by Tee, Marian
Alyx scowled. “I don’t care. I’m never going to date a supermodel, and certainly not someone who’s younger.”
Anneke flushed.
Seeing the Dutch heiress’ expression, Alyx mentally swore at her tactlessness and said hurriedly, “Your case doesn’t count, Anneke. Marcus Ravelli’s just a year younger anyway.”
It was Anneke’s turn to force a smile. “Yes, well.” She shrugged. “Age’s not the reason I’ve filed for divorce anyway.”
Alyx noticed her cousin suddenly looking guilty again.
Fredericka cleared her throat. “About that—-” Although divorces weren’t her specialty, she had agreed to represent Anneke in the proceedings. Initially, it didn’t seem that big a deal, but now she realized she should have said no. Because now, she was privy to things she wished she didn’t know – things which she had no choice but to tell her friend about, even if they were sure to hurt Anneke.
But before Fredericka could say another word, her phone rang, and she had to excuse herself when she realized who was calling.
Standing up, Fredericka walked away from the two women, needing to make sure that her conversation wouldn’t be accidentally overheard. It wasn’t that she had anything to hide, but she really hated it when Alyx and Anneke ribbed her about Sergei Grachyov. Yes, sure, he was possibly the hottest looking guy on her phone book, but still.
He was twenty-five.
And she was...not.
Answering the call, she greeted him cheerfully, saying, “What’s up?”
“Hello, Erie.” Although Sergei Grachyov was six years younger than her, he was in many ways more mature and formal than she could ever be, and the difference in their phone etiquette was the least of it.
“I’m sorry I missed your call,” Sergei murmured in that sexy Russian accented voice of his.
“It’s okay.” Fredericka’s voice was gruff. “It wasn’t anything important anyway.”
“You are my friend,” Sergei countered. “That makes everything you say important.” He checked his watch. “Shall we have dinner and discuss it?”
“Umm—-” Even after all these years, Fredericka still wasn’t used at the way distance seemed to have different definitions for her and Sergei. He lived in Los Angeles, and she lived in Miami. And yet here he was, suggesting they have dinner.
“Time’s up. I shall fly to you then.”
“Sergei! I was—-”
“Worrying over nothing,” he finished dismissively for her. “It’s only dinner, pchelka. It’s not as if I expect you to share my bed in exchange.”
Fredericka turned beet red. “I hate you, Sergei.” She knew he had only said the words knowing it would make her blush.
The young Russian billionaire said lazily, “Ooveedeemsya.” See you.
The call ended, with Sergei ensuring he had the last word.
Fredericka stared at her phone.
Younger men were so...
So...
The End
Author's Note
29 June 2020
Manila, Philippines
And just like that, the first half of 2020 has come to an end.
I hope you're all doing well and fine, wherever you may be, while reading this. Thank you for spending some of your precious time with me, and I really hope that this book - despite its darkness - has also helped drive the point home that lightness - in the end - always, always wins.
Please take care everyone. Challenging times are still ahead of us, but we must never lose hope, and we must never stop being kind.
Until our next journey,
Marian Tee
P.S. For those interested, many of the characters you've seen here already have their own stories. Fredericka Spears (Reid's lawyer) for instance already has her own book, and so do all her other friends. For that matter, all of Reid's friends already have their stories told as well. Please check my website for my character database. My Amazon author page also has an updated reading order of my books.
P.P.S. If you enjoyed this book, please consider writing a review - even something short and simple would do. It would truly, truly mean so much!
P.P.P.S. Please subscribe to my newsletter to enjoy sneak peeks of my latest works. :)
Continue reading for samples of other books I have available on Kindle Unlimited.
My Billionaire Captor
(steamy retelling of Beauty and the Beast)
I had no choice. If I want to save my father, I must forget my old life...and allow a mysterious French billionaire to become my whole world.
Note: This book was previously published as Savage, Broken, Beautiful.
****
So this was Arabella Blume.
The beast stared at her through the two-way mirror, finally seeing her for the first time. She was sleeping peacefully on the bed, her long dark hair fanned wide against the silk pillows, the covers falling just below her full breasts.
She was smaller than it had expected and far lovelier, too. The latter fact might have pleased other men, but that was the problem.
The beast was not like other men, and no other men could be like the beast.
Swinging away from the sight of her, the beast paced broodingly, its mood made edgier by the claustrophobic narrowness of the secret passageway, which wound behind the walls of every room in the mansion.
Could it really be possible?
Could she be the woman the beast had been waiting for?
The beast wanted to believe it was so, but the cynical part of it scoffed at this.
What the beast wanted was a dream, an illusion.
And it would never come true.
A growl of frustration escaped the beast at the thought. The sound caused Arabella to stir on the bed, and the beast stilled. Damn. The beast knew it would only be mere moments before she came into consciousness.
He should leave now, the beast thought.
But instead, the beast found itself doing the opposite.
A swift push of a button had the wall sliding out of view, and it slid back into place as the beast stepped silently inside Arabella’s room. Her scent immediately reached out to the beast, and it closed its eyes, savoring and committing every nuance of her scent to memory.
This was perhaps one of the few advantages of being a beast: the ability to identify a person, not only by sight but also by their scent.
And some scents were more tantalizing than most – as Arabella Blume’s was.
Her scent was a mixture of pure innocence and fiery passion, of sunlight and roses that were just about to bloom. It was enthrallingly contradicting, this scent of hers, and the beast found itself moving closer towards her, wanting more.
But then Arabella suddenly stirred, and the beast stilled.
Even deep in her sleep, the woman had managed to feel its presence, and the beast’s nostrils flared at the realization of just how sensitive she was.
If she was this sensitive, then did it apply to the rest of her body?
Would Arabella Blume be as acutely responsive if the beast dared to touch her?
The thought came out of nowhere, and the beast inhaled sharply.
The beast tried to control itself, but it was too late. The enticing notion had already taken hold of its thoughts and erotic images flashed in the beast’s mind.
Her dress falling in a pool around her feet, revealing her silken nudity to the beast’s hungry gaze—-
The feel of her skin under its claws, the way her gloriously large breasts would jiggle at its touch—-
Liquid heat laced its blood, and a shudder ran over the beast’s large, powerful body.
Arabella.
Just thinking of her name –
Of being able to say it as the beast kissed her –
The beast’s cock swelled and hardened into a formidably hard erection behind its pants.
Mon Dieu.
How it wanted this woman!
But would she want the beast back?
Breathing ha
rd, the beast turned away sharply at the thought.
Logic told the beast that wishing for such a thing was a sheer waste of his time, and yet –
It could not forget her words.
Although the beast had never left its island, it still retained full control of the family empire. It knew the business inside and out, and that included each and every person who worked in the company. Like the security chief, the beast believed that Maurice Blume had been a pawn, and it had been the beast’s idea to set a detective on the father and daughter’s trail, hoping that they would reveal something in their private conversations.
And indeed it had.
It revealed that Arabella Blume, daughter of a man accused of theft, might be the one woman in this world who could love the beast...because of her words.
Her very own words—-
Not even if the whole world thinks you’re a monster.
I will always trust and love you.
Because I know you.
The beast could not help turning to face her again as her words echoed in its head like the most elusive of promises.
From that moment on, it had wanted her.
It had wanted her like it had never wanted a woman before –
More than Louise Baldwin even.
It had wanted her for those words alone, for the beautiful heart that could have given her the strength to speak such words.
It had wanted her before it had even seen her.
But the beast also knew wanting on its side was not and would never be enough.
Arabella Blume had to want him, too.
So could you do that, ma belle?
Could you want a beast like me?
A hiss of frustration escaped the beast before it could stop itself and this time, it was enough to wake the figure on the bed. As Arabella started to sit up, the beast swiftly retreated past the shadows, the wall soundlessly sliding shut behind it as Arabella rubbed her eyes.
The clouds of hair framing her too-pale face fell against her back as she looked around her, obviously searching for what could have wakened her up.
Time passed.
The beast stared at her through the mirror, willing her to let it go.
Go back to sleep. Forget what you’re thinking. Let it go –
So it, too, could walk away.
But she did not.
W-Who’s there?”
The quiver in her voice, the way her gaze kept searching for the beast in the shadows –
Even without seeing the beast, even when the stealth of its movements had never failed the beast before, even when it should not be –
Arabella Blume knew the beast was here.
Its heart thudded against its chest at what this could mean, but even so, the beast dared not let itself hope. It could not hope. It should not.
Or at least not just yet—-
Not until she understood the only thing the beast had left of Aurélien Sauvage was his name.
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My Arabian King
I was fifteen and a nobody. He was rich but illegitimate. Years later, I'm still a nobody while Khalil is a king...and he wants me to be his queen.
****
"It is nice to see you again,” the kingdom’s highest-ranking general murmured.
“Umm, it’s nice to see you, too.” She cleared her throat. “Anyway—-”
Altair slowly shook his head. You know why I’m here.
Harper scowled. It doesn’t mean I should just give up without a fight.
Because they had just about the same conversation for so many years now, words no longer needed to be spoken.
When Harper opened her mouth to argue anew, Altair said gently, “The king wishes you to stay where you are.”
Harper glared. And if I don’t obey him?
“We have recently expanded the palace’s dungeons,” Altair said very politely. “Perhaps you’d be interested in a personal tour?”
He was going to have her locked behind bars, in other words.
Harper forced a smile between clenched teeth, saying, “Nope.”
“I thought so.”
And so she stayed, fidgeted, and cursed the sheikh to perdition.
Maybe if he weren’t single, she wouldn’t mind being around him so much, Harper thought moodily. Maybe if he found himself a queen, she’d stop being stupid. Maybe, just maybe, she’d finally accept the fact that Khalil Al-Atassi was untouchable, unreachable, and would always be, especially to girls like her.
It took over ten minutes before the sheikh finally found his way to her, having had to pause on his way twice, the first to speak with a French ambassador and later, to exchange a few words with a UN envoy.
His cousins spread out in what seemed like natural synchrony, affording them a circle of privacy, but Harper wasn’t fooled. These five guys were thick as thieves, and nothing they did was ever unplanned.
For a long time, the sheikh simply stared at her, stared and stared, making it seem like he had the hots for her. But they both knew he was just baiting her. Damn sheikh. He knew how much she hated being the center of attention, and that was exactly what he was making her to be.
Finally, his beautiful lips curved, and the sheikh said softly, “Marhava, qalifa.” Hello, little girl.
Harper almost scowled, almost glared, but then she caught sight of her father’s warning look from across the hall. Shit. And so she had to resign herself with a stony expression as she said, “Hello, sheikh.” Now go away.
But he didn’t.
Instead, Khalil Al-Atassi remained in front of her, his gaze patient and knowing.
Damn sheikh.
Don’t do it, Harper warned herself. You know he just likes seeing you mad for whatever reason. And the damn sheikh knew how much she hated it whenever he stared at her. She tried counting to ten, but when the sheikh seemed to be enjoying looking his fill of her, Harper’s quick temper eventually got the better of her.
“Stop that,” Harper grouched.
“Stop what?”
“You know what!”
“I truly do not know,” the sheikh said ever so solemnly that Harper wanted to strangle him. “Is it because I called you qalifa?”
Her teeth gnashed. “I am not a little girl.” Damn sheikh.
The sheikh appeared surprised. “You say it as if it is an insult, but it is not.”
“Ha!”
“It is an endearment, one I only use for special childhood friends such as you – dear qalifa.”
“Call me qalifa one more time, and you’ll see just how good this little girl is at trying to choke the hell out of you.” And who the hell was he trying to kid? Endearment? Ha! He only called her ‘little girl’ because he knew how much she hated her youthful looks. And really, childhood friend? Double ha! He was a sheikh, and she just happened to be the daughter of the American soldier who had saved his uncle’s life. Even if special circumstances had allowed them to see each other for one week every year, it still wasn’t enough to constitute a childhood friendship, and they both knew it.
“You are as feisty as ever,” the sheikh suddenly stated.
She only stared at him. You’re a pain in the ass...as always.
The sheikh laughed, the lovely, deep sound causing everyone to turn towards them, and Harper almost swore out loud. For the love of God! This man was the worst. He was often described as aloof but gentlemanly, but in her presence the damn sheikh would always make it a point to smile, laugh, do whatever that would make it seem like they were such good friends –
And all just so she could blow her top, Harper thought furiously, which the damn sheikh found so enjoyable to watch for some reason.
“I am glad you have not changed all this time.” The sheikh reached out to ruffle her hair, just like the ‘qalifa’ he thought her to be, and Harper was tempted to sink her teeth into it like a rabid dog. Oh, to hurt him just once, she thought wistfully.
“Why are you looking at me like you want to kill me?
’
“Because I am.”
The sheikh laughed again.
She grimaced. She had wanted him to feel insulted, not amused.
“One day, some people may tell you to refrain from speaking your mind to me.”
Harper only stared. Where did that come from?
“When that happens – do not listen to them.”
“Umm. Okay.” The sheikh was sounding crazier and crazier by the second, but oh well. Maybe sheikhs simply applied a different kind of logic to life. Whatever.
The sheikh suddenly leaned forward, catching her by surprise, and when he lifted his hand to touch her cheek, Harper’s first instinct was to turn away from his touch—-
But again, her gaze once again collided with her father’s, his ferocious scowl perfectly summing up his one-word command. Behave!
And so she gnashed her teeth and forced herself to bear the sheikh’s touch.
I can do this, I can do this.
But with every millimeter of skin that his fingers brushed against blazing to life, flushed hot and tingling, it was so damn hard—-
His fingers finally fell away, and Harper almost expired in relief.
Oh, thank God.
“Enjoy the rest of the night, Harper.” His gaze dipped just as her fists clenched against her sides, and amusement once again gleamed in the sheikh’s dark gaze. “You are itching to wipe my touch away, nem?”
She smiled ever so sweetly up at him, saying, “Nem.” Yes. It was a lie – but she would rather cut her tongue off than let him know that. “How did you guess?” Harper was hoping the words would at least win a frown from the sheikh, but instead the damn man remained unflappable as ever.
“I will see you at dinner, qalifa.” And just before turning away, he said huskily, “It was lovely flirting with you.”
The sheikh left her gaping.
Flirting? FLIRTING? How dare he imply—-
CLICK!
Harper snapped her mouth shut, but it was too late. The official photographer had already taken her photo, and again the sheikh had managed to bait her into showing a God-awful face.
DAMN SHEIKH!
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