His nose wrinkled. “Thought it might make you happy.”
She grinned and sat upright. For the first time in days, she felt a snap of excitement as she clapped her hands together. “Show me.”
He laughed at her glee, and she felt her cheeks pinken in response.
She was comfort eating in the worst way, but it charmed the hell out of her that he was enabling. She could diet another day. Worry about her ass and thighs when it didn’t feel like the world was caving in on her, when her past wasn’t a web of lies. For now, there were donuts.
He tossed her the bag and she burrowed through it, eyes widening with excitement at the vast array of candy he’d brought her.
“You buy out the corner shop?” she teased.
He winked. “Anything for my lady.”
A giggle escaped her. “This is better than slaying my dragons, although…” Her giggle died and she tensed a little. “You all did that too, didn’t you?”
Kurt sighed, made to sit up to come comfort her, but when she stiffened, inwardly cringing about how she had to stink, he grunted under his breath and sat back again.
“Don’t think about that. Let’s not watch anymore of this crap,” he told her, sounding so German in that moment she wanted to laugh again. The rigid and harsh tones exacerbated the command in his words. “I don’t know why you’re watching the news anyway!” he argued. “Sean would tell you anything you needed to know.”
“I don’t really want to know anything,” she replied, fingers deep in candy wrappers.
“Then why do you have it on?”
“I don’t know,” she said with a shrug. “It’s background noise.”
He sighed. “I’ll never understand women.”
“Good thing. I don’t want to be understood. Just accept me for who I am, and that’s good enough for me.” She pondered her own words a second, then slowly murmured, “Although, I guess even I don’t know who I am at the moment, so maybe it’s a harder task than I’d give you credit for.”
“You haven’t changed, Sascha,” Kurt argued, a deeply set scowl crossing his handsome brow.
“Haven’t I? Everything about me has, Kurt. I’m not even called Sascha, am I? I’m Eloisa.”
He sat up, and gritting his teeth declared, “I’ll hold my breath. I’m not sitting across the room from you.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I stink!” she protested.
“Then get a shower,” he countered as he took a seat next to her, not stopping until she was tucked snugly in the corner unit of the sofa, her other side tightly pressed to him.
She sighed as he lifted an arm and curled it around her shoulders.
“I will. Soon.”
His lips twitched as he pressed them to her temple. “Soon, huh?”
She peered up at him. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Kurt,” she admitted sadly. “I just… I don’t seem to be able to get my feet back under me again. It’s knocked me for a loop and I’m not sure how to carry on.”
“You take one breath, then another, and another. Life has a habit of forcing us to carry on whether we want it to or not, Sascha.” He kissed her again, letting his mouth linger as he peppered little kisses on the crown of her head. “Plus, you’re safe now. That’s all that matters. You have time to come to terms with what’s been happening.”
She gnawed at the inside of her cheek as she pulled out the pack of donuts he’d bought her. “Where did you get these from?”
“Rossi’s,” he admitted, his attention on the TV.
“You went to Soho for me?”
“I did,” he said with a smirk. “I braved the traffic for you and everything.”
“You deserve a really huge kiss once I’m showered.” And when she’d brushed her teeth.
He barked out a laugh. “I’ll hold you to that.”
“In the meantime, have a donut.”
“You’ll share?” he asked, brows high.
“With you. My bringer of donuts. But don’t tell anyone else. They’ll expect me to be generous too.” She held out the sweet treat and placed it against his mouth. When he took a large bite, she pulled it back, and was careful to bite where he had, and take a chunk of it for herself.
Humming under her breath, she chewed as the sugar fix went no small way to soothing her fluctuating moods.
So wrong, but so damn good!
“Is it true?” she asked after a moment, when the ticker tape on the screen revealed that Elizabeth Jacobie had been charged for conspiracy to commit murder and two counts of murder to boot—Sascha’s parents.
Kurt nodded. “It’s true. They have her dead to rights, as Sean says.”
“The evidence my dad knew about helped, huh?”
Another nod.
“What kind of evidence was it, Kurt?”
“Some photographs.”
“Of who?”
“The guy Elizabeth Jacobie hired to run you down… With her. Together. In the act, as it were.” He blew out a breath. “Proof that the drugs she’d been dosing your parents with were paid for by her. Stuff like that.”
She shoved a donut in her mouth. ‘Stuff like that’. Just a little thing like conspiracy…
“Where is Dad?” she asked, blowing out a breath as she decided to change the topic. “Is he still here?” He’d been due to leave two days ago, but as he hadn’t come in and said farewell, she wasn’t sure if he’d stayed or gone.
“Around.”
Nobody had braved the front room for more than a few moments at a time. When she slept, they’d come in, tuck blankets around her, lower the volume on the TV or move her phone away from her clutching hands so she could rest a little easier.
Sometimes, they woke her but she kept her eyes closed. Curious as to what they’d do.
Sawyer had pressed a gentle kiss to her lips and told her to, “Sleep safe, lass.” Devon had brushed his fingers over her forehead, smoothing her hair away before he nearly took her ear off by pulling the ear buds out—tenderness wasn’t his strong suit, she realized. But he’d tried.
They all were. Trying, that is.
She was being selfish, she knew. But dealing with this situation was…
Kurt was right, she realized on a sigh. Just taking one breath, and letting another ebb and flow, was the way to get a handle on this.
“What about the others? Were Edward and Louisa involved?” she asked softly.
“Louisa helped. She’s the elder child. Seems she remembered your being born. When the security team sent your picture as part of the updated guest list to the event…”
“So, Devon was right. That did trigger everything?”
“Yeah. Damn him. He needs to not be right every time.”
Her grin flashed, and she let out a huffed breath which died as she asked, “What about Edward?”
“Edward had no idea.”
“Just the sister-in-law and niece from hell then, huh?” She pursed her lips. “I bet Andrei’s relieved about that. I know they’ve been working together on some project or other.”
“Yeah. He is. Edward is… as you can imagine, cut up about it. He wants to meet you. Talk with you.”
She stiffened in his arms. “I have nothing to talk to him about.”
“You have a lot to talk to him about,” Kurt corrected. “Pulling the wool over your eyes isn’t going to help, Sascha. You don’t have to talk to him now, but you have to gird yourself for the fact a conversation is coming. You own a sizeable chunk of his corporation. For that alone, he’ll need to speak with you. Either you do it now, on an informal setting, or it will start off with the attorneys getting involved.”
She turned her face to the side and pressed it against his arm. He wore a soft Henley, so her features rubbed against the brushed cotton. He smelled like man, soap, and a minty freshness that told her he’d brushed his teeth recently.
She could scent deodorant, but no aftershave, and as she’d felt the little prickles against her skin, knew the reason for that was he
hadn’t shaved.
Considering she’d only seen him clean shaven, it was unusual to feel those bristles against her forehead.
“I can’t.”
“You can,” he told her firmly. “You will. But the time and place are yours to decide.”
She let out a shuddery breath, dread filling her at the prospect of meeting Jacobie. Her fucking nephew. When did that even happen?
Deciding that was a thought process she couldn’t handle, she blurted out, “Have reporters come to the house?”
“They camped out for a few days but Sawyer told them you’d moved out. They left shortly after. Plus, Edward sent some of his goons to help corral them. They cleared off the day after you holed up in here.”
“Have there been any whispers about us?”
He shook his head. “That would probably be bigger news than what happened with your family, Sascha,” he said gruffly. “We’re all too famous for our own good.” He let out a sigh. “I’m sorry, Liebchen.”
She pulled her lip between her teeth. “It’s not your fault.”
“No, but I wish there was something I could do to make things right for you.”
She let out a shuddery breath as she asked herself exactly what it would take for things to be right again. But then, wasn’t it true that the five men were her ‘right?’ Not one part of her questioned her place here. This was home. Between these five men, with them, under them, among them.
“I love you, Kurt.”
He tensed a little, then murmured, “Ich liebe dich auch.”
She burrowed against him. “That had better mean I love you.”
“It does,” he said around a laugh.
“Good.” Their love grounded her, she realized, and that was what she needed more than anything. To feel the earth firmly beneath her feet.
His hold on her tightened. “The others are worried.”
She blinked at his gruff tone. He was worried too. Not just the others, she realized. “Why are they?”
“Well, aside from the basics, they’re concerned you’ll go.”
“I won’t go,” she said immediately, so bluntly that his tension eased some. She felt him sink deeper into the cushioned sofa. “You were worried too?” she stated, making it less of a question.
“Hard not to be. You pulled away.”
“Not from you,” she argued, although there was no fire to his words. No hint of accusation. “From this,” she stated, motioning at the screen. “I’m a housekeeper,” she repeated, as she’d repeated so many times these past few days she was getting sick of hearing her own voice uttering those words. “I wasn’t made for this.”
“You were. Circumstances made it so you weren’t,” he countered.
She gnawed at her lip. “Maybe. Regardless, the only thing that’s stopping me from going nuts is you lot.”
When she made to sit up, he dragged her back. “It’s okay,” he told her. “Relax. There’s no rush.”
“I don’t want you thinking I want out,” she snapped. “That’s the last thing I want. I want to be closer if anything, dammit.” Her nostrils flared. “I just… I’ve brought a lot of shit to your door, Kurt. I’ll admit, I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about that. I know how Devon feels about publicity, and Andrei too. You all live as under the radar as much as you can.”
He sighed. “‘As much’ being the operative words there. We’re used to scrutiny. We’re just worried about you.” He waved a hand, motioning at the pit she’d created for herself over the last few days. A blanket fort complete with crinkling wrappers of eaten candy. “You handle Devon on a regular basis without freaking out… No one does that save from you and Sawyer. So, all this, it just isn’t like you. Not that you’re not entitled to have a meltdown. In whichever room you want.”
She couldn’t help it. She laughed. “Would you like me to have my meltdown in your bedroom?”
“It would be a different kind of meltdown,” he immediately countered, smirking but not in a way that made her want to hit him in the side.
Then, she admitted on a sigh, “You’re probably right. About that, as well as the fact it takes a lot to ruffle my feathers.” She pressed her hand to his chest, and asked, “What do I do, Kurt?” Peering up at him, she saw him look deep into her eyes, those baby blues of his making her, as he’d said, melt.
“We formulate a plan of action. Together. Then we act on it.”
It sounded so reasonable. So rational… she had to frown at him. “Did Devon come up with that one?”
Almost as though the words brought him to her, the door opened and Devon peered around it.
When he saw Kurt sitting with her, his shoulders dropped in surprise. “You’re awake,” he said, eyes widening as he stepped into the mess she’d made of the once neat living room.
He waded through an ocean of junk food wrappers, and perched his fine ass on the coffee table.
Reaching for her hand, he asked, “How are you doing?”
“I’m fine,” she said softly. “How are you?”
He peered at her a second. “Well, I’m not sure. Sawyer said that when women say they’re fine, they’re not. But when men say it, they are.” He rubbed his chin. “I am fine, but Sawyer also says that women are contradictory. Do you hate me for being fine when you’re not?”
She gawked at him, but Kurt beat her to it. He groaned. “Goddammit, Devon, do you have to make a mess of everything?” He swore in German, which made her pat his chest in commiseration.
Devon just shrugged. “I don’t want to hurt her feelings by being okay when she’s suffering,” he reasoned. “Although,” he continued, rubbing his chin again. “I don’t like how unhappy you are. Also, you smell, which isn’t good because you always smell great.”
Sascha bit her lip to hide her grin. “You do realize you’re digging your own grave here, baby, don’t you?”
Devon reared back. “I’m not dead. Why would I need a grave?” His eyes widened in distress.
“Sarcasm, Devon,” she heaved out around a laugh.
“The lowest form of wit,” he tapered off.
“Yeah. Well, I’m the queen of the lowest form, then. But, anyway, I’m not mad. I’m used to you being offensive. And of course, I’m not upset that you’re doing okay. I’m glad you are, but am also appreciative of the fact you aren’t happy when I’m unhappy.”
Shit, that was a mouthful.
He frowned, studying her. “Do you want some good news?”
“There is some?”
He shrugged. “You still look beautiful even though you haven’t washed your hair in three days.”
Kurt let out another groan and he kicked out his foot to nail Devon in the shin. “Shut up while you’re ahead, idiot.”
Sascha just shook her head. “What the hell have I gotten myself in to with you guys, huh?”
It was a question she didn’t mind asking herself… a question she’d spend the rest of her life answering.
If they let her.
Thirty-Four
Sean jolted to a halt on the staircase, and behind him, Devon nearly toppled into him.
“What’s wrong?” he complained, grunting at the impact and managing, barely, to keep Sean upright.
“Sascha?” Sean asked, completely ignoring Devon as he strode into the kitchen. “Are you okay?”
Devon peered over at the stove where Sascha was standing, seeming semi-normal. Which he didn’t trust. One thing he loved about Sascha was the fact she wasn’t normal. The fact that she radiated a bland pleasantness that hid an inner core of snark.
He decided to approach with caution.
Sascha was…
A breath of fresh air.
That was the only way he knew how to describe her. She was everything they’d never really known they needed. But more than that, she was what Devon needed. Around her, he didn’t feel like a freak show.
Kurt, Andrei, Sawyer, and Sean treated him like a brother, as well as the friend and confidante they all were to on
e another. Whenever they’d shared a lover in the past, Devon had usually been the one to bring the woman into the fold, but he’d always felt like some kind of experiment. As though they got off on his brain and his smarts but not the man himself. Sascha didn’t make him feel like that.
She enjoyed his tongue… and not just for what he could do with it. But most of the time, for what he had to say.
He didn’t anger her or irritate her. Sure, there were times when she did sigh over his lack of filter, but that was nothing. It hurt less than when Sawyer whacked him in the side.
The worst that it got was that he exasperated her. But he could handle that. He thought she could too.
“You don’t have to cook,” Sean was saying. “We could have ordered in again.”
But Sascha was shaking her head. “No, it’s time things went back to normal.”
There was that word again.
Normal.
Devon pursed his lips. “Is this a trick?”
Sascha turned to look at him. “Why would you think that?”
“I’m not sure.” He flashed through all the logical and rational explanations as to why she’d be standing here, looking her regular put-together self, when hours before, she’d been a ragged, scruffy mess on the sofa. She’d spoken to Kurt, but Kurt couldn’t organize a piss up in a brewery, never mind drag Sascha out of her hump with a pow-wow.
There was no logical explanation, he realized, his eyes widening in terror at the prospect.
She seemed to sense his panic however, because she froze, mid-sentence, and asked instead, “Devon? What’s wrong?”
His throat felt tight as he bit off, “Nothing.”
She shook her head. “You’re lying. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“I don’t understand,” he said softly, which had her scowling and shooting Sean a look.
“Don’t understand what?”
“Why you’re here. It doesn’t make sense.”
She tilted her head to the side. “Does it have to make sense?” she asked softly, her tone gentling. Did she understand his panic? Could she feel his concern as he stumbled around trying to figure out why she’d gone from one extreme to the other in hardly any time at all.
“Y-yes,” he said, sounding choked. “Of course, it has to make sense.”
Hers To Keep: THE QUINTESSENCE COLLECTION I Page 46