Page 71 of He Should Be Mine
Dario glances over at me and raises an eyebrow. “You alright?”
I nod. Offer a thin smile.
He studies me for a second longer than he needs to, then goes back to his phone. Not because he doesn’t care, but because he trusts me to tell the truth.
That hurts worse than if he’d pried. He trusts me even though I don’t deserve it.
I inhale carefully and try to pull myself together. The room smells faintly of the tea he brewed earlier. The weird herbal one he says is healing, and that is rapidly becoming my favorite. There’s a candle burning on the counter, lavender and sage. My choice. I’d made some offhanded comment about it being soothing and now it’s always there, lit before I even think to ask.
Everywhere I look, I see the evidence of how well he knows me. How carefully he’s been paying attention.
I rest my cheek on the edge of the cushion and let myself look at him a little longer. Just long enough to burn the image into memory.
Because one day, when this ends, I’ll need it.
I’ll need this soft ache to remind me it was real.
Chapter nineteen
Dario
Stepping back into the apartment shouldn’t feel this damn good. I hate this place. But Molly is here, and apparently the thirty minutes I just took is long enough for me to miss him.
I suppose I could have ordered a same-day grocery service. They have things like DoorDash in the UK now, but going out was a good idea for several reasons. It gave me a chance to make some much needed phone calls. It gained me some fresh air, which is much needed food for my sanity. And perhaps, most importantly, it enabled me to give Molly some space.
He hasn’t said so, but he must be fed up with me. I’ve been breathing down his neck for days. Even though he appears fully recovered. I’ve been clucking over him like a mother hen and it is a side of me I didn’t even know I had.
Molly is bringing out all sorts of things in me. The ability to care and nurture. The smoldering, aching desire for a man. The constant need to breathe the same air as my one special person. No wonder I’m planning on burning the world for him.
I stride down the hallway, hands full of the stupid plastic bags the English seem to prefer, along with the parcel that was waiting at the concierge’s desk. Molly buys so much crap. It used to annoy the hell out of me. Now I wish he would burn through Riccardo’s money faster.
The door to Molly’s bedroom is open. I glance in as I pass, and I freeze. I stop so suddenly that the bags I am carrying sway.
Molly is kneeling on his neatly made bed. He is wearing a white corset and white lace panties. His hands are up in his hair.
He sees me and smiles. “Hi, Duckling.”
“What…” I cough and try again. “What are you doing?”
“Bossman wanted more photos.”
The tripod at the foot of the bed swims into focus. I completely missed it. My attention snaps back to Molly, drawn by a gravity stronger than all the planets put together.
The bright, pale pink of his nipples are peeking out over the top of his corset. The silver of the piercings are gleaming. His legs are spread as he kneels and I can see all the definition of his thighs. I can see the soft curves of his naked shoulders. And the faint freckles on his collarbone. I can see the bare skin of his hips.
The snowy white lace of his panties looks amazing against the soft hues of his pale skin. It also stretches exquisitely over his well-defined bulge.
I swallow tightly. The juxtaposition of the feminine underwear and the masculinity of that bulge is… is…
“Is that for me?” Molly asks, low and sultry.
My heart stutters. My stuttering thoughts crash. He is pointing towards my crotch. Can he see my erection?
No, it’s fine. He is pointing at the parcel tucked under my arm.
“Yeah,” I say hoarsely.
He smiles and flows gracefully off the bed. He glides towards me. I fumble for a moment, freeing the parcel from my arm whilst holding the grocery bags. He takes it and lets out a little happy squeal.
