Hers To Keep: THE QUINTESSENCE COLLECTION I

by Akeroyd, Serena

  A lack of parking was a major issue here. The residences had been constructed in a time where a two-car family wasn’t exactly a ‘thing’. That meant the streets had permits, and she had to park her beloved Baby outside and uncovered.

  “What are you doing out here, Devon?” she asked somberly. It was probably the first time since she’d moved into their home that she wasn’t excited to see one of the five best boyfriends a girl could ever have.

  She didn’t want to talk to any of them, and that was a testament to how addled her brain was. She wasn’t sure what she wanted, but getting out of here was imperative.

  “I’m here for you,” he said simply, but nothing about Devon was simple.

  He was a math genius. And even that was an understatement. A Nobel Prize winner, a code cracker for MI6, there was no ordinary title that fit this man, because he was anything but ordinary.

  “I-I need to get out of here.”

  He nodded. “I understand.”

  She winced. “I doubt that.”

  “I heard.” His grimace said it all. “I eavesdropped, I’m afraid. Sorry about that.”

  “That’s unlike you to say sorry,” she murmured absentmindedly. And it was the truth.

  He rarely apologized. Not because he was a douche, but because he just... Well, didn’t.

  There was always a reason behind his actions, and that reason was always logical and rational. Which meant there was no need for him to apologize because his actions were well thought out and, therefore, reasonable.

  Yeah, it could be hard being with a man like that. One who saw everything in such stark lines of black and white. Gray didn’t exist for Devon. It wasn’t even on the color spectrum for him.

  “If I’d wanted privacy, then I guess we should have gone to another room,” she justified on his behalf, and when he nodded, knew that was how he justified eavesdropping, too.

  It was a good thing he was gorgeous, and sweet—it was the sweetness that got to her most—because otherwise, he’d be so goddamn irritating, she’d have wanted to slap his face all the time.

  But gorgeous he was with his inky black hair and come-to-bed eyes. His strong form was usually covered in ratty jeans that showcased his taut ass to perfection, and old tees that were washed and better washed, but were soft, and clung to his stomach and arms.

  She’d never known a man to wear the clothes of a beggar and somehow still look like a prince.

  Shaking her head at the lofty thought, she murmured, “I need a time-out.”

  “I know where to go,” he reasoned.

  “I-I need to be alone, Devon.”

  He shook his head. “That’s the last thing you need, Sascha darling.”

  Her eyes widened at the term of endearment. The others called her pet names, but Devon rarely did unless he was parroting them.

  Sometimes, it was like living with a robot. The way he processed things, she could be forgiven for likening him to highly advanced AI, but every now and then, he reminded her he was flesh and blood. Usually in the bedroom. Her core clenched at the too few memories she had of him in that way.

  A concussion had put a stop to her love life. Which was really fucking irritating when she had five sex Gods all ready and willing to service her at just a word.

  She almost pouted, and then realized how ridiculous that was when her father’s revelation was still being processed by her lagging reserves.

  “Get in,” she whispered as she unlocked Baby’s doors, another car’s presence on the side of the road prompting her to move or be run over. Again.

  He climbed inside as she settled behind the wheel. With the door closed and her no longer moving, the chill of the day hit her, and she realized she hadn’t worn a coat. But clothes had been the last thing on her mind when she’d stormed out of the house.

  The interior of the car was as vintage as could be. Almost like stepping back into another era. But it was chilly and damp from the miserable day outside. And without anything covering her arms, she had no choice but to start the engine for some heat. Mere moments before, she’d wanted nothing more than to run away, but now? Here, with him, she just wanted to sit there with her head on the wheel and pretend the last hour had never happened.

  Silence filled the cab when the heat came on at last. Both of them quiet, not exactly speechless, just hesitant to speak.

  Sascha stared blindly ahead at the car in front of her. Rain spattered against her windshield and the vehicle in front’s back window, making rivulets spout down the curvy backside of the canary yellow sports car.

  Devon jerked her attention from the riveting display before her; “Sascha? Would you like me to drive?”

  Her lips twitched, and it relieved her that she could feel amusement at a time when she was so overloaded with numbness, even tears were far away. “You just want to get your hands on Baby.”

  Pathetic, but she’d nicknamed the car years before when her father had given her the Cadillac in the vain hope she wouldn’t wreck this one as she’d wrecked the others she’d driven after getting her license.

  The vintage vehicle had indeed inspired caution in her driving. Getting even so little as a scratch would have infuriated her after she’d saved up for months to get a custom paint job to take the once-rickety vehicle back to its original colors.

  “Well, I would like to drive it, but at the same time, I’m not sure we’re going to get far if you keep staring at the wheel instead of steering it.”

  She sighed. “When aren’t you rational, Devon?”

  “Probably never. There’s always a rational response to everything.”

  “There is? What about my situation?” she asked softly, deciding to do as she wanted—rest her forehead on the wheel. Rolling on her forehead so she could look at him rather than at nothing, she waited for his answer.

  He shrugged. “It’s a relief to know there’s a reason for someone targeting you. It was chaos before, Sascha,” he told her somewhat earnestly. “We knew you were in danger, but had no idea why. At least now, it makes sense. And where there’s sense, there’s comfort.”

  “There is?” she asked, a bitter laugh falling from her lips. “So why don’t I feel comforted?”

  “Because you’re still processing. You’ve lived a lie, Sascha. But it was a kind lie,” he argued. “I wish I’d led a kind lie rather than dealt with the bitter truth of reality.”

  She frowned. “You really mean that?”

  He blinked, his surprise at her questioning him evident. “I really do.”

  “Why though? Everything I know, it’s all… nothing was real.”

  He shook his head. “Of course, it was real. If anything, you’ve had more love showered on you as a result of the truth, Sascha. A man, dying, gave his everything to wipe out your identity to protect you. A woman, hired as an employee, gave her everything to take you from all she knew to another country.

  “There, she married a man who was bound by the law to keep you safe. You were sheltered from the day you were born. Cosseted by love from a family you didn’t know, and then embraced by a new one who chose to love you. Because, from everything you’ve told me about your mom, she loved you.”

  Sascha’s bottom lip trembled as she nodded. “She did.”

  “She did nothing out of pity or avarice, did she?”

  She closed her eyes to blank out the resolve in his face. There was no hiding from Devon. The truth was his haven, and when you were with him, you had no choice but to embrace it too.

  “She loved me,” Sascha confirmed, because he was right.

  Whoever she’d been to Sascha upon her birth, Natasha had dedicated herself to her adopted child.

  Never missing a school play, never failing to soothe a hurt, and never missing a single night to tuck her into bed. Only death had altered her dedication, and even Sascha in her weak state of mind couldn’t fault her mom for that. Because there were only two labels that fit Natasha Dubois—wife to Henry, mother to Sascha.

  “And yo
ur father…he took on that responsibility, Sascha,” Devon continued, his voice inexorable. Were she in a different mood, she would have hated him for his calm deliberation, but in this, she knew he was making her realize that the truth didn’t have to hurt so badly. “He loved your mother and you. Never letting your past come out and always protecting you.”

  “I wonder why he let me move to England,” she whispered raggedly. “It must have been the last place he wanted me to go.” Then, she admitted after sucking in a breath, “Not that I’d have let him change my mind. Even when I realized something weird was going on because my visa wasn’t a requirement, I didn’t care. I wanted to come here, so I came here. Never questioning, like a stupid bitch, just being grateful that I didn’t have to worry about too much crazy admin.”

  “You weren’t talking to him when you moved?”

  She shook her head. “He didn’t approve of my boyfriend. Thought he was flaky, and he was right. But that didn’t matter at the time.” She let out a shaky breath. “I was so mad at him, I didn’t even ask about mom’s past. About why I’d never known she had an English passport. Then, over the years, we spoke so little, and my life changed and became even busier that it didn’t matter. I was just grateful not to have to worry about a visa to stay here.”

  Devon murmured, “You were myopic.”

  She flinched. “Ouch.”

  He shrugged. “Most young people are.”

  “I can’t imagine you were short-sighted even when you were a bratty ten-year-old,” she retorted, a little stung by the harshness of his opinion—not that it was delivered cruelly. Anything but. He’d spoken with his usual blandness. A lack of tone that somehow was all the more evocative for it.

  “I had Sawyer from when I was fourteen. Then, I met the others at university. They saved me from short-sightedness. They were my protectors,” he mused, a vague smile curling about his lips as he stared ahead, seeing a world she could only begin to imagine.

  One where math ruled, not the heart.

  Well, not until she’d come along and ruffled up their worlds.

  “How did you meet Sawyer?” she asked softly, curious to know more from his point of view.

  “You really want to talk about this now?” he asked, cocking a brow.

  She nodded. “I don’t want to think about what’s happening.”

  He pursed his lips. “Let’s go to that coffee shop you like. Rossi’s?”

  She shot him a surprised look. “Are you sure?”

  “Wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t.”

  “Devon, it’s okay. We can stay here.”

  “I know we can. But we don’t have to,” came his calm response. By not a flicker of his expression did he reveal that this would be the second time in close to thirty days that he’d left the house.

  This afternoon, they’d gone to the clinic for her to get the all clear, and after, to Harrods.

  Two trips out after a month’s reclusiveness was mind boggling to her.

  Devon sighed, but the sound wasn’t impatient. “What’s wrong, Sascha? Why aren’t we moving?”

  “A-Aren’t you feeling nervous?” she asked, gesturing to the house. “You hardly ever leave this place.”

  He shrugged. “So? It’s by choice, not because I’m tied to my chair.”

  “I know that,” she retorted with a huff. “I just mean… you don’t have to do anything that makes you uneasy for my sake.”

  “If there was anyone I’d risk anything for, it’s you, Sascha,” he told her simply, seemingly unaware of the power he gave her with that one statement. Her heart fluttered in her chest as he continued, “I don’t like people, so I stay at home. You, however, don’t wish to stay at home, so we’ll go somewhere you’re comfortable.”

  She blinked dazedly at him, then admitted on a whisper, “Devon?” When his attention was aimed her way, she carried on, “I love you.”

  Had she not been studying him, she’d have failed to see the tiny response of his eyelids growing heavy as a result of her soft declaration.

  “You know my feelings go beyond that. But,” he said on a sigh, pressing a hand to her knee, “I love you too. Now, drive before the cavalry comes. When dinner isn’t served, they’ll all come out looking for you.”

  She bit her lip. “Maybe we should just stay here.”

  “No. You ran out for a reason. Let’s stick with your original instinct. It’s good to trust in them. You needed out, so out we’ll go.”

  She gnawed at her bottom lip with her teeth, then nodded and set the car into gear.

  The low purr of the engine soothed something inside her. When she was out on the road, the tightness in her chest eased. He was right. She did need to get away. Not from the men, per se. Not even from her father. But the house. It was her base here, and she needed a break from it. Just a breather.

  Devon was silent as they drove into central London, darting here and there as she took a shortcut that would take her to her favorite café in the city.

  It was close to five, and the streets were crammed with pedestrians heading for the underground. Roads heralded gleaming black taxis, which swerved to collect new fares, the vehicles’ solid bodies more like a tank than a streamlined car. Businessmen and women in sharp suits and carrying expensive briefcases walked amongst beggars sleeping against doorways, and buskers singing out their souls for the price of a chocolate bar.

  It was a sight that never failed to energize her, to revitalize her. But it was one she knew that Londoners failed to appreciate.

  This was their life, after all.

  Only an outsider could enjoy it and find pleasure in the frenetic energy zipping around the streets.

  When they reached Rossi’s, she found a space and parked. When she rounded the car to meet up with Devon, he reached for her hand as they checked out oncoming traffic, and together, darted to the other side.

  Rossi’s had a rush on. People seeking coffee and a small snack for the journey home after a long workday meant the line was crazy, but she headed into the seating area, where armchairs and low tables were a welcome respite for her.

  She liked it here. Had found it on her first week in London all those years ago, and she’d watched it transform from what the Brits knew as a greasy spoon—purveyor of everything fried to the masses—to a smart and snazzy coffee shop that served the best waffles this side of the Atlantic.

  Their hands tucked inside one another’s, she dragged Devon deeper into the café. Her favorite table was in the corner, and it looked out onto the road.

  When she reached it, she froze, coming to a halt at the sight before her. Her favorite spot seated three, at the most. But six armchairs had been dragged together, clustered around a table, with Sean, Andrei, Kurt, and Sawyer its occupant.

  Looking smart and sexy, unruffled even as they dove into plates of triangle-cut sandwiches, there was a panini thrown in amid the mix here and there, and a dish of salad that was being ignored. They even had a whole Victoria sponge cake in the center, with a tray of tea amid the chaos.

  Devon shot her a look as he pressed his hand to the base of her spine. The warmth acted as a shield against unnecessary hurts, which only strengthened as he told her, “You never have to be alone now, Sascha.”

  Though she’d wanted that when she’d left the house, solitude and a chance to catch her breath, seeing them here had tears burning her eyes. Devon raised their joined hands to his lips, and in a gesture that stunned her, pressed his mouth to her knuckles.

  She tightened her fingers around his, and then whispered, “How did they know?”

  “We said we’d meet here,” he told her easily.

  “You shepherded me here,” she said, a little accusatorily.

  His smile was, of course, unapologetic. “You needed us. You just didn’t need to be at the house.”

  Before she could do more than bite her lip, Sawyer called out, “Lass, if you want some of this food, you’d best get here now before Kurt scoffs the lot.”

&
nbsp; She had to stop biting her bottom lip then, because a smile instantly appeared when Kurt bitched, “You’ve eaten twice as much as me.”

  Devon tugged her forward, ignoring the bickering as he bulldozed through it. “You’re safe with us, Sascha.”

  She let out a shuddery breath, knowing that to be the complete and utter truth.

  * * *

  Sawyer eyed him as he carved out a piece of cake for himself. “You won’t sleep if you eat that.”

  “I don’t sleep anyway,” he retorted, a child-like glee filling him at the sight of the huge slice of jam and cream sandwiched between two pillowy sponge cakes.

  Sugar, Sawyer had decided years ago, was Devon’s enemy. It was the reason he was rude and antisocial, why he had insomnia and… Well, the list went on.

  Sugar was the root of all sins to the man he considered a brother, and because Sawyer had it hard enough keeping Devon on the straight and narrow, he usually ceded to the bland saccharine-sweetened crap Sawyer handed him.

  Not today, though.

  Sawyer grumbled at his reply, but Sascha’s hand came to rest on his knee. She kneaded the muscles of his thigh. “We’ll get you to sleep tonight.”

  That meant she’d sleep with him.

  Triumph roared through him, and it startled Devon to realize that her gentle touch, her soft words, meant more to him than wading through his current workload.

  The notion had his head jerking to the side in surprise. She noticed, of course, her gaze catching his, and her fingers tightening on his thigh.

  He placed the plate on the table, and with his left hand, grabbed hers. When their fingers knit together, something inside him settled, and he forked up the cake, letting the first bite go to her rather than him.

  Her lips curved in a soft smile as she opened her mouth, and he carefully placed the tines between her teeth. Most men wouldn’t find feeding her to be as dangerous as strolling across a minefield, but most men didn’t have Devon’s attention span.

  Watching her eat had uncomfortable things happening below his waist, but he was used to that in her presence. Even recently, though she’d stopped wearing her tight pencil skirts, Sascha in yoga pants packed the same punch as the porn stars in the flicks he and Sawyer had watched as horny teenagers. So he ignored his burgeoning erection as he focused on not scratching her with the fork.