Locating Ransom’s discarded shirt on the floor, I slip it on and fasten enough buttons to look presentable, and then gather my clothes up. A quick shower and then breakfast, that’s the plan.
The heavenly smell of bacon sizzling in the pan hits me when I step out of the room, but despite my stomach’s demand for sustenance, I head in the opposite direction.
The second bedroom’s door at the end of the hall is still closed, so I guess whoever Ransom rooms with is sleeping, which makes sense. They came in extremely late last night. I wonder what the story is. If they’re friends or family. Maybe an ex.
That thought sets me on edge, and I shake it off before I decide to march in there and find out who this person is. All I know is that it had better not be an ex-girlfriend. God, what if it’s Red?
Right, I need to stay focused and think rationally, and a warm shower is just the ticket.
The door to the bathroom stands partway open. I push it aside…and jump back with a startled squeak.
Ransom stands in front of the sink, a black towel slung low around his hips. Even though he scared the tar out of me, I quickly recover as I let the vision of him nearly naked set in.
Water droplets cover the span of his wide shoulders, occasionally gliding down the deep crevasse of his spine to soak into the plush fabric hiding one of my favorite parts to ogle. He’s in the process of shaving, which is a shame, because I rather enjoy the feel of his stubble scratching my skin when he kisses me.
His eyes leap to mine in the mirror as I stand in the doorway, and the razor stops mid-stroke. A small bead of crimson appears on his chin and is captured by droplets of water, which collect and begin running in a single rivulet of red down his neck.
Slowly, he lowers his arm, the razor hanging loosely in his hand. “What are you doing here?”
His tone is sharp and commanding, his black eyes filled with dangerous intent, and the change in him is such a shock that my head jerks back.
“I’m sorry. I was going to grab a quick shower. I didn’t think you’d mind.” My words are small, full of apprehension. I don’t understand why he’d be upset with me. Have I crossed some invisible boundary?
I hitch my thumb over my shoulder. “I thought you were cooking breakfast?”
His eyes narrow a fraction more as his reflection continues to glare at me. Lowering his head, he dips the razor into the basin of murky water and swishes it around. Then, he pulls the plug. I stand there and watch him finish his routine, carefully replacing the razor in a custom silver hanger and splashing on a clean smelling aftershave.
When he is finished, he turns to fully face me, covering the two steps that separate us and crowds the doorway with his large body. I look up into his dark eyes, feeling dwarfed, feeling vulnerable.
I realize with a note of apprehension that this isn’t the man who brought me to orgasm this morning and kissed me goodbye so he could go make me breakfast. The man, who stands before me now, is cold and menacing. I feel as if I’ve just walked into a lion’s den at feeding time. I feel exposed, unwelcome, in danger.
It’s the exact same feeling I felt every time we met in his hotel room.
“What’s wrong? Did I do something?”
He studies me with his perfect features, with this perfect calm that only serves to make me feel even more unsteady like there’s not enough oxygen in the room.
“How did you get into my apartment?”
I’m confused by the question. “Are you serious?” I tilt my head to see if there is any hint of teasing in his eyes, but he’s completely unmoved. “You brought me here last night. I slept in your bed.” Nothing. I’m staring at a blank wall. “Did you fall and hit your head in the shower or something?”
The pulse in his jaw ticks wildly. “Or something.” Securing the towel with one hand, he takes my arm in the other and moves me out of his way as he steps out of the bathroom. Then, he forcibly guides me down to the end of the hall where it opens into a great room comprised of the living and dining rooms and a spacious kitchen.
As we continue moving forward, I catch movement ahead. All I can see is a pair of blue jean clad legs moving around, and I assume that it’s his roommate who’s taken to cooking us breakfast—a meal I have decided not to stick around for.
Something is up with Ransom, and I know I told myself that I wouldn’t run at the first bump in the road, but he’s acting strange. Well, stranger than usual. I don’t know if he suffers from a split personality disorder, if he’s bipolar, or if he really did take a nasty fall in the shower this morning, but I’m not comfortable with the current situation. I need to go home, collect my thoughts, and ruminate over them a while.
“I found this wandering around in the hall,” Ransom growls, jerking me in front of him as we enter the circle of cabinets that define the kitchen. “Care to explain to me what she’s doing here?”
I frown, my mouth parting on a protest that sticks in my throat the moment the roommate turns from the stove.
“Holy…shit. There are two of you.”
I’ve just stepped into the Twilight Zone. An exact replica of Ransom stands before me, only this one is dressed exactly the way the Ransom who left the bedroom this morning looked. A quick appraisal tells me that those are indeed the same low-slung jeans I saw him leave the room in.
Looking up at Ransom Number Two, I see all the same details from the curve of his lips to the slope of his jaw, to the high, round cheekbones. All of it is the same.
“Damn,” Ransom Number One says. “I’m sorry. I meant to tell you earlier.”
“Meant to tell me what exactly?” My body feels like it’s been stuck in one of those paint mixing machines at Home Depot. I’m trembling and I can’t seem to stop. Stepping to the side, Ransom Number Two’s hand falls away, and I wrap my arms around myself.
Ransom Number One wears this goofy smile, like he thinks all of this is one giant joke. Well, I don’t find any of this funny.
He walks over and puts his arm around my shoulder, tucking me against his chest and kissing the top of my head. The gesture would be soothing if I wasn’t so damn confused. And then he says, “Joe, this is my brother, Rebel. We’re identical twins.”
TWENTY-THREE
The puzzle pieces finally click into place. The scene they create makes total sense now. Ransom has a brother. An identical brother. As we stand in the kitchen looking at one another, it dawns on me just how embarrassing this situation is.
“God,” I say, hiding my face behind my hands. “I totally walked in on you in the bathroom.”
Rebel maintains that stern frown, and I think he must be a real ass if he can’t forgive an honest mistake. If he didn’t want anyone to walk in on him, then he should have closed the damn door.
“Don’t worry about it, babe,” Ransom said cheerily. “Rebel’s not exactly the shy type.”
Rebel’s hateful stare hasn’t left me for a second, and when Ransom leaves my side to tend to the bacon, I scoot a little closer to him and farther away from his brother. Supposedly, everyone has an evil twin out there somewhere. Rebel must be Ransom’s, I decide. Even his name seems to suggest it.
“Don’t worry,” Rebel says, his voice a deep, dark rasp. “It’s nothing she hasn’t seen before. Right…Joe?”
The way he says my name, like he’s testing out the feel of it on his tongue, is disturbing. Oddly, I feel my body responding to the low timber of it as if his voice is calling to me on a deeper, more intimate level. It must be the resemblance. Or, rather, the effect of looking at the exact same image of the man who drives me crazy.
Ransom shoots his brother a condemning look over his shoulder and turns off the stove. “Stop trying to make my girlfriend feel uncomfortable, Rebel. I’m sure it’s a pretty big shock to find out I have a doppelganger before she’s had her morning cup of coffee.”