Hers To Keep: THE QUINTESSENCE COLLECTION I

by Akeroyd, Serena

  Her eyes widened. “That nulls my contract with them.”

  He shrugged. “If you take the job, we fully intend to make you happy enough you don’t leave for a long time to come, Sascha.” He shot her a wicked smile. “We can be persuasive when we need to be.”

  Her throat closed at the suggestion. Everything inside her tightening up in response to him.

  How persuasive would he be? Sascha asked herself, licking her lips at the thought.

  Swallowing, she reached for a bottle of water that was also on the tray and took a dainty sip from it. “I’d be interested in working for you,” she said softly. “If the other members of the household like the idea too.”

  Sean’s eyes gleamed. “They left it up to me. If I want you, they do too.”

  Jeez, she wasn’t reading into that, was she?

  Huskily, she asked, “I’d be living in?”

  He nodded. “The attic has been converted into a small apartment.”

  “Do you have any questions for me?”

  “I saw your resume. Called up a few of your references because I know the diplomat you kept house for three years ago. They were very pleased with you, and were sad you weren’t willing to move with them to Dubai.” He scrubbed at his chin. “I like you, Sascha. I think you’d fit in well here.”

  Her eyes widened. “I’m glad you think so.”

  “Would you be willing to work for us?”

  Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. “Yes. I will.”

  * * *

  As the sparkling Cadillac drove off into the murky distance of a grim, London day, Sean leaned against the doorjamb and watched her go.

  He’d only seen cars like that the last time he’d visited Cuba. But they hadn’t been in such good condition. Hers fairly sparkled, even in the dim sunlight the city was famed for.

  Peering up at the sky, he grimaced, knowing rain was imminent.

  To be fair, rain was always on the cards, but more than that, he knew because of his knee. He’d buggered the damn thing up back in university after too many rough games of rugby, and was paying the price now in his dotage.

  Well, dotage was a little unfair, he reckoned. Especially if Sascha’s response had been anything to go by.

  She was twenty-seven according to her resume. Twenty-seven, and yet, she’d eyed him up like he was exactly her type.

  Maybe she liked older men? Some women did, didn’t they? Sean thought, his body stirring with the idea.

  He was the eldest in the house. At forty-three, he’d felt every single one of those years separating him and Sascha when she’d walked up the stairs to the front door. Sixteen reasons why he shouldn’t be attracted to her, and yet, he was.

  But, with every step she’d taken, the mutual attraction had flared between them. Coming to life in a way that had made the tension between them tangible.

  Somehow, he knew it took a lot to break Sascha’s cool; she exuded a sensual confidence that spoke of the comfort she felt in her own skin, which was appealing in and of itself. The clothes she wore were a declaration to the world, one he’d heard and one that attracted him: she was not afraid to be herself, to wear what made her feel sexy. And sexy was exactly the word he’d use to describe her.

  That, and minx.

  Satisfied that despite her confidence, he’d managed to break Sascha’s cool, and by the fact his morning hadn’t been wasted on useless interviews, he closed the door behind him with the intention of heading for his study. Work awaited him. But when didn’t it?

  Murderers didn’t have days off. They spent their time between kills planning and preparing. Even as the thought crossed his mind, he flinched at what that meant for the next victim.

  No matter how many cases he worked on, Sean never got used to the soul-crushing agony of failure. Knowing that someone’s death rested on his shoulders, because he’d been too slow, too stupid to find a pattern, was a fact he had to deal with on a daily basis. That burden was one of the reasons why he lived where he did.

  Because, before he could let the tension eat at him, before the worry and the fury could coalesce and take over, Sean turned away from the door and saw them.

  He should have known they’d be waiting for him.

  Should have known they’d be there to guide him from the shadows and back to the light. Away from death and blood, murder and another man’s madness.

  That wasn’t to say they didn’t drive him around the fucking bend too. They did, but it was the healthier kind.

  With them, there was no bleakness. Only the desire to bash his head against the wall when they pushed him on certain matters. And push him, they did.

  God love them for it.

  “Well? Is she staying?”

  Andrei’s voice was usually husky, thanks to his Russian heritage, but his question was doubly so, which told Sean the others had seen Sascha—undoubtedly from Sawyer and Devon’s office two floors above—and that he wasn’t the only one panting after her.

  “Yes. She agreed to the terms.”

  Devon, sitting at the top step of the staircase, narrowed his eyes. “Doesn’t she mind looking after five men?”

  “Maybe?” Sean shrugged. “It didn’t seem to bother her. Plus, it’s not like she’ll be scrubbing floors, is it? She’ll have cleaners to help her out.” He moved out of the porch and headed down the hall. Passing the lounge in which he’d interviewed Sascha, he huffed when he realized he had a Pied Piper’s trail following him.

  Heavy footsteps sounded behind him, and though he was tempted to shut the door in their faces, he didn’t. His door was always open to them. But that didn’t mean temptation didn’t strike, so rather than do as he wished, he headed to the bay window where he’d placed his desk years before and took a seat with his back to the garden.

  It was old fashioned, his study. Just like his bedroom. Walls lined with shelves, books everywhere. His desk was antique, and the banker’s light was always on. Even in the early morning, the green-gold glow illuminated his work surface. A Mac buzzed into life as he switched it on, then peered at the men who took up too much space in his office.

  Sawyer and Kurt had taken a seat in the armchairs opposite his desk, and though there was ample seating for when they all converged in Sean’s office, which they did more often than not, Devon was standing in the doorway and Andrei was leaning against the dresser on the back wall where Sean had a silver tray loaded down with two glass decanters. Whiskey and scotch; his tipples of choice.

  “What’s wrong?” he demanded, casting his gaze over all of them.

  “We want details.”

  Sean snorted at Kurt’s question. “If you wanted details, then you should have sat in on the interviews with me.”

  He grimaced, folded his arms across his chest. “I was writing.”

  “You’re not writing now,” Sean pointed out. “I smell bullshit. Look, you all saw her resume, the same as I did. And we heard what Andrew and Celia had to say about her. She’s more than qualified for the role.” Andrew was the diplomat Sascha had listed on her resume. The man was a prized prick but he had high standards—higher than theirs.

  “Do you think she’ll like us?” Devon’s question was loaded with a vulnerability that even after all these years, could still hit Sean in his gut.

  All in their forties save for Dev, they were men, fully grown. Yet Devon somehow retained an air of innocence. Maybe it was his bipolar tendencies, or maybe it was the fact he suffered from insomnia so was always bug-eyed from lack of sleep… whatever it was, his vulnerability never ceased from reaching him where the others would never be able to touch.

  The men in this room were more than just friends. They were brothers. Not necessarily in arms, although it felt like that.

  Not one of them had a military leaning, but they’d found each other at Oxford, and ever since, they’d been a support system. From the dorm house where they’d lived together, over the years, they’d realized how that worked for them, and had never really moved out or apar
t.

  As their personal successes increased their individual wealth, it never mattered. The collective was what counted. They worked as a quintet; protecting the group as a whole while ensuring each of them was safe, secure, and content. Devon was usually the priority—but each of them had their moments.

  They were more than friends; they were family by choice.

  Except Sean who had a consulting business in the city, and Andrei who commuted for clients from time to time, they worked from home.

  Eight years ago, when that consulting business had necessitated he live full time in London, they’d moved here. All of them. They’d left Oxford and the dorm house they’d bought when Devon had made his first million behind, and made the capital their home.

  It was an odd arrangement, to be sure. His mother, as well as Kurt’s and Andrei’s grandfather, were certain they were all gay and that it was a house of ill repute. But it wasn’t like that.

  Well, not for most of them. Devon and Kurt on the other hand… their oddities were enough to make a prostitute’s brows rise.

  “Well? Will she?” Devon demanded, breaking into his thoughts with all the finesse of a sledgehammer.

  “You know we agreed not to look into that,” Sean countered uneasily, running his hand through his hair and wishing like hell they could avoid this whole conversation. Being distracted from his latest case was one thing, talking about this was another.

  Kurt shot Devon a look. “It’s too much to ask of any woman.”

  “I don’t see why. We could give her the world.” His matter of fact tone always made him edgy. Devon was right. They could give their woman the world; if they could just fucking find her.

  “As well as our dirty laundry,” Andrei retorted, sighing and silently telling Sean that he agreed with Devon but knew what they wanted was too outré for most women to deal with.

  “It makes sense, guys,” Devon argued, as he often did when this topic cropped up. Which it did. Way too many times for Sean to even bother trying to remember. Or to forget.

  “How does it make sense? You’re only going on about this because she’s hot. I notice the last one didn’t get you going,” Sawyer retorted, and if he was debating with Devon, then the topic had to be serious.

  Those two were thick as thieves. But then, they worked together too.

  Higher-order math was their specialty. Mostly, it flew over his head, but sometimes, he managed to understand something amid the algorithms and Fibonacci spirals.

  “What woman wants to take on five men?” Kurt demanded, nudging a lock of dark blond hair away that had landed on his brow. His irritation was evident in his firmed jaw and the arms he crossed over his chest once he’d disturbed his hair.

  Devon shook his head at their, what he often called, myopic stance. “You’re arguing over something I know you all want.”

  Sean just stared at him. “What if we did, Devon? What good would it be? What use?”

  “If you’re open to the experience, then you don’t know what the universe will allow you to attain.”

  “Not that Secret bollocks,” Sawyer snapped. “Look, positivity will get you so far, granted. But it’s not going to make a normal, everyday woman suddenly think it’s A-Okay to fuck five guys at the same time. While all the guys live in the same house, and as all five are fully in the know about who she’s spending the night with. It’s too weird.”

  “Look, who said we wanted an everyday woman? I never said that,” Devon snapped, his brow puckering with exasperation. “You saw Sascha’s car, Sean. We all saw her outfit. Which part of her is everyday?”

  “Just because she’s retro, doesn’t mean she’ll take us on.”

  Devon lifted his chin. “I beg to differ. What kind of vibe did she throw off?” His gaze pinned Sean in place with laser-like focus.

  Did he admit the truth? That attraction had flowed naturally between them? If he did, would that encourage Devon in a pursuit that went beyond the bounds of normal, decent society?

  “Don’t you dare say anything to her,” Sean immediately stated, realizing that encouraging Devon would only end with him offending Sascha. “I was the one who had to suffer through all those bloody awful interviews this morning, not you. If she quits after a week, it’s down to one of you to take up with the agency again.” To Kurt, he said, “In fact, you need to cancel the contract with them.”

  “Why? What have they done?”

  “What haven’t they done? None of them were aware they’d have to look after five men. That’s pretty much the entirety of our employment specs, dammit.”

  Kurt grimaced. “I’ll call them when I get back to my office.”

  “Thanks. I’d do it, but I need to get to grips with this report. And Huey, Dewey, and Louis here are about as much use as chocolate teapots when it boils down to it.” He shot Devon, Sawyer, and Andrei dirty looks, but they had the decency to look sheepish. To Devon, he demanded, “Don’t frighten Sascha off, Devon. I know what you want… you tell us too frequently for us to bloody forget, and to varying degrees, we want it too, but even if she is mad enough to take us on—pushing her won’t endear her to our desires, will it? And I know you. You’ll push when you should tread softly.”

  “I’ll keep an eye on him,” Sawyer inserted.

  “How? You’re with him twenty hours a day, not twenty-four. You’re not conjoined.” Andrei retorted, brow quirked with amusement.

  Sawyer flipped him the bird. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t scare her off,” he repeated, and Sean nodded at him with gratitude.

  “Right, now that’s sorted, she’ll be calling today to arrange for her things to be delivered here. She said she’ll start by the end of the week.”

  “So soon?” Andrei asked, surprised.

  “I think she needs the money.” Not that she’d said as much, but her eyes had lit up at the salary they offered. Not in an avaricious way, but in a relieved way.

  In this world, who didn’t have debts, and who didn’t money talk to?

  Hell, even he, who had ample money for his needs, had moved to London for a job offer and displaced these bastards with him.

  Everyone had a weakness, after all.

  For him, it was these four sitting before him, not pounds and pennies.

  Still, they were the exception not the rule.

  Two

  Sascha peered over the bannister and whistled when she stood upright.

  “That’s a long way down,” she said to herself as she eyed the vestibule below her. Up in the attic, in her new swanky little pad, she had to admit she liked the cozy nature of her room. The stairs, however, were going to kill her if she kept on wearing stilettos.

  Plus, they’d damage the parquet flooring, which totally sucked. Beauty or damaging two centuries’ old wooden flooring...? She’d love to be selfish, but it would be sacrilegious to deface any part of the property’s antique touches.

  Pondering whether platform wedges were a little too seventies for her mostly fifties’ wardrobe, she shrieked when someone murmured, “A servant girl jumped to her death from that spot.”

  The ghoulish, macabre statement had her clutching her chest as she sought out the voice. She peered over the bannister once more and saw a man staring up at her from the shadows of the landing beneath her.

  Jesus, he was gorgeous.

  Creepy as fuck when it came to conversational gambits, it seemed, but like an angel or something to look at, albeit a dark one.

  He reminded her way too much of Jamie Dornan, with his short-cropped hair, glinting chestnut eyes, and smiling mouth. His jaw was stubborn, his brow wide and crinkled a little with wrinkles, but hell, that crinkle had her swooning.

  Even in sweatpants and a ratty tee, he stole her breath, and Sascha wasn’t the type to start hyperventilating over a guy.

  If this kept up, she’d need to start carrying Ventolin or something else for pre-asthma. First Sean, now this one? There must be something in the water, she thought.

  Did the guys
have to be ridiculously handsome as well as insanely smart to live here?

  Jeez, she really hoped so. So much man candy would fuel her sessions with her Battery Operated Boyfriend, and make her one chilled chick.

  “Excuse me?” she asked, more rhetorically than anything else.

  Overhead, the domed skylight enabled her to see more of his face when he stepped out of the shadows and began to climb up the stairs to join her. His hotness just about melted her bones.

  With that ratty tee clinging to his washboard stomach, and the comfortable sweatpants that were snug to his legs, he was anything but smartly dressed. Though pale, like he lived at his desk, he obviously worked out—his muscles were on display even in those loose clothes.

  “I said, a servant girl jumped to her death from there. I heard what you mumbled under your breath. That it’s a long way down. It is,” he said simply.

  She gulped. Okaaaay.

  “I’m Sascha,” she told him, deciding a change of topic was required.

  “Devon.” He smiled at her, and boy, did a choir of angels just start singing around him?

  Christ, that smile packed a punch.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Devon. Two down, three to go,” she said brightly, trying not to sound winded from her reaction to his simple smile. “You’re all very hard to pin down.”

  His eyelashes flickered. “You’d be surprised what we’d do if you asked.”

  Okay, first Sean, now Devon? Or was it just her? Was she so damn horny at the sight of her two sexy new bosses that she was hearing suggestive shit where there wasn’t any?

  “A lot of people have died here actually,” he continued. Definitely just horny and definitely one-sided, she laughed to herself.

  Blinking at him, and deciding a change of subject was imperative, she murmured, “Would you like some hot chocolate?”

  So, a little random, but it was kind of her thing. After settling into her new post, and unpacking her shit, she always celebrated with hot chocolate. Homemade, of course.

  He tilted his head to the side. “Is this some kind of American custom I don’t know of?”