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I know her perfectly. Better than she knows herself. She’s a tangled ball of self-doubt, foolish pride, dumb hope, brilliance, masochism, and blind affection. And I’m obsessed. I need her back.
Posy Santoro isn’t in my system. She burst into life in my empty shell and made it into something. She is my system. Maybe I didn’t understand that before I lost her. I’m a man. I can be a cliché. Still, it’s true, and I know it now, ever since the moment I caught her. I don’t just get off on what she is—I need it.
Dario reaches over, takes my chin gently, and then lightly strokes his fingers down my jawline. “Renelli has already threatened what matters most to me. It’s just a matter of time now.”
“I didn’t fully understand then.” “Understand what?” “That it bothers me when you’re unhappy.”
“What are you doing now?” My complaint is muffled by cotton and muscle. “What the fuck does it seem like, Posy?” he says, grouchy as hell. “Cuddling.” He slaps my ass. Hard. “Shut up and take it.”
“You noticed me back then?” I thought I wasn’t on his radar until I came onto him in the club. “I’ve always noticed you.”
Dario inhales and nods in recognition. “Then I love you, Posy.
“For you, always yes.” “Always?” “Yes,” he exhales, gently cupping my neck and pressing his lips to mine, softly, as if I’m the only woman in the world for him, and all his words are true.
