Hers To Keep: THE QUINTESSENCE COLLECTION I

by Akeroyd, Serena

  The conversion had been his idea. It had been a large loft space once used to house the servants who’d worked here, but the last owner had turned it into storage.

  Realizing they’d need a live-in housekeeper, Sawyer had told the others it was wise to make the space as pretty as possible… if it was, maybe the housekeeper wouldn’t abandon them within the month.

  Of course, that hadn’t worked.

  Before Sascha, they’d gone through housekeepers every four to six weeks.

  In fact, when she’d hit the fifth week mark, they’d all been on edge. Dead certain she’d do as the others had—a midnight flit.

  Sawyer wasn’t sure why they were so bad at keeping staff, just knew that their track record spoke for itself. Sure, Devon wandered around naked from time to time, and Kurt had a habit of exploding in tirades of German that had terrified a couple of the housekeepers, but that wasn’t exactly a crime, was it?

  Well, the walking around naked might have been, but not the cursing in German.

  Sean was relatively normal, Sawyer too. Andrei had a thing about leaving books everywhere, but it wasn’t like they shit in the bath and expected the staff to clean it up. Or had raves that destroyed the house on a weekly basis, for God’s sake.

  As he grabbed the armchair in the corner of her bedroom, beside which was the closet door, he shifted the few items of clean laundry stacked atop it and placed them on the foot of the bed.

  Hefting the chair into his arms, he maneuvered out into the hall, and carried the light frame down the stairs.

  “We should get you a chair for all the offices,” he said as he walked back in, putting the chair closest to the fire. It meant she was furthest away from them, but in winter, when it grew cold, she’d probably appreciate being so near the warmth.

  “You don’t have to do that,” she told him, her cheeks flushing with heat.

  “Why not?”

  “Sawyer’s right. We’re all workaholics,” Devon murmured. “We spend far too much time in our offices.”

  “I don’t want to intrude. I know if you’re busy you need to concentrate.”

  “I’m sure you do. But you have work of your own too, right? There’s no reason why you should do it in that small office downstairs when you could do it here.”

  “Wouldn’t you mind?” she answered Sawyer.

  “If you make a lot of noise, yes,” Devon replied, honest as ever.

  Sawyer snorted. “Ignore him. Of course, we wouldn’t mind. We…” He cleared his throat. “We love your company.”

  Her eyes sparkled. “I love your company, too.”

  “I should hope so,” Devon inserted. “The way we’ve all been fucking. It would have been a bit peculiar if you’d hated the sight of us.”

  A quick grin split her cheeks. “You’re not wrong, Devon. It would have been peculiar. Bloody peculiar, actually.”

  Devon cocked a brow. “You sounded just like Sawyer then.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I tried to.”

  “Are you maligning my Scottish brogue?” Sawyer demanded, a fierce scowl twisting his brow—if he’d intended to scare her, it failed.

  She giggled.

  Fucking giggled.

  He rolled his eyes in disgust as she planted her butt in the chair he’d carried down, then tilted her head to the side.

  Eying her, he asked, “Something wrong with your neck?”

  “You’re supposed to kiss me. That was a subtle hint.”

  Subtle, his ass. “And the lady wants a bluidy kiss tae?” he declared to the room at large.

  She shot him a look loaded with heat. “Next time we’re in bed, talk like that.”

  He chuckled, decided to be disobedient and dipped down to kiss her neck, not her cheek. He let his lips trail up to her ear, loving how she shuddered and shivered at the simple touch—God, she was so responsive to him.

  To them all.

  “Anything you want, lass. I even recite shopping lists upon request,” he joked.

  She grinned up at him, then shooed him off with her good hand. “Go on. You get cracking. Lord help me if I get accused of making too much noise.”

  He scoffed at that but traipsed back to his side of the room. Taking a seat, he perused his desk, eyed the admin he’d been handling mostly since Devon had taken up this latest crusade of his.

  P vs NP was definitely his baby, not Sawyer’s. He was there as a sounding board, and to help develop the solution. All the bright sparks were Devon’s ideas. Which, a person might be forgiven for thinking was the case all the time, but the Nobel Prize they’d won four years ago?

  Thanks to Sawyer’s calculations. Not Devon’s.

  Not that many people knew that or believed it, but Sawyer was secure enough in his own ego to not give a damn.

  Sascha cleared her throat as she settled into the seat. He’d thought it was a gesture to grab his attention, but it wasn’t. Still, it took hold of his focus anyway.

  Jesus, she was beautiful, he thought to himself, studying the curve of her cheek as she bent over the manuscript in her hands. Even without the makeup, without the product in her hair, she was stunning.

  Her auburn locks were grouped in a high ponytail that kissed the back of her neck when she moved her head. It was the perfect contrast to her creamy skin, which was pink at the cheeks thanks to their earlier playfulness. The sweep of her eyelashes was ridiculously long, and for some stupid, pathetic reason, he wanted to press his lips to them. Wanted to feel their flutter against his mouth.

  He bit his lip to quell the peculiar need and pondered why the other housekeepers had abandoned them when Sascha had done the exact opposite. Had, in fact, seen something in them that had made her want to stay, to become a part of this crazy household.

  He tapped the cap of his pen against the desk in a rhythm that would piss Devon off soon if he carried on. But he didn’t care. He needed to do something with his hands, and that’s what he was doing.

  “Mein Gott, was ist…?”

  A sudden swell of German roared from the first floor, making the three of them jump with the suddenness of it.

  Sascha sat up, turned around to look at him. Devon, save for jolting at the sudden noise, made no other reaction, but Sawyer scowled at the door.

  “That bitch had better be out of here soon,” he growled.

  “You really hate her, don’t you?” Sascha queried softly.

  “For what she did to Kurt? Sure. For what she did to Andrei, I hate her more.”

  Her eyes widened, but before she could ask, another wave of pissed off German carried up the stairs. “What’s she caterwauling about now?”

  “Something about a stain on a bra,” Devon said disinterestedly.

  What was interesting however was the twitch of Sascha’s lips. “Oh,” was all she said.

  His eyes narrowed, then narrowed further when she cleared her throat again—a gesture she made when she was nervous—and settled further into the armchair.

  “She’s calling you,” Devon imparted next as Sawyer watched the charade as part of the audience rather than an active member of the conversation.

  “She is? Well, the house isn’t that big. I’m sure she’ll find me if she needs me,” came Sascha’s chirpy response.

  She wasn’t showing fear. Which meant the stain hadn’t been an accident she’d tried to cover up. But Sawyer wasn’t sure what exactly she was showing. Before he could ponder it too much, Katrin exploded through the door.

  “Knock first,” Devon bellowed, making everyone, save Sawyer, jolt in place. The women gawked at him, but he just said, “I’m trying to work here.”

  Katrin seethed, brandishing a white silk negligee in her hand. Well, what had once been a white silk negligee, that is.

  It wouldn’t suit the blonde. It was ice white, and against her coloring would only make her look insipid… not against Sascha’s creaminess, however.

  Sawyer pursed his lips, then determined when she was better, he’d take her negligee sho
pping. Just the thought had his cock hardening under the table.

  “Is there a reason you’ve come to disturb us, Katrin?”

  His question had her stiffening. “Look at it. Just look at it, would you?” she demanded in German.

  “English,” Devon roared, making Katrin and Sascha jolt once more. “It’s rude when Sascha doesn’t speak the language. I shouldn’t have to tell you that. Not when you’ve always tried to instill manners in us.”

  Sawyer snorted at Devon’s astuteness. Most of the time, it had seemed Katrin’s petty digs had swept over his head. But nothing did. Not unless he wanted to make it seem that way.

  Which was often the case.

  There was the time they’d all attended an award ceremony for him and Devon, and Katrin had chided them on their choice of bow tie. Another occasion where she’d asked if Sawyer knew how to use all the right forks at a swank soiree…

  Katrin’s mouth flatlined when she saw they were going to be no help; although, why she ever thought they would was beyond him.

  “This silk negligee cost more than your month’s wage,” she bit off.

  Sascha snorted. “Are you sure the hedge fund manager stole your money and you didn’t just spend it all?”

  Katrin’s eyes widened. “How dare you!”

  “Oh, I dare. It’s my house, remember? My men,” Sascha bit back. “You’d better remember that the next time you try and cozy up to Andrei over coffee.”

  “We were talking about my situation,” Katrin declared, her eyes widening as she slammed the silk into her thin chest.

  “I’m sure you were. If trying to play footsie with him was part of the investigation, then I’m sure all he’d have to do is look under the fucking table for the culprit.” Sascha’s jaw flexed as she gritted her teeth.

  “So, what? This is a punishment?”

  Sascha eyed the negligee with disinterest. “That was a mistake. If you’d not dumped your laundry in with the rest, I’d have been sure to hand wash it. However, I have to take into consideration the fact you’re not actually a guest here. More like an unwelcome intrusion, so you should be grateful I did your laundry at all. Badly or not.”

  Katrin’s nostrils flared.

  Devon, as usual, threw gas onto the fire by chuckling. “Good one, Sascha.”

  “I didn’t do anything, Devon,” Sascha retorted calmly. “Accidents happen, don’t they?” she tacked on, her tone as silky as the negligee clutched in the Wicked Witch’s hand. She returned her attention to the manuscript on her lap, completely blanking the other woman in the room.

  Katrin made an explosive sound under her breath, then spun on her heel and strode out the way she’d come in—good riddance.

  When the door slammed shut behind the bitch, Sawyer let out a whistle.

  “Remind me never to get on your bad side, babe.”

  Sascha being Sascha, somehow as naïve and naughty as Devon—a terrifying concept—just looked at him and winked.

  Nineteen

  “How much longer is she going to be here?” Sascha grated out.

  “I’m still working on the details of her financial situation,” Andrei answered, not looking up from his laptop. Perched on his armchair in Sean’s room, he looked brooding and mysterious and sexy.

  She’d never realized how hot smart guys were until she’d entered this house.

  Like Neverland, she’d never get out of this place without changing forever.

  “You do get that isn’t the answer I wanted, right?”

  His lips twitched, and finally, he deigned to look at her over his screen. “Sorry.”

  “I should think so.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I mean, four days? What was her excuse for not going to a hotel today?”

  Sean blinked at her, tugged at his shirt collar. “She said she still felt weak.”

  For the first time in the many weeks she’d been here, Sascha was unsure of her place.

  She’d been content with the status quo, just riding through it as they tried to figure out where she fit in. But now? With this bitch here? She was on edge, and she was feeling it.

  Why?

  If she’d been right at home, felt like this was her place, then she’d have tossed the cow out herself. As it was, she wasn’t sure if she had the right to do that, and that uneasiness was pissing her off. Majorly.

  With a grumble, she eyed Sean’s still tugging fingers and folded her arms across her chest. “Why do you let her get to you?”

  He blinked. “What are you talking about?”

  “She obviously knows the lifestyle we’re electing to lead—is that it? You’re afraid she’ll tell people if you toss her out on her ass?”

  Sean cut a look at Andrei, which was very interesting. He didn’t seem the least interested in this conversation. Save for one tiny thing… a little flicker of the muscle at the left side of his mouth. Barely there, and yet, she noticed it. Noticed it because she was looking for it.

  Ever since Sawyer had blurted that shit out about Katrin having hurt Kurt, but also Andrei? She’d been super curious.

  In fact, super in no way described it. It was eating at her. Eating away at her, because she knew for a fucking fact, that was why the bitch was still here instead of at the Ritz.

  Sascha knew this place was great, sheesh. It was like waking up in a period drama some mornings—save for all the intercoms and beeping gadgets Kurt insisted on having working, all at the same time (Alexa and Siri really needed to learn to get on better)—but the Ritz?

  Sascha would totally stay the shit out of that place. And considering the guys would be paying Katrin’s tab? Sascha wasn’t sure why Katrin wasn’t leaping at the offer.

  Of course, it could be said that she didn’t want to put the men out. That she didn’t want them to spend a lot of money on her. But that wasn’t in the bitch’s nature at all. The woman put the Sauer in Sauerkraut. Katrin gave a shit about no one and nothing that didn’t begin and end with herself.

  “I think it’s time you told me why you’re putting up with this crap.” She firmed her mouth as she stepped deeper into the room, taking the seat opposite Andrei’s beside the hearth.

  She wasn’t sure why this was the unofficial meeting grounds of the house, save for the fact Sean was in it, but that’s how it worked. They rarely used the living rooms. The men either worked in their own offices, spent time in here or down in the kitchen with her.

  It was a nice room, granted. A thick oatmeal carpet she was glad she didn’t have to vacuum, rich wooden paneling on the walls that gave the atmosphere a kind of closeted feeling… like no one could hear whatever was spoken within this room.

  There was a painting above the hearth she knew to be a Turner—knew because she’d looked at the signature—and then several armchairs where the men sat when they were here. One for each of them.

  Devon’s was squashy and over padded, Sawyer’s a chunky Chesterfield. Kurt had a sleek leather and chrome number that bounced when he sat on it, and Andrei’s was an Axminister, wide and squat, the leather scarred.

  She preferred comfort—who didn’t?—so usually stole Devon’s armchair with its thick cushions when he wasn’t in the vicinity.

  She plunked her ass down, refusing to budge until she had some answers.

  “Andrei?”

  Sean’s voice wasn’t timid—that raspy voice could never be considered in any way weak, but it was quieter than usual. The man could command a room with his voice alone, and in this, there was no difference. Andrei flinched, but shrugged.

  “Tell her. It’s not a secret.”

  “Apparently it is if you all felt you had to keep it from me.” Despite herself, she was hurt. Hurt that she’d been kept out of the loop.

  She bit her lip to stem any silly words from tumbling from her mouth. The last thing she needed was to speak in haste here. It wasn’t their fault that she was feeling insecure in her position. Well, it kind of was. But she got the feeling they were as uneasy as she was with Katr
in in the house.

  The days of ease and comfort in one another’s presence seemed in the distant past and the bitch had only been here four days.

  “The reason Kurt asked for a divorce was because of Andrei’s relationship with Katrin.”

  Sascha reared back at that. “Huh?”

  Sean grimaced, then to Andrei asked, “You sure you wouldn’t prefer to answer this?”

  Andrei’s smile was tight. “You’re doing an excellent job so far.” He didn’t look up from his screen.

  Sean sighed. “Though Kurt had invited Andrei into their relationship, it unraveled. Katrin found out she was pregnant, told Andrei it was his, and then when he and Kurt were trying to figure out a way to make it work, she had the baby aborted.”

  Whatever she’d expected, it hadn’t been that.

  Her mouth worked for a second as her gaze shot between Andrei and Sean, but no words spilled free.

  Her head had been fine this morning, but the astonishment of Sean’s revelation had a small ache blossoming at her temples. God, she was sick of the pain, sick of the discomfort. All she wanted to do was fling herself at Andrei, comfort him as best she could but…

  In fact, screw it. She rushed across the room, grabbed his laptop, and roughly let it land on the thickly carpeted floor. Before he could do more than jolt in surprise, she was there.

  On his lap.

  She burrowed her good arm around his neck and pressed her face into his throat. “I am so sorry,” she whispered against his skin.

  To be told that you were going to be a father, and then for Katrin to do something like that…?

  She hated the bitch even more now. Her lips brushed the tender area of his Adam’s apple, and she felt a shiver rush through him at the unexpected caress.

  He was so fucking stoic sometimes. The kind of guy who hid his agony through cutting remarks and jokes—but he hurt. She knew he did. That baby had meant something to him. It wasn’t just an unfortunate accident; nor would it have been for Kurt.

  God, she needed to smother him in love too.

  That evil bitch needed the opposite. Her right eye twitched as she plotted how to make Katrin suffer. Maybe a pair of blue socks in with her whites? Or laxatives in her coffee…?