Home > Shame (Secrets And Lies #2)

Shame (Secrets And Lies #2)
Author: Ainsley Booth








I never thought my husband would cheat on me.

I was sure of it.

I was wrong.



Luke: Are you going to be home for dinner?

Grace: Should be.

Luke: I’ll pick something up.

Grace: No red meat!

Luke: I know. Love you!

Grace: Love you, too.



“I’m hopping in the shower. I gotta head out for a bit.”

“Where are you going?”

“I told you, I have a thing.”

I frown. I don’t remember him mentioning an event. “Is it something you need me for?”

“Nope. Just a meeting. I won’t be long, but don’t wait up.”

I never do. As I’ve moved into my thirties, I’ve decided I like going to sleep early and waking up early to get a workout in before I start my day.

Luke, on the other hand, is a confirmed night owl.

When we were first married, we’d stay up late together, until I got sleepy, and then he’d tuck me into bed and read beside me while I fell asleep. I don’t remember the last time he did that, but really, if he did, I’d just get annoyed, because then I wouldn’t be able to read something dirty and get myself off.

A quick, efficient orgasm is better than any sleeping pill ever invented. And while I love sex with Luke, there is no such thing as a quick orgasm with him. And lately, sometimes there’s no orgasm at all.

When the stars align, though, sex is fantastic. It still takes a while, though. Luke has a rule—I always come first, and preferably twice. You’d think this would be a great rule. It’s the stuff of internet memes. But it’s actually more pressure than I want, and he won’t be dissuaded of it. Just fucking use my body as a receptacle for your come is not something my husband will ever understand.

Nor is it something I could ever say with a straight face. Not without bursting into flames. This is on my mind as he moves towards the en suite bathroom adjacent to our bedroom. I catch his hand and tug him close, wanting his bulk against me. He kisses me softly and brushes past instead. No bulk. No hot kiss.

I sigh at his retreating back, but he doesn’t notice.

He disappears into the bathroom, and I turn around again, catching sight of his phone on the bed. “Hey, baby, you forgot your—”

But the shower’s already on.

The screen lights up. There’s a text message notification on the screen.


Text Message



Spitfire. Who the hell would be in his phone book as Spitfire? My pulse starts to pound as I stare at the screen. The locked screen.

He has a thing tonight?

And a text message from someone named Spitfire?

Fingers shaking, I tap the home button. The password screen slides into view. Fucking hell, I don’t know what it is.

On a whim, I try his bank card pin code. That’s what I use, and we’re so alike…

It works.

From a distance, I feel myself smiling, but it feels wrong, because I know what I’m about to find.

Somehow, deep down inside, I know exactly what Spitfire is. I don’t know who she is, but I know she’s my husband’s lover.

And I know my heart is about to break.









My back is tight, and the hot water isn’t helping. I should cancel drinks with Caitlyn tonight.

I won’t, though.

Rolling my neck, I scrub soap over my chest and down my belly.

I need to go back to the fucking gym.

I need to stop eating McDonald’s.

I need to do a lot of fucking things, but I won’t, and I don’t.

Dark, ugly thoughts crowd the back of my mind, and I turn the temperature of the shower down. Cold, sharp drops hit my skin.

That’s good. Sharp, intense.

A lot like Caitlyn.

My dick twitches, and I will it to work tonight. Hold her down, fuck her mouth until she gags. Yeah, that would feel amazing.

I turn the shower off and reach for the towel I put on the hook just outside the walk-in shower.

It’s not there.

“Grace,” I holler out, ignoring the way my stomach twists.

I’ve gotten good at shoving that weird twinge away.

She doesn’t respond, so I walk around the corner, water sluicing off me. Maybe I left it on the—

But I didn’t.

My towel is in Grace’s hand. She’s perched on the vanity, a little bird, clutching the towel. And my phone.

Her face is white.

“Who is Spitfire?” she asks, her voice barely a whisper.

My heart stops.

The pain on her face surprises me. I don’t know why. I’ve been cheating on her and she’s just found out.

I put that pain there.

But that realization is like an out-of-body thought, totally disjointed from the desperate, clawing question hurtling around inside my head.

What have I done? What I have done to my wife?

My wife.


“I can explain,” I say dumbly, because I don’t need to. She knows.

“Who. Is.—”

I reach my hand out. “Give me my phone.”

She shakes her head. “Nope. I’ve already sent myself everything, anyway.”

There isn’t much there. I’m diligent about deleting the content regularly. But I still… My brain screams at me to get this under control.

“What’s her name?”

“It doesn’t matter.” My skin crawls at the thought of Grace knowing anything about…

I can’t even think her name again.

That woman.

My mistake.

“Are you for real?” Grace chucks my phone at me and I barely catch it. “Are you for fucking real? Trying to protect this woman? I will find her, you pig. I have her phone number.”

She hops off the vanity and spins away, a whirlwind of righteous anger.

And I’m standing there, holding my phone, naked. Still dripping wet from the shower.

I chase her anyway. “Wait.”

She laughs and grabs something off her dresser, whipping it in my general direction. “Fuck off.”

“I’m not trying to protect her. She’s meaningless. A mistake.”

“Those texts don’t look like mistakes. They look deliberate. They look like a choice you made.”

“I…” I wipe my hand over my face. “I need to get dressed.”

She gestures at my dresser. “Help yourself. Empty all the drawers while you’re at it, because I want you out of here tonight.”

“We need to talk.”

“Who is she?”

My heart is pounding in my chest as I pull on a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants.

She snorts. “Fine. I’ll call her Spitfire, then. Dear Spitfire, my husband won’t be making drinks with you tonight. Or ever again.”

I groan as she types out a text message.

There’s no way Cait will reply.

She knows better.

I hope so, anyway.

God. Fucking. Damn. “You don’t need to do that. I’m happy to stay home tonight.”

She laughs again. “Home?” She waves around. “This place where we have occasional, simple sex? Where you mostly dodge me and wait until I’m asleep before you crawl into bed?”

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