Hers To Keep: THE QUINTESSENCE COLLECTION I

by Akeroyd, Serena

  They shared uneasy looks, and Sean, conceding defeat, stopped pulling at the top button of his shirt and finally unfastened it.

  After Sean had led Katrin to the living room, telling her she could stay a night and, in the morning, he’d arrange a hotel room for her, the rest of them had stayed down here in the basement kitchen once she was sequestered upstairs.

  Usually, they congregated in Sean’s room.

  Why?

  Sawyer guessed it was more habit than anything else.

  Not only did he have the largest office, with more seating—intentional or otherwise, he didn’t know—but Sean was the unofficial head of their little household.

  He dealt with most of the administrative matters. Well, either him or Kurt. Mostly because if it was left to the rest of them, they’d never have any electricity and the food in the fridge would only be a shade of green.

  “She’ll understand,” Sean reasoned, his tone firmer, though he still looked uneasy.

  “Will she? Females tend to be irrational when it comes to things like this,” Devon retorted, biting into a cookie Sascha had baked earlier for dessert.

  “Females? I’m sure she’ll appreciate being called that more than having the ex upstairs lodging with us,” he said with a scoff, trying and failing to ignore the fact Devon was eating the wrong set of cookies—there were ones baked with Stevia and others with sugar.

  Devon peered at him as Sawyer snatched the treat out of his hand, replacing it with the oatmeal and raisin Sascha prepared for Devon, who didn’t need the sugar messing with his constantly sleep-deprived self, and pre-diabetic Sean. Though he studied the new cookie in his hand, he didn’t comment on it, just asked, “Why? What’s wrong with females?”

  “She’s a woman.”

  “I don’t understand why we can’t call them ladies anymore,” Andrei grumbled, reaching for a cookie and taking a bite. “Woman sounds so harsh.”

  He shrugged. “Women’s lib. That’s how they want it.”

  “We should ask, Sascha. She usually has the opposite opinion to what we imagine. I bet she’ll prefer females,” Devon remarked, sliding his chair from the table to get to his feet.

  Frowning, Sawyer grabbed his arm and kept him in place. “Where are you going?”

  “To ask her which word she prefers.”

  With a sigh, because he really shouldn’t have to explain shit like this, Sawyer rubbed his temple and said, “Devon, you saw her earlier. Didn’t she look tired and uncomfortable? She needs to sleep.”

  Devon tilted his head to the side. “But she always answers.”

  “You mean you do this a lot?” he asked, aghast. Completely unaware that Devon had been pestering her over the random shit that popped into his head, guilt filled him but there was only so much he could do. Only so many hours in a day he could keep Devon on a leash.

  It didn’t help that his best friend rarely slept, while Sawyer did. That mean there were hours where Devon could get up to only God knew what kind of trouble.

  And it wasn’t aided by the fact that Sascha found him amusing and, as a result, let him get away with murder. She’d have to nip that in the bud if she didn’t want to be peppered with questions for the rest of her life.

  His eyes widened at the thought.

  The rest of her life?

  Quickly swerving away from thoughts of that nature, he waited for Devon to sheepishly admit, “Well, yeah. She never minds.”

  “It doesn’t mean that you should do it,” Sean pointed out. “She needs rest and down time too, Devon.”

  He shrugged. “I make her laugh.”

  “You make us all laugh,” Andrei retorted. “Doesn’t mean I want you buzzing me on the damn intercom 24/7.”

  “Well, I don’t do it at night. I do have some consideration,” he stated with a huff as he plunked himself back in his seat. “I bet she wouldn’t mind,” he muttered, more to himself.

  “I bet she would. She looked close to sleep before Kurt led her upstairs,” Andrei commented, frowning a little at his own words. “What do you think’s going on with her?”

  Sean questioned, “Who? Katrin or Sascha?”

  “Sascha, of course,” Andrei said with a huff. “Like I give a fuck about Katrin.”

  “You’re not going to help her?” Sawyer asked, curious. Andrei and Katrin were tied in more ways than the Russian would probably appreciate. That would either help her lead him down the garden path, or it would encourage him to stay the fuck away from her.

  A male Black Widow spider who escaped, didn’t tend to go back for second helpings. At least, he didn’t think they would. Evolution at its finest, he thought with an inner chuckle.

  Andrei grimaced at his question. “I’m going to look into it and have a few of my assistants tackle the situation. I want her hanging around as much as I want Devon buzzing me on the intercom asking me shit about the meaning of life.”

  “I don’t ask her about the meaning of life. Just things I think she’ll know the answer to,” came the immediate argument from Dev.

  “Like what?”

  Sean’s interested question had Dev shrugging. “Like why brown sugar is brown? How come women have to wear bras? That kind of stuff.”

  “You have heard of Siri, right?” Andrei demanded, shaking his head in disgust.

  “It’s not accurate. I like her take on things.” He hunched his shoulders. “Plus, she’s always patient with me.”

  Sawyer, feeling guilty—again—clapped a hand on Devon’s back, then slid his arm around his shoulders. Tugging him into a half hug, he stated, “I’m patient with you. Don’t hear me shouting at you, do you?”

  Devon peered up at him, and as always, that look had Sawyer feeling both uneasy and amused. Since he was sixteen, he’d had Devon looking at him that way. He was more used to being with him than being without the massive pain in the arse.

  Sometimes, it was like being a friend, father, brother, and caretaker. Devon was a huge responsibility, but he did it because he loved the bastard. Devon wasn’t retarded, or anything like that. He was neuroatypical, and as a result, said whatever was on his mind whenever it cropped up. But it had gotten them both into a lot of trouble over the years.

  Not that he’d change that. They were kindred souls, after all. It was why Sawyer looked after him—he understood the obsessive need to work, understood Devon’s drive like no other. And, as a result, recognized how truly rare his friend’s intellect was. That was why he was like his damn shepherd. Devon needed to be protected. At all costs.

  As bizarre as it was to even think it, Sawyer knew Devon was far too precious for the world to lose.

  Just because a mind was great, didn’t mean it wasn’t weak too. The world had lost way too many geniuses before their time, and Sawyer was hellbent on making sure Devon wasn’t another Nikola Tesla waiting to happen.

  “You don’t know why women wear bras though, do you?”

  His lips twitched—had Tesla asked such a question, he wondered. “So, she’s the female version of me?”

  Devon nodded, beaming at him in approval at his understanding. “Exactly. You wouldn’t know why brown sugar was brown, would you?”

  “True. Although, it’s probably something to do with molasses.”

  Devon’s mouth dropped open. “She said that.” He looked at him like he was Yoda. “You knew!”

  “I did,” he retorted with a grin. Then, squeezing Devon’s shoulder, he turned to Andrei and stated, “You remember that year when I had four concussions after playing rugby?”

  Sean chuckled. “How could we forget? We had to keep waking you up, and every fucking time you woke up, you came out fighting.”

  His grimace was rueful. “Aye. I remember. Did I ever apologize for that?”

  Andrei snorted. “No.”

  Sawyer cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

  Sean chuckled. “Forgiven. Anyway, what was your point?”

  “I got bad headaches for months after that last concussion. I h
ad to stop playing rugby because of it.” He shrugged. “I’m not saying she shouldn’t go to the doctor’s, but I’m saying I don’t think there’s cause for concern.”

  “Before the accident, she hadn’t had the shit kicked out of her on the rugby pitch,” Sean pointed out.

  “No, but we’ve all seen the footage.” Some bastard had uploaded a damn recording onto YouTube. Sick shits.

  “I saw it in live action. Replaying that isn’t on my agenda,” Sean said with a grimace.

  “I know,” Sawyer immediately conceded, because he hadn’t wanted to watch it either, but Andrei had, like the robot he could be from time to time, declared that statistically four of them watching that horrendous shite was better than one. And they’d gritted their teeth through the forty second nightmare just to make sure nothing had slipped their attention at the crime scene, “but I just mean, she landed hard on her head. She’s lucky there was no major damage. In fact, it’s a miracle there isn’t.”

  “All the more reason to make sure the doctors at the hospital didn’t miss something,” Devon pointed out softly, and as usual, managed to get to the heart of the matter with the precision of a laser.

  Neuroatypical people were often thought of as naïve. But Devon wasn’t. He seemed it because of the questions he’d ask, and the responses he’d give when prompted, but he was sharper than a scalpel.

  Put Devon in a room with a stranger, and he’d figure out if that person was like him or not. Read them, know them, see them, for what they were at their core.

  It was for that reason he kept to himself.

  When they’d interviewed housekeepers for Sascha’s position, it would have been useful to have Devon sit in. He saw past the bullshit people spoke on a daily basis. Cut through the swathes to the person underneath. It was an ability he’d honed over the years. Tweaked with every betrayal. What he found now when he met new people, he rarely liked. Hence his unsociable nature.

  Rubbing his chin, Andrei murmured, “We must make sure she visits a clinic next week.”

  Sean nodded. “I’d already put it in my diary.”

  “Good,” Devon inserted grimly. He swirled his finger amid the cookie crumbs in front of him. Quickly forming the ‘root square’ symbol, he demanded, “What news from MI6, Sean?” He shot him a look. “And no BS. My security clearance is probably higher than yours.”

  “They’re still linking the bomb attack with the car accident.”

  Kurt snorted. “Only because you put them onto the potential connection.”

  Sean just rolled his shoulders—the man never took credit for his smarts.

  That said smarts were going down that particular direction, however, had Sawyer scowling.

  “But why? Why would someone target Sascha? She’s hardly a wanted criminal or drug kingpin. She had a security check before she came to work for us; something would have cropped up then, wouldn’t it? If she had some kind of dodgy past?”

  Sean nodded, reached for his glass, and took a deep sip of the red Sascha had served with dinner. “Of course, it would. And yet, we have a man in custody who admits to having been paid to kill her, and to make it look like an accident. An accident that follows the MO of recent terror attacks in the capital. Then, we have a bomb scare two nights later. At an event she’s supposed to attend. Whether or not it makes any sense, coincidences like that rarely exist.”

  “Don’t talk to me about probability,” Devon snapped. “I want to know that she’s safe.”

  “We’ll figure this out,” Sean assured him.

  “When? After she’s been attacked a third time?” Devon shook his head. “That’s not good enough.”

  “The nation’s finest is working on this, Dev,” Andrei pointed out. “Not just the city police, but the country’s. Plus, Sean’s been brought in to consult… They’ll figure out what’s going on soon.”

  Devon pursed his lips. “What are we going to do about her?”

  Sean frowned. “This is getting confusing; who her? Sascha?”

  “Of course,” Devon said with disgust, like thoughts of Katrin were way beyond him. Which, Sawyer knew, was true.

  There was a whole class during their second year at Oxford, Devon had completely erased. Like, completely. Bad memories, he tended to delete like he was some kind of ‘Windows’ program. If he kept them, it was for a reason. Never a good one either.

  Andrei’s lips twitched, but answered, “Good question, Dev,” He rubbed his chin. “What are we going to do about Sascha?”

  Only Sean didn’t seem to understand where they were going with this. “Can someone give me a clue what we’re talking about here? We just said we’ll make sure she goes to the clinic.”

  Devon huffed. “And Sawyer says I’m slow. Look, she’s different.” He looked at them, individually studying them before he said, “You know it, I know it.”

  “He’s right,” Sawyer stated. “I… I don’t want her to go anywhere.”

  Sean stilled, sensing that that was as deep as Sawyer would go. “I don’t want her to leave either.”

  “Me too,” Devon chimed in.

  “Nor I,” Andrei whispered.

  They shot one another a look; their euphemism for her ‘not leaving’ meaning they were falling for her. Hard. And they each knew it.

  Sawyer reached for his wineglass. “What do we do?”

  “There’s nothing we can do. We just have to go with the flow. She feels as much as we do for her; I’m sure of it,” Andrei pointed out softly.

  “I know she does,” Devon retorted.

  “Then, we have nothing to worry about, do we?”

  “Nothing save for a bomber,” Sawyer answered Sean glumly.

  He drew in a shaky breath. “I’ll get on it.” His chair scraped against the stone floor. “Devon, let her sleep,” Sean intoned, before he headed upstairs to his office.

  “We should clear this up,” Sawyer said as he too got to his feet. “Last thing I want Sascha seeing is this mess when she wakes up.”

  Andrei stilled, then let out a chuckle. “Now I know you’re in love. Actively willing to do chores? It’s either love or a miracle.”

  “Or a head injury,” Devon pointed out. “Maybe it’s that concussion coming out to play?”

  Flipping them both the bird, he asked, “You going to help me or not?”

  Sixteen

  Turning on her side, the wrong side, woke her up immediately. The agony that speared through her, radiating from her wrist, was just another walk in the park. Truth was, that was nothing to the headaches she’d been enduring of late. But on a brighter note, no headache at the present moment.

  Opening her eyes, she realized she wasn’t in her bedroom. But Devon’s.

  When had that happened? she thought.

  His room was surprisingly spartan, considering the mess within his workroom. He and Sawyer seemed to share the same design mentality.

  Less was more.

  Only difference was, Sawyer went for metal whereas Devon went for natural materials. Sawyer’s bed had a cast iron frame. Devon’s was made from a very nice piece of mahogany. Apart from the bed, the room was furnished with two rugs which lay either side, and a large mirror which covered one wall and was actually the doors to a built-in wardrobe. It was fabulous to clean because of its simplicity. This was not a room meant for clutter of any kind.

  She squinted though, surprised to be here when she was sure Kurt had carried her to her bedroom last night.

  “You climbed in with me last night.”

  The voice had her eyes blinking open properly instead of squinting around.

  It came from the ground, where, when she peered over the side of the bed, she saw Devon in a yoga pose. She’d mentioned it to him once, suggested that it would be a good way for him to relax—he had insomnia, and slept less than a hamster on LSD. He’d never mentioned that he was a damn near yogi.

  It astonished her that a man with a concentration that ran somewhere between a gnat and a mathematician, cho
se yoga to relax.

  Not that she was going to complain. Not with his ass in the air like it was… Even she recognized downward dog.

  Looking at him through his legs, and checking out his ass along the way, she murmured, “I don’t remember coming down here.”

  He shrugged mid-asana. “You had a nightmare.”

  “I did?” She rubbed her temple. “I don’t remember.”

  “I think you took some medication. Well, it sounded like you were on drugs at least,” he explained after a moment, when he breathed long and low through a series of asanas that had her wanting to hump him like she was the dog and he was the bitch in heat.

  The notion had her grinning, which in turn, had him cocking a brow at her. Of course, the gesture held less merit because he was upside down. “Want to share the joke?”

  She chuckled. “I was thinking I’d hump you rather than the other way around.”

  “I’ve been told I have a very hump-able butt.”

  “I can confirm this,” she told him, just as deadpan as he. “It’s also bitable. Next time you do yoga in front of me, I encourage you to do it naked.”

  “Dicks aren’t made for yoga. They flop about.”

  “And there goes my sex drive,” she teased.

  He chuckled. “I should teach you yoga. We could have sex in interesting positions.”

  “I think we should stick to the regular positions first considering we’ve not done those together yet.” She curled her finger at him, trying to beckon him to come to her. “In fact, my head feels fine for once.”

  He shook his head. “You’re high on pain meds.”

  She snorted. “No. I’m not.”

  He scowled at her. “How do you know?”

  “Because my arm hurts like a bitch,” she explained, “but for me to fuck you, I don’t need my arms.”

  “You to fuck me, huh?” he asked, going through another wave of asanas that had him in all kinds of weird postures that gave her a better view of his ass and defined every single muscle in his back.

  Jeez, the man was hot.

  He was sweating faintly. Not grossly, just enough for his bronze skin to have a sheen on it. A sheen she wanted on her.