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Lana’s face flushes. I see her trying to gain some footing in this argument, if that’s what this is.
I press on, suddenly furious at the spell this woman has cast on me. “After what Nyla did to me, I hadn’t thought I’d find someone again—much less trust them! And despite the fact you kept rejecting me at every turn, I kept returning to you, like a wretched man, for some scrapes of your affection. You’re in my fucking blood, Lana. I can’t get you out even if I want to!”
Her lips quiver, her eyes filling, and my heart stutters.
I’ve gone too far.
When she sniffles, I reach out to her, horrified. “No, I’m sorry. Please don’t—”
“I’m not crying,” she wails. Holding onto my shirt, she buries her face in it.
My hand settles on the back of her head in a helpless gesture. “Of course you’re not. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
She burrows into me. I put my arms around her, and her voice comes out muffled. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m so difficult, and for all the other stuff you said I’ve done.”
Choking laughter is forced from my throat, a whisper of a sound. “I wasn’t accusing you of anything, Lana.”
“Sure sounded like it.” Her breath hitches.
“Look at me,” I plead, but she shakes her head.
“Let me—just give me a minute,” she says, her voice a little rough.
I obey. She takes more than a minute, but then she pulls away and looks at me, her eyes wet.
“I’m not crying,” she says again obstinately in response to whatever expression is on my face right now. But she appears so fragile and uncertain, so unlike herself, that I don’t know what to do except agree with her.
“Okay,” I say softly.
She swallows. “I’m just—you—you can’t just say things like that to somebody.”
“I wasn’t trying to upset you—” I begin, but she shakes her head, making me fall silent.
“What you said, well, I didn’t know you felt that way. I mean…” She leans her head against my chest, unable to meet my eyes, and I give her the pretense of hiding from me. “I’ve never heard somebody say something like that to me.”
My eyes fall closed, my voice low. “I meant each word, Lana.” I release a shuddering breath. “With Nyla, there was this urge to protect her, to cherish her, but even with her, there were none of these emotions that you invoke in me—pride, helplessness, possessiveness. I want to own you. Want to set you free in the world. I want to see your accomplishments. Feel pride in them. I want you with every breath. It both pisses me off and thrills me. This is a first for me as well.”
The tops of her ears are red when I open my eyes.
“You made me break my own rules,” she admits. “No workplace romances. I not only broke it, but I also took it a step further.”
She lifts her head, biting her lower lip. “I’ve been working here for five years, and I’ve been content. And then you came around, and I want more. I find myself thinking of my future, where I want to be, who I want to be with. But whenever I’m thinking of it, you’re always with me, standing by my side.”
My breath catches when she says, “I’m still—I’m not happy with you risking your job for me, though.”
“Won’t happen again,” I lie easily. She can tell it’s a lie because she scowls. But then her expression softens. “I saw Nyla’s picture in your bedroom.”
My smile is humorless. “I should have removed that. I’m sorry.”
“No,” she says, studying my eyes. “You sometimes mention her. Can I ask about her?”
She’s steering me toward the couch, and I let her. When she sits in my lap, curling up, I rest my chin on top of her head. “I—she was a friend’s cousin whom I met at a party. Scottish, red hair, green eyes. She had a wonderful laugh. It was so full of life. I was interested, so my friend introduced me. We went on a few dates. I was so hardened by my social expectations, and she was so happy and carefree. I showered her with gifts, jewelry, flowers, cars… Anything she saw and liked, she owned within a week.”
Lana’s eyes widen. “Whoa. That’s—wow.”
I chuckle. “So articulate, darling.” Then, I continue, “I courted her for a year or so before I proposed. I was thrilled when she said yes, although I’d expected her to. We got married, and she wanted to be a housewife. It suited her, and I thought—” I can feel myself grow distant. “I thought she was happy. I wanted children. She seemed to want them, too, but she never got pregnant. I suggested doctors, and she refused.”
“Did she—”
