“Glad to see you could make it,” Ransom greets him. I half expect him to be upset, but he’s not. If anything, he appears happy to see his brother.

In two long, heavy strides Rebel crosses into the dining room, his shoulders rolling with each step. He looks dangerous. The kind of guy a girl would steer clear of if she saw him on the street, but the kind of guy she’d look for if she was in the market for a little hot and sweaty fun.

Standing between these two men, I am keenly aware of their differences. Ransom, dressed in a sensible pair of blue jeans and t-shirt, is relaxed and easygoing. His outside appearance speaks for itself. Confidence pours off him in buckets, but instead of being obnoxious, it gives him an easy grace that is incredibly attractive. He’s charming and alluring and there’s just something about him that screams family man.

Rebel holds that same confidence, but with a deeper, darker edge. It’s as if he knows he can have anything and anyone he wants, and he’ll exploit it in a snap. He’s the kind of guy that will knock you down and fuck you, and then he’ll walk out of your life without explanation or apology. He’s the kind of man you have fun with, but that’s all.

Despite being identical twins, these two couldn’t be any more opposite. I’m reminded of the ancient myth regarding King Solomon. It’s as if someone took a baby and split it down the middle, creating two halves of a whole—the good and evil twin. It’s not hard for me to figure out which one is which.

To my surprise, Rebel picks up a stack of cloth napkins and begins neatly folding them. I pause to watch him, stunned that someone so tough can do such delicate work. Within minutes, he’s laid out five perfectly folded napkins that look like they belong tucked inside a men’s suit breast pocket.

“You’re really good at that,” I tell him.

His black gaze flies up to meet mine. My insides ripple with a touch of fear and arousal and it disturbs me how quickly I respond to him. “I’m good at a lot of other things, too.”

His words are so suggestive, and so out of place for where we are, that I blush. He notices that too, his gaze dipping to my neck where the heat is most concentrated.

I clear my throat and try to act unaffected as I address both men. “So, how do we do this? Ransom already claimed me as his girlfriend,” I say, flashing him a hard look. Rebel doesn’t look too pleased about this either, but he remains tight-lipped. For now.

“We’re going to do exactly what I told you,” Ransom states, making his way over to me and slipping a casual arm around my waist. “We’re going to have a nice dinner and take the opportunity to get to know one another a little better.”

I don’t know how this is going to work exactly. How do I ask everything I want to ask without it looking suspicious? The three of us know virtually nothing about each other. That’ll work fine for Rebel and me, but as Ransom’s “girlfriend,” there are a lot of bases that should have already been covered.

I consider getting a few of those questions out of the way now, but Seraphim chooses that exact moment to stroll into the room. Her hands are full, and I watch as her sons rush over to unload her of the burden.

“Thank you, boys. Now be dears and bring out the rest of the dishes for me.” They do as she bids.

Everything moves quickly from there. At six sharp, a grandfather clock located somewhere on the first floor chimes. Vincent Scott arrives home, hanging his jacket on the coat rack by the front door, and then joins us in the dining room still dressed in his work attire. He reminds me of Ransom and Rebel, too—tall, handsome, and refined—though his age is revealed in the touches of gray dusting his temples and the fine lines wrinkling the corners of his eyes.

He and Seraphim could be siblings, for as similar as they look.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Vincent tells me. He gives my proffered hand two hard pumps, and then he is off to take his place at his wife’s side, pulling out her chair and tucking her back in once she’s seated. Rather than take the chair positioned at the helm, Vincent takes the one directly beside her instead. The whole thing is kind of amazing to watch and it occurs to me, I want that. Is either of these men capable of giving it to me? Or am I just wasting my time?

“You’re with me,” Ransom says into my ear, his hand pressing into the small of my back as he guides me to one side of the table.

There are three chairs positioned opposite his parents, and Ransom holds out the one directly in the middle. I ease into it, smoothing my dress beneath my legs as I sit, and Ransom performs the same gentlemanly treatment as his father.

When Ransom and Rebel drop down beside me, pinning me between them, something niggles at the base of my brain. A warning perhaps. I cast the undeveloped thought aside, getting caught up in answering questions Mr. and Mrs. Scott throw at me and passing dishes around the table.

I am taking a drink of peach flavored tea when I feel it. Hands. One on each of my knees, and I know…

This isn’t going to be an ordinary dinner.

FOUR

“How did you and my son meet?” Vincent is very laid back as he works on his meal, but the way he looks at me is shrewd and assessing. I get the distinct impression that not much gets by him.

I wonder if he can tell what his boys are doing beneath the tablecloth, just out of view. Ransom’s gentle caress is distracting, as is Rebel’s climbing fingers. His intentions are clear, and I jerk my leg to try and shake him loose, but he proves to be unshakeable.

I clear my throat, considering Vincent’s question. My immediate reaction is to ask which son he’s referring to, but they don’t know about the nature of our relationship, and I’d like to keep it that way.

“I met Ransom at the university.”

Seraphim’s eyes light up. “Oh? Do you teach?”

Crap. This was what I wanted to avoid, the whole teacher/student affair topic. I look to Ransom for help, and he gives my knee a reassuring squeeze.

“She’s one of my students, actually. An art major.”

I stare down at my plate, trying to ignore the hands touching me, and focus on not freaking the fuck out. I can feel their eyes on me. I can practically hear their thoughts. They think I’m taking advantage of Ransom. That I’m sleeping my way to good grades. None of that could be farther from the truth. I’ve never asked him for a thing.

I’m so caught up in my thoughts it takes me by surprise when I hear Vincent say, “Well, it sounds like you two have much in common then. Obviously, you already know Ransom was an art major.” He’s looking directly at me, and I see no judgment in his eyes. “Do you have any career ideas in mind for after you graduate?”

“Oh, um, I’m not really sure.” The conversation takes a different turn than I expected, and I have to mentally shake myself before I can formulate a real answer. “There’s a lot I can do with my degree, but I was thinking maybe something in graphic design.”

Vincent nods. “Computer technology is a good field to get into.”

“My thoughts as well.”

“Rebel is in technology, as well.”

“I didn’t know that,” I say with genuine interest. There’s not much I do know about him, so I file it away.

Vincent nods. “He’s always enjoyed computers. Between you and me, I never took to them, but as long as he’s happy.”

“It pays the bills,” Rebel grunts.

Ransom’s hand begins a slow, sensual glide up my leg, his fingers kneading my flesh. On my other side, Rebel’s persistence has paid off. He’s now fingering my panty line, the tips of his fingers dipping beneath the elastic. The heat of embarrassment and unwanted arousal suffuses my cheeks, making it increasingly difficult to concentrate on the conversation. I can’t believe they are doing this to me, right in front of their parents!