I turn, surprised.
He’s tall, broad, dressed in a fitted cashmere turtleneck and tailored slacks. Hazel eyes. Low fade. Smile built for sin.
I manage a polite chuckle. “Thank you.”
“You going somewhere special?”
I glance at my reflection, fingers toying with the necklace they brought out to match. Fidgeting, really. “A gala,” I say lightly. “With a friend. My boyfriend.”
He steps closer, like this is familiar territory. Like proximity has always worked in his favor.
Hiccup.
I watch him in the mirror as his gaze takes its time, lingering at the curve of my shoulder, tracing the dip of my waist, sliding unapologetically down the length of my bare legs. The look in his eyes is almost predatory. Practiced. Confident.
He doesn’t touch me, just stays there, close enough that the air shifts. His cologne is expensive, warm, faintly spicy. The kind meant to linger. To suggest.
And maybe, in another universe, it would’ve worked.
But I already have a man who can undo me with a single look. One who doesn’t need to crowd my space to claim it. My body decided the moment I laid eyes on him: my panties signed a lifetime contract with Eli.
They just haven’t had the opportunity to inform him yet.
I raise my champagne glass for another sip, buying time, about to open my mouth to politely excuse myself when…
CRACK.
The sharp, sickening sound of bone colliding with bone. The man crumples to the floor like a felled tree, clutching his jaw in stunned confusion.
And before I realize it, Eli is there. Chest heaving. Fists clenched. Eyes storm-dark as he towers over the guy like he’s ready to keep going if someone doesn’t stop him.
Hazel Eyes is on the floor. Eli is on top of him, holding him down, ready to let his fists fly. The boutique erupts into screams. Security pulls them apart, but not before Eli gets another good hit in.
“Eli!” I yell, grabbing his shirt. “What the hell is your problem?!”
Breathing hard, chest still heaving, Eli wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. His jaw is locked down like steel.
He looks at me. Then at the man still clutching his face.
“Max,” he growls. “This is my brother. Elliot.”
And suddenly everything snaps into place. The familiarity I couldn’t name. This is Eli’s brother. There are two of them. Cut from the same mold, just finished differently. One all deep chocolate and restraint. The other caramel and chaos.
Eli’s chest is still rising and falling like he just ran a marathon, adrenaline rolling off him in waves. His brother, meanwhile, is already grinning and snickering through what must have been pretty painful.
And then she steps into view.
Vanessa.
She waltzes in, all smug and slow-moving, her designer heels clicking with every step. She’s dressed in an immaculately tailored trench coat, her dark hair in perfect kinky waves, and the smallest bump just barely visible beneath her belt. I see it before Eli does. Before his entire body stiffens like someone ran cold steel down his spine.
“Boys,” she says, tilting her head with a small, condescending smile. “What seems to be the problem?”
Her accent is even more obnoxious when she’s being insufferable. French. Polished. Passive-aggressive with a side of venom.
I really want to fight this lady.
“I’ve got your boy,” Eli snaps back.
