Hers to Keep (Quintessence #1-5)

by Serena Akeroyd

Then, the next day, he asked if she had any tripe—because sure, every household had that lump of horribleness in their fridge. Perplexed by the request, she’d asked him if it was something he wanted to have in the house, but he’d wrinkled his nose in disgust. “I was researching last night. The average woman loses a cup of blood during menstruation.” She’d frowned. “What does that have to do with tripe?” “It helps replace lost blood,” he told her cheerfully. “I thought it might be wise for you to eat some.”

Unsure whether to be stunned or offended at his interest in her uterus, she’d decided to just roll her eyes, pat him on the shoulder, and swiftly serve him his regular breakfast of scrambled eggs on home-baked rye bread.

When she looked back to that morning when she’d signed the NDA and her contract, she wondered if it had been a joke of some sort, because they’d never mentioned it since. But also, she realized that though the idea of being with all five of them should have terrified her and had her screaming for the hills, it didn’t. She wanted them. There was no mistaking it.

Being around them was like having porn on in the background at all times.

They didn’t have to do anything to turn her on—Andrei had helped put away the groceries yesterday, and she’d nearly had an orgasm watching the play of his muscles in his tight shirt. Somehow, they managed to make the ordinary, extraordin...

Jesus, she wished they would rub off on her. She’d totall...

Kensington was like the Upper East Side of Manhattan, except, there was a palace close by where real-life princes and princesses lived. Yep, she was sharing a zip code with royalty.

Devon was attracted to her hair, Sean had told her. The men, it would seem, appreciated her quirky dress sense. But what about when she was raw? Naked. And she didn’t mean what she looked like without clothes. No make-up. No war paint. Her hair, neat, but not pulled into a tight chignon, and loose about her shoulders. Without a bra, her large breasts were pendulous. Her waist, hips, and thighs, without her wonderful tug-it-all-in underwear, were rounded and thick.

They were attracted to the image she sold, but what about the woman underneath?

She wore a silky peignoir that covered a cotton nightdress that draped to the floor. It had inbuilt cups to support her breasts a little, but not a lot. On her feet, she didn’t wear stilettos...

The change would be radical, and the truth was, she needed to know what their reaction wo...

Sascha asked herself if she was some kind of slut. What kind of woman was willing to take on not one, not two, not even three, but five guys? But they were a unit. And though she knew how weird that sounded, it didn’t change a thing.

She did want them. They attracted her in ways no other men had. They were intelligent, thoughtful. Their conversation was opinion-provoking and engaging. They looked at her like she was as smart as they, not just a housekeeper. They included her, involved her.

She loved looking after them, and though it had never happened to her before, even after four years of working as a professional housekeeper, she realized she wanted more. She didn’t want to be on the outside looking in. She wanted t...

She’d been here just over two weeks. How could she be making grandiose statements like that? This was still the damn honeymoon period… but, she knew. Sascha didn’t know how she knew, granted, but that didn’t stop her from feeling ...

Devon’s voice was ever bright as he said, “I often wonder if you do the laundry in a pencil skirt. But then, I realize that can’t be the case because surely the seam would split if you’re always bending over.” Sean let out a little groan, but she shook her hand at him, well aware he was about to make Devon apologize. Amused at Devon’s lack of delicacy, she said, “My skirts aren’t that tight.” “They are. If you bend over a certain way, we can see your thong through the fabric.”

“I suppose I should be flattered you noticed.” “I’d have to be blind not to, Sascha. Your butt is as delicious as the cakes you bake.”

Devon, of course, saw the direction of her glance, waved a hand, and murmured, “In fact, I know why I prefer this look. You look like you’ve just had sex.” As one, the other four men covered their faces with their hands. Devon truly was hapless, and it was genuine. Not feigned. He looked at his friends and frowned at their stances.

“Be careful, Sascha,” he whispered softly. “We’re not the sort of men to play games with.” Her eyelashes fluttered to a close. “I’m not the sort of woman who plays games.”

She’d dropped the baton. Now, she just had to wonder if any of them would bother to pick it up.

If he didn’t love Devon like a brother, the bastard would have irritated the fuck out of him. As it was, he did love him, but still fantasized about slamming his head down into the counter a time or two. Hell, nobody was perfect.

Sascha had almost thrown down the gauntlet, and considering she knew what they were interested in, considering he’d explained it all to her so there was no bloody misunderstanding, that had to mean…

“We must have mistaken her intent.” “What’s the woman got to do?” Devon grumbled after gnawing down a huge chunk of bread. “Come downstairs naked? She almost was today.”

“I had to look twice this morning when I came down here. I thought an angel had taken over her kitchen.”

Her kitchen. Kurt was right on the money. She’d barely been here two minutes, and already it felt like forever. She blended in so perfectly he could barely remember what it was like without her. After a fortnight! What would it be like after a month? Six months? A year? The stamp she’d made on this place concerned him.

She was too integral, too soon, and yet, he couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t stop her from doing wh...

“You’re such a writer sometimes,” Andrei remarked with a quick grin, shattering Sean’s train of thought. “But I know what you mean. Her ass was…” “Divine,” Devon pointed out. “That’s one word for it,” Sean conf...

In the silky peignoir with the linen-cotton nightdress underneath, she’d looked like a movie star of old. In fact, there was an old-world kind of charm to Sascha. It was in everything she did. Even when he saw her bending over to pick up dirty laundry—and he knew for a fact, her seams didn’t split because he’d watched—or covered in a light dusting ...

“Andrei, when you’re working, have you noticed that there’s always a fresh tray of coffee on the dresser in your study.” “Well, yes.” He blinked. “I guess that’s right.” “Yeah, because she sneaks in with fresh pots for you. And it’s that disgusting stuff you like too. She brews it specially for you, not that you even noticed,”

“Kurt, she changed detergent twice because you kept itching every time you wore something clean.”

“I like watching her. She’s interesting.” He narrowed his eyes at his friend. “How interesting?” Devon scratched his chest. “Poincaré conjecture interesting,” he replied. Sawyer choked on his coffee. “No fucking way.”

If Devon thought Sascha was as or more interesting than math, then God help her, she was going to be bearing the full brunt of his focus. Nothing would slip by him.

Though he knew it was childish, he murmured, “What does she do for me?” “Your cupcakes are with a special sweetener.” He rubbed his chin again. “I can’t remember what it’s called, but it’s made from birch sap.” Despite himself, he was touched. “Because I’m pre-diabetic?” “I’d hope so. Otherwise she’s trying to poison you,” Kurt teased.

“What about me?” Sawyer asked, apparently not wanting to be left out. “That disgusting chorizo you eat. She doesn’t get it from the deli.” “She makes it?” “Yep. Plus, she puts the extra creases in your pants like you want.” “Well, that’s it. We need to ...

“Don’t mock. Devon’s right, she’s not behaving like a housekeeper.” “Housekeepers do no more or less than their duties...

“I said that she should probably expect Devon to approach her about our tastes.” The man in question, rather than appear offended, looked quite proud. “See, you were wrong. I behaved. I didn’t say anything.” “No, you just brought up her period and tried to get her to eat tripe,” Andrei said with a snort.

Sean, recalling those horrendous conversations, rubbed his eyes. “It’s a wonder she hasn’t run screaming from the damn house.”

“She’s happy here,” Devon said softly. “She sings when no one’s down h...

“She’s been here two weeks,” Kurt pointed out again. “Even if she was interested by the idea, she’s barely been here long enough to know what she wants.” “He’s right,” Sawyer stated quietly. “Maybe he is, maybe he isn’t. Sometimes, the connection is there. What are we suppose...

“In my experience, women are always far more proactive than men. I’d dither, they pounce.” Sean grumbled, “That’s because you’re a lucky bastard.” “I wouldn’t say that. I’d say I’m rec...

“Okay, so let’s say she’s receptive. What’s the next step?” “I think there shouldn’t be one. Not for a while yet. Let’s make sure she’s happy here before we take this any further.” At Kurt’s suggestion, De...

“I propose we let this take its natural course. If Devon’s right, and she pounces… as he phrased it… then I think we should go with the flow.” “The flow…” Andrei chuckled. “Like we wouldn’t pounce right back?” Sean blinked, then grinned. “True. I’m just stunned that’s all. When I hired her, I thought she was hot, but I never imagined we’d be having this conversation. Not after the last debacle.”

Kurt shrugged, then after he took a sip of his coffee, murmured, “She’s witty, charming, warm-hearted, and beautiful. It’s no wonder we’re hooked. The question is why she would want to be with all five of us.” And that, as was always the way, was the question.

Two months. How had that happened? Where had those sixty days gone, and why hadn’t she gotten laid in a single damn one of them?

“Since when did you start knitting?” Since she’d read it was great for relieving sexual frustration. She wasn’t entirely sure if it was working. She was still frustrated, just not at being able to knit, which seemed counterintuitive to her. Not that she could tell him that.

If she dropped any more hints, she was going to look desperate. And that was the last thing she wanted.

“I think I’m the only one who uses this room. Which makes no sense, considering someone had to buy the stuff in here.” Andrei cast a glance around the lounge and shrugged. “It was either that or just have an empty room, which would have freaked Kurt out.” “Why?” “Haven’t you noticed? He’s a packrat.” She blinked. “I just thought he was messy.” “Well, that too.”

“When someone’s so brilliant,” he continued, “your own glitter seems dull in comparison.” He smiled. “That sounds self-piteous, but it isn’t. I think Devon saves us all from believing our own press. How he’s not an arsehole about it too, I’m not sure.”

Devon was the least big-headed person, she knew. Apparently, Andrei too, and he, Devon, and Sawyer seemed to work within the same sphere.

Andrei was into economics and statistics more than the other two, who seemed to focus solely on theoretical math, but hell. Who was she to say? When they talked about Gödel’s theorems and Cantor’s diagonalizations, she had no idea what they were talki...