her sternum. She had a bad feeling about all this, and nothing good came from ignoring bad feelings.
Her mother had. She’d trusted instead in the matchmakers, the portents, the complimentary horoscopes, and the good family she would marry into and she’d ended up in a living nightmare.
Melinda was not going to follow down that road. Not if she had any say in it.
She approached her building with a meal to go from her favorite noodle bar and three tins of jasmine tea, once again on alert.
This morning, she’d had a call from the refuge, forcing her out of her apartment.
Another woman needed her skills and Melinda couldn’t—wouldn’t—turn her away. She’d also run out of jasmine tea.
This time she’d taken precautions—switching trains, getting off at a different station and walking a few extra blocks—both on the journey there and on the trip home. Not once had she spotted one of the twins, or anyone else, following her.
Melinda pushed through the entrance doors to an empty foyer. She tapped her foot while the lift took an eternity to return to the ground floor. When the doors opened, she stepped inside and punched the number for her floor. The doors slid closed, then bounced back open again.
Her heart stopped. Two men in familiar snug jeans and black Henleys stepped into the lift.
“We meet again,” said Mr. Excalibur—Pierre—taking up position to her right.
Louis stepped to her left as the doors slid closed again.
Their bodies loomed beside her, their heady aftershave filling her lungs and eliciting a flurry of goosebumps across her skin.
The space closed in and the lift, rated for a maximum of fifteen people, seemed far too small for the three of them.
Louis took an exaggerated sniff of the air. “Mm, something smells good.”
His voice rumbled through her, and her foot tap-tapped. She pressed it to the floor to make it stop.
Pierre leaned closer, brushing against her shoulder, and sniffed the air. “Oui. Divine.”
Melinda flushed and fiddled with her glasses while the elevator trundled slower than dial-up internet.
“What do you have there?” Louis peered into her bag. “Something spicy?”
He gave her one of those high-wattage smiles she’d seen on the security feed, but in person, with him standing so damn close, the effect was a hundred times more powerful. Melinda locked her knees to prevent both feet from jiggling.
“Uhm…shacha noodles with spicy sausage, tofu and vegetables.” Melinda almost groaned aloud. Why didn’t I just say noodles? He doesn’t need to know my personal preferences.
“Mmm,” Louis rumbled, rocking back and forward on his feet. “I like spicy, don’t you, Pierre?”
Unlike his twin, he stood still, his arms crossed, frowning at the control panel. “I thought you lived on the eighth floor?”
The lit button for floor nine blazed away like an accusation. “Oh, the other day. Right. I…” She wracked her brain for a plausible excuse. “I had to visit one of the other tenants on the eighth floor.”
Louis swung to face his twin, bringing his pecs right into her line of vision and really, really close. “She lives in apartment thirty-four. Down the hall from us. I’ve invited her over to taste my nuts tonight.” He dropped his gaze to Melinda. “You are coming, no?”
Melinda flushed at the reference to Louis’ nuts again as she ogled his chest. So close. Within touching distance. Close enough, if she were to lean forward, she could take a bite.
Oh, God. Did I just…
Melinda took a step back and ran into Pierre.
Pierre placed gentle hands on her shoulders. “Salut, neighbor.” His breath whispered across her head. “I do hope you will come tonight.”
Her breathing stuttered and her heart raced. Was she mistaken in hearing the double entendre in his words? Or was it wishful thinking on her part?
Louis hooked a finger under her chin and raised her focus from his pecs to his face. “Going to tell us your name, chérie? Seeing as we live down the hall, we should be on a first-name basis.”
Melinda opened her mouth, but no sound came out. He rubbed his thumb across her bottom lip, his gaze dipping. He leaned closer.
Is he going to…? Do I want him to? That was a loud hell, yes.
Pierre dropped a hand to her hip and pressed into her from behind. All that taut muscle against her shoulder blades, the heat of his hand through her sweats, the prod of…
The lift ground to a halt, and the door slid open with a whoosh.
Pierre’s grip tightened on her hip. “Your name, mon amour?”
“Melinda,” she blurted out.
“Melinda.” Louis smiled, a big, beautiful smile that could light up the world.
It certainly lit up parts of her body.
He dropped his hand and backed out of the lift. “Come join us tonight.” He winked. “You won’t regret it.”
Pierre released her, too, and stepped out of the elevator. He glanced back at her, the heat in his gaze unmistakable. “Until tonight, Melinda.”
The elevator doors closed and Melinda stood on legs as wobbly as a bowl of over-cooked noodles.
She pressed the button, the door slid open again and she peered out into the corridor.
Empty. The door down the hall, closed. With quick steps, she reached her apartment, keyed the lock and slammed her door behind her.
She punched in her alarm code and slumped to the floor, her heart still racing.
Manchu trotted over with a soft meow and rubbed against her knee.
“Hey, buddy.” She picked him up and cradled him to her, listening to the purr rumble through his chest. “Things would be easier if you were the only man I had to worry about, hm?”
Manchu’s amber eyes regarded her.
“These men are trouble, Manchu. But what type of trouble…” She sighed. “I wish I knew.”