Hers To Keep: THE QUINTESSENCE COLLECTION I

by Akeroyd, Serena

  “Yeah.”

  “Why the fuck didn’t we know this?”

  “We never asked,” Devon retorted. “Look, just get back here. Sascha’s freaking out.”

  He cut the call, pocketed his phone. “They’re on their way.”

  “I-I knew about the background check, but surely it came up that I was a national too?”

  “No. Not so far.” He rubbed his chin. “I don’t know why that is.”

  Kurt sighed. “Jesus, when did this all become so complicated?”

  Sascha thought back to the image on Devon’s phone. “Maybe it always has been, and we just never knew it.”

  Twenty-Two

  Sean stormed into the house, Sawyer and Andrei behind him.

  That the man was furious, was a given. He’d been given the run around by the people who were in charge of securing the goddamn nation. No wonder he was pissed to have been given half the details on the woman who was living with them.

  Hell, Sawyer didn’t work with the schmucks, didn’t have a relationship with them like Sean did, and he was fucked off.

  They headed for Sean’s office. The lounge would have been more comfortable, but that was their meeting ground. Why change the habit of a lifetime?

  Seemed Devon and Kurt were on the same page, because as they strode in, Sascha was curled up in Sean’s desk chair, Kurt, and Dev in their usual spots either side of the hearth. Sean strode straight over to Sascha, and before she could do anything stupid like complain, bent down, and tugged her into his arms. He wrapped her up tightly, and bit off, “I know you’re mad at us. We kept shit from you, and you’re right to be pissed about that, but we did it for your own benefit. You have to believe that. We didn’t want to scare you, when we didn’t know what the fuck was going on.”

  “You still don’t know what the fuck is going on,” she hissed, but she didn’t struggle, didn’t pull away from him. “Does that mean I’d still be in the dark if Sawyer hadn’t seen that picture?”

  He shuddered. “I don’t know. That picture changes things.”

  “I know it does. I just don’t know how.”

  Sawyer cleared his throat. “Sascha, I think you need to call your dad.”

  She pulled away from Sean, peered over his shoulder and caught him with a look. “Why?”

  Her tone reminded him of a lost little girl, and it hurt him, so deeply, so intrinsically he felt like he’d been knifed in the gut. The feelings he had for this woman were so far beyond complex that they fucked with his mind. Fucked with everything he thought he knew about himself.

  “You know why, sweetheart,” he rasped, hating himself for hurting her but knowing she needed to be made to see sense.

  “You want me to ask if he’s my real dad, don’t you?” Her bottom lip trembled and, in her eyes, those beautiful green eyes, he felt himself falling, deeper and deeper into the maelstrom of what she made him feel.

  “It’s the only thing that makes sense, Sascha,” Andrei said softly. He moved away from the door and headed for Sean’s desk. Before either of them could move, he approached her from behind, tucked her against his chest, and together, he and Sean embraced her.

  Grounded her.

  As they would always ground her.

  She began to sob in their arms, and the sounds tore at him with great ripping slashes—his heart bleeding.

  Helpless, he turned to Devon and Kurt, saw the same torment in their eyes. What he was feeling, they shared. They were in this together. There was no way he could forget that.

  Andrei began whispering to her in Russian, and the tsunami of tears slowly ceased overwhelming her.

  Grateful, Sawyer cleared his throat. “Sascha, baby.” Wet shamrocks peered at him over Sean’s shoulder. He strode toward the desk, leaning toward her as he gripped the edge. “We’re all here for you, darling.”

  She swallowed. “Why did they lie to me?”

  Sean sighed. “Something’s going on, Sascha. Something that goes way beyond anything we can find out.”

  “W-Why?” she demanded.

  Sean let out a deep sigh. “According to the authorities here, your mother’s maiden name is not only not Natasha Ilsindon, which is what’s on your records. Her name was Natalia Theosdottir. She was married to Arthur Jacobie, the grandfather of the man we met today, and…”

  “There’s more?” she cried. Like what he’d just said wasn’t enough to turn her world on its head?

  When Sean’s mouth worked but no words fell from his lips, Sawyer whispered, “She’s listed as dead, Sascha.”

  “Of course, she is!” she spat, hysteria inches away. “She died when I was nine. Of cancer! In Tucson. A world away from here.”

  Sawyer shook his head. “No, baby. We’re talking about Natalia. Your birth mother. She died two months after you were born.”

  Protected By Them

  Twenty-Three

  “Headaches are normal after a concussion.”

  The doctor’s tone had Andrei scowling at her, and he was pleased to note that the scowl had her stuttering as she continued, her tone warmer after his silent rebuke, “B-But of course, we’ll run some tests.”

  Sascha sighed, then nudged him in the arm. “Don’t let him browbeat you. If they’re normal, then that’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not okay,” Andrei told her grimly. “Do the tests. Expansive ones.”

  He used the same tone his grandfather, the head of the Bratva, the Russian mafia, in his hometown would have used when talking to his minions.

  Satisfied when the woman paled and began typing something on her computer, he turned to Sascha. “This is important.”

  “I know,” she said with an eye roll thrown in. “It’s my head.”

  “So why are you complaining?” he asked softly, leaning over to lift her chin up with his pointer finger. When her head was angled just so, he pressed a gentle kiss to her lips.

  She sighed against his mouth, making him smile. It still astonished him how she was settling in with the five men she’d only been hired to keep house for.

  Her tasks had been to pay the bills, do the laundry, and cook… not service Andrei and the rest of his friends in the bedroom.

  And yet, it was amazing how things turned out because she was perfect for them.

  Perfect.

  A word he rarely used. As a statistician, he knew perfect didn’t exist. But, in real life, it came in the form of one Ms. Sascha Dubois.

  “What are you smirking about?” she grumbled when she pulled away from his kiss.

  “Nothing,” he said, feigning innocence. She grumbled again, crossed her legs at the ankle, and slouched in the uncomfortable seat in the doctor’s office.

  She’d been doing that of late, he’d noticed.

  She headed into silence rather than diving into a row. Not that she was particularly argumentative, but she had opinions and wasn’t afraid to uphold them. Something he admired about her, because in their house, when five geniuses came together, each an expert in their own fields, it would be easy to feel undermined by such intelligence.

  But if Sascha felt that, it never came across.

  Of course, he conceded, they couldn’t exactly start rowing in front of the doctor. Not that he cared either way, but Sascha probably would.

  She was still relatively constrained by society’s mores. Andrei hadn’t been constrained by them for a long time. Too long for him to count.

  But, thoughts like that would derail him for a week, so skittering away from them, he asked, “Should she not be engaging in sexual activity?”

  The woman, in her thirties, blonde and neat in her white doctor’s coat with a smart blouse tucked into high-waisted pants, blushed at his question.

  An unusual reaction considering she was a doctor—her unprofessionalism had him scowling again.

  “You’ve been having sex?”

  Sascha grimaced. “Look at him. Wouldn’t you sleep with him if you had him hanging around all the time?”

  The doctor�
�s blush deepened, and Andrei’s scowl disappeared as he chuckled. Maybe she wasn’t as constrained by society’s mores as he feared.

  The notion had his lips twitching. “Why, Sascha, you’ll embarrass the doctor.”

  Dr. Gates cleared her throat. “You shouldn’t be engaging in any…” Another clearing of her throat. “Strenuous activity.”

  “Oops.”

  Andrei sighed. “This is why your concussion isn’t getting any better.”

  “It could well be,” the doctor informed her primly—she kept her gaze well averted from him.

  Sascha pursed her lips. “I only did it when I was feeling good.”

  “Yes, then after, you paid the price, I’m sure?” Dr. Gates asked.

  She shook her head. “No. I felt better afterward.”

  “Well,” came the brisk retort. “I’m glad you did, but it seems we’ve cleared up why your headaches aren’t improving. If you just rest for a little while longer, I’m certain there will be progress. While there have been studies that suggest the endorphins released after a climax can contribute to pain management, that you’re still suffering would imply otherwise. Bouts of heavy activity will only make things worse.”

  “I can’t stay still for the rest of my damn life!” Sascha argued.

  “It won’t be forever.”

  “Still,” Andrei commanded, “Run the tests.”

  Dr. Gates swallowed. The nervous act had Sascha elbowing him in the side again. “Of course.”

  Within the hour, Sascha had been pricked and prodded by needles, had endured an X-ray, and listened to Andrei’s fierce demands for an MRI.

  All the while, Andrei had waited with her. Only breaking his attention from her if his cell phone buzzed and he had to deal with an important call or message.

  Otherwise, he sat there and held her hand, tried to help her relax. She was stuck with so many needles, even he was getting wary of them.

  When they left the doctor’s office two hours later, she was trembling with fatigue.

  The sight concerned him. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and held her close to his side.

  The front of the clinic was a modern monstrosity. Huge red triangular panels that reminded him of blood covered the façade in what he assumed was controlled chaos, not that he could appreciate it.

  Even the benches were formed from concrete… cold on the ass, he’d assume, but he steered her to one nonetheless, grateful to be facing away from the crimson façade and onto a small green garden up ahead. It was truly amusing that the weird structure was undoubtedly founded in some bullshit attempt to make the place more soothing for nervous patients.

  Andrei had proof that didn’t work.

  Sascha was nervous. The red monstrosity didn’t exactly turn her frown upside down.

  “I don’t need to sit down,” she complained. “I just need to get out of here.”

  He tutted under his breath, directing her to sit nonetheless. “Just take a minute.”

  She huffed. “I don’t need a minute.”

  “You don’t, huh?” He cocked a brow at her. “Well, what about me? I’ve watched more blood being pumped out of you than I’d care to see in a lifetime. Maybe my knees are feeling a little unsteady.”

  She blinked at him, turning her head to gape. “I’m sorry, Andrei, I didn’t realize.”

  Her sudden earnestness had his chest tightening. God, there she was, being perfect again.

  He sighed and reached over to cup her cheek. “I don’t like to see you ill.”

  “I’m not ill,” she argued. “Just under the weather,” she conceded a second later when he scowled at her. “And stop scowling at everyone. I thought Dr. Gates was going to have a coronary, or something. Well, after she stopped crushing on you. Jesus, she was close to drooling. Do you have to be so handsome?” she grumbled.

  He snorted dismissively at that. “So prim and fierce, but she melted like butter at my scowl, didn’t she?” His tone was laced with the satisfaction he felt. Bullying the doctor wouldn’t have been on today’s to-do list if the woman had been willing to do her job.

  If it made him look like a bastard to everyone else, he’d do it. Just to protect his woman.

  Sascha shook her head. “Sometimes, you sound so incredibly Russian.”

  “That’s because I am,” he said contentedly.

  “I know. I forget sometimes. The accent just fades away into one mass of sexiness,” she admitted drily. “Although you were definitely a little harsh. You could have been politer to her.”

  “Why? She was going to brush us off. You needed the extra tests. Prevention is better than the cure, as the Brits say.”

  “Apparently not if she wasn’t going to run those tests without your Russian scowl prodding her up the ass.”

  He grunted. “I’ve been perfecting that scowl. It’s been a lifetime in the making.”

  “I can tell,” she said wryly.

  That scowl had been under construction since his grandfather had tried to morph him into his Bratva ranks, and he’d had to stand his ground and steer clear from that life path.

  Just because he wasn’t involved in his grandfather’s business, didn’t mean he hadn’t seen the old man in action.

  Seen and learned.

  Vasily Kirov could have grown men pissing themselves with little more than a twitch of his brows.

  It always amazed him how his grandfather could inspire such terror in… well, everyone. But with Andrei, he was soft as shit.

  Rubbing his chin, and thinking that he needed to call the old bastard soon, he murmured, “Do you want to go to that bakery you like in Soho?”

  She blinked at him, then grinned. “I’m not five, Andrei.”

  He frowned. “I’m well aware of this. And very grateful too,” he said, with an exaggerated leer at her beautiful breasts. Breasts which were pushing against her V-neck tee like the fabric was a stranglehold and they were desperate for freedom.

  “My eyes are up here, buddy,” she chided, but he could hear the amusement in her tone. “You have to help me help myself, Andrei. No more looks like that, okay?”

  He blinked, confused. “Huh?”

  She growled. “How am I supposed to avoid sex when you guys make me think about it all damn day?” She pouted. “I’ll go insane before my head heals.”

  His lips twitched. “I think that might be overstating the issue a tad.”

  Her tone was glum. “I don’t. I’ve never thought about sex as much in my life. I swear, you’ve addled my brain. As you’re the cause, you have to stop doing whatever it is you do to make me horny. So, no more checking out my boobs, no more feeling me up in the kitchen. I won’t make it otherwise.”

  He had to hide a smile at her sulky retort. “I’m glad to hear we’re so irresistible.”

  Sascha groaned. “Like you don’t already know it.”

  He didn’t actually. Though none of them could be considered Hunchback-of-Notre-Dame ugly, they’d never found it easy to date. And Andrei had always assumed that was because they weren’t attractive to women.

  He knew what he looked like in the mirror, but still… Dating hadn’t been fun for any of them. They always seemed to attract the odd ducks who made their lives miserable in the long run. Janna, Katrin—the list wasn’t endless but the time they’d wasted on each woman was time they wouldn’t get back.

  Rubbing his chin again, in contemplation, he murmured, “You really think this?”

  She gawked at him, her neck jerking forward as she studied him like a Starbucks’ barista trying to translate a coffee order in Klingon. “Wait a minute. You mean you don’t know?”

  “Don’t know what?”

  “How fucking gorgeous you are,” she shrieked, then immediately grimaced. Lifting a hand, she rubbed her temple and blew out a breath. “You’re all tall, and gorgeous, and muscled... Stop me before I start drooling.”

  He preened a little at her foghorn tone. “I think we should definitely go to that bakery now.” />
  “Why?”

  “You deserve two rewards. One for stroking my ego, and two for coming here.”

  She shot him a look, then laughed. “You’re nuts.”

  He shrugged. “Yes. But what are you if you like me anyway?”

  “Insane?” she questioned with a quick grin, before she nudged him in the side. “Also, stop making me feel like a dick for wanting you all. I know my own body. I get that you’re going to lockdown and be super protective, but I wouldn’t have slept with any of you if I’d suffered afterward.”

  He winced. “We want to look after you.”

  “And you do.” She reached over and kissed his cheek. “Trust me to know what I need.” As soon as she said the words, she blew out a breath. “Yeah. That’s just wishful thinking. I know you’re going to drive me nuts. The lot of you,” Sascha grumbled as he helped her up to her feet and once again, they walked across the slick gray tarmac to his car.

  Of them all, only he and Sean had cars. Mostly because they were the only ones who actually had to leave the damn house for business. Though, granted, they did what they could in their home offices.

  Sawyer and Devon, their resident higher-order math geniuses, lived nearly constantly in their rooms. Devon was a hermit, though he wouldn’t admit to it. Sawyer wasn’t, but he either borrowed Sean’s car if necessary or ran to wherever he needed to go—he was a health nut.

  Kurt was a writer, and though he definitely wasn’t as bad as Devon, he could spend days in the house when the muse struck. He also kept atrocious hours, but then, under their roof, they didn’t seem to abide by time zones. GMT, PST, EST… they worked to their own rhythm, one the rest of the world didn’t follow.

  Someone was always awake. That was a given. Be it Kurt tapping away at his current manuscript, or Devon trying to figure out a formula that would crack a code MI6 needed help with, there was always one vacant bed at three in the morning.

  Andrei opened the passenger door and helped slip her inside the low Audi. Sean had a more sensible Maserati sedan, and he realized he should have taken that instead. She had to crouch pretty low to the ground to get into the car, and her head was incredibly sensitive.