His mood soured. No. They liked it. The idea of two identical men taking them until they could barely walk, leaving them limp and well-sated, with memories no human man could ever live up to. What they weren’t interested in was putting in the effort to get to know them as individuals. No woman in their past had ever been able to tell them apart, no matter how much time they spent with them. Even if they wore different clothes. Not a single one.
It frustrated him no end. And Pierre, too. As far as he was concerned, it was as obvious as the bulge in Pierre’s jeans. Theymay be identicaltwins, but theyweredifferent. His pack could tell them apart. Any shifter worth their genes could.
Humans could be so blind sometimes. Just once, he would like a woman to spot the differences. To see him as a separate identity. He glanced at Pierre.Oui, his twin would like that, too.
“She’s our mate, Louis. She’ll be different from all the others.”
As usual, his brother had picked up on his thoughts. Being twins did have its advantages.
Pierre often had the right of any situation, but this time, Louis wasn’t so sure. “What if she’s not?”
Would it matter? If she couldn’t tell them apart? She was their mate. They would love and cherish her all the same, but…Oui.It mattered.
Pierre shrugged. “Then we’ll show her. Before we turn her.”
Oui, before they turned her. As a werewolf, she couldn’t fail to miss the signs, but he wanted his mate to see him as a whole person, not as an extension of his brother, right from the start. He held out his hand and bumped knuckles with his brother.
He took a sip of Red Bull. “What if this doesn’t work? What if she doesn’t come tonight? What’s our next step? We’re short on time here, Pierre. Gabriel rang me again this morning. We need to find Cordelia.”
“Melinda’s spent the last two days hunting us online, finding only what I wanted her to find. An invitation to our apartment is too good an opportunity for her to pass up. She’ll come.”
Louis’ nostrils flared. Their mate in their apartment… Once she crossed that threshold, it was going to be one hell of a challenge to let her leave.
Chapter Six
It’d been four hours since Melinda had been caught in the lift with Louis and Pierre, but every moment of their encounter had lived on replay in her brain ever since. She’d dissected it, rehashed it. It’d fueled her fantasies all afternoon. Erotic fantasies. She’d never experienced such a visceral reaction to a man before. Totwomen.
She leaned on the kitchen bench, her head in her hands as her jasmine tea steeped. Maybe she needed something stronger. To ease the craving, the need that had her clenching her thighs at the mere sight of one of them on the security feed. Footage she’d checked too damn often to be healthy.
Melinda poured her tea and headed back to her screens. Work. That would fix this fascination she had with the twins. Sliding into her chair, she pulled up the tab with her newest client—username JohnnyBeGood. Johnnyhadn’tbeen good. That was why he needed a new identity. The women at the refuge couldn’t pay her for her skills, but Melinda was good at what she did so she could charge herotherclients a lot of money. Clients like JohnnyBeGood.
On another screen, movement on the security feed caught her eye. A couple from the eighth floor—Tom and Jacob—stepped from the lift, and she followed them from camera to camera as they passed her door and stopped at apartment thirty-five. She checked the time. Six-fifty-eight. The door opened and Pierre, in black jeans and collared black shirt, the top few buttons undone to reveal a hint of dark chest hair, appeared. Melinda leanedcloser. Pierre gave the couple a rare smile and beckoned them inside. He paused in the doorway and looked straight up at the camera. At her.
Melinda gasped and sat back, though she knew it was ridiculous. He couldn’t see her. He couldn’t possibly know she was watching.Could he?Pierre stood there, long seconds passing. With a bite of his bottom lip that had her melting into her panties, he retreated inside and closed the door.
Her dark monitor, the one that had flashed its warning of a security breach, taunted her. That bad feeling was back again, stronger than ever. Was it time to warn her client? Send a message to MysticMage?
Melinda logged into her IRC channel, found the thread she was after and typed up a brief message to the woman about a possible compromise to her new identity. She hovered her fingers over the keys, uncertain. This was no time to be coy. She typed one last sentence, asking if her client had any connections in France, and if the names Montagne or Wolf Enterprises meant anything to her.
Her finger poised over the enter key, she glanced at the security feed. The lift opened again, spilling out more guests. A young lawyer from the floor above, still dressed in her power suit, and an older couple, home on a rare break from cruising the Mediterranean. This time it was Louis who opened the door, his hair appealingly ruffled and an old lady’s floral apron unashamedly wrapped around his waist.
As with Pierre, after the guests had disappeared inside, he paused and looked directly at the camera. He grinned at her, his trademark smile. She watched the screen, enthralled. Then he winked. Melinda nearly fell off her chair.
Theyknew.That she was watching them through the security feeds.Whoarethese men?
There was one sure way to find out. It might be unimaginably stupid, and her mother had always complained she had too much tiger in her, but an invitation into their apartment wasn’t an opportunity she should waste. She could spend days, weeks—maybe more—digging into Wolf Enterprises, hacking their devices, but one quick snoop through their apartment could give her all the information—and the access—she needed. Then she’d know exactly why they were here.
Decision made, she hit send on her message, then changed into something more appropriate for a party. If it was a little more feminine than her day-to-day wear, if she fussed over her hair a little too long, added lip gloss she hadn’t worn in months, it was because she wanted to fit in with the other guests. Not because she was trying to impress two hot-as-Hades twins.
Melinda slung a purse over her shoulder with her keys, her phone and a thumb drive loaded with a few programs she could use to access any tech she found. As an afterthought, she grabbed a second thumb drive she’d uploaded with a gorgeous little virus she’d come across a couple of months ago. If she found anything incriminating, if they were up to something nefarious involving her, she could use it to destroy their operating systems with a few keystrokes. She would have liked to take a laptop with her, but she doubted she could sneak that in undetected. With a quick rub on Manchu’s head, she set her alarms then headed down the corridor to apartment thirty-five.
Pierre answered the door, the hint of a smirk on his lips as he led her into the living area. “I’m glad you came, Melinda. Drink? Beer? Wine? A mojito?”
She had no plans to drink too much. She was here for one thing and one thing only, but it would be odd for her not to at least have one. “White wine will be fine, thank you.”
She did a quick scan of the entry. No security system on the door. Interesting, and a little surprising. They were confident. Orthey had nothing to hide. From the looks of the hideous floral sofa, dusky rose drapes and crocheted doilies, nothing else had changed since Mrs. Bellamy had moved out either.
“Interesting décor,” she said. “Not what I expected.”
