Charmed by Them_A Reverse Harem Romance Page 3

  “You don’t sleep?” She frowned at him. “Do you have insomnia or are you just weird?”

  He grinned. “A bit of both, I’m sure.”

  Well, that narrowed it down. Not. She pursed her lips. “Hot chocolate helps me sleep sometimes.”

  “Surely not at four in the afternoon though,” he asked, peering at his watch.

  Patek Phillippe? Or were her eyes deceiving her?

  She wasn’t sure why she was surprised. Just because he looked like a gorgeous stowaway at the moment, with a disreputable outfit that would do a vagrant proud, didn’t mean he wasn’t loaded and capable of wearing thirty-thousand-dollar watches with old jeans.

  He lived here, after all.

  “Maybe not at four. Not for me, anyway. But maybe it will help you.”

  His shoulders hunched. “I’m supposed to be sleeping,” he admitted, but his tone was a little off. It was like someone had told him to sleep. Like a parent, or something. “Sawyer will be mad.”

  Sawyer? She remembered the name from the many on the wall. Why was another one of her bosses telling the other to sleep?

  Weird.

  “Well, I won’t tell him if you don’t,” she conspired with him.

  “You won’t?” His eyes were hopeful, and she realized something… Devon was an innocent.

  It was a bizarre realization to come to when she was drooling over him, and half believing that he was flirting with her, but he was. Genuinely.

  Like A Beautiful Mind kind of innocent. Russell Crowe had been a superstar genius extraordinaire, but it hadn’t stopped him from wanting to fuck Jennifer Connolly, had it? And hell, that character was based on a real guy, so that stuff happened in reality. Right?

  Devon wasn’t as awkward, but there was just something off about him. Like the world worked at a different pace to the one his brain functioned at.

  Telling herself to slow down and not jump to conclusions, she told him simply, “I promise. Sawyer won’t hear it from my lips.”

  He grinned, then held out a hand. She eyed it, then him, and seeing wistfulness had replaced hopefulness, she slid her fingers along his palm and clasped it.

  The sensations that ricocheted through her were… in a word, stunning.

  Her palm felt like it was on fire. Not in a bad way. A good one. Like pleasure and pain were getting mixed up with her nerve endings. The mixture collided and oscillated through her body, making her heart skip a beat as they descended the stairs together.

  “Sean sleeps on this floor too, but this is where Sawyer and I live and work,” he confided. “We’re mathematicians.”

  Somehow, she thought that was an oversimplification, but she didn’t say that. “How many rooms are here?”

  “Three bedrooms and one large office. There used to be four bedrooms, but we converted it.” He shrugged. “We’re partners.”

  She blinked, disappointment flooding her. It figured he would be playing for the other team. All the good ones were gay, she thought on an inner, distressed whimper.

  “We’re trying to solve one of math’s greatest puzzles. P vs NP.” He beamed at her. So, not gay? Business partners? She grinned, hope immediately replacing disappointment. “I’ll have to show you our progress,” he told her eagerly, and that eagerness was charming.

  His excitement was contagious. And she, who detested math, found herself nodding to please him. Not because he was her boss, but because he looked at her with stars in his eyes at the prospect of her being interested in his work. In him.

  Heady stuff, she thought to herself.

  The back wall was covered in photo frames of Devon and another hunk. He had shaggy red hair, pale skin, and crystal green eyes. She could imagine him in a kilt, of all things. Standing on top of a heather-covered moor letting out a bellowing war cry to stop the English from invading his territory.

  Be still her ovaries.

  What was it with these guys? Were they sent from hell to torment her with their astonishing good looks?

  Then, she spotted something that had her pulling him to a halt. “Is that the Nobel prize?”

  Another beaming grin was aimed her way. “Yep. We won that five years ago.”

  “You won the Nobel prize?” she demanded a little breathlessly, astonished by not only the award’s presence in the house but the fact she was standing next to an honest-to-God winner.

  Sean had implied they were intelligent—but a Nobel prize?

  Sweet Lord!

  “It was quite easy, actually,” Devon was informing her. “Our current research has far wider repercussions.” He tugged her hand. “The next floor is where Kurt and Andrei live and work. There are five bedrooms though. Sean sleeps on this floor but his office is at the back of the ground floor.”

  “Kurt and Andrei’s offices are attached to their rooms too?”

  He nodded. “Andrei’s an economist. He’s a whizz with statistics. He’s helping Sawyer and me collate our findings, actually.”

  “What about Kurt?”

  “He’s a writer. Quite a good one too. Just won a Pulitzer.”

  She blinked in astonishment at that nonchalant remark, then shook it off as they headed down to the ground floor. He pointed out various photos on the walls, articles and cut outs from papers he was particularly proud of. But his pride was unique—undoubtedly as unique as the man himself.

  Devon wasn’t smug or showing off his many admirable achievements. If anything, he was boyishly pleased with himself. Satisfied at a job well done, without his ego battering her in the side.

  As they trundled down the corridor to the steps that led to the basement where the kitchen and utility were housed, she wondered if he realized how much she’d learned about him in that short trip.

  Devon was unusual. And she loved unusual.

  Sean, upon her arriving four hours ago, had given her a rudimentary tour of the basement and attic, and then had left her to unpack as he’d rushed out the door for a meeting.

  It was quite handy having Devon pop up to guide her around, especially when he insisted on clinging to her fingers until he took a seat at the stainless-steel counter and watched her get to work in the kitchen.

  It was a large kitchen. Surprisingly so, considering it was underground and natural light was almost nonexistent. The white cupboards and stainless-steel countertops were like ice chips among the warm lighting and copper accents. It was welcoming, and she immediately felt at home.

  There were more appliances than she knew what to do with, and so many copper pans hanging over the white island glittering in the light she was in awe.

  She took a peek in all the cupboards, but found the chocolate in the fridge—sacrilege, chocolate was always better at room temperature. Breaking up pieces, she grabbed some milk and a carton of cream and got to work.

  As she bustled around, she felt his eyes on her. It was a bizarre sensation. She was used to being looked at; it came as part and parcel of wearing what she did. Not that she wore it for anyone else. But her tight pencil skirts, and Rita Hayworth hair always attracted attention.

  Devon, however, was looking at her like an alien viewed a human. Or at least, that’s how she’d imagine an alien would view a human. It felt like he was interested in some kind of probing too. Not necessarily of the anal variety, but still... She could sense his attraction, but also his bewilderment. At what, she didn’t know.

  “Do you like cinnamon?” she asked, throwing out the question into the silence that fell between them. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just a little off. Like he was finding her measure and trying to figure out which language to talk to her in.

  As if ‘woman’ was a foreign tongue. A thought that had her lips twitching in amusement.

  “I don’t know.”

  She scowled at him. “How don’t you know?”

  He shrugged, but before he could answer, another man appeared. This one was also tall, also freakishly handsome, but blond. Very, very blond. And his accent? Sweet Jesus. They were trying to attac
k her from the waist down. It made her think of cold Russian winters, and steamy nights spent in bed.

  “Devon doesn’t concern himself with ordinary knowledge.”

  She blinked at the stranger with the sexy, lust-inducing voice. “And you are?”

  “Andrei,” he said with a smile, and then took a seat beside Devon.

  “I’m making hot chocolate. Would you like some?”

  “If you wouldn’t mind?”

  “I wouldn’t have asked if I did,” she told him, trying not to gawk. She felt his eyes on her too. Tracing over her curves, filing away each nugget of information into his brain.

  He was brawny. His muscles bulging through his, what had to be, tailored shirt. And the trousers, a thick silk blend with a fine pin stripe she’d like to follow with her tongue.

  Bad Sascha! Bad, bad, bad. Her cheeks flushed so she tilted her head down, letting her hair partially hide her face while she poured more cream into a pan and slowly, gently, heated the cream.

  When she was sure her initial blush had gone back to a normal, womanly glow, she tilted her face up to look at them both. As she chopped up more chocolate, she asked, “Why don’t you concern yourself with ordinary knowledge, Devon?”

  She peered at him through her lashes and saw his full attention was aimed at her. To be in the epicenter of this man’s focus was enough to have her heart skipping a beat.

  “I don’t mean to. It just… it rolls off me like I’m waterproof.”

  Andrei smiled, clapped Devon on the back, and in a very masculine way, threw his arm over the brunet’s shoulder and squeezed him. “You get used to his little oddities. He’s the worst among us.”

  “The worst?” Devon repeated with a scowl.

  “And you know it,” came the unrepentant reply. To Sascha, Andrei said, “You’re looking at this generation’s Einstein.”

  Devon shrugged him off. “No, she’s not.”

  “He’s surprisingly modest.” Andrei grinned. “His recent work is going to revolutionize the way we encrypt computers, and will, undoubtedly, make us all a bundle in the process.”

  Sascha’s brows rose at Devon’s pink cheeks. “You do it for the math?” she hazarded a guess when Devon looked displeased at the mention of money.

  “Of course. That’s all that matters,” he said with a huff.

  “You say that because you don’t have to worry about petty things like bills.” Sean’s reappearance in the kitchen had her blinking in surprise. He’d trudged down the steps without her realizing, but rounded the counter and peered at her as she carried on making the hot drink. “Can I have some?” he asked, tone hopeful.

  She grinned. Were these men or little boys? “Of course. Would Sawyer and Kurt like some too?”

  There wasn’t enough cream, but she could use more milk.

  Sean asked, “Devon, is Sawyer at the gym?”

  “Nope. He’s upstairs.”

  “I’ll call him.” She watched him head for a phone she hadn’t seen until then. He pressed a button she realized was an intercom. It crackled and spit on the speaker. “Sawyer,” Sean asked when the buzzer stopped. “Do you want hot chocolate?”

  “Not if it’s that shitty powder stuff. You know I don’t consume chemicals. You shouldn’t drink that poison either.”

  Sean rolled his eyes. “It’s homemade. You can meet Sascha, too.”

  “I’m coming.”

  “That’s a yes,” Devon said, beaming at her.

  “I figured that out, sweetie,” she told him, amused.

  Sean rang the buzzer again.

  “Was? Ich arbeite!” Angry German came down the line, startling Sascha into stillness.

  “Ja, das weiss Ich schoen, aber willst du Sascha kennenlernen?” Sean asked, slipping into fluent German before her eyes—could he get any more delicious?

  “Don’t forget to ask about the hot chocolate,” Andrei pointed out, plunking his head on his fist as he watched her work.

  “Yes, please,” came the quick retort through the speaker.

  Totally changing the proportions of her little recipe, she bustled around grabbing more milk and chocolate. She found cayenne and cinnamon sticks in the cupboard too. Two of the latter she plopped in the cream to diffuse a little.

  “I guess it shouldn’t come as a shock that you speak German, huh?” she asked Sean. “What did you ask him? It was Kurt, right?”

  “If he wanted to be introduced to you. And yes, it was Kurt.”

  “Do you all speak German?”

  They nodded.

  “Sawyer’s accent is terrible though. He’s Scottish, and it butchers his German,” Devon said cheerfully.

  God, he was cute.

  She heard thundering steps and realized Kurt and Sawyer were on their way down.

  “What about Russian?” she asked the kitchen’s occupants.

  Andrei shook his head. “Nope, they don’t love me enough to try.”

  Kurt, overhearing this, started playing an air violin. “I, and my violin, weep for you.”

  Andrei flipped him the bird which gave her time to process how hunky Kurt and Sawyer were in the flesh.

  Kurt was like a dark blond Ben Affleck. His eyes were hazel, framed by strong brows and a wide forehead that was crowned by a widow’s peak like Sean’s. Only difference was, he had ruffled mid-length hair that looked like he’d been tugging at it all morning.

  His bedhead gave her dangerous ideas. Ideas that made her want to chuck the hot chocolate away and whip her libido into shape.

  Sawyer was better in the flesh than he was in photos, which should have been an impossibility but wasn’t.

  How had their college coped having all these five hotties on campus?

  She imagined their bedroom doors had revolved over the years.

  And were they all single now? That couldn’t be possible, could it? None of them wore rings, at any rate.

  “I should have introduced them all before I left, but I was running late. You’ve met us all now,” Sean told her with a smile.

  “I have. And you seem to like hot chocolate. Well,” she tacked on, “we’re about to see if Devon likes it too,” she finished with a grin as she put the shards in the cream and let them slowly melt. With her back to the them, she stirred it a little, then looked over her shoulder as she spoke, catching them all in the act of checking her out. Grin widening, she murmured, “My head’s up here, guys.”

  “You have a very nice arse, Sascha,” Devon told her, his tone earnest. “It would be a shame to ignore it.”

  She cleared her throat but then relinquished control on her voice box, and laughed out loud. “Thank you, Devon. My butt is very grateful for the compliment.”

  “It can’t really have an opinion,” he grumbled.

  “She’s being facetious.” Andrei elbowed him in the side.

  Deciding to change the subject, she asked Sawyer, “Do you have special dietary requirements?”

  Sean clicked his fingers. “That reminds me. I’ve got a dossier on all our little quirks. There’s nothing major; just likes and dislikes.”

  Sawyer studied her with an intensity that had her shivering as he murmured, “I don’t eat anything processed. Devon doesn’t either.”

  “So, if I make chocolate cupcakes, they’ll be wasted on you.”

  Kurt snorted. “They’ll be devoured in minutes. If you make them, they’ll eat them. They just don’t eat anything from the store.”

  Sean grinned. “Kurt cooks for us when we’re without help.”

  “I slave away in this bloody kitchen because you’re all too finicky to eat anything normal,” he complained, suddenly sounding very German. His ‘S’es were sibilant and over-pronounced.

  “I bake. Sometimes,” Andrei pointed out with a scowl.

  “Twice. In twenty years,” Kurt retorted, holding up two fingers that were more ‘fuck off’ than anything else. “It will be a relief to pass on the baton to you, Sascha.”

  “That’s what I’m here for,
” she said brightly, and seeing that the chocolate had melted, added a teaspoon of honey, a pinch of salt, and stirred. “Where are the mugs?”

  Sean, the only one not seated at the counter on the island, moved around her. The air around him was charged, and she could feel the heat coming off him as he squeezed passed her—just barely brushing her body. He pressed the longest cupboard’s door, and it released, revealing plates, mugs, cups, glasses, bowls. Everything she’d need.

  He grabbed four cups, while she picked up the last two. With them on the counter, she poured out the hot chocolate, and asked, “Does anyone want cayenne pepper on theirs?”

  “Why would you want that?” Devon asked. “Hot chocolate’s supposed to be sweet, isn’t it?”

  “It adds a nice depth to it. Probably a little too adult for your tastes,” Andrei snarked with a low chuckle. “I’ll have cayenne, please, Sascha.”

  “Me too,” Sean said, voice soft and close to her ear.

  Nodding, and swallowing down a wave of nerves, she sprinkled a pinch on top of three mugs, then handed them all out to her rapt audience. “Bon appétit,” she said cheerfully, picking up her own mug, placing it on the counter behind her, then hopping up to sit on it. Five stools were behind the counter, with one on the kitchen side, but she preferred to be up high.

  “That’s not very hygienic,” Devon pointed out.

  “I’ll be sure to use antibacterial detergent when I wipe the counters down,” she assured him, lips twitching as he carried on frowning.

  “Relax, Devon,” Sean told him, as he came to stand beside her. He crossed his feet at the ankle, as he leaned back into the counter.

  His proximity did things to her. Dangerous things.

  Heck, they were all doing dangerous things to her, without even trying.

  “This is very good, Sascha. Thank you,” Kurt told her with a smile. The corners of his mouth were stained with chocolate, and she giggled at the sight.

  “You’re welcome.” Their eyes clashed, held, and she swallowed; she felt as if she were drowning in those deep, dark-as-the-chocolate-he-was-drinking eyes.

  His lashes fluttered down, bronzy colored wings that had her wondering why God gave men such lustrous eyelashes and left women with a mascara wand. The tiny act broke contact and she immediately stared down at her lap. Shoring her defenses, she asked, “Are any of you allergic to anything?”