Private Treatment – Sheikhs Of Huzna Read Online Marian Tee

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Romance Tags Authors: Marian Tee Advertisement1

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Yeargh.

I quickly turn around and clear my throat loudly.

"You can turn around now," Daria says laughingly after a moment.

Nik's expression is totally bland when I face them again, but the way he's stroking Daria's bare back is unmistakably possessive, and the glitter in his eyes every time his gaze rests on his wife's features is unabashedly sexual.

Yuck.

"Get a room, will you?"

Nik only smirks. "Why should I content myself with a mere room...when I can make love to my wife all around our yacht?"

YUCK.

I'm sure millions of other girls would love to hear Nik say such words, but since I do only see him as a brother—-

You just never want to imagine your brother having sex, you know?

The staff finally comes in to serve breakfast, and I'm saved from further PDA since couples in love still do need to eat like the rest of us normal humans.

Nik and I get into a friendly argument like we usually do as we dig into our fancy seafood omelettes and fruit crepes, and Daria also does what she usually does, which is to laugh her butt off without any intention of mediating.

The billionaire excuses himself to take a business call just as the staff returns to clear the table, and Daria leans towards me as soon as her husband disappears from view.

Her eyes are sparkling with excitement, and I'm not sure why, but my stomach suddenly starts feeling queasy.

"Have you heard back from Andie yet?" she asks in whisper.

Her words make me feel even worse and the fact that I still don't understand why I'm feeling this way is so...not...good.

"Why should I hear back from Andie?"

"Uh, duh."

I shake my head. "No, really. I don't recall—-"

A memory flashes in my mind, and my body jerks in shock.

Daria is looking at me expectantly. "Well?"

Oh God.

"Have you heard back from your smoking hot, conscienceless doctor yet?"

I jump to my feet so fast, I accidentally knock my chair over, and Daria looks at me, startled. "What?"

"I, um, need to poop."

Daria chokes out a laugh, but I'm too much in a panic to feel embarrassed.

Shit, shit, shit.

I'm sure Daria thinks I'm running because I'm about to shit myself, and that might as well be true, figuratively speaking.

What the hell have I done?

I wait until I'm back inside my room before I get my phone out, and my fingers shake as I scroll through the emails in my inbox.

Oh God, oh God, oh God.

My stomach twists in dread when I see an official email from Smut Fantasies Inc. There's a PDF file attached to it, and just like I feared, it's an air-tight contract between SFI and me.

I skim its contents in hopes of finding a loophole that would allow me to back out from willfully participating in its beta stage, but all I find is a penalty clause that I would never be able to afford.

How can you be so stupidly drunk, Leah Raptis?

I chew on my lip as I start pacing the length of my room. I know I can always ask for Andie's help, but if I do that, she'd be forced to let "both" of her daddies know she broke her word.

Think, Leah, think.

Karen's last bit of advice flashes in my mind, and my steps come into an abrupt stop.

I tried a lot of things, but honestly? You know what worked the most?

SEX.

There's honestly nothing like lots and lots and lots of sex to make you forget everything except what you're feeling.

I know it's absolutely blasphemous to even think that my predicament is heaven sent, but...can I just fool myself into thinking that all of this is still part of His plan?

Five

Stanhope Medical Center of Miami was already bustling with activity when Joelle walked past its doors at half-past seven. Even though she still had thirty minutes to kill before her shift officially started, Joelle wasn't surprised to find all the lights already on when she reached the clinic she worked in.

"You're late," her world-famous, internationally acclaimed surgeon boss drawled as he straightened off the doorway of his consultation room.

"No, I'm not." Joelle perched her butt on the high-backed stool behind the reception counter. "You just have a habit of coming to work freakishly early, which is so not my fault."

Her cousin only grunted, and Joelle studied him surreptitiously while she started sorting through the dozen or so letters and invitations addressed to Dr. Adam Al-Masri.

Adam would've usually said something mean by now, and the fact that he didn't was telling.

Two years had already passed since Cora Mitchell's death. The woman had been in her seventies, and it was by account of her age that various top surgeons had refused to operate on her. Adam had been her last hope, and while he was the type of man who would've willingly risked his reputation for a chance to save his patient—-


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