Chapter Seven #2
She felt around for her glasses, kicked her shin on the bed, then found them on the chest of drawers.
Ignoring the throbbing of her shin, she smoothed her hair down and set her glasses in place.
“Thanks for…” She waved her hand in the air, indicating the drink, the food, the mind-blowing orgasm she’d almost had.
She cracked the door open, a sliver of light landing on the bed. Neither Pierre nor Louis had moved. Pierre put his fingers in his mouth. The two fingers he’d had inside her. He held her gaze as he sucked on them.
A guttural groan from Louis. “I bet she tastes good.”
A rumble of agreement from Pierre.
Hell.
Melinda flung open the door and raced down the corridor before she gave in to the demands of her body and did something stupid. Like throw herself back on their bed and at their mercy.
She said hasty goodbyes to her neighbors, begging an early morning start, ignoring a few raised eyebrows, and fled the twins’ apartment before either of them surfaced from the bedroom.
Sucking in deep lungfuls of air not tainted by aftershave and hot male, she let herself into her apartment, punched in her alarm code and shut the door.
But she couldn’t close out the memory of what had transpired, nor the unquenched need coursing through her body.
She threw her purse on the sofa and stumbled to her bathroom, splashed cold water on her face, and stared at her flushed reflection in the mirror.
What was I thinking?
She’d accepted their invitation for a reason.
To find something—a laptop, a phone, or any other evidence—that would clue her in on what the twins were up to.
What they were doing here in London. In this building.
Instead… She clenched her thighs. There was no doubt in her mind sex with one—or both—twins, would rock her world.
And distract her from her concerns. Had that been their intention?
Or had they merely taken advantage of finding her alone and in Pierre’s bedroom?
She dried her face and slapped the hand towel down on the vanity. Well, she’d not found a single piece of their tech. She’d not found out anything. That left her no more informed than she had been when she’d left her apartment.
Melinda had two choices. Take care of her current situation with battery operated relief, or channel her pent-up energy into something that might be useful.
She grabbed her phone, let herself into her office and booted up her screens.
On the security feed, all was quiet. She checked her chat channel. No response from her client.
Her lack of results in the apartment meant she was doing this the cyber way. She should’ve done it in the first place. She was getting sloppy.
Her dark screen mocked her. She should get started on that, too.
Melinda set to work. The way her body was humming, she wouldn’t be sleeping.
If she found something incriminating, if the twins were responsible for the malware?
Manchu jumped onto her lap, butting his head against her chin.
Then she’d take Manchu and run. Warn her client, and hunker down somewhere.
Give herself a new identity. Start again.
She’d done it once. With her mother gone, there’d been no reason to stay at home.
She was older now, more experienced. And this time, she wouldn’t be starting with nothing.
If the malware came from someone else? If the twins were nothing more sinister than new neighbors?
Her body lit up at the memory of their mouths, their hands on her.
Melinda checked the security feed. Guests were leaving the party.
Pierre stood in the doorway with Mr. Patel.
The old man said his goodbyes, crossed the hall and disappeared into his apartment.
Louis joined Pierre, leaning on the door frame.
They both looked up, staring straight at the camera.
Straight at her. Melinda caught her breath and held it, unable to look away.
How she wanted it to not be them. Her body especially.
But they were too aware of the security cameras for them to not be up to something. Aware like she was. Like a hacker.
Melinda turned off the screen with the security feed, blanking out the distraction.
She had work to do. She was going to crack their hidden SSID, find their IP address and dig into Wolf Enterprises.
Pin these men down. Melinda would have her answers.
When she was done, she’d know everything there was to know about them, right down to their shoe size.
It was an hour later, deep into her search, that Melinda remembered Louis’ words.
“Hush, my little pirate informatique. We don’t want the neighbors to hear.”
Pirate informatique. She didn’t speak French, but it didn’t take a genius to figure it out. Had she misunderstood? Misheard? She didn’t think so. Pierre had growled at Louis, annoyed. It was a slip of the tongue. Something he’d said in the heat of the moment.
They knew she was a hacker.