Hers To Keep: THE QUINTESSENCE COLLECTION I

by Akeroyd, Serena

  Andrei’s nostrils flared. “I know there was. Devon told me. He also said that you were looking into this.”

  “I am.”

  Kurt heaved out a breath. “Sean. Come on.”

  Sean sighed. “There’s more to this than we think.”

  “Of course there is. A bomb went off in the capital tonight, Sean. There’s definitely more going on than meets the eye.”

  “No. I mean with Sascha.”

  Kurt narrowed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

  “She’s being targeted.”

  Sawyer’s hand slammed down against the armrest of his chair. “You have to be shitting me.”

  “I wish I was.”

  “Tell us what’s going on, Sean,” Andrei demanded. “Are you trying to tell me that you think the bomb was for her?”

  “No. I’m trying to tell you there’s a correlation between her being hit by a bloody car and this attack tonight.”

  “What kind of correlation?” Devon asked quietly, his eyes trained on his phone. Kurt knew it wasn’t because Dev wasn’t interested, it was because he worked on different levels. His attention split off in so many ways, his brain had to be like a rainbow. “There can be no connection. It makes no sense. What happened to Sascha was happenstance. That boy was in the street, she saw him, and rushed to get him out of the way of oncoming traffic. There’s no way in hell anyone could predict that.”

  Sean sighed and rubbed at his temples like an ache was gathering there. Kurt could understand. A storm was brewing in his head too.

  “She was hit by that car by accident. But it was intended as more.”

  Sawyer scowled at him. “Stop talking in circles, man. How can an accident be anything other than an accident?”

  “The driver who rammed into her… he’s confessed to being paid to run her down.”

  Silence filled the room, but Sawyer put it succinctly, “Fuck.”

  Sean’s smile was grim. “Yeah. Exactly.”

  Eleven

  “Mein Gott. Warum kann ich nicht…” He blinked, jolted from his anger at the knock on the door. “Was?” he snarled, then remembering where he was, England, grunted. “Yeah?”

  Sascha’s head popped around the door. “Everything okay?”

  He pursed his lips and tried not to be charmed by her bright-eyed concern. Jesus, she had no right to be so distractingly beautiful. Not when he needed to concentrate.

  “Not really,” he admitted, glowering at his computer screen. “The story I plotted isn’t working. It’s going in a whole other fucking direction.”

  “May I come in?”

  Her hesitance was probably the only thing that could penetrate the density of his writer’s cave. Blinking at her, he murmured, “Of course. You don’t have to ask.”

  She grinned. “Ever? I think that’s a rule you want to nip in the bud right from the start.”

  He shook his head. “Is your door closed to us?”

  Sascha tilted her head to the side. “No, I guess not. You’d only go up there if you had a reason, and that reason would be enough for me to understand why you’d interrupt my alone time.”

  He smirked at her. “Exactly. Now, what’s wrong?”

  She laughed. “Nothing. I just heard you cursing in German. Wanted to make sure everything was okay, and if it wasn’t, could fresh baked pumpernickel make it better?”

  He knew his eyes lit up when her laugh deepened. “For me?”

  “For you,” she teased. “You’re the only one who eats it.”

  Touched that she’d thought of him, he shoved away from his desk, eager to taste his treat as well as get away from his computer.

  Sliding his arm around her waist, he pressed his hand to the base of her spine. “How are you feeling today anyway?”

  “Fine,” she said. “Which you’d know if you’d come down for breakfast.”

  He sighed as they walked down the steps, the kitchen their end goal. “I was writing.”

  “You sure you weren’t hiding?”

  “Hiding from what?” He snorted for good measure at the preposterous idea.

  “I don’t know. You’ve been weird ever since you told me about Andrei’s mother.”

  “I haven’t. Or, that was never my intention.” He rubbed his chin. “Truth is, this book is a fucking nightmare. I don’t know why I started it in the first place.”

  “Can I help at all?”

  “Just being here is a help,” he told her earnestly.

  “Why? Because I cook so you don’t have to?”

  Her light tone was one that invited him to join in, but he couldn’t. “No, because you make this place brighter.”

  She turned her head to stare at him in surprise, and he noticed her flushed cheeks. “You always make me blush,” she whispered, laughing a little, at herself this time though.

  “Why?”

  “Your intensity—it’s more than I know how to handle sometimes.”

  He tensed at that. Did she think he was desperate?

  Before he could even think of what to say, she whispered, “I want to believe everything you say, but sometimes I can’t.”

  He stared at her, then realized they were hovering on the staircase. Though it had been over a week since her accident, and five days since the bomb, she was still delicate. Could move around more, had started cooking more complex meals with the help of a food processor and a slow cooker, but wasn’t strong enough for her other duties just yet.

  Not that they mattered, save for her restricted mobility. It was beginning to drive her crazy.

  They’d all noticed she was more snippy than usual. Which, considering she had to be in pain, not only from her head but her wrist, was more than understandable.

  “We should talk about this around some snacks,” he decided, smiling at her encouragingly. Gently pressing his hand against her back, he led her downstairs to the basement kitchen.

  The space was a white, colorless haven. She’d brightened the place up with flowers and potted plants, but for the most part, it was the same white and copper as it had always been.

  Adjacent to the breakfast bar, there was the dining table where they usually ate every meal save breakfast. It was placed in front of a set of patio doors that overlooked the yard. The day was dull. The sun barely gleaming through heavy set clouds that looked gray with the promise of rain. In the barely there light, the green grass, though rich and verdant, looked pallid and tired.

  He sighed at the bleak view—it wasn’t exactly inspiring. “It’s a good thing I’m German.”

  A laugh escaped her as he grabbed a tray she’d loaded down with the fresh bread and the butter she bought for him—it had Himalayan rock salt crystals in it, and was his new favorite food. He noticed, with interest, that she’d also put a small mason jar of hummus on the tray too, as well as a few chunks of cheeses and pots of different vegetable and fruit chutneys.

  “Why is it a good thing?” she asked.

  “Because I’m used to this miserable weather. It must drive you crazy. I’ve been to Arizona. It’s sunny. All the time. I needed sunglasses at night.”

  She snorted. “That sounds about right.” Hunching her shoulders, Sascha confessed, “I guess I miss it sometimes. But not too much. It’s a different kind of home to me now.”

  He watched as she retrieved a bottle of fizzy water from the fridge, and got to his feet to collect two glasses for them.

  When she’d settled at the head of the table, her unofficial place with Sean who was seated opposite her, he reached for their plates. Putting them in front of him, he grabbed the loaf and hacked into it.

  “You’re slaughtering the bread,” she grumbled, but her lips weren’t curled downward.

  “Then you should tell your wrist to heal already. There’ll be more slaughtering before the months’ out.”

  She huffed. “I don’t know if I can stand it that long.”

  “You have no choice,” he chided, cocking a brow at her.

  “
Not with my head aching the way it is.” She pressed her gentle fingertips to her forehead. “I can’t believe the pain’s still there.”

  Sympathetic, he put down the knife and rubbed her upper arm. “It will stop soon. We’ve all seen the footage.” He shook his head at the memory—one of Sean’s police contacts had sent him the link to a video some sick fuck had put on YouTube, and they’d all watched it in a vain attempt to try to understand why the bastard behind the wheel had been targeting her. “It’s no wonder you’re aching so badly with the tumble you took.” Tumble was an understatement. Seeing her flying through the air like a movie stunt gone wrong still had the power to make him feel sick—God only knew how Sean felt after seeing it in the flesh.

  “I guess. I’m just tired of it already. It went away after…” She cleared her throat. “You know, with Sawyer and me? But ever since, it’s just been making me grouchy as hell.”

  He grimaced on her behalf. “I’ll bet. Now, do you want hummus or cheese?”

  “Hummus. The cheese is for you.”

  “You know me so well.”

  She grinned. “I’m getting there.”

  He slapped hummus onto the bread and placed a few slices on her plate, then began serving himself.

  As she picked at her snack, her words came back to haunt him. Because he wanted to know if his manner pleased or displeased her, he asked, “You were saying on the steps that I’m intense?”

  He watched her fingers as she toyed with a breadcrumb. “Sean’s the same. It’s like both of you know exactly what to say to turn me to mush. It freaks me out.”

  Her words had him frowning. Taking a bite of the bread, he moaned at the deliciousness of the treat baked solely for him and pondered her words. “So, it’s your reaction to the words that freaks you out, not the words themselves?”

  “I guess.”

  “Why?”

  “Do you know how many men have bullshitted me over the years just to try to sleep with me?” She cocked a brow. “I’m scared that this is all just going to turn out to be like that. And I really don’t want it to be. I…” She sucked in a breath. “I like it here. I…” She ducked her head, and he realized that for the first time, he saw her truly vulnerable. “I like you.”

  “You’re frightened the floor is going to fall out from under you?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, awkwardly pulling off a piece of bread and shoving it in her mouth.

  “Do you think we want to hurt you?”

  “No. But it doesn’t mean it might not happen anyway.”

  He pursed his lips. “Has any of them spoken to you of my marriage?” She fidgeted a second, which was an answer in itself. He smirked a little. “It’s okay,” he told her. “In our own way, we share things we shouldn’t to help each other out.”

  “Andrei told me Katrin cheated on you.” She cleared her throat. “A lot.”

  He nodded. “A lot.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. But, if you think you’re the only one scared of being hurt, you’re wrong.”

  “You’re scared?” she asked, her eyes wide.

  For some reason, her shock amused him more than offended. “Men get scared, too,” he told her wryly. “We just don’t admit it all that often.”

  She bit her lip. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”

  He barked out a laugh, amused again, despite himself. “It wasn’t supposed to make you feel better, per se. Just to open your eyes to the fact you’re not the only one who wants this to work.”

  Her frown discomforted him, but she seemed to be pondering his words. “I guess there’s never any certainty when it comes to things like this.”

  His stomach plummeted at that. “No. Sadly, there isn’t.”

  “That doesn’t make me feel better either,” she confessed again, making him snort this time.

  He reached for her hand, bridged his fingers with hers complete with hummus on hers and butter on his, and murmured, “We can only try.”

  “I-I really want it to work. Sometimes, when you say the things you do, it’s like a reminder of why this should all be impossible. It’s like you know what I need to hear. But I don’t want that. I want you to mean the things that you tell me.” She sighed. “Sorry. I’m rambling.”

  “Maybe a little, but I know exactly what you’re saying.” He smiled. “If you hadn’t noticed already, we’re all very honest around here.”

  “True that,” she retorted with a huff. “Jesus, if you guys get any more honest, I don’t know if I’d be able to cope.”

  “I don’t just mean Devon,” he replied, knowing exactly what she was talking about, or whom was more precise. “We all are. We’re not in the habit of saying shit just to get you to pull your panties down.”

  “Wow. That was blunt,” she remarked, smirking a little as she tightened her fingers on his. “And dirty too.”

  “You like it dirty?” he asked, cocking a brow at her.

  She grinned, then scowled. “I do usually. I can’t wait for normal service to be resumed. Do you realize how hard it is living with five sex Gods, knowing you can touch them any time you want, and not being able to for fear of giving yourself the migraine from Hell? It makes me so mad.”

  A thought occurred to him. “Is that why you’re so pissy at mealtimes?”

  Her scowl deepened. “I’m not pissy.”

  “You totally are.”

  She huffed again. “Well, it’s hard not to be a touch angry when the only dishes you want are the ones you can’t have.”

  He grinned. “We’re a smorgasbord just waiting to be sampled,” he teased. “Delayed gratification is good for the soul.”

  “But not for my pussy or your cock,” she retorted waspishly, then she wailed, “A girl has needs, you know?”

  “She does, does she?” he asked, lifting a brow at her.

  “I’d nod repeatedly here, but if I do, that counteracts the good in sitting still,” came her glum retort.

  “Think you can lie back on the table without moving your head too much?”

  Her eyes widened, and she gawked at him.

  “I fancy a snack that isn’t on the menu.”

  Before he could say another word, she shot up out of her seat with enough haste to make him chuckle, then wince when she clutched her head and whispered, “Jesus H. Christ.”

  “Slowly, Sascha. There’s no rush,” he chided, watching as she, whimpering as she moved, perched on the edge of the table.

  Uncertain if she needed to be carried back to bed, he watched on in amusement as she carefully, slowly enough to make him pause, lowered herself against the table.

  Hell, she really did want to be eaten out.

  He hid his smile at the thought, because she looked so uncomfortable, he wouldn’t have blamed her for snapping at him. “We can do this in bed,” he advised, eying the tension in her frame. This was for her, not for him. She’d said that sleeping with Sawyer had helped her head, after all.

  Plus, he’d get a taste of her. At last.

  “No,” she countered. “I want to cum on this table. It will stop me from being pissy later.”

  “There’s no way you’ll cum all tense the way you are.”

  “You get that tongue working on my clit instead of on words, I’m sure I’ll relax,” she retorted, then, her waspishness disappeared. Grinning, she said, “I’m really glad I wore a skirt today.”

  “Not as glad as I am,” he retorted, sinking down onto the seat she’d just vacated. Her butt was halfway down the central line of the table, so she was positioned perfectly for his needs.

  Lifting her skirt, he dragged the hem over her thighs, letting his palms scrape over the tender skin. Watching her every move, both the voluntary ones and the involuntary ones, he saw gooseflesh rise on her legs, and smiled at the reaction.

  Laughter barked from her all of a sudden. “I’m just trying to imagine what Devon would say if he caught us.”

  His lips twitched. “I wouldn’t wor
ry about Devon.” Then, he focused on his prize. “Will it hurt if I spread your legs?”

  She snorted. “Even if it did, I’d tell you to spread them.”

  “Good to know,” he retorted, chuckling as he parted her thighs and groaned at the way her thong was digging between her ass cheeks. He pulled at the fabric, tugging it higher so that it went all the way down between the lips, and added pressure to her clit.

  A muffled groan escaped her, and he saw she’d rested her forearm over her eyes. The move was a curious one. Defensive? Was she hiding?

  He decided to leave her be. She was already uncomfortable enough without him pointing something of that nature out to her.

  He tugged up again, liking how her hips jerked with the move, before pulling the fabric away from her cunt entirely. With a groan, he sank between her legs and devoured her.

  There was no finesse, he was as hungry for her as she was for him.

  He didn’t enjoy oral sex all that much. Hadn’t done it often since Janna had basically ruined it for him, but considering this was the only way he could get her off without moving her head in the process, it was the least he could do.

  But he should have realized everything would be different with Sascha.

  Because, Jesus, her taste.

  It got to him like the finest whiskey.

  And the sounds she made, her natural responses and the gentle rocking of her hips, were enough to have him reaching down and grabbing his cock in his fist.

  Janna had laid there like a limp rag. Her lack of passion had turned him off oral sex, had, if he was being honest, eaten into his confidence. But a simple flick of his tongue had Sascha reacting like she was on fire, and in response, he wanted to devour her. To taste all she had to give. The pressure of his fly was uncomfortable, and he quickly unzipped himself and began to wank his dick as he slurped up her juices.

  Exploring her outer lips, he sank onto her clit, suckling the nub until she was shrieking, the fingers of her good hand burrowing into his hair in a way that told him she was loving his mouth on her as much as he was loving having it there.

  He smiled against her pussy, and she must have felt it because she screeched, “Bastard!”