Devon wasn’t alone in his desire for this situation with Sascha to become permanent. It was simply that he feared the repercussions less because he didn’t have to deal with them. He’d dive into work, so deeply that they’d almost lose him... The last time...
Sean swallowed down the memory.
He had to make sure Devon was okay. That his family was.
None of them were blind to the harsh realities of life. Andrei and Devon had been touched by harshness at far too young an age, but Sean dealt with it on a daily basis. It was his stock in trade.
Maybe it made him a control freak, but he protected those close to him because he knew the pain of loss and couldn’t bear the thought of losing one of his brothers. Especially not because a woman had fucked with their heads and had knocked them for six.
“I lost you for a moment,” she said softly, squeezing his arm.
“I was just thinking about why we are the way we are.”
“Oh? Come up with any great pieces of wisdom?” she teased, then added, “Kemo sabe.”
His lips twitched, amused by the notion of her watching the old-school show that had been his father’s favorite. “You’re too young to even know what the Lone Ranger is.”
“I’ve got Wikipedia like anyone else. Plus, they remade it with Johnny Depp,” she chided, then tugging at his arm, asked, “Go on. Tell me. Remember, we’re learning about each other, aren’t we?”
He stared down into her bright green eyes and wished it wasn’t so easy to get lost in them. They sparkled in the grim sunlight of a dark London morning, and even the splendor of Regent’s Street, with all its glitter and glamor, couldn’t match the deliciousness of her gaze.
“We’re all quite reclusive.”
“I’ve noticed that without your help,” she retorted with a pout. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Doesn’t it bother you?”
“No. I’m not exactly one for going out, am I?” At his blink, she gritted her teeth. “I’m not mocking. I mean it. And you’re not reclusive. Well, most of you aren’t. Kurt is. Devon too.”
Sean nodded. “Kurt’s been anti-social since he got divorced,” he commented grimly; that particular period in Kurt’s life had been disastrous from the get-go. But then, Katrin had been the wife from hell.
“He was married?” she demanded, gawking at him and pulling on his arm until he came to a stop.
Smiling down at her, he reached for a russet lock that had fallen from her loose but sexy topknot. Tucking it behind her ear, he then proceeded to tap her on the nose. “You’ll have to ask him about that.”
“I will,” she huffed, stifling her inquisitive nature with a pout of her sulky bottom lip. “But, like I was saying, you’re not reclusive, you’re just selective.”
He laughed. “I think you’re splitting hairs.”
“Maybe. But I can, can’t I?” She winked. “You’re busy men. It’s not like you have time to go out dancing until dawn.”
He cleared his throat, then cupped her chin. “If you want to go dancing until dawn, one of us will take you.” He’d never been a lover of dancing, but hell, that didn’t mean he wasn’t willing to give it a try.
Her grin grew. Slowly. And her reaction made him grateful he’d stepped outside his comfort zone. “Seriously?”
He nodded, blew out a nervous breath. “This… it works both ways, Sascha.”
“I guess it does,” she said slowly, but if her smile was anything to go by, she was happy about that particular fact.
“You want to go dancing until dawn?” he asked, cocking a brow at her in question and wondering which poor sap would suffer through that for her benefit.
“No. But Devon said something last night that caught my attention.”
“Oh?” he asked warily.
“He said if I wanted to, I could go on courses and things.”
“Sure, that’s not a problem. Whatever you want to do, there’s always time for you to do it.” His tone brightened at the prospect of not having to spend hours in sweaty clubs.
She pursed her lips. “I’m not a kept woman, Sean. I can pay for things myself… I’ll even pay for whoever comes with me.”
Wary once more, he asked, “Comes with you where?”
“To tango classes.”
He coughed, then snickered. “Ask Andrei,” he murmured, his voice a little hoarse. “He’d probably enjoy that.”
“Why do I think that’s a big lie?”
“Please. Just ask him. And make sure I’m there while you do.”
She grinned. “Okay. I will. But, seriously, who would do that with me?”
“I would. Or Kurt.” He wriggled his head from side to side. “We’re both used to being in the public eye. It can’t be too bad making a fool of yourself on a darkened dance floor.”
“I don’t know,” she teased, then surprised him by curling around him, and in front of Regent’s Street and God himself, grabbed a hold of his hips, and did a little shimmy against him. “You look like you might have rhythm.”
“You’re incorrigible,” he informed her, his tone raked with gravel to hide his amusement.
She winked. “Maybe.”
Before she could sneak away, he pressed a hand to her lower back, pulled her close, and with his lips hovering above hers, whispered, “You’re playing with fire. You do know that, right?”
Her grin was wide, and dammit, youthful. How could she make him feel every one of the years separating them, and yet, make him feel young too?
The growing phenomenon that was Sascha Dubois, he supposed.
“I like fire,” she whispered, smooth as silk, then leaned up on her stilettos and joined their mouths.
He wasn’t sure who led the dance. Whether it was him or her. Just knew that at that moment, everything stopped. The whole world came to a standstill.
It was crazy, insane, and yet so fucking perfect, he knew the moment would stick with him for the rest of his life.
Probably longer than she’d stick with them, because Devon was right. Everyone left. But, she’d leave this memory behind, and he’d embrace it with all he had.
He supped from her, sipped at her essence, and returned it twofold. Her lips were soft, tempting morsels that invited a man to sin, and it was with a gusty sigh of delight that he fell into temptation.
She tasted of mint and coffee, with a dash of honey from that morning’s granola. Her tongue explored his with an intensity that had his cock hardening, and he dragged her up against his chest, pressing her hips harder into him so her little wriggles would do more than just tease.
A throat cleared, and the sound jerked him from the dazed bubble she’d dragged him into. They pulled away from each other, softly caressing each other with intense eyes until a prune-filled voice stated, “You should be ashamed of yourselves. This is a public place.”
He turned to face the onlooker. She looked as much of a prune as she sounded. “You don’t like the show, you don’t have to pay for the ticket.”
The old woman gasped, pressed a leather-clad glove to her Hermes scarf-covered throat and strode off in umbrage.
Sascha grinned at him. “That was not how I thought you’d handle that.”
“Maybe your American-laxity is getting to me,” he joked. “Soon, I’ll be word vomiting all over passersby who dare to watch us kiss.”
She snorted, reached up again to dot a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Word vomiting, huh?” She shook her head, but he could see her smirk. “You taste good,” she breathed against his lips before dancing away, back to his side.
He peered at her as they started off down the street once more. “You’re bright and breezy today.”
“When aren’t I in comparison to you guys?” she teased. “I’m not the major hotshot in my field.”
“I don’t know, you bring a certain spice to these hotshots’ lives.” He snorted at the phrase.
Is that how she saw them?
He’d admit to preening a little a
t that. Having always considered himself a bit of a geek, it felt rather enticing for her, this dazzling creature, to see them as something that sparkled.
“Now I’m on the inside looking out, I’ll be certain to make things more Vindaloo than Madras.”
“Now I know you’ve been living here too long,” he jibed. “I doubt most Americans know what those dishes are.”
She tapped her nose. “I’ve been to several ‘Curry Miles’ here, I’ll have you know,” she informed him, referring to streets filled only with yard after yard of Indian restaurants. Most cities had a ‘Curry Mile’.
“We’ve anglicized you.”
“I hope to be further anglicized,” she retorted with a grin, then grabbing his hand, squeezed his fingers, and tugged him into walking down the street.
Their hands swayed with a swinging motion started by her, and her childish glee at what was going on around her charmed him.
She squealed with delight when she saw a large ‘SALE’ sign in a window, and braked to a halt to glance over the goods in the store.
“You don’t have to buy everything on sale, you know?”
He’d admit to being amazed at how she darted here and there without ever really leaving his side. She tried on shoes, experimented with clutch purses, but only ever with items on sale.
He’d have stayed silent, but she did it with the first five shops they went to, and it looked set to be the trend of the day. A trend he was determined to put a stop to.
“Not all of this is for the gala,” she told him absently, as she peered at a pair of stilettos that made his cock hard by what they did to her arse.
Sweet Jesus. The globes of her bum, so round and peachy, tautened up even more in those five-inch beauties.
“Can you walk in them?” he asked, eying their height doubtfully.
She grinned, dared him, “Catch me if I fall?”
He snorted, moved over ten steps away, then held out his arms. “Walk to Daddy.”
The sales assistant’s eyes flared at the comment, but he ignored it, ignored the rest of the store to watch her, giggling, as she swayed toward him with just enough sass that he wanted to take her to a changing room and fuck her right there and then.
She snuggled into his arms when she reached him, and demanded, “What do you think? Can I walk in them?”
He jerked his hips forward. “Have your answer?”
Her laughter was low, sultry this time. Not gleeful as it was before. “Glad to hear it.” She slipped her hand between them and stunned the shit out of him by patting his cock. “The next store we go to had better have a decent changing room.”
With those words, she hustled off, but she shot him a glance over her shoulder that had him panting.
The need to adjust himself was urgent, but instead, he positioned the bags he was carrying over his lap as he took a seat and watched her deal with the assistant.
Janna would have taken the card and bought everything in sight. Whether it was for the event or not. Helen, another ex, would have sniffed at the idea of going to a boring event, and would have refused to go. Kelsey would probably have agreed to go, would have dressed up, but in the end, would have cancelled. She’d been flaky. Irritatingly so.
He knew it wasn’t right to compare her to past girlfriends, and he wasn’t. Not really. She was different. He was just trying to ground himself, figure out exactly how she was different and make sense of it, so that he could rationalize this in his head.
Sean had to rationalize everything—even if it was to his own detriment. Only when he understood a situation, could it be categorized.
Sawyer said he was a nitpicker, but it was why they counted on him. He was the unelected ‘head’ of the household because he made sure all the I’s were dotted and all the T’s were crossed.
So, while he knew she fit them so perfectly, he had to ask why?
Seeming to know that Andrei actually did need a date but had no one he wanted to ask. Understanding that Devon needed to sleep more, so she’d slept with him last night, encouraging him to rest when he’d have stayed at his desk until morning—he had no doubt she’d been the one to encourage ‘bedtime’.
Small examples, but important ones.
With narrowed eyes, he watched her brash American charm come out to play with the snooty assistant.
He didn’t like the woman’s snootiness, but understood the nearer they got to Mayfair, the more it would make an appearance.
Still, it pissed him off.
He could see the assistant judging her outfit, her very non-designer clothes, as well as the fact Sean was her companion and most definitely the wealthier one in the partnership.
Feeling a bit like Richard Gere in Pretty Woman—a movie he’d suffered through for his sisters—he got to his feet, strolled over, and retrieved a credit card from his wallet which he handed over to the assistant.
When she saw it, the exclusive card that only vendors in this particular area were accustomed to seeing, her attitude changed entirely.
From snotty to obsequious in less time than it took a Ferrari to hit sixty miles an hour.
Sascha grabbed his arm, hissed in his ear, “You’re not paying for this.”
He tugged her aside, bent down and murmured, “I want those stilettos around my ears, Sascha. They’re my treat to myself.”
Her mouth had dropped open at his words, and he congratulated himself on shutting her up and shocking her.
“B-But…”
“I know, you’re not a kept woman. But like I said, they’re my gift to me. Let me be selfish.”
She gulped. “Around your ears, huh?”
“And digging into my arse.”
“That can be arranged,” she whispered, and he loved how the need he’d inspired made her tone raspy.
He winked. “I’ll look forward to it.”
She licked her lips, not to entice but out of self-defense, and blinking, stepped back toward the counter. The assistant had wrapped up the few items Sascha had bought and was waiting with a bright smile for Sean’s PIN. The money she’d spent was negligible to him, but not to her. It charmed him that she hadn’t expected him to pay. If anything, it made him want to spoil her.
Talk about inadvertent reverse psychology.
Smiling at his own folly, he grabbed the bag, added it to the collection in his hand, after he tucked his card back in the slot in his phone case.
“Ready?” he asked, ignoring the flirtatious smile sent his way by the attendant.
Sascha shot the other woman a cocky glance, held out her hand for his, and murmured, “Definitely.”
As they headed back down the street, she stated, “She was totally checking you out.” Then, Sascha sighed. “I can’t blame her. You look hot today.”
He cocked a brow at that. “I do?” He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt with a leather jacket. Hardly anything über sexy.
“Oh yeah. You make James Dean look like he’s learning how to brood.”
“I look brooding?” Now that came as a shock.
She smirked. “Your face is a card.”
He chuckled at her teasing, liking how she made him lighten up. How she made the whole house sunnier. More buoyant.
Jesus, he hoped he wasn’t putting too much into this. Into her.
Sighing, knowing that it was too late already, fait accompli, he asked, “Do you want something to eat?”
“Bored already?” she ribbed, then leaning into him, murmured, “I thought we were going to find a nice, sturdy changing room?”
He gritted out, “You were being serious about that?”
Her laughter was lighter than air and just as energizing. She grabbed his hand tighter. “I was being serious about that. Deadly serious.”
“Fuck, we need to find somewhere. Now.”
“Hard, baby?” she asked huskily as he half-dragged her down the street.
Before he could tell her his cock was so hard he could hammer nails into wood, she pulled him to a halt and jer
ked her hand from his.
When he looked down, wondering why she’d disconnected their fingers, she’d already gone like an ethereal sprite who darted into his life, snatched his heart from him, then took off into the night.
He blinked, sought her out. Saw her whizz to the right. Straight into the road where a car was heading directly for her and the little boy who was too busy trying to pick up something shiny from the asphalt.
A woman screamed, “Lewis!” as Sean cried, “Sascha! Wait!”
Leaping forward, he tried to grab her, tried to pull her back and get to the boy first, but he was too late.
He was always too fucking late.
His stomach didn’t even have a chance to leap into his throat before the car struck. The boy, pushed out of the way by Sascha, started sobbing as he made it into the central line of the road to relative safety.
But Sascha wasn’t safe. The vehicle glanced off her, tossing her into the air like a rag doll, knocking her down, and with it, breaking Sean’s fucking heart…
Healed By Them
Seven
“Are you certain this isn’t someone targeting you again?”
Sascha opened her eyes and immediately regretted it once the dim light pierced her retinas.
“Oh sweet, Lord,” she gasped. Agony had words tumbling from her lips in an indecipherable torrent. She made to sit up then yelped when a sharp pain radiated up her right arm. Her throbbing arm. Her ‘oh, my God, what the fuck is wrong with me’ arm.
What the hell?
The left arm wasn’t much better she found. Her shoulder was creaky on that side, but the pain wasn’t so intense. Still, she guessed that made up for the fact her entire body felt nothing more than a bag of bones.
A big bag of aching bones.
And why did her mouth taste like vomit?
When the hell had she puked?
“Sweetheart, it’s okay. You’re fine.”
Sean.
She blinked, then regretted it when it felt like sandpaper scouring over her eyeballs. Pressing her fingers to her temple, she winced when she felt the bandage covering her forehead, and the soreness underneath. “Sean?”
Hers To Keep: THE QUINTESSENCE COLLECTION I Page 11
