Willfully Hers (The Dirty Business Series Book 2)

by Michelle Betham

  “Where’s Evan?” she asks, sipping her wine.

  I look over toward the open French doors that lead out onto a huge terrace which in turn looks out over an expanse of garden that seems to feature everything from palm trees to the most beautiful flowering shrubs and brightly colored bougainvillea. And right now, as the sun starts to set here in Beverly Hills, tiny twinkling fairy lights suddenly start to flicker on, appearing in the branches of trees, wound around the trunks of those palms; strung up between the pillars that are dotted around the terrace. It’s beautiful, almost ethereal, but it still feels very strange to me, being somewhere like this. It’s slightly unsettling. This isn’t my world, and I’m not sure I belong here.

  “He’s outside on the terrace, with Heath. They’re talking to one of their dad’s clients.”

  She looks at me, and the smile she gives me is so friendly I don’t know why I ever felt wary of this woman. She’s been nothing but kind and supportive since we arrived here in Los Angeles.

  “All right. I’m gonna ask you this again, and you can tell me the truth this time. Are you okay?”

  I look down into my glass of wine, and I breathe in quietly, letting a few more beats go by before I answer her question.

  “Being here, amongst all of this, suddenly finding out the kind of world Evan grew up in – how well do I really know him, Alicia? I married him…”

  “Because you love him. Right?”

  “Yes. Because I love him.”

  “And that’s all that matters. Nothing else is important.”

  “Isn’t it? Only, it’s like all this new information is leaking out, bit by bit, and I’m scared of what might come next. What I might find out.”

  “Look, I’ll be the first to admit that when he told me he’d got married, I wasn’t just surprised, I was skeptical. I’ll hold my hands up to that, I didn’t think he was cut out for marriage. He never seemed the type, and everything that had gone on with his parents; the way he would avoid any emotional connection to anyone or anything, I just couldn’t see him as a married man. And I’ll also admit that knowing he’d married his secretary…”

  I look at her, and I can’t help smiling. “Clichéd, huh?”

  She laughs quietly, but when she returns my smile it’s genuine. It’s there in her eyes, we’re okay now. “I guess, yeah. But I was wrong, Lola. All those preconceptions I was harboring, I was wrong. To think like that.”

  “But you know him so well, Alicia. And I still feel like I have so much left to learn about him.”

  “Does he know everything about you?” she asks, arching a questioning eyebrow.

  I don’t answer that, for a number of reasons. And, thankfully, she doesn’t really give me any time to.

  “I promise you, Lola, he isn’t hiding anything. Not anymore. Look, I grew up with the man, okay? So I can tell you, quite honestly, that this is it. There are no more secrets, no more skeletons to come flying out of the closet, not where Evan is concerned. Don’t dwell on this shit, Lola, because it really doesn’t matter. You and Evan have a life together, a good life, and none of this should change that.”

  She’s right. It shouldn’t.

  But despite all of that, I still married a man I barely know.

  And I’m not sure I ever will.

  Evan

  “L.A.’s a bit different to Chicago, huh?”

  My brother looks down into his drink and smiles. “Yeah. It is. But Mom needed me here, y’know? And once Elliot Marsden was up and running as the new managing partner over in Chicago, it meant I could relocate here to California on a permanent basis. Got myself a nice apartment near the beach, a new car…”

  “No girlfriend yet, then?”

  “No one in particular, no.”

  He throws me a knowing smirk and I can’t help but smile. Yeah. I guess we really were too alike, at one point.

  “Unlike you, though.”

  “It wasn’t intentional.” I look back inside the house to see if I can spot Lola, and she’s there, talking to Alicia, and I just watch her for a second or two; the way she moves her hands when she speaks, the slight incline of her head when she’s listening to someone else talk, all little traits and habits of hers I’ve picked up on over the time we’ve been together. A relatively short time, in some people’s eyes. But long enough for me to know this woman inside and out. “But all that clichéd crap they tell you about falling in love when you least expect it…” I look back at Heath. “I guess that’s true.”

  Heath narrows his eyes as he stares at me, a slow smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Whoa. You really have changed.”

  “Yeah, well, that wasn’t intentional, either.”

  A few more beats pass in silence, and I take the opportunity to look around, at the way my mother has decorated this terrace with her own very distinct style of furniture, lighting, even the potted plants and shrubs are set out in a particular way, in fact, I’m almost positive they’re color co-ordinated. Everything’s just-so. Perfection is still a very present thing here in this house, in her world, and I doubt she’ll ever be able to let that go now.

  “How was Dad?” I’m the first to break the silence, looking Heath in the eye as I ask that question. “In the end?”

  “Not good. But Mom, she made sure he had the best round-the-clock care, here at home.”

  Because God forbid she should care for him herself.

  “She couldn’t cope on her own, towards the end. I mean, it was pretty tough. But she kept herself busy going into the office, working took her mind off everything, y’know?”

  No. I don’t know. And I’m beginning to wonder whether Heath really doesn’t see what I see; doesn’t know what I’ve known for years now, that our mother doesn’t do blips or bumps in any imaginary road. Our father falling ill the way he did, with the condition he was diagnosed with; she wouldn’t have factored anything like that happening in their perfect world. So of course it stood to reason that her way of dealing with it would be to pretend it wasn’t happening at all, to brush it under the carpet, hire in some help to deal with it while she got on with life as she needed it to be, but at the same time being told over and over again by those around her how brave and selfless she was being. I know that’s how it’s really been. Because I know her.

  “You should cut her some slack, Evan.”

  I frown slightly, and okay, I’m not exactly hiding the fact I still mistrust our mother. But I wasn’t aware I was being that obvious.

  “She’s had a tough time. Dad’s condition deteriorated pretty quickly, way more rapidly than anyone predicted. It wasn’t an easy time. And you weren’t here, so don’t judge her, okay?”

  I raise an eyebrow and take a sip of my drink. “Who’s judging?”

  “She needed people around her.”

  “I’m sure she had plenty of company.”

  “Come on, Evan. Why come here if you’re not even gonna make an effort to make some kind of peace with Mom? Just let it go. Please. For me, if not for her.”

  I drop my gaze and take a deep breath, because I’m tired now. I came here, I said goodbye to my dad, and I agreed to come to this dinner but tomorrow – tomorrow I’m making arrangements to fly back to New York. I’m not sure staying here any longer than I have to is a good idea.

  “I can’t make you any promises, Heath. I’m just playing this shit by ear, all right?”

  “Guess I’ll just have to take that, huh?”

  I take another sip of whiskey and look over Heath’s shoulder as Lola makes her way out onto the terrace, her gaze catching mine in an instant. And the second that happens she smiles, and I smile right back at her, which prompts Heath to look behind him.

  “I’ll leave you guys to it. I’d better go see how Mom is.”

  “He hasn’t left on my account, has he?” Lola asks as she slides an arm loosely around my waist and leans in to receive a quick kiss. I can taste red wine on her lips, hear her tiny sigh as I gently nip her lower lip and she laughs q
uietly.

  “No. He’s gone to see how our mother’s doing. You okay? Sorry for leaving you alone, I just wanted to get Heath on his own for five minutes. See how he really is without Mom looking over us.”

  “Maybe you should cut her some slack, Evan.”

  “Yeah. That’s what Heath’s just said.”

  She kisses me again, lightly pulling at my jacket collar. “Then maybe you should listen. Give her a chance.”

  “Since when did you become a member of the Marcy King fan club?”

  “You know what I mean. She’s been nothing but kind to me since we got here, and considering I’m a stranger to her, I’m grateful for that.”

  I gently rub her lower back, but I can feel my shoulders start to tense up. Yeah. We’re going home, sooner rather than later.

  “Come on.”

  I take her hand and lead her back inside.

  “Where are we going?”

  I don’t say anything, I don’t answer her question, we just keep walking, heading up the long, winding stairway to the first floor.

  “Evan…”

  I find the bathroom, nudge the door open with my shoulder and pull her inside, kicking the door shut behind me and flicking the lock.

  “Jesus, Evan, are you kidding me? It’s the day of your father’s funeral…”

  I shrug off my jacket, quickly roll up my shirtsleeves, and I push her back against the marble counter, silencing her with a kiss. I need this, because if I don’t get rid of this burning frustration somehow, my head’s gonna fucking explode. And this is the only way I know how to deal with it. But she’s fighting it, she’s fighting me, but I can feel that fight subsiding as my fingers slide up under her dress and tug at the barely there panties I saw her slip into this morning.

  “Evan…”

  She groans quietly, throwing back her head, and I lean in and let my mouth brush the base of her throat, which causes her to moan and buck slightly as I tug her panties down a little further. And when I slide my fingers inside her she pulls my head down and kisses me to drown out the cries I know she’s trying so hard to muffle.

  She reaches down and hitches up the hem of her dress, and I pull my fingers out of her as she almost tears off her panties with one hand, and I step back slightly as she slides them down over her long and beautiful legs, dropping them to the floor. And then she looks at me, she isn’t fighting anymore. She’s all in, and I step back between her legs, lift her up onto the counter, and I push into her, I’m taking her slowly, I want to feel every inch of me inside of her.

  She leans back and wraps her legs around my hips, and I cup her ass and pull her forward, sinking deeper into her with every thrust, and I watch as she closes her eyes and bites down on her lip to stop herself from crying out, because she wants to. I can see it, feel it, the way she tenses her inner muscles and grips me so tight it’s all I can do to hold back from coming too soon. And then she tips her head forward slightly, and she opens her eyes and she stares right at me, and it’s a look that carries so much power I feel my whole body shudder as my climax takes hold; as I come in a torrent of brutal, powerful waves, and she continues to grip me tightly, pumping everything she can out of me, into her, until I’m done. Empty. Drained. And do I feel any better, after that? Jesus, yeah, of course I fucking do!

  She rests her palm lightly against my cheek and pulls my head down, and she kisses me, long and deep and slow, her tongue searching my mouth, running along the back of my teeth, her fingers winding in the hair at the back of my neck. She needed this just as much as I did, I know that. Now. And then she unwraps her legs from around my hips and gently kicks me away, sliding down from the counter, but her eyes, they’re still on me. Still burning into me, and I am so crazy in love with this woman, it’s unreal. She doesn’t even need to speak, I know, what she wants now. What she wants me to give her.

  She turns around and faces the mirror, and I watch as she slowly hitches her dress up again, high up over her hips, and then she leans forward just a touch, grips the edge of the counter and pushes her ass back, and I am gone. I am fucking gone.

  She stares at our reflection as I move up behind her, gently palming her ass, her skin warm and smooth beneath my hand, and I take in her almost inaudible sighs of pleasure, enjoying them. And then I pull her up, pull her back against me, and we’re both staring into the mirror as I slide a hand around and rest it against her hip bone, teasing her, taunting her, letting her know what’s to come but telling her she isn’t getting it just yet. She rests her head back against my shoulder, but her eyes stay fixed on our reflection, and the air is filled with a kind of heat that’s close to burning, it’s intense, to the point where I can actually feel sweat start to dampen the back of my neck.

  I take her hand, squeeze her fingers tight, and I rest my lips against her neck as I slowly slide my hand between her legs, and she widens her stance slightly to allow me in. And as I touch her she moans quietly, gasping as I carefully slip my fingers inside her, and we watch our reflections in the mirror in front of us; watch as I finger-fuck her, as my thumb circles her clit, pressing harder, rotating that little bit faster and I feel her start to weaken in my arms. She pushes her ass back against me as I thrust deeper into her, and as I feel her nub hard and throbbing beneath my fingers, I press my mouth gently against that soft space just behind her ear, and I laugh quietly and whisper something dirty, something I know she likes me to do to her. And she grips my other hand as it rests lightly on her hip, moaning quietly as she comes in an almost calm and peaceful climax, pushing back against me as it takes hold, and I let my fingers sink deeper into her warm wetness.

  She turns her head slightly and catches my mouth in a deep and beautiful kiss, and I turn her around and push her back against the counter and I carry that kiss on because I don’t want to go back out there. I’m being forced to confront everything I haven’t even wanted to think about for so long. Shutting it down, hiding from it, that worked for me. Being back here isn’t working at all.

  “You should get back out there,” she murmurs, her fingertips lightly grazing my jaw line, and I look at her, and I hold her, and for a few seconds I stay silent. I just look at her, taking in how beautiful she really is.

  “I never wanted you to be involved in any of this, Lola.”

  “I’m your wife.”

  “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “Who’s going to hurt me?”

  I drop my gaze and squeeze her hand but she doesn’t push it. “You’re right. I should get back out there.” I look up, and her eyes are fixed on mine. “We both should.”

  I step back and pick up my jacket, slipping it back on and I watch as Lola fixes her hair and checks her make-up in the mirror. She looks even more beautiful after sex, that light flush she carries on her cheeks is so damn hot to me because I know how it got there.

  She turns around and I hold out my hand and she takes it. We’re ready, to go back out there and finish this night. Finish this visit. I want us out of here, back to that life we’ve barely had time to start building together. I want us back in New York before this place has a chance to start picking away at everything. I’m not willing to risk that.

  Tomorrow we go home.

  Tomorrow we get back to normal.

  Tomorrow we forget I ever came here.

  Twelve

  Lola

  We’ve yet to sit down to eat. It’s becoming a long night, longer than either I or Evan had anticipated, but he promised to stay until after dinner, and I think he should keep that promise. I know he wants to leave, he’s becoming more and more restless as the night goes on, but we need to stay. He’s come this far, and I want him to leave on, if not particularly good terms, at least something better than it has been between him and his mother. And I specifically say his mother, because watching him and his brother together, I think he regrets shutting Heath out of his life. They seem close, even after Evan’s estrangement. I’m hoping he keeps Heath in his life, in some shape or form.
It might be good for him, to have his brother around.

  “Lola! My beautiful new daughter-in-law, come talk to me, darling.”

  I swing around to see Marcy King approaching, a glass of champagne held tightly in her perfectly manicured hand, a smile fixed on her elegantly made-up face.

  “Mrs. King.”

  “Oh, call me Marcy, please.” Her smile widens as her other hand gives a dismissive wave. “Whatever Evan’s told you about me, I don’t go in for every formality there is. And you’re family now, after all.”

  I smile slightly, and clutch my own glass of red wine a little tighter, although I just want to down it now. I’m not entirely comfortable being on my own with Evan’s mum.

  “Where is my son?” Marcy asks, looking past me as she scans the room.

  “I think he’s with Heath, somewhere, I’m not sure…”

  “It’s so nice to see him getting reacquainted with his brother.” She fixes me with a look, and I’m sure I can see the smile fade slightly from her eyes even though it’s still there on her face. “With his family. It’s been too long.”

  I don’t say anything to that. I don’t want to join in this conversation because it isn’t my place, I don’t think I know enough to comment. I just know that Evan isn’t happy here. And all I want is for my husband to be happy.

  “Anyway, what about you, hmm?”

  I frown slightly, and I cock my head just a touch in silent question.

  “Tell me, Lola, dear, did you start your legal career when you still lived in England?”

  I’m not sure where this line of questioning is going, but I’m determined to stay polite. For Evan’s sake. And because I still don’t know the full story of this family’s past, therefore, I shouldn’t really judge.

  “I started working for a law firm in Manchester straight out of university.”

  “As a legal secretary?”

  She keeps her eyes fixed on mine, and there’s a part of me that wants to take a step back, but that would make it look like she’s unnerving me. She isn’t. Not yet. But she’s an intimidating woman, and she’s making no secret of that.