The Life You Stole (Life Duet 2)

“Just make things right.” I pressed End.

Graham

The only thing I disliked about my wife was her name—Lila. Not Evelyn. She resembled Evelyn, but not enough. And she tried too hard to be a perfect wife, not like Evelyn’s fuck-you-Graham attitude.

Fine. Technically, there were three things I disliked about my wife, but they all could be summed up in three words—she wasn’t Evelyn.

I liked the chase.

Lila was fun until she said yes. Damn … I loved that chase. My attraction to Lila nearly exceeded my attraction to Evelyn because Lila wanted nothing to do with me.

The truth? I loved Lila. It wasn’t even intentional at first. But she made me fall in love with her. It just never equaled my love for Evelyn. I loved how she loved me, maybe I even loved her out of a sense of duty. The tears I cried after her accident were real. But I also hated that love. I blamed her for it.

My wife’s blue eyes shifted to me as I stood in the doorway to her office. Her condition kept her from fulfilling some of her public duties which was fine. Out of sight, out of mind. We made excuses … like she was writing a book. She let her personal assistant go, claiming she was too strong and independent to need help.

The spin. It was always how you spun the lies to fit a desired truth.

Lila eased her laptop shut and slid her hands from the vintage desk to her lap. Even at home, she wore designer dresses and short skirts or the occasional pant suits.

I took slow steps toward her desk, not missing the fear in her eyes. “No visible marks today.”

She answered with silence.

Easing into the gunmetal gray leather armchair opposite her, I steepled my fingers and tapped them against my chin. “I’m sorry you’re going through this. No one plans for their life to go in this direction. Yet, here we are. We can’t change what has happened, but we can go forward with the best intentions and hope for better days.”

Lila flinched. I wasn’t a monster. Part of me regretted that flinch. Part of me took responsibility for that flinch.

“I don’t want to be owned,” she whispered.

“You own me.”

She shook her head one tiny inch at a time. “Evie owns you.”

“I didn’t marry Evelyn.”

“Why?”

I narrowed my eyes. The world. I gave that woman the world.

More money than she could ever spend.

A closet the size of a small apartment.

Houses.

Yachts.

Maids.

Assistants.

Cooks.

Really … if her definition of “owned” meant a life of luxury, then sure … I owned her.

“Evelyn and I are friends.”

Lila nibbled the corner of her lip. The problem with her? She questioned shit that didn’t need to be questioned.

“A friend you’ve been intimate with.”

I shrugged. “So have you.”

“That’s not the same.” Her gaze fell to her lap.

“Come here.” I held out my hand.

Lila stared at it, silently defying me.

“Come. Here.”

After a slow sigh, she stood and made her way around the desk.

“Closer.” I spread my legs, nodding to the open space between them.

She held her ground.

“How can I make things right with you?” I used Evelyn’s exact words.

Her empty gaze shifted to meet mine. “You can let me go.”

“I don’t think I can.” I wrapped my hand around her wrist being careful to not bruise her. Sometimes it was hard … sometimes she fought me. Sometimes she tried to deny me. Sometimes I liked it when she tried to deny me.

In silent acquiescence, my wife let me pull her between my legs.

“I think your cancer treatment is working.” I loosened my grip, rubbing soft circles with my thumbs along her wrists and up her forearms, common areas to see bruising on my wife. Of course a part of me felt bad for her and her situation. She didn’t ask for such unfortunate things to happen to her. And if I wanted to get closer to Evelyn, I needed to find a way to get the four of us together more often. My days of lunch and watching football with my best friend were most likely over.

Just thinking about Evelyn made my dick painfully hard. I couldn’t stick it in her, yet, but I could find the next best thing, which happened to be standing right in front of me.

My hands released her wrists, finding the hem of her short skirt much more tempting.

“No.” Lila grimaced with her weak protest, and I slid her skirt up her legs. “Please … not now.”

“Long blond hair, short skirt, tight blouse … I think you’re asking for someone to take notice. And who better to do that than your husband?” With her skirt gathered at her waist, I slid down her delicate black panties.

“Graham … please …” She reached for her panties.

I shot her a look. That was all it took for her to relax her hand and let me remove her panties. Fuck … nothing compared to a woman in high heels stepping out of black lace panties. “Sit.”