Italian Bachelors: Unforgotten Lovers: The Change in Di Navarra's Plan / Bound by the Italian's Contract / Visconti's Forgotten Heir

He wore faded jeans that she knew were artfully faded rather than work faded, and a dark shirt that molded to the broad muscles of his chest. His feet were bare. Something about that detail made her heart skitter wildly.

“I don’t need help to take care of my son,” she said. “You’ve wasted this woman’s time.”

He came into the room then and she saw he was holding a newspaper at his side. He tossed it onto a table and kept walking.

“I beg your pardon.” He was all arrogance and disdain once more. “But you definitely do.”

He stopped in front of her and put two fingers under her chin. She flinched. And then he turned her head gently this way and that, his eyes raking over her.

“I intend to pay a lot of money for this face to grace my ads. I’d prefer if you truly are rested instead of having you edited to look that way.”

She pulled out of his grip and glared at him. Of course he was concerned about the campaign. What had she expected? That he’d hired a nanny because he cared? He didn’t care. He had never cared.

Strike that: he only cared about himself.

“You could have asked me. I didn’t appreciate waking up and finding my baby gone.”

“My mistake, then,” he said, his eyes searching hers. “I told Sylvia to take him when he cried. I knew you didn’t get enough sleep last night.”

Holly didn’t dare think the fact he’d noticed she didn’t get enough sleep meant anything other than he wanted to protect his investment. But she couldn’t remember the last time someone had paid attention to how much sleep she was getting. It made a lump form in her throat. Gabi would have noticed if she weren’t in the same boat.

Gran would have, too. Gran would have put her to bed and taken the baby for as long as she needed. Holly bit the inside of her lip to stop a little sob from escaping. It wasn’t even eighteen months since Gran had died, and it still hurt her at the oddest times.

Holly glanced at Sylvia, who had gotten back down on the floor to entice Nicky with a new toy. There was a tightness in her chest as she watched her baby play. She’d greatly appreciated Mrs. Turner’s help, and she was certain the woman was kind and gentle, but she was almost positive Mrs. Turner had spent her time watching television instead of playing on the floor with Nicky.

Sylvia clearly knew what she was doing—in fact, Holly thought sadly, the woman seemed to know more than she did, if the way she encouraged Nicky to play with different shapes was any indication. Holly had been satisfied when he’d been occupied and happy. She’d never really considered his play to be a teaching moment.

Holly put a hand to her forehead and drew in a deep breath. She wasn’t a bad mother, was she? She was simply an overworked and exhausted one, but she loved her son beyond reason. He was the only thing of value she had.

“You need to eat,” Drago said, and Holly looked up at him.

“I’m not hungry.” As if to prove her a liar, her stomach growled. Drago arched an eyebrow. “Fine,” she said, “I guess I am after all.”

“Come to the kitchen and let the cook fix you something.”

Holly looked doubtfully at her baby and Sylvia. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust the woman, but she didn’t know her. And she was nervous, she had to admit, with this change in circumstances. The last time she’d been here, it had all been ripped away from her without warning. She wasn’t certain it wouldn’t be again. “I’d rather stay here.”

Drago frowned. “He’s not going anywhere, Holly. He’ll be perfectly fine.”

Holly closed her eyes. She was being unreasonable. She’d left Nicky with Mrs. Turner for hours while she rode a bus and a streetcar halfway across town and went to work. Was it really such a stretch to go into another room and leave this woman alone with her child?

“All right,” she said. Drago led her not to the kitchen but to a rooftop terrace with tables and chairs and grass—actual grass on a rooftop in New York City. The terrace was lined with potted trees and blossoming flowers, and while she could hear the city sounds below, her view was entirely of sky and plants and the buildings across the treetops in Central Park. Astounding, and beautiful in a way she found surprising.

“This is not the kitchen,” she said inanely.

Drago laughed. “No. I decided this was more appropriate.”

They sat down and a maid appeared with a tray laden with small appetizers—olives, sliced meats, tiny pastries filled with cheese, cucumber sandwiches, ham sandwiches and delicate chocolates to finish. It wasn’t much, but it was precisely the kind of thing she needed just now.

Holly dug in to the food, filling her plate and taking careful bites so as not to seem like a ravenous animal. She might not be accustomed to fancy New York society, but her grandmother had at least taught her the art of being graceful. The maid appeared again with a bottle of wine. Holly started to protest, but Drago shushed her. Then he poured the beautiful deep red liquid into two glasses.

“You should appreciate this,” he said. “A Château Margaux of excellent vintage.”

As if she even knew what that meant. But she did understand scents and flavors. Holly lifted the wine and swirled it before sniffing the bowl. The wine was rich and full and delicious to the nose. She took a sip, expecting perfection. It was there. And she knew, as she set the glass down again, it was the sort of thing she could never afford.

When she glanced up, Drago was watching her. His gray eyes were piercing, assessing, and she met them evenly. So unlike the Holly of a year ago, who’d stammered and gulped and been a nervous wreck in his presence. It took a lot to meet that stare and not fold, but she was getting better at it.

“Describe the wine to me,” he said, his voice smooth and commanding. As if he were accustomed to telling people what to do and then having them do it. Which, of course, he was.

Holly bristled, though it was a simple request. She was tired and stressed and not in the mood to play games with him. Not in the mood to be devoured like a frightened rabbit.

“Taste it yourself,” she said. “I’m sure you can figure it out.”

She didn’t expect him to laugh. “You have made it your mission in life to argue with me, it seems.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s a mission, as that implies I give you a lot of thought. But I’m not quite the same person you ordered around last year. I won’t pretend I am.”

She was still more of that person than she wanted to be, but she was working very hard on being bold and brave. On not letting his overwhelming force of a personality dominate her will.

Not that he needed to know that.

He leaned back and sipped his wine. “I didn’t force you to do anything you didn’t want to do, Holly. As I recall, you wanted to do the same things I did. Very much, in fact.”

Holly tried to suppress the heat flaring in her cheeks. Impossible, of course. They were red and he would know it. “The wine is delicious,” she said, picking up the glass and studying the color. “The top notes are blackberry and cassis. The middle might be rose, while the bottom hints at oak and coffee.” A small furrow appeared between Drago’s brows.

“Ah, you are embarrassed by what happened between us,” he said softly.

Her heart skipped a beat. “Embarrassed? No. But I see no need in discussing it. It’s in the past and I’d like to just forget the whole thing.”

As if she could.

His nostrils flared, as if he didn’t quite like that pronouncement. “Forget? Why would you want to forget something so magnificent, Holly?”

She picked up the wine and took another sip, kept her eyes on the red liquid instead of on him. “Why not? You did. You refused to listen to me and threw me out. I’m sure you promptly forgot about me once I was gone.”

His handsome face creased in a frown. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy our evening together.”

“I really don’t want to talk about this,” she said. Because it hurt, and because it made her think of her innocent child in the other room and the fact that his father sat here with her now and didn’t even know it. Hadn’t managed to even consider the possibility.

No, he thought she’d spent the night with him in order to sell her fragrances. And then, when that didn’t work, he thought she’d run home and got pregnant right after. As if she had the sense of a goat and the morals of an alley cat.

Yes, she could tell him the truth...but she didn’t know him, didn’t trust him. And Nicky was too precious to her to take that kind of chance with.

“What you see here is not who I have always been,” he said, spreading an arm to encompass the roof with its expensive greenery. “It may appear as if I were born with money, but I assure you I was not. I know what it’s like to work hard, and what it’s like to want something so badly you’d sell your soul for it. I’ve seen it again and again.”

Holly licked suddenly dry lips. Was he actually sharing something with her? Something important? Or was he simply trying to intimidate her in another way? “But Navarra Cosmetics has been around for over fifty years,” she said. “You are a Navarra.”

He studied the wine in his glass. “Yes, I am a Navarra. That doesn’t mean I was born with a silver spoon, as you Americans say. Far from it.” He drew in a breath. “But I’m here now, and this is my life. And I do not appreciate those who try to take advantage of who I am for their own ends.”

Holly’s heart hardened. She knew what he was saying. What he meant. Her body began to tremble. She wanted to tell him how wrong he was. How blind. But, instead, she pushed her chair back and stood. She couldn’t take another moment of his company, another moment of his smugness.

“I think I’m finished,” she said, disappointment and fury thrashing together inside her.

Of course he wasn’t telling her anything important. He was warning her. Maybe he hadn’t been born rich, maybe he’d been adopted or something, but she didn’t care. He was still a heartless bastard with a supreme sense of arrogance and self-importance. He could only see what he expected to see.

If she didn’t need the money so much, she’d walk out on him. Let him be the one to suffer—not that he would suffer much if she didn’t do the Sky campaign. He’d find another model, like he had last year, and he’d eventually give up the idea of her being the right person for the job.

No, the only one who would suffer if she walked out was Nicky. She wasn’t walking out. But she wasn’t putting up with this, either. She was going back inside and collecting her baby. Then she was going to her room and staying there for the evening.

Before she could walk away, Drago reached out and encircled her wrist with his strong fingers. They sizzled into her, sending sparks of molten heat to her core. Her body ached when he touched her, and it made her angry. Why hadn’t she ached when Colin had touched her? Why hadn’t she wanted him the way she wanted Drago di Navarra?

Life would be so much easier if she had. Lisa Tate would have never entered the picture. Nicky might be Colin’s son, and they might be married and living in her cottage in New Hope while he worked his lawn-care business and she made perfume for the little shop she’d always wanted to open.

They could have been a happy little family and life could have been perfect. She might have never gotten a chance to sell her fragrances to a big company, but Gran would have understood. Gran had only ever wanted her to be happy. She knew that now. A year ago, she’d thought she had to succeed in order to carry on Gran’s legacy. That Gran was counting on her somehow.

But she knew Gran wouldn’t have wanted her to suffer. She wouldn’t have wanted Holly to work so hard, to scrape and scrape and barely get by. She’d have wanted Holly happy, living in their cottage and making her perfumes.

Except that living in the cottage hadn’t been an option, had it? Gran’s health had suffered in the last few years and she’d had to borrow against the house to pay her bills. Holly had hoped to save the only home she’d ever known when she’d gone to New York.

What a fool she’d been. She’d left the big city broke and pregnant and alone.

“So long as we know where we stand, there’s no need to get upset,” Drago said, his voice smooth and silky and hateful to her all at once. “Sit. Finish eating. You’ll need your strength for the coming days. I can’t afford for you to get sick on me.”

Her wrist burned in his grip. She wanted to pull away. And she wanted to slide into his lap and wrap her arms around his proud neck. Holly blinked. Was she insane? Had she learned absolutely nothing about this man?

She hated him. Despised him.

Wanted him.

Impossible. Wanting him was a threat to her well-being. To her baby’s well-being.

Holly closed her eyes and stood there, gathering her strength. She would need every bit of it to resist his touch. So long as he didn’t touch her, she could remain aloof. She could remember the hate. Feel it. Soak in it. That was how she would survive this. By remembering how it had felt when he’d kicked her out. How she’d felt when she’d lost everything and given birth with only Gabi and the medical staff for company.

There’d been no happy new father, no roses, no balloons for the baby. No joy, other than what she’d felt when she’d held Nicky.

“I am finished,” she said coolly. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d let go of me.”

Drago’s jaw was tight. He looked as if he were assessing her. Cataloging her flaws and finding her lacking, no doubt. “Sit down, Holly. We have much to discuss.”

“I’d rather not right now, thanks.”

His grip tightened on her wrist. Then he let her go abruptly, cursing in Italian as he did so. “Go, then. Run away like a child. But we will have a discussion about what I want from you. And quite soon.”

Holly gritted her teeth together and stared across the beautiful terrace to the sliding-glass doors. Freedom was almost hers. All she had to do was walk away. Just go and get Nicky and go to her room for the night.

But it was simply postponing the inevitable. She knew that. It was what she wanted to do, and yet she couldn’t. She had to face this head-on. Had to fight for this opportunity before he changed his mind.

Holly Craig wanted to be the kind of woman who didn’t back down.

She would be that kind of woman. She sank down in her chair like a queen and crossed her legs, in spite of her racing heart. Then she picked up the still-full wineglass and leveled a gaze at Drago.

“Fine. Talk. I’m listening.”

CHAPTER SIX

DRAGO HAD NEVER met a more infuriating woman in his life. Holly Craig sat across from him at the table, with golden sunlight playing across her face and her pale hair, setting flame to the strands, and looked like a sweet, innocent goddess.

An illusion.

She was not sweet. She was most definitely not innocent. Remembering the ways in which she was not innocent threatened to make him hard, especially after he’d just had his hand on her soft skin. He forced the memory of making love to her from his mind and focused on the stubborn set of her jaw.

So determined, this woman. So different compared to last year. He sometimes had glimpses of that innocent girl under the veneer, but mostly she was hard and weary. Changed.

Or perhaps last year had been nothing more than an act. Perhaps she’d been just as hard then but had pretended not to be. He’d learned, over the years, that women would do much in an attempt to snare a wealthy man. Holly might have been a virgin, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t been a virgin with a plan. Innocence in sexual matters did not imply innocence overall.

Nevertheless, he still wanted her for Sky. She had the face he needed. An everywoman face, but pretty in the way every woman wanted to be. No, she was not perfect. She wasn’t the sort of gorgeous that a top supermodel was.

But she was perfect for what he wanted her for.

And that was why he put up with her, he told himself. With her hostility and her loathing and her refusal to cooperate.

Drago had worked his way up the ladder at Navarra Cosmetics, because his uncle had insisted he start at the bottom to really know the business, but one of the things he’d always had—and had honed into a fine instrument these days—was a gut feeling for what was right for the company. Holly Craig was right for Sky, and he intended to have her.

Even if he had to suffer her hostility and a baby in his house. When they went to Italy, he would put her and the child in another wing of the estate. Then he would cheerfully forget about her until the shoot was completed and he went over the photos.

She took a sip of the wine and he thought of the way she’d described it to him. She’d never had Château Margaux, he’d bet on that, but she’d described it perfectly after one sip. She knew scents and flavors, he had to give her that.

Whether or not that made her a good perfumer was an entirely different matter.

“Tell me what you expected when you came to New York last year.”

Her eyes widened. And then narrowed again, as if she were trying to figure out the trick.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” she said carefully.

Her eyes dropped and a current of irritation sizzled into him. “Are you not? You had a case of perfume samples. You pretended to be a model. What was your intent? What did you think would happen once you had my undivided attention?”

She colored, her eyes flashing hot. He didn’t know why, but that slice of temper intrigued him. “Because I had intent, right? You never gave me a chance to explain that morning, if I recall. It was a misunderstanding, but you didn’t stay for that part.”

He sipped the wine. “How did I misunderstand you, cara? You were not mute. You spent the entire evening with me. Not only that, but you stood in front of the cameras for two hours and never corrected the impression you were there to model.”

Her color remained high. She closed her eyes for a moment. A second later, she was looking straight at him, her eyes shiny and big in her pale face. “I know. I should have. But you assumed I was a model, and I was too scared to say otherwise. Scared I’d lose my chance to talk to you.”

“You had my undivided attention all evening,” he bit out.

“Hardly undivided,” she threw back at him. “You took a dozen phone calls at least. How anyone could have a conversation with you under those circumstances is beyond me.”

“Ah, so this is your excuse. What about later, cara?”

He didn’t think it possible, but her color heightened. Her cheeks were blazing now. She picked up her untouched glass of water and took a deep draft. Drago almost wanted to laugh, but he was too irritated. Still, her blushes made him think of how inexperienced she’d been—and how eager at the same time.

Basta, no. Not a good thing to think about.

“We were, um, busy later. I didn’t think it was appropriate.” Her head came up then and her eyes glittered. “Haven’t you ever stopped to wonder how I could have possibly known you needed a model that day? How I just happened to be sitting there in your waiting room? It wasn’t planned, Drago. I had an appointment.” She cleared her throat. “Or I thought I did. A university friend of the mayor’s wife said she knew you and could arrange a brief meeting. I was told the day and time and that I would have ten minutes. So I went.”

It could be true, certainly. He had no recollection. But that did not change what she’d done. How she’d lied. “And yet you took advantage of the situation when I mistook you for the model.”

She let out an exasperated breath. “I did. I admit it! But you ordered me to go with you and you didn’t give me a chance to explain. I made a decision that it was best to go along with you until I could.”

Drago studied her for a long moment. Did he really believe Holly Craig had masterminded the entire situation?

No, he didn’t. But she had taken advantage of it. Of him. And that was unforgivable.

“It’s possible you were on the schedule. But that was a bad day, as I recall. All the models were wrong. I told my secretary to reschedule the meetings.”

She looked unhappy. “Since I didn’t schedule it, it wasn’t my contact information she would have had. Besides, I’d already come all that way. I couldn’t go back without talking to you.”

Yes, and she’d been sitting there in his waiting room, looking so fresh and out of place at the same time. He still remembered the black suit and the pink heels with the price tag. A twinge of something sliced into him, but he didn’t want to examine it. And he definitely wasn’t revisiting what had happened next. It might have been a mistake, but she’d had ample opportunity to tell him the truth.

Instead, she’d seen a way to gain advantage—and she’d taken it. Then she’d kept the pretense going until she’d thought she had him right where she wanted him. He could still see her face that morning, still see how pleased she’d been with herself when he’d questioned her about the case.

His reaction had been inevitable. He’d experienced all those old feelings of despair and fear and loneliness he’d had as a boy, and he’d hated her for doing that to him. For making him remember what he’d worked hard to bury. He’d had no choice but to walk out.

Because she’d blindsided him and he hadn’t seen it coming. He’d thought she was someone she wasn’t, and he’d felt something with her that he hadn’t felt in a long time. He had almost—almost, but not quite—let himself relax with her. She’d been so guileless, unlike the women he usually dated. His fault for always choosing sophisticates, but until he’d experienced someone like Holly Craig, he’d not realized he might enjoy less artifice.

That she’d fooled him, that she’d been as scheming as the most seasoned gold digger, still rankled. He did not regret throwing her out.

But he did regret that he’d let her escape without first seeing the photos. He’d thought about tracking her down once she was gone, but he’d ultimately decided it was best if he did not.

“And what did you hope to gain from a meeting with me? A job?”

She shook her head. “I had hoped you would want Colette.”

“Colette?”

“It’s named after my grandmother. It’s the last fragrance we created together. The finest, I might add. I had hoped you would buy it and market it.”

“Surely you know this is not how huge companies work.” He slid his fingers along the stem of his wineglass. “At Navarra, we employ several perfumers. We brainstorm concepts and give directions. The perfumers work to create something that meets our expectations. Sometimes, we create fragrances in tandem with celebrities. We do not, however, buy fragrances from individuals.”

Her chin lifted. “Yes, but this one is good enough you might have. And I had to try.”

He could almost admire her determination. Almost. “Why?”

She turned her head and put her fingers to her lips. He wondered if she was thinking about her answer, but when she turned back to him, he could see the sheen of moisture in her eyes. “Because my gran was gone and I didn’t want to lose her house. I wanted to honor her memory and save my childhood home at the same time.”

Inside, a tiny flicker of unease reared its head. “And did you lose the house?” He knew the answer because of how he’d found her. If she’d still had her childhood home, would she have been a cocktail waitress in a casino? Especially with a baby?

There were two fresh spots of color in her cheeks. “I did. I couldn’t make the payments against the debt, so it was sold. A nice couple lives there now.”

He hadn’t had a childhood home. The thought made him feel raw inside. But he’d wanted one. He’d been eleven when his uncle had finally wrested him from his mother’s capricious grip. Eleven when he’d first entered the Di Navarra estate in Tuscany. It was as close to a childhood home as he had.

Except, he had no memories of a mother’s love or of warmth and belonging in a place. His uncle had been good to him, and he was grateful, but he’d spent a lot of time alone—or with tutors—because Uncle Paolo had spent so much time working.