Healed by Them: A Reverse Harem Romance (Quintessence Book 2) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  The right of Gemma Mazurke to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the author.

  Copyright © Gemma Mazurke 2018

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

  This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people.

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  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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  With thanks…

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  WORSHIPPED BY THEM

  With thanks…

  To Deanna.

  A new friend, a reading buddy, and someone I’m so glad I met along this journey.

  Chapter One

  “Are you certain this isn’t someone targeting you again?”

  Sascha opened her eyes and immediately regretted it once the dim light pierced her retinas.

  “Oh sweet, Lord,” she gasped. Agony had words tumbling from her lips in an indecipherable torrent. She made to sit up then yelped when a sharp pain radiated up her right arm. Her throbbing arm. Her ‘oh, my God, what the fuck is wrong with me’ arm.

  What the hell?

  The left arm wasn’t much better she found. Her shoulder was creaky on that side, but the pain wasn’t so intense. Still, she guessed that made up for the fact her entire body felt nothing more than a bag of bones.

  A big bag of aching bones.

  And why did her mouth taste like vomit?

  When the hell had she puked?

  “Sweetheart, it’s okay. You’re fine.”

  Sean.

  She blinked, then regretted it when it felt like sandpaper scouring over her eyeballs. Pressing her fingers to her temple, she winced when she felt the bandage covering her forehead, and the soreness underneath. “Sean?”

  “We’re all here, baby.”

  Kurt.

  She tried to focus for the tenth time and finally succeeded when her bedside came into view. Her very full and jam-packed bedside.

  Before she knew what was what, a crowd surrounded her. Kisses were pressed to her cheeks and hair, her knees were squeezed, and someone cupped her foot.

  After that exuberant greeting, she blinked blankly around, then wrinkling her nose, murmured the first thing that popped into her head, “This isn’t an NHS hospital.”

  It most definitely wasn’t a hospital in Britain’s national healthcare system. She’d been in one before. They were all avocado green lino and stinky rooms.

  This place was… fancy.

  Yeah, a word not often associated with hospitals but this one was definitely overachieving in the looks department.

  And the lack of bleach and cabbage odor in the air? Bliss.

  “You’re on the household plan,” Andrei told her, his dulcet Russian tones the only soothing thing about this mad moment.

  “The household plan?” she asked, dumbly.

  Sean snorted. “I knew you hadn’t read that contract thoroughly.”

  “Now probably isn’t the time to be mad at her lack of critical reading skills,” Kurt pointed out wryly, and she sent him a grateful glance which had him squatting down beside the bed, and reaching for her non-sore hand.

  Oh! That reminded her. What the hell was going on with her hand?

  She peered down at the cast with some astonishment. “What happened?” And why did her mouth taste gross?

  “You don’t remember?” Sean asked, concern lacing his tone.

  She was grateful to remember anything with this banging migraine. Jesus. The pain.

  As it stood, she was more than grateful to remember all their names.

  Before her, in their looming gorgeousness stood her five bosses. She was their housekeeper of two months and lover of… well, it depended on how long she’d been in the hospital.

  When did that even happen?

  Huffing out a breath, she asked, “How long have I been here?”

  “An afternoon?”

  “That’s it?” she squeaked, gawking at Kurt.

  He nodded. “Feels a lot longer from our end, I promise you.”

  Sean let out a deep sigh, and she watched him sink heavily into a guest armchair. “I second that. You scared the hell out of me, Sascha. Fuck. Don’t ever do that again.”

  He looked angry. Stern. At some point, he’d mussed up his black hair, the scowl splitting his forehead had her blinking at him in astonishment.

  “I don't understand. What happened? What are you so mad about, and what the hell happened to my arm? It’s aches like a bitch,” she complained with a pout.

  She understood that, for whatever reason, they'd been worried about her, but it wasn’t fair for them to be all pissy with her when she didn’t even remember what had happened.

  Talk about unfair!

  “You don’t remember any of it?” Devon demanded, folding his hands on top of his taut belly. She really shouldn’t have noticed that, not with her head aching the way it was, but Jesus, migraine or not, she was still a woman.

  And boy, what a man he was. Nobel prize-winning, genius mathematician to boot.

  “Obviously, there’s something worth remembering. But whatever it is, it’s a blur. Should I be concerned?” She frowned. “More than normal, I mean. A radioactive spider didn’t bite me, did it?”

  Sawyer snorted, and though his next words were mocking, his Scottish brogue was deeper than usual, rougher. He was worried about her. “She’s okay. If she's well enough to be facetious at the same time, I think we can chill out.”

  “Hey,” she complained. “Where’s my tea and sympathy? I thought Brits specialized in that shit.”

  Kurt chuckled. “You're on a losing streak with me, sweetie. Germans aren’t exactly renowned for their softer sides.” His deeds contradicted his words, however. He reached down and cupped her foot. Before she knew what was what, he’d dug his thumb into her arch, and headache be damned, nearly had her wriggling in the bed like a damn puppy as pleasure soared through her veins in response.

  She released a whispering moan. “Screw the tea and sympathy; I'll stick with the German version.” Close to panting as he massaged a sensitive part, she let out an honest-to-god whimper.

  “I think she likes that, Kurt,” Devon pointed out, with the clinical blandness of a doctor taking notes on a case.

  She rolled her eyes because even though she was two seconds away from climaxing, broken arm and
what she figured was a concussion be damned, Devon still had a way of amusing the fuck out of her.

  “Which parts gave it away, Devon?” she egged on. He was making her worse, she knew. Her already sarcastic nature came in handy around the man who made Einstein look normal, but if you believed sarcasm was the lowest form of wit, then she wasn't the best person to be around.

  Devon rubbed his chin, and taking her question seriously, studied her too hard. No longer feeling the whole doctor-patient vibe, but like bacteria in a petri dish, she groaned out an exasperated breath when he explained, “Your color has improved. You were looking a little green around the edges. But now, you're bright pink. Plus, you keep rocking your hips. Classic signs of arousal.”

  Andrei laughed, shaking his white-blond head in disbelief. “Like you’d even know! Most women come on to you, don't forget. I truly think you don’t even need to touch their clit. They probably just listen to you speak a load of math, and climax instantaneously.”

  Devon blinked. Turning his topaz-blue gaze from his Russian friend, he pinned Sasha in place. “Is that possible?”

  Around him, they all chuckled. He didn’t seem offended, just confused. Which, she knew, was pretty much par for the course. While he could understand complex mathematical formulae, ask him to figure out the toaster, and she’d be better off asking the neighbor’s cat, Tiddles, for help.

  “What? What did I say?” he demanded, peering around the group.

  Sawyer, standing behind him, squeezed his shoulder. “Well done, mate. You managed to lighten the atmosphere.”

  “I did?” His brow puckered. “How did I do that?”

  Sean snorted. “Don't worry about it, Devon. But to answer your question, no, math doesn't cause spontaneous orgasms. Does it, Sasha?”

  She grinned. “I don’t know, Sean. Maybe Devon will have to try it out on me sometime.”

  Andrei nudged him in the side. “You’re on a promise there, Dev.”

  “I am?” Devon eyed her. “What kind of promise?” he asked, his tone suspicious now.

  “One that ends with us sweaty and satisfied. How about that?”

  He beamed his kilowatt smile at her. “Do you go back on your promises?”

  “Nope. Cross my heart. Ooh, and I’ll throw in Scout’s Honor. Now, back to the subject at hand. I can remember Tiddles, but I can’t remember how I broke my arm. What’s going on?” Something had to explain the nagging aches that were covering her body.

  Had she fallen down the damn stairs? Is that why her head was banging harder than a heavy metal fan’s in a mosh pit?

  Kurt, now perched on the side of her bed, carried on massaging her foot, and told her, “You’re a hero.”

  “Technically, a heroine,” Devon corrected. “She’s female, Kurt.”

  “This totally escaped my attention,” Kurt retorted, turning around to roll his eyes at Devon. “Anyway, before we get sidetracked. Again. You saved a little boy’s life.”

  Stunned, she blinked at him. “I did?” Why didn’t she remember any of that?

  Sean leaned forward in the mauve armchair which was part of a set in the private hospital room that belied the fact she was in a clinic at all. Hell, there was more thought and care taken with the décor in this room than there’d been in her last two apartments.

  “He rushed onto the road to pick something up. You saw him, saw the car, dashed off before I could stop you. You pushed him out the way until he was in the middle of the street, but the car clipped you.” He hunched his shoulders. “By the time I realized what you were doing, I didn’t have a hope in hell of making it to you in time.”

  “I ran into the road?” she asked weakly, sinking deeper into the pillows cushioning her back. “I don’t remember any of it.”

  Kurt gently rubbed her foot with his fingers. “That’s perfectly normal according to the doctors. Luckily, there’s no damage to the skull. You really must have a hard head,” he teased softly, “But you’ve broken your arm.”

  “Her radius is broken,” Devon corrected, making Kurt blow out an exasperated breath. When Andrei elbowed him again, he blurted out, “What? The radius is her wrist, not her arm!”

  “Shut up,” Sawyer said on a low hiss.

  “No, it’s okay. He’s just trying to make sure I know all the details.” When Devon preened at her defense, the rest of them either gritted their teeth, grunted in exasperation, or rolled their eyes.

  “See,” he said proudly, sending her the smile he should patent because it never failed to get her knickers in a twist.

  Well, her panties.

  Shit, the more time she spent over here, the more her English was being corrupted by the weird shit the Brits said.

  Clearing her throat, she asked, “It’s a regular break? Nothing complicated?”

  “A simple fracture. Six weeks with the cast. Everything else... you’re very lucky, we’ve been told.” He shuddered. "While the doctor's idea of lucky differs to mine, he did say the hit to your head has given you a moderate concussion and they want to keep you in because of that.

  “Kurt’s going to spend the night with you while you’re under observation. But you should be home tomorrow,” Sean explained softly. He rubbed his nose. “If anyone asks, I’m your fiancé. I had to tell them that or they wouldn’t have given me any information at all.”

  Fiancé. Boy, did that sound nice. As well as premature.

  Waaaaaay too premature.

  She bit her lip and peeped up at Kurt. “You don’t have to. I’m sure you have better things to do.”

  He frowned. “What things could be better than making sure you’re okay?”

  She frowned back—and even that hurt, dammit. Ouch. The scowl pulled at whatever the hell was going on with her forehead—and had they taped some of her hair to the bandage too? Fuck. “I thought there were visiting times to abide by?”

  “There are. They don’t count with us.”

  “Why not?” she demanded. “That’s a bit unfair.”

  Sawyer snorted. “The nurses like us. Devon pays for their Christmas party every year.”

  That had her blinking in surprise—whatever she’d expected, it wasn’t that.

  Devon elbowed Sawyer in the side. “Shut up.”

  Before they could start bickering, Sean heaved out a sigh. “Anyway… Andrei and I have meetings, and Sawyer and Devon have to make a pitch to their board as well. We’ll be in and out around those appointments, but Kurt’s staying the night.”

  Kurt grinned. “I’m the wastrel writer. My time is the least precious.”

  Sean snorted. “Get out your violin, Andrei. I hear bleeding hearts.”

  Chuckling, Andrei hummed a quick tune under his breath. “We pity you, Kurt.”

  “Good,” he retorted. “I deserve the pity. Just because I’m not changing the world one algorithm at a time,” he finished with a very masculine pout. When she choked out a laugh, he winked at her. “But no, Sascha. It will be my pleasure to sit with you and make sure you’re okay.”

  Warmth flushed through her because his look wasn’t disinterested or irritated as her ex would have been at the prospect of spending the night in a hospital room—even one as swank as this one.

  In fact, that they were all here was telling.

  They give a crap, she realized.

  They hadn’t shoved this onto one person to deal with. All of them had taken times out of their horrendously busy schedules to come here and be with her until she woke up.

  Even though she knew it was stupid, tears welled in her eyes. As one, they all noticed and froze in place. She gnawed on her cheek to stop the drops from falling, but she couldn’t. They spilled forth regardless of her attempt to hold them in.

  “Hey, we’ll stay if you need us,” Sean immediately told her, reaching over, he pressed a hand to her knee and gently squeezed.

  “Of course.”

  “I can rearrange things…”

  Agreements came in a four-strong variety, but she shook her head.
“That’s not why I’m crying. You need to go and do your stuff; that’s fine with me. Having Kurt here is more than I expected.”

  “Then why are you crying?” Devon demanded, having gotten to his feet, his hands were stacked on his very trim hips, and his eyes were narrowed mulishly. She had to admit, he not only looked cute as hell but more confused than he’d been earlier regarding their conversation on trigonometry-based orgasms.

  “Because I’m touched, silly,” she whispered, a frog in her throat as well as the tears still prickling her eyes.

  How could she not be?

  All five of them had instantly reacted to her supposed upset and had told her they’d rearrange their lives for her… No one had ever done that for her before. Not since her mom had died.

  And hell, she could remember enough to know that only yesterday, they’d consummated this strange relationship of theirs. Andrei had taken her on the sofa while Kurt watched, and she’d slept—actual REM sleep, not of the orgasmic variety—with an insomnia-stricken Devon.

  Yesterday had been the first day of the rest of their lives together. For however long that life may be, and yet, here they were. Like they’d been together a decade. Their concern shrouding her in a comforting embrace that made her feel loved. Cherished. Wanted.

  Gulping, she whispered, “Thank you for being here for me.”

  Sean sighed, and she could feel his relief that she was okay. “You’re a priority, Sascha. That’s how this works now.”

  She blinked, taken aback by the simplicity of his belief when that belief circled upon something that was so intrinsically complicated, very few people would ever be able to understand its dynamic.

  Five men. One woman. The math was something only Devon and Sawyer would be able to theorize, because to everyone else in the world, she knew it would make zero sense.

  But to the people in this room, herself included, it made perfect sense.

  Perfectly, wonderful sense.

  “I just wish I’d been in time to stop this from happening at all.” He ran a hand through his hair, disheveling the already messy, onyx locks.

  She wondered if he looked like that after sex, or if he was more rumpled… Sascha couldn’t wait to find out even as she was inwardly gawking at herself—these guys had her sex drive on overload even when she felt as shitty as she did!