Hers To Keep: THE QUINTESSENCE COLLECTION I

by Akeroyd, Serena

  She’d never lived anywhere like this, and knew she was being spoiled. Still, she did her best to spoil the boys back, so it was Even Stevens as far as she was concerned.

  Eying the clock on the bedside table, she decided to do something she rarely did… head down to the kitchen still in her nightwear.

  It was unprofessional and… she’d admit, provocative. It was a move she wasn’t entirely sure why she was making.

  Well. That was a lie, she admitted to herself as she blew out a gusty breath.

  None of them were in anyway suggestive with her, and, truth was, that was starting to irk her.

  Was she probing for a reaction? Of the verbal or physical kind? Sascha honestly couldn’t say as she stepped downstairs in the faint light of the morning, not bothering to turn on any lamps, as she bypassed all the bedrooms and headed for the basement—stopping off only to gather the various papers and magazines that had been dropped off at the door pre-dawn—paper boys started early here.

  Though only two weeks had passed, she’d made the kitchen her own. Rearranging the work surfaces so all the gadgets were on hand and reordering the cupboards so she knew where things were… this was probably where she spent most of her time. Cooking and baking, but also, the men tended to gather here. It was like an unofficial space for congregation, and as a result, chatter.

  On the first floor, their ground floor—Brits had weird ideas about that—there were two living rooms. One a little formal, where she’d been interviewed, the other a man’s paradise. Complete with a huge TV, several large leather sofas, and more comfort than anyone would know what to do with. And yet, they never used it.

  Or never seemed to, anyway.

  Shrugging off the thought, she got to work. They had a bread maker and a coffeemaker which were pre-programmed to start before she came down here. Thankful for the coffee, she served herself a large mug, took a sip, and inadvertently caught sight of herself in the reflective surface of the counter.

  Biting her lip, she realized why she was doing this as she stared at her hazy reflection. This was a test. An unnecessary one, but still, vital to her.

  Devon was attracted to her hair, Sean had told her. The men, it would seem, appreciated her quirky dress sense. But what about when she was raw? Naked. And she didn’t mean what she looked like without clothes.

  No make-up. No war paint. Her hair, neat, but not pulled into a tight chignon, and loose about her shoulders.

  Without a bra, her large breasts were pendulous. Her waist, hips, and thighs, without her wonderful tug-it-all-in underwear, were rounded and thick.

  They were attracted to the image she sold, but what about the woman underneath?

  She wore a silky peignoir that covered a cotton nightdress that draped to the floor. It had inbuilt cups to support her breasts a little, but not a lot. On her feet, she didn’t wear stilettos but comfy slippers, so she was four inches shorter.

  The change would be radical, and the truth was, she needed to know what their reaction would be to this side of her.

  It wasn’t necessary. Not really. Not when a single one of them hadn’t come on to her. But she’d seen the looks. The glances. Had noticed their eyes trained on her tits or, by spying them in a mirror, her ass. She knew they were looking but not touching. A fact, she would fully admit to herself, she was ready to change.

  As she fried some turkey bacon, started scrambling eggs, pressed oranges for juice, and let the fresh bread cool down on a wooden board, Sascha asked herself if she was some kind of slut. What kind of woman was willing to take on not one, not two, not even three, but five guys?

  But they were a unit. And though she knew how weird that sounded, it didn’t change a thing.

  She did want them. They attracted her in ways no other men had. They were intelligent, thoughtful. Their conversation was opinion-provoking and engaging. They looked at her like she was as smart as they, not just a housekeeper. They included her, involved her. She loved looking after them, and though it had never happened to her before, even after four years of working as a professional housekeeper, she realized she wanted more.

  She didn’t want to be on the outside looking in.

  She wanted to be a part of the family.

  The realization scared her a little.

  She’d been here just over two weeks. How could she be making grandiose statements like that? This was still the damn honeymoon period… but, she knew. Sascha didn’t know how she knew, granted, but that didn’t stop her from feeling like she’d finally, after years of searching, found her place.

  Steps echoed from upstairs, and she felt herself tense with the knowledge that Devon was on his way. He always came down first. Usually followed by Sawyer, then Sean, and Andrei. Kurt was always last. He usually was starting when everyone else was finishing up.

  Hearing Devon heading down to the basement, she girded her loins, then shot him a smile as he rounded the staircase and made his way toward her. She passed him orange juice as he took a seat at the counter, and glanced over him a second.

  He looked exhausted. Dark shadows were lining his eyes, and his shoulders were hunched. He didn’t wear a shirt, so she could see and drool over his belly, then felt guilty because there she was, eying his happy trail, and he was busy trying not to expire from sleep deprivation.

  She didn’t wish him a good morning, not yet. Mornings were the only times he was quiet, she’d come to learn. Only after he’d finished processing the orange juice, had sorted through the magazines and papers for his own, would he even say a word.

  Today, of course, had to be different.

  “Your hair’s down.”

  She jolted at the sound of his voice; Sascha was quite comfortable with the silence and liked knowing they were relaxed enough with each other for her to work on his food while he woke up. “Yes.”

  Magical, Sascha, she chided herself, but nerves held her tongue.

  She readied his bread, turkey bacon and eggs, and placed the plate before him. As she turned away, getting ready to make the deconstructed and barely-spiced chorizo Sawyer favored for breakfast, he grabbed her wrist. She jerked to a standstill, then looked down at his fingers which clutched at her.

  Though he was pale, he was darker than her. His fingers were almost like gold glowing against her creaminess.

  She peeked up at him, her gaze switching from his hold on her and slowly rising to look into his eyes. When she did, she saw he was smiling.

  “This is you.”

  Sascha cleared her throat. “I was tired this morning.” Lies. But, she had to have some explanation.

  He shrugged that off though. “I wondered what you looked like without all the make-up.” He beamed at her, let go of her wrist, but with that same hand tapped her nose in the least sexual way imaginable. “Beautiful.”

  His choice of words far outweighed his actions, but she should have figured that would be the case with Devon.

  Stepping back, she let him start to eat, and within minutes, she heard more footsteps. Deciding that the best way to ride this test out was to stay cool and calm, and not like she was out for a reaction, she didn’t look up as a steady swathe of hungry breakfasters appeared in her domain.

  They greeted each other with grunts and only truly greeted her when she placed their breakfast before them. For Sean, granola and yogurt. Andrei had porridge with honey or jam. Sawyer, his chorizo with eggs. All of them helped themselves to the freshly baked loaf.

  Truth was, their reaction to her outfit was kind of disappointing. But then, they were men. Capable of remarking on something to cause unintended offense, then completely blind to the obvious.

  As she fried some ham for Kurt and set it out with poached eggs and beans as he trudged down the stairs, she asked herself if they, aside from Devon, had even noticed she was underdressed.

  With the five of them eating, she staked her own place out at the back of the counter, where she ate her own breakfast of cereal and some toast. They were all quiet first thing
, and she liked the continued ease so even though she’d have easily chatted with them, the peace was nice too.

  As she snickered at something she saw on Facebook, Sean cleared his throat. “Are you feeling okay, Sascha?”

  She peered over her cell just in time to catch all five of them shooting looks at one another, and a whole lot of nudging-their-neighbor-in-the-side going down. Blinking, she replied, “Of course.”

  “W-We’ve never seen you out of a pencil skirt,” Kurt said roughly, his accent heavy first thing.

  Devon’s voice was ever bright as he said, “I often wonder if you do the laundry in a pencil skirt. But then, I realize that can’t be the case because surely the seam would split if you’re always bending over.”

  Sean let out a little groan, but she shook her hand at him, well aware he was about to make Devon apologize. Amused at Devon’s lack of delicacy, she said, “My skirts aren’t that tight.”

  “They are. If you bend over a certain way, we can see your thong through the fabric.”

  Laughter burst from her at that, and shaking her head, she grinned at him. “I suppose I should be flattered you noticed.”

  “I’d have to be blind not to, Sascha. Your butt is as delicious as the cakes you bake.” He beamed at her again, in that way he had. One that combined sexy man with demented toddler—a mix that shouldn’t have been as appealing as it was. “And they’re better than any cakes I’ve ever had.”

  Her nostrils flared as she rolled her lips inward. His earnestness didn’t deserve to be mocked, though she could see the other four were groaning at him. “Well, I’m glad you think so.”

  Devon’s brows lowered. “In fact, I think I’d prefer you to dress like this for breakfast, Sascha. I can see more of your boobs. Would you be willing to always cook this way on a morning?”

  Uncertain of what to say, her mouth worked dumbly until... “Sexual harassment alert,” Andrei grumbled under his breath, but he was studying her with the same intensity as the others. Well, studying her tits.

  Immediately, she peered down at her chest to make sure the girls were contained, then frowned when she saw they were—their reaction to her more than stunned Sascha. It was like she was flashing her breasts when they were respectably covered.

  Devon, of course, saw the direction of her glance, waved a hand, and murmured, “In fact, I know why I prefer this look. You look like you’ve just had sex.”

  As one, the other four men covered their faces with their hands. Devon truly was hapless, and it was genuine. Not feigned. He looked at his friends and frowned at their stances.

  Before he could say anything, or could even think to back off from his statement, she asked, “How do you know what I look like when I’ve just had sex?”

  Tension shot through the kitchen at her words, and she almost reveled in the reaction.

  “I don’t. But I’d imagine that’s how you look.”

  “And you’ve imagined my post-coital glow, have you?” she teased.

  He nodded, and quite bluntly admitted, “Yes. Often. Last night in the shower, actually.”

  At that, her mouth dropped open, and Sawyer gritted out, “This is totally inappropriate, Devon. She doesn’t want to know about you wanking off in the shower.”

  Sean grimaced. “Thanks for painting more of a picture, Sawyer. Jesus.” To Sascha, he murmured, “Sorry about that, Sascha. It was uncalled for.”

  She waved a dismissive hand. “If I didn’t want the answers, I wouldn’t have asked the questions.”

  Kurt frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m sure you do. If you really think about it.” She smiled at them, then clambered down from her stool. “I’m going to get changed,” she informed them all. “If you need anything from the store, write it down. I’ll be going out shortly.” As she rounded the counter and headed for the stairs, Sean snared a hold of her arm.

  His eyes were loaded with confusion as he asked, “Devon didn’t offend you?”

  The man in question huffed. “Why do you always think I offend her? She laughs more at me than she does at you.” He sounded quite proud of that very truthful point.

  “Because you say the most ridiculous things,” Andrei retorted. “Rude things too.”

  To Sean, she said, “I’m not offended. I’m a big girl, Sean.”

  His brow puckered, and with his free hand because he was keeping her in place with the other, he reached up and trailed a finger along her cheek. Heat welled, pooling in great swells that had her tilting her head and leaning into his caress.

  “Be careful, Sascha,” he whispered softly. “We’re not the sort of men to play games with.”

  Her eyelashes fluttered to a close. “I’m not the sort of woman who plays games.”

  Silence dropped at her statement, and she sent him a sleepy kind of smile before pulling away from his hold and heading on her way to the stairs.

  She’d dropped the baton. Now, she just had to wonder if any of them would bother to pick it up.

  * * *

  “Was that what I think it was?” Kurt wasn’t alone in his confusion, Sean realized. They were all a little dazed and a lot bewildered.

  Save for Devon, of course.

  He was back to tucking into the bread Sascha made for him specially and loading up his slice with butter and honey.

  If he didn’t love Devon like a brother, the bastard would have irritated the fuck out of him.

  As it was, he did love him, but still fantasized about slamming his head down into the counter a time or two. Hell, nobody was perfect.

  “She was coming on to us,” Devon pointed out before he took a bite of his breakfast. “I told you she was cool.”

  “There’s cool and there’s cool,” Sawyer muttered. “She can’t have been coming on to us. That never happens.”

  Sean grimaced. His friends were right. Well, Devon wasn’t. Not unless Sascha was totally fucking with their heads.

  In all the other instances, they’d fallen into an abstract sort of relationship. Hooking up here and there.

  Sascha had almost thrown down the gauntlet, and considering she knew what they were interested in, considering he’d explained it all to her so there was no bloody misunderstanding, that had to mean…

  He toyed with his spoon, wishing for a huge bowl of the cereal Sascha had been eating for breakfast. “We must have mistaken her intent.”

  “What’s the woman got to do?” Devon grumbled after gnawing down a huge chunk of bread. “Come downstairs naked? She almost was today.”

  “Is that a complaint?” Sawyer mocked.

  Kurt groaned. “I had to look twice this morning when I came down here. I thought an angel had taken over her kitchen.”

  Her kitchen. Kurt was right on the money. She’d barely been here two minutes, and already it felt like forever. She blended in so perfectly he could barely remember what it was like without her.

  After a fortnight!

  What would it be like after a month? Six months? A year?

  The stamp she’d made on this place concerned him.

  She was too integral, too soon, and yet, he couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t stop her from doing whatever it was she was doing.

  “You’re such a writer sometimes,” Andrei remarked with a quick grin, shattering Sean’s train of thought. “But I know what you mean. Her ass was…”

  “Divine,” Devon pointed out.

  “That’s one word for it,” Sean confessed. Hell, he’d noticed just as much as the others had.

  In the silky peignoir with the linen-cotton nightdress underneath, she’d looked like a movie star of old. In fact, there was an old-world kind of charm to Sascha. It was in everything she did. Even when he saw her bending over to pick up dirty laundry—and he knew for a fact, her seams didn’t split because he’d watched—or covered in a light dusting of flour when she was baking, she did it with a kind of elegance he knew couldn’t be bought.

  With the silk clinging to her every curve, the cot
ton imbuing her with an innocence that belied the sweet sensuality of her appearance, he had to admit, he’d been rocking a hard on since he’d come down for breakfast.

  “What do we do, guys?” he asked softly. Then, pre-empting Devon, stated, “Everyone but you, Devon.” When he grumbled, Sean hid a smile behind the glass he was sipping from.

  Andrei murmured, “I think we can’t mistake her intent. She was quite blatant.”

  “Now who’s making things sound bad?” Devon argued. “I came down to breakfast dressed in what I went to bed in. We all are apart from you and Sean. You’re making it sound like she’s easy or something.”

  Surprised by Devon’s defense, Sean murmured, “I don’t think he meant that, did you, Andrei?”

  “No, of course not.” The Russian sighed. “You’re sensitive where she’s concerned, Devon. I noticed that before.”

  Devon shrugged. “I like her.”

  “You like everyone,” Sawyer scoffed.

  “No. I really like her. Really. She’s nice. Her bread is phenomenal, and if I eat my dinner, she usually kisses me on the cheek like I’m a good boy.”

  Sean shook his head at his complex genius of a friend getting off on being treated like a kid. “You’ll be grateful if she ruffles your hair next,” he complained.

  “No, I don’t mean it that way. She’s not like the others.”

  “How do you know? She’s only been here a fortnight,” Kurt argued softly.

  “She treats us differently. If you haven’t noticed that yet, then you’re blind. All of you.”

  “We’re blind,” Sean said gruffly. “Point it out, Devon. What have you seen that we haven’t?” Devon, so incapable of seeing the bigger picture, could see the minutiae. Sean, for one, wanted to know exactly how Sascha had made it seem she’d been here forever.

  “Andrei, when you’re working, have you noticed that there’s always a fresh tray of coffee on the dresser in your study.”

  “Well, yes.” He blinked. “I guess that’s right.”

  “Yeah, because she sneaks in with fresh pots for you. And it’s that disgusting stuff you like too. She brews it specially for you, not that you even noticed,” Devon said with a huff. “Kurt, she changed detergent twice because you kept itching every time you wore something clean.”