Whatever it was, it wasn’t what she and the rest of them saw. For all their brilliance, Devon worked to a whole other scale, and that was a part of his charm if she was being honest.
“I didn’t hear any noise down here, and your hair looks normal,” he commented as he reached for a few more dishes she stacked on the top.
Dinner consisted of a large bowl of pasta, another of an Amatriciana sauce complete with large chunks of tender pig cheek and sweet tomatoes, a dish of slivered parmesan cheese, and a long breadboard with garlic bread on it.
“Why would you? I was cooking. And what does my hair have to do with anything?” she asked, perplexed with the segue.
“You and Kurt were down here.”
“So? And that was ages ago.” She took a seat at the head of the table and asked him to, “Hit the intercom again, please. It’s getting cold.”
He wandered over to the intercom at the other side of the kitchen, pressed it, then said, “If you don’t come down now, I’ll eat your portions.”
She tilted her head to the side as he came back to her and sat next to her. “Aren’t you getting enough food?”
Eying the pasta dish which contained over a kilo of dried spaghetti, as well as the large tureen of sauce, and the four loaves of garlic bread, she mentally calculated how she’d make their portions bigger. Of course, that was unnecessary, because he shook his head.
“Nope. You feed us enough,” he told her with a smile as he began to serve himself. “I was just making an empty threat.”
“We should wait for the others.”
He shrugged. “I’m hungry, and on time. You snooze, you lose.”
Grinning at him, she watched him dish up, and then remembered what he’d said. “Oh yeah, you were saying something about Kurt and I being downstairs in the kitchen earlier?”
He blinked. “I thought you were having sex that’s why I didn’t come down for cookies.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Why would you think that?”
“I heard you the other day, and Kurt likes to have sex in odd places.”
A snicker sounded from behind her. “What a glorious time to arrive at the dinner table.”
She shot Andrei a quelling look, which had him shrugging before he bent down and kissed her temple. “What? It is!”
As he took a seat, Devon peppered him, “Am I right or wrong, Andrei? Doesn’t Kurt fuck in weird places?”
Andrei served himself too, and as he loaded sauce onto the dish and grabbed bread, he nodded. “Yes. Expect to get used to feeling things sticking into your ass.”
“See, I told you,” Devon said proudly. “And don’t worry,” he confided. “I sprayed down the table after you had sex on it.” He patted her hand.
She choked at that.
“Do you need some water?” he asked, innocently.
“No,” she retorted, feeling a little hot under the collar at his line of thought.
Andrei, spying this, grinned. “It’s nice to know the whole house will be disinfected from time to time.”
Glowering at him, she retorted, “I expect this from him, not you.”
He shrugged, but shot her a wicked grin which slowly and tenderly morphed into a gentle smile. “How’s the head?”
“Bad.”
The confession had Devon frowning. “When are you going to see the doctor again?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Jesus, she hated going to clinics.
“That page I looked at says headaches are common for a while after the concussion,” he tried to reassure her which was the cutest thing ever. As well as the fact he’d thought of her while he was in super-math-genius mode.
Was there any other way to melt around these guys than the many ways she had already?
Andrei shook his head. “Doesn’t mean she shouldn’t go to the doctor anyway. Kurt said something about you agreeing to go next week?”
“Only if things haven’t improved,” she retorted, a tad stubbornly.
Andrei cocked a brow at her, but before he could say anything, Sawyer and Sean made their way down the stairs. Before heading for their respective seats, Sawyer kissed her on the cheek, Sean on the lips.
Jesus, was she the only one feeling flustered around here or what?
Fanning herself would have been too obvious, so instead, she took a drink of ice water and hoped it would stop her from melting.
“What hasn’t improved?”
Andrei looked at Sean. “The headache situation.”
Sean immediately scowled. “Why haven’t you gone to the doctor’s, again?”
She huffed. “Because I don’t want to. We’ve already had this discussion.”
Sawyer, as he loaded himself up with spaghetti, murmured, “I’ll go with you, lass. I hate doctors too. They give me the willies.”
She blinked at that, then snorted. Even though she was uncomfortable with the topic of conversation, she had to laugh. “The willies? What the fuck are they?”
“Not penises,” Devon informed her. “It’s a phrase.”
Andrei clicked his fingers. “I know this one. Heebie-jeebies?”
She chuckled. “How do you know that?”
“A misspent youth watching too many Home Alone movies on repeat.”
Snickering at the precision of his comment, she turned to Sawyer and said, “You’d really go with me even though doctors give you the willies?”
He shrugged. “Course.”
Touched to the point where her stomach churned with excess emotion, she whispered, “Thank you.”
Apparently uncomfortable with her regard, he shifted in his seat. “You don’t have to thank me.”
“Sure I do.” She cleared her throat, overwhelmed by the knowledge he’d go to the clinic with her even though he didn’t like it.
But, wouldn’t she do the same for any of them?
And, if they were experiencing headaches as fucking painful as the ones she was having, wouldn’t she make them go, and sit with them, too?
Fuck.
Overwhelmed wasn’t the word, as she realized exactly how far along her feelings were for these men. Was it possible to fall in love when you were halfway to the ground already? Wasn’t that more a case of ‘fallen’?
The intercom buzzed, and she embraced its meaning with relief. Jerking upright, then wincing as her head throbbed after the too-swift move, she stated quickly, “I’ll get the door.”
Sean frowned. “You should sit down. I’ll go.”
“No. I’m good. Eat. You’re growing boys,” she tried to tease, and wasn’t sure she’d hit the mark when they all looked at each other uncertainly—shit, she must look like hell if they were studying her the way they were.
“If you’re sure?”
“Positive,” she retorted, already on the stairs and on the way up to the first floor.
Each step she took had her head pounding, and she couldn’t contain the slight groan that fell from her lips. Leaning against the wall, she gathered her breath, then stepped on toward the front door.
Opening it, she blinked at the woman standing there. “Yes?” she asked, when the stranger looked her up and down.
“Let me in,” came the snooty retort.
“Excuse me?” Sascha demanded, rearing back at the sharp command, her dizziness forgotten. “Who are you?”
Behind her, the sound of footfall coming down the stairs had her turning around. As she did, she saw Kurt was on his way, looking harried—he must have thought the second buzz of the intercom was the reminder for dinner, and he knew she hated it when they let their food go cold.
She wasn’t sure if the men needed a housekeeper and a lover, or a mother sometimes.
The way she moved, however, gave him a perfect view of the woman at the door. His eyes widened at the sight, and he froze in place.
“Katrin? What the fuck are you doing here?”
Worshipped By Them
Fourteen
With a frown, Sawyer looked at the woman si
tting in his friend Kurt’s seat, and wondered what it was the idiot had seen in his ex-wife, Katrin.
She was a hard-faced bitch. And that wasn’t just because he knew all the shitty things she’d done to Kurt. Her malice and lack of interest in anyone other than herself was evident from every angle on her face.
From the constant purse of her lips, to the dissatisfied narrowing of her eyes, it was as though everything around her wasn’t worthy of her attention. She was haughty, dismissive, and high-maintenance—and the day Kurt had divorced the cow had been a day Sawyer had let his inner Scot out by doing a jig.
Somehow, she managed to pack the sly wickedness into a pretty package. The bitch was beautiful, he wouldn’t lie, but he’d rather stick his dick into a vat of liquid nitrogen than Katrin.
Although, fucking her would probably be like fucking the freezer anyway—the woman made frigid seem positively tropical. Rubbing his chin, he watched as the skinny blonde invading his kitchen shed crocodile tears and put on an act worthy of an Academy Award.
“Oh, for God’s sake. How long do we have to listen to this bullshit for?” he snapped, tired of her games, and, call him mean, but bored of her. She was Kurt’s ex-wife. Ex being the most important word in that sentence.
The woman only gave a fuck about herself. That was it. She was numero uno. It didn’t matter that Kurt might have a new woman in his life, that they all might have something going on that didn’t involve her troubles—hadn’t she come here just in time for the evening meal? When she knew they’d all be there?
All that mattered was Katrin.
Not them.
Just her.
The others shared uneasy glances. None of them were interested in anything Kurt’s ex had to say, not even the man himself. He was looking more awkward than all of them put together, but Katrin had come here, and was making no move to fuck off.
“Sawyer! It isn’t bullshit,” Katrin cried, her German accent thicker than Kurt’s. Although, while Kurt’s had an attractive, polished air – hers was nothing more than angry noise.
“It is. Or at least, the tale isn’t, but the tears are. You don’t give a shit about what happened to your hedge fund manager. You just want to know what happened to your ten million.”
Her eyes flared with irritation—she’d never liked him. It was a mutual dislike, so he wasn’t exactly weeping into his porridge, but still, her distaste for him was as plain as the nose on his face.
Of them all, he was the only one with humble beginnings. The rest had silver spoons in their mouths from birth. Not that he held that against them. Never had, either. Even when they’d first met, and he’d thought them smug dicks, he’d gradually grown to like them—silver spoons and all.
Sawyer, unlike the rest—even Devon—had worked insanely hard to get to where he was in this world, and Katrin didn’t appreciate that. Why would she? She hadn’t had to work for a damn thing in her life. She constantly looked down on him, and he wasn’t willing to cower like other mortals would have done in her divine presence. He sure as shit wasn’t going to kiss her fucking feet.
A small wail of German had them wincing—they all spoke the language. “Can you blame me?” she demanded. “Ten million isn’t like ten pounds. It’s a lot of money. Money nobody could afford to lose!”
He shrugged, disinterested. “And this is our problem, why?” When she glowered at him, he glowered back. “Why haven’t you gone to the police?”
“I have. They’re not listening.” Her lips flatlined with disapproval.
Sawyer narrowed his eyes at her, and declared, “If I needed more confirmation that this was bullshit, I’ve just had it. If a woman with as much clout as you can’t make the authorities listen, then there’s nothing going on.”
Sean cleared his throat. “Sawyer’s right, Katrin. You pull a lot of punches in Bavaria. If you can’t get someone in Munich to listen, then why should Andrei be able to change things?”
“I don’t want Andrei to pull strings, I want him to look into the books.”
“Since when was I a forensic accountant?” he retorted coolly. He was the only one who’d continued eating throughout Katrin’s performance, almost as though the pain in the arse hadn’t interrupted their meal. He’d always had a fucked-up idea of what the word ‘drama’ represented.
Truth was, Sawyer was starving, but her nonsense put the distinct stench of BS in the room, and that was off-putting. Still, he felt guilty. Sascha had slaved over this food, and they were letting it go cold. He hated waste too.
Cutting her a glance, because in his irritation, he’d not checked in with her—even visually—he saw she was looking faintly shell-shocked as well as tired and a little bruised from fatigue.
She didn’t need this shit.
But none of them did.
Just under three months ago, Sascha had entered their world as their housekeeper. She’d since become their lover.
She was sinful and sexy, vivacious and earthy. She was everything he’d never realized they’d been looking for, and if Katrin, the bitch, thought to mess with that, Sawyer would stop any of her crap in its tracks.
He’d seen the looks Katrin had been shooting Sascha’s way. Friendly, they weren’t.
Three weeks ago, Sascha had been in a car accident. Well, what had appeared to be an accident. A kid had wandered into the road to pick something up, Sascha had pushed him out of the way, and had been clipped in the process. She’d been diagnosed with a moderate concussion and a broken radius.
Ever since, her headaches had put her down for the count. She was suffering; and that suffering was more than visible on her face. Dark shadows lined her eyes, and the lids were heavy, almost swollen with her fatigue.
It killed him to see her like that. It killed him more to think that the accident hadn’t been an accident at all.
The driver had confessed to a ‘plot’ to kill Sascha by mowing down a wave of pedestrians just to cover up her death. That particular confession had come hours after the crash, and ever since, the driver had stayed quiet. The only thing they knew now was that the bastard wasn’t talking. About anything.
Not why Sascha was the target.
Not who had paid him to take her out.
Nada.
Then, there’d been the bomb at an event where Andrei and Sascha were due to attend.
The police had concluded it was related to the presence of a software mogul of Zuckerberg proportions—only one better at keeping out of the spotlight. The authorities had figured the threat was aimed his way, but the driver’s confession had prompted Sean into seeking a connection between the two events, and thus far, he hadn’t come up with much.
Trouble was, Sean’s hunches were always right on the money.
It was why the bastard had reached the lofty heights he had. A man didn’t consult on cases with MI6 without having earned himself a reputation. And Sean had several notable cases that had found him in the papers.
The Lancaster Bomber was behind bars thanks to Sean, and that sick fuck who’d murdered eight women, and made a game out of it with the cops? Sean had solved every single one of those riddles. If the idiot police had listened to him ahead of time, instead of doubting the man’s genius, a few of those women would still be walking around today.
Because they hadn’t, Sean had their deaths on his conscience. The shadows in the man’s eyes ate at Sawyer. He loved Sean like he was a brother, and to know the man was in pain all because some dickheads in uniform hadn’t listened when they should have, was a knife to the gut.
It was why Sean worked so goddamn hard now. The man burned the candles at both ends, and considering Sawyer was accustomed to Devon, who worked like night and day were the same concept, that was saying something.
“Why are you letting them talk to me like this, Kurt?” Katrin demanded haughtily, resting her elbow on the edge of the dining table. The move drew the full plate in front of her to her attention. She wrinkled her nose and pushed it away like she was shoveling ho
rse dung out of her path.
“You’re no longer my wife, Katrin. They can talk to you any damn way they see fit. I’m not their keeper.”
Sean sat at the head of the table, Sascha at the other end. Behind Sean, Kurt was leaning against the wall, his arms folded, and his expression one of disinterest.
Katrin’s nostrils flared with outrage, her eyes flickering to each man in the room. “You can’t be serious.”
“Can’t I?” Kurt cocked a brow and sniffed his lack of regard for her delicate sensibilities.
But then, Katrin wasn’t here for Kurt. They knew that. Well, Sawyer figured, everyone but Sascha seemed to know that.
Her confusion hurt him, and he wished he was sitting beside her. If he was, he could have held her hand, squeezed it to reassure her. But Devon was next to her, eying Katrin the way he eyed their chalkboard when they were in the middle of a problem they needed to solve.
Not that Katrin was that hard to figure out.
Devon just saw things differently.
Having never been inside his best friend’s head, he couldn’t imagine how the world looked to him. But… knowing him as well as he did, Sawyer could easily picture it where, hovering over everyone’s head, there was a bubble.
Above Sawyer’s, it probably said ‘math friend—love—give beer, friend for life’.
Over Sascha’s, ‘Friendly—makes good cookies—sexy—will sleep with me if I’m not too weird’.
Then, over Katrin’s, ‘Avoid—hurt Kurt—makes too much noise—slam door in her face’.
The latter was less of a guess.
During Kurt’s marriage, they’d had a huge problem convincing Devon to let Katrin into the house if she ever knocked on the door. Sean had solved it by telling Devon he was never to answer the door again. But before that dictate had sunk in, any time Katrin had knocked and Devon had been the one to open the door, he’d closed it swiftly afterward.
Even Kurt had found that funny, and he’d been the one who’d gotten shit for it later from the old lady.
With thoughts of the very recent past swimming in his head, a past where Kurt had been more miserable than Sawyer had ever seen him, he eyed Katrin with as much distaste as Devon. She was only there to sway Andrei to her cause—hadn’t even come for Kurt’s help, just Andrei’s.
Hers To Keep: THE QUINTESSENCE COLLECTION I Page 22
