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 willcometonight.”
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.
