The Life You Stole (Life Duet 2)

“Heroine. And befriending someone isn’t the same as having sex with them.”

“Does she know that?”

“Evelyn …” He frowned.

“Ronin, what are we if you can’t tell me that you had something happen to you that was so frightening you thought you were dying … that you thought Lila was dying? What are we if you allow a woman with a reputation like Adrianne’s to sit next to you in public where people you know, people I know, could see you?”

What are we if Graham touches me inappropriately and gifts me something like a whole damn building and I don’t tell my husband?

“I can’t always protect you with the truth.” He slid his hand behind my head and brushed his lips along my cheek.

“You can’t always save me with a lie,” I whispered. “Save us …”

“We don’t have to be perfect to be forever.” His other hand slid up my neck, the pad of his thumb tracing the line of my jaw.

“Roe, I’m scared.”

His lips brushed mine. “Me too, Evie. Me too …”

I wasn’t sure why Ronin’s vulnerability made me feel safe. Maybe in our imperfect world, where the truth sometimes felt like a weapon and a well-intended lie served as the strongest shield, vulnerability was the unspoken promise that together we would survive the war.

“I need to pick up the toys,” I breathed the words against his lips.

“Yes,” he whispered back to me.

The hand behind my head moved to my breast, cupping it so gently it elicited a painful ache.

“And clean the kitchen …” My breaths shortened, filling the air between us with unspoken needs that didn’t involve the kids’ toys and dirty dishes.

“Yes,” he repeated. Our lips touching, but not kissing.

His hand fell from my breast, tracing the contour of my stomach and the curve of my hip before sliding down the front of my shorts. I drank his breaths and he drank mine, my eyes fluttering shut as he slowly … gently … dragged his fingers across the delicate fabric of my panties—every touch wordlessly asking for permission, as if he hadn’t ever touched me there before.

After a few seconds, I swallowed my fear and let my fingers brush the soft denim, inch by inch making their way to his erection, pressed hard to the zipper of his jeans. My thumb outlined it, circling its head several times. Ronin’s chest expanded with a deep breath.

We weren’t a troubled married couple with two young kids on the other side of that door. There was no room for more truths or lies.

Not a breath for words.

Not an inch to move.

Not a thought to consider.

Just a bubble encasing a man and a woman.

Just one touch chasing another.

Just a single need.

Our mouths fused together, sending each hard breath through our noses. The kiss demanding, but our hands remained gentle, patiently waiting. It hurt too much to sort through the rubble of thoughts in my head, so I just kissed Ronin.

And he kissed me.

He slid his hand from my pants, and I tugged open the button to his jeans as the momentum—the need—spread from our kiss, down our bodies, like relentless waves thrashing in a storm. Ronin’s gaze met mine as he lowered his body, peeling my shorts and panties down my legs.

I love you.

I love you too.

The words were there, swirling like the invisible wind. They were always there.

For every night of kids in our bed, pain-driven wedges between us, sickness, and sadness … we claimed one moment for ourselves again. A moment that didn’t care about the flash of headlights from the road beyond the curtain of trees. A moment that didn’t care about the chill of the door at my back. An imperfect moment in our forever.

With half of my clothes discarded on the porch’s wood floor and Ronin’s jeans and briefs slid partway down his thighs, we fucked.

We laid down our weapons.

We made love.

And I knew in that moment that it wasn’t just Franz and Anya that I would protect with my life. It was Ronin too. He didn’t share my DNA, but he shared my soul.

I would fight for him.

And he would fight for me.

There would be truths.

There would be lies.

Never perfect—always forever.

CHAPTER FOUR

“You look good.” Lila hugged me.

I smiled.

Thoughts of Ronin over the previous twenty-four hours spread like warm rays of sunshine across my chest. I married a great man. A wonderful father. A faithful friend. After we made up on the porch in the wake of our near falling-out, he helped me clean the kitchen and living room. We showered together. And I fell asleep, hugging his chest, while he read a book under the soft glow of his reading light. By morning we were four in bed. Crowded, yet happily content.

“You look too formal for lunch with me in my jeans and a tee.” I laughed as she released me.