Lost in La La Land(59)

“Okay.” I was flushed, burning up. Desire, humiliation, and awkwardness engulfed me. But I took his hand in mine and led him to the kitchen, enjoying how real he felt.

When we got to the kitchen, I turned, pressing my lips together and pushing away half of everything I learned about being a lady in the Regency era. I lifted on my tiptoes and wrapped my arms around his neck, placing a kiss on him. It wasn’t the possibility of a kiss or a whispering of what was to come. It was a kiss, not to end all kisses but to declare feelings.

And when his arms encircled me, lifting me into his chest, squishing me slightly, I parted my lips, sliding my tongue into his mouth.

He was going to be a gentleman until I told him he didn’t have to be, not completely, and then he kissed me like he didn’t have a single other thought in his mind but devouring me.

Our tongues danced in our mouths as our chests pressed into one another. He sat me on the counter, leaning in as I wrapped my legs and hooked them into his.

We kissed until I was breathless and tugging at his tee shirt. His skin was warm against my fingers, burning me even.

He kissed and licked his way from my lips to my cheeks and neck. His fingers lifted my shirt too, dragging up and down my back, massaging.

We clawed at each other for several moments before he pulled away, abruptly. “I promised myself I wasn’t going to do this.” He scowled. “I like you. A lot. And I understand you were sick, and I don’t want to pressure you—”

“I wasn’t sick,” I blurted it before I thought about it.

“What?”

“It wasn’t cancer. I didn’t have the heart to tell you when you assumed.” I closed my eyes, unable to look at him as I said it, “I wasn’t sick. Lana isn’t sick. She’s an addict but she isn’t ill. Not conventionally.”

“Oh shit. You’re a couple of druggies,” he groaned.

“No.” I opened my eyes, noting he was even farther from me. “I’m a neuroengineer. My name is Dr. Emma Hartley. I’m from New York, well, Los Angeles.” I took a deep breath. “I used to own a company.” I wasn't making sense, I was panicking too hard to think.

As his face grew angrier and angrier, I hopped off the counter and offered my hand. “It’s easier if I show you.”

He eyed my hand like it was the most disgusting thing he’d ever seen.

“Please, give me a moment to explain,” I pleaded. “Please. It will all make sense in a moment. I swear.”

His jaw was clenched so tight he couldn’t speak, but he nodded once. I dropped my hand and sauntered to the stairs. I walked up them to the medical room, pausing and slumping, not looking back at him. I didn’t need to. I could feel his eyes and hot breath on me, like a dragon. “I never meant to lie. I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

He was silent so I turned the handle, shaking my head at a confused-looking Gilda.

“This is Gilda. She works for us. I think you met her before. She’s a retired nurse who monitors us, well Lana, in the machines.” I turned back, hating the cold expression on his face. It was breaking my heart, my whole heart. “It’s an alternate reality based on literary works.”

“Like a video game.” Gilda tried to help.

“Right,” I winced as I continued. “We enter a reality created for us and live as the characters we love.”

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” He sounded lost but not less angry.

“No. Do you have a favorite novel?” I asked, defeated and desperate.

“No. I don’t read.”

“Nothing?” I swallowed hard.

“I guess when I was a kid I liked a fantasy series called A Wheel of Time.”

“By Robert Jordan.” I knew it well.

“Yeah.” He sounded so disinterested.

“If you lie back, I can show you. I promise it’s not harmful in any way. I will put you in and take you out within minutes, just so you can see what I mean.”

Gilda scowled. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Her eyes widened like she was trying to tell me something.

“Why?” he asked.

“The machine is addictive—”

“Well, that’s not entirely true. Loads of people use it and don’t have any issue.” I defended my work; I still defended it. “Lana and I had problems because we lost someone we desperately wanted back.”

“Lost someone you wanted back?” Mike folded his arms across his chest.

“My husband. I thought maybe I could find him in the story and live a life with him. I wanted to live in the story and ended up stuck there. For a while.”

“Jesus, Emma. This is sick.” He stepped back, shaking his head. “This is what you were doing? Living in the fucking filth this house used to be, covered in weird sores and smelling like death because you couldn’t be bothered to clean or change your clothes? You’re still letting her live this way? You might have cleaned the house up, but it’s still just a dirty crack shack. This is fucked up.” He turned and stormed down the hall.

“Wait!” I hurried after him. “Mike, wait. Please.” I ran down the stairs after him, grabbing his arm at the door. He ripped his arm from my grip.

“You let me think you had fucking cancer. You let me think you were sick. What kind of terrible person does something like that? A sick and twisted person. A selfish person. The fact that woman is up there, rotting away in front of you, still using that machine, and you just tried to hook me up to it, makes me think you’re not just selfish. You’re fucking nuts. I don’t need any more crazy in my life. Jesus.” He turned and stormed to his truck, slamming the door and driving off like a madman.