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

CHAPTER TWO

One year later...

“I DON’T KNOW why you don’t march right into his office and demand he help you out.”

Holly looked up at her best friend and roommate. Gabriella was holding little Nicholas, rocking him back and forth. He was, thankfully, asleep for a change. Poor Gabi was such a saint, considering that Nicky hadn’t slept a whole night through since Holly had brought him home from the hospital.

Holly picked up a tester and sniffed it. Attar of roses. It filled her mind with a profusion of fat red blooms like the ones that her gran had grown. Bushes that now belonged to someone else, since she’d lost the property months ago. Her mouth twisted as bitterness flooded her throat with scalding acid.

She set the tester down and pushed back from the table where she mixed her fragrances. “I can’t go to him, Gabi. He made it very clear that he wanted nothing more to do with me.”

Holly still felt the sting of Drago di Navarra’s rejection as if it was yesterday. She also—damn him—felt the utter perfection of his lovemaking as if it had happened only hours ago. Why did her body still insist on a physical response at the thought of that single night they’d shared?

At least her brain was on the right track. The only response her brain had was rage. No, that wasn’t quite true. Her mental response was like a fine perfume. The top note was rage. The middle, or heart note, was self-loathing. And the base note, the one that had never yet evaporated, was shame.

How had she let herself be so damn naive and needy? How had she fallen into Drago’s arms as if it were the easiest thing in the world when it was nothing like her to do so? Holly pressed her teeth together. She would never be that foolish again. She’d learned her lesson, thanks to Drago, and she would never forget it.

She’d been so easily led, so gullible and trusting. She hated thinking about it, and yet she couldn’t quite stop. And maybe that was a good thing, because it meant she would never be that foolish again. The world was a cold, hard, mean place—and she was a survivor. Drago had taught her that.

He’d taught her to be suspicious and careful, to question people’s motives—especially men’s. He’d made her into this cold, guarded creature, and she hated him for it.

But as she looked at her son in her friend’s arms, she was overcome with a sudden rush of love. Nicky was perfect. He made her world full and bright and wonderful. Every single inch of him was amazing, regardless that his father was an arrogant, evil, heartless bastard. Drago might have been the worst thing to ever happen to her, but Nicky was the best.

Irony at its most potent.

“But if he knew about Nicky,” Gabi started.

“No.” Holly knew her voice was hard. Thinking about Drago did that to her. But she couldn’t take it out on Gabi. She tried again, sighing softly, spreading her hands wide in supplication. “I tried to tell him. His secretary said he did not want to speak to me. Ever. I wrote a letter, but I never got a reply.”

Gabi looked militant. “These are the modern ages, honey bun,” she said. “Put it on Facebook. Tweet the crap out of it. He’ll see it and come.”

Holly shuddered. As if she would expose herself that way. “He won’t. Not only that, but do you want me to die of shame?” She shook her head emphatically. “No way. He had his chance.”

Gabi gazed down at the cherubic face of Holly’s son. “I know. But this little guy ought to have the best that money can buy.”

Holly felt the truth of that statement like a barb. She couldn’t help but look around their tiny apartment. Tears pricked her eyes. Since returning home to New Hope, she’d lost Gran’s home, failed in her goal to become a respected perfumer and had to move sixty miles away to New Orleans so she could support herself. She’d taken a job as a cocktail waitress in a casino. It wasn’t ideal, but the tips were good.

Gabi had moved last year, before Gran had died, and when Holly found out she was pregnant, Gabi had encouraged Holly to come join her.

Holly had gratefully done so.

There was no way she could stay in New Hope. Her grandmother had been a well-respected member of the community. And though Gran would have stood beside her if she’d still been alive, she wasn’t. And Holly wouldn’t shame her memory by causing the tongues of New Hope’s citizenry to wag.

In New Hope, everyone knew everyone. And they didn’t hesitate to talk about anyone so silly as to fall from grace in such a spectacular manner. Besides, no way was she subjecting Nicky to the town’s censure when there was absolutely no reason for it. This was the twenty-first century, but there were those in her hometown who acted as if a single mother was a disgrace.

“I’m doing the best I can,” Holly said.

Gabi’s big blue eyes widened. “Oh, honey, of course you are. I’m sorry for being such an insensitive bitch.” She kissed Nicky’s tiny forehead. “I just forgot myself in my fury for this precious little thing. What a stupid father he has. Hopefully, when he grows up one day to be president of the United States, he won’t be hampered by that side of the family tree.”

Holly laughed. Leave it to Gabi to find just the thing to make her giggle when she was so angry. She went over and squeezed her friend’s arm. “You’re the best, Gabi. I’m not mad at you, believe me. It’ll all be fine. I’m going to make a fragrance that knocks someone’s socks off, and then I’m going to get noticed. Drago di Navarra isn’t the only cosmetic king in the world, no matter what he might think.”

“He messed up when he sent you home without sampling your fragrance.”

The heat of shame bloomed inside her chest again. Yes, he’d sent her home without even sampling the first fragrance. After their gorgeous night together, he’d made her breakfast and served it to her in bed. She’d felt so happy, so perfectly wonderful. They’d talked and eaten and then he’d had her case delivered to her when she’d remembered to ask for it. That was when he’d noticed the scent.

“What is this, cara?” he’d asked, his beautiful brows drawn down in confusion as he’d studied the case in his hands.

“Those are my samples,” she’d said, her heart beginning to trip in excitement.

“Samples?”

“Yes, my fragrances. I make perfume.”

She’d missed the dangerous gleam in his eye as he’d set the case down and opened it. He’d drawn out a bottle of Colette and held it up, his gray eyes narrowed as he’d studied the golden fragrance.

“Explain,” he’d said, his voice tight.

She’d been somewhat confused, but she had done so. Because they’d spent a beautiful night together and she knew he wasn’t really an ogre. He was a passionate, sensual, good man who felt things deeply and who didn’t open up easily.

Holly resisted the urge to clutch her hand over her heart, to try to contain the sharp slice of pain she still felt every time she thought of what had happened next. Of how stupid she’d been not to see it coming. She could still see his handsome face drawn up in rage, his eyes flashing hot as his jaw worked. She’d been alarmed and confused all at once.

Then he’d dropped the bottle back into the case with a clink and shoved it toward her.

“Get out,” he’d said, his voice low and hard and utterly frightening.

“But, Drago—”

“Get the hell out of my home and don’t come back.” And then, before she could say another word, he’d stalked from the room, doors slamming behind him until she knew he was gone. A few minutes later, a uniformed maid had come in, her brow pleated in mute apology. She’d had Holly’s suit—the suit she’d worn to see Drago in the first place—on a hanger, which she’d hung on a nearby hook.

It had seemed even shabbier and sadder than it had the day before.

“When you are ready, miss, Barnes will take you back to your lodgings.”

Holly closed her eyes as she remembered that moment of utter shame. That moment when she’d realized he wasn’t coming back, and that she’d failed spectacularly in her task to convince him of her worth as a perfumer.

Because she’d let herself get distracted. Because she’d been a mouse and a pushover and a foolish, foolish idiot.

She’d let Drago di Navarra make love to her, the first man ever to do so, and she’d gotten caught up in the fantasy of it. She’d believed that their chemistry was special, that the things she’d felt with him were unique, and that he’d felt them, too.

Fool.

But he’d kicked her out of his house as though she’d been a common prostitute.

And hadn’t you?

A little voice always asked her that question. She wasn’t blameless, after all. She’d spent close to twenty-four hours pretending to be something she wasn’t in the single hope of convincing the high and mighty CEO of Navarra Cosmetics that she had what it took to design a signature perfume for his company.

She’d had opportunity enough to tell him why she was really there, and she’d kept silent each and every time. She’d treated it all like an adventure. The country mouse goes to the city and gets caught up in a comedy of errors. Except, she wasn’t a mouse and she had a voice.

Worse, she’d complicated everything when she’d fallen for his seduction. She knew very well how it must have looked to him, a powerful man who held the key to her dream in his hand.

He’d thought her the worst kind of liar and gold digger—and the evidence had been stacked against her.

She gazed at her son and her heart felt so full with all the love swelling inside it. Yes, she should have told Drago who she was and what she wanted. But if she’d opened her mouth sooner, she wouldn’t have Nicky. What a thought that was. Life might have been easier, but it certainly wouldn’t have been sweeter.

Holly’s eyes prickled with tears. Gran would have told her that the past was just that and it did no good to dwell on it, because you couldn’t change it without a time machine. Holly knuckled her tears away with a little laugh—but then her gaze caught on the digital display on the microwave.

“I have to get to work,” she said to Gabi. “Will you be all right until Mrs. Turner comes to collect him?”

Gabi looked up from where she was still cradling Nicky. “It’s a couple of hours before my shift yet. Don’t worry.”

Holly always worried, but she didn’t say that to Gabi. She worried about providing for her baby, worried that he was only three months old and she had to work so much. She worried that she’d been unable to breast-feed him—some women couldn’t, the nurse had told her after the zillionth failed attempt—and he had to drink formula, and she worried that he needed so many things and she could barely provide any of them.

Holly kissed her son’s sweet soft skin before changing into her uniform of white shirt, bow tie and tight black skirt. Then she stuffed her heels into her duffel and slipped on her tennis shoes. She made it to the bus stop in record time. With twenty minutes to spare, she got to the casino, put on her heels and touched up her makeup before stashing her things and heading to the floor for her shift.

In all her wildest imaginings, she’d never pictured herself serving drinks in a casino. But here she was, arranging her tray with cocktail napkins, pen and pad, stirrers, and then gliding through the crowd of people hovering around tables and machines, asking for drink orders—and enduring a few pats to the bottom in the process.

Holly gritted her teeth, hating that part of the job but unwilling to react, because she needed the money too badly. The rent was due next week, and it was always a struggle to make up her portion along with buying diapers and formula and groceries.

Holly pushed a hand through her hair, anchoring it behind her ears, and approached the group of men hovering around one of the baccarat tables. They were rapt on the game, and most especially on a man who sat at one end of the table, a dark-haired beauty hanging over his shoulder and whispering something in his ear. His face was remarkable, beautiful and perfectly formed—and all too familiar.

For a moment, Holly was stunned into immobility. What were the chances Drago di Navarra would walk into this casino and sit at a table in her section? She’d have guessed they were something like a million to one—but here he was in all his arrogant, rotten glory.

Just her miserable luck. She glanced behind her, looking for Phyllis, hoping to ask the other waitress to take this table. Holly’s belly churned and panic rose in her throat at the thought of waiting on Drago and his mistress.

But Phyllis was nowhere to be seen, and Holly had no choice. The moment she accepted that, another feeling began to boil inside her: anger.

She suddenly wanted to march over to Drago’s side and slap his handsome face. She’d endured a twenty-three-hour labor, with Gabi as the only friend by her side. Other women had happy husbands in the delivery room, and masses of family in the waiting room. But not her. She’d been alone, with only Gabi holding her hand and coaching her through.

By the time Nicky had been born and someone handed him to her, she’d felt as if the little crying bundle was an alien life-form. But she’d fallen into deep love in the next moment. She had seen Drago in her son’s face, and she’d felt a keen despair that he’d tossed her out the way he had. That he’d refused to take her calls. He was missing out on something amazing and perfect, and he would never know it.

Now, seeing him in this casino, sitting there so arrogant and sure with a woman hanging on him, all Holly felt was righteous anger. Her heart throbbed in her chest. Her blood beat in her brain. She knew she should turn around and walk away, find Phyllis no matter how long these people had to wait for drinks, but she couldn’t seem to do it. Instead, she moved around the table until she was standing beside the man who sat at a right angle to Drago.

“Something from the bar, sir?” she asked when the play had finished. She pitched her voice louder than she normally would and looked over at Drago. The woman with him sensed a disturbance in the perfumed air around her—much too heavy a scent, Holly thought derisively, like something one would use in a brothel to cover the smells of sex and sweat—and brought her head up to meet Holly’s stare.

Sweat and sex. Holly swallowed as a pinprick of hot jealousy speared into her at the thought of this woman and Drago tangling together in a bed.

Holly sniffed. No, not jealousy. As if she cared. Honestly.

She was irritated, that was what. Irritated by the haughty look of this woman, and the outrageous presence of the man sitting at the table, oblivious to the currents whipping in the air around him.

The woman’s dark eyes raked over her. And then she did the one thing Holly had both hoped and feared she would do. She said something to Drago. He looked up, his gaze colliding with Holly’s. Her heart dived into her toes at the intensity of that gray stare. A hot well of hate bubbled inside her soul. It took everything she had not to throw her tray at him and curse him for the arrogant bastard he was.

“Dry martini,” the man beside her said, and Holly dragged her attention back to him.

“Yes, sir,” she said, writing the drink on her pad.

When she looked up again, Drago was still looking at her, his brows drawn together as if he were trying to place her. He didn’t know her? He couldn’t remember?

That was not at all the reaction she’d expected, and it pierced her to the core. She’d had his baby, and he couldn’t even remember her face....

That, Holly decided, stiffening her spine, was the last straw. She turned and marched away from the table, perilously close to hyperventilating because she was so angry—and because the adrenaline rush of fear was still swirling inside her. She went over to the bar and placed her orders, telling herself to calm down and breathe.

So he didn’t recognize her. So what? Had she really thought he would?

Yes.

She shook her head angrily. He was a rich, arrogant, low-down, lying son of a bitch anyway. He’d wined her and dined her and seduced her. Yes, she’d fallen for it. She wasn’t blameless.

But he’d promised to take care of the birth control, and she’d trusted him to do it right. But he must have done something wrong, because she’d gotten pregnant. And he hadn’t cared enough about the possibility to take her calls.

Rotten, selfish, self-serving bastard!

Holly grabbed her tray once the drinks were ready. She would march back over there and deliver her drinks as usual. She would not pour them in Drago’s lap, no matter how much she wanted to.

“Thanks, Jerry,” she said to the bartender. She turned to go—and nearly collided with the slickly expensive fabric of Drago di Navarra’s tailored suit.

* * *

Drago’s nostrils flared as he looked at the woman before him. The color in her cheeks was high as she righted her tray before spilling the contents down the front of his Savile Row suit. Her eyes snapped fire at him and her mouth twisted in a frown.

“If you will excuse me, sir, I have drinks to deliver.”

Her voice was harder than he remembered it. Her face and body were plumper, but in a good way. She’d needed to round out her curves, though he’d thought she was perfectly well formed at the time. This extra weight, however, made her into a sultry, beautiful woman rather than a naive girl.

A girl who’d tried to trick him. He hadn’t forgotten that part. His jaw hardened as he remembered the way she’d so blissfully confessed her deception to him. She’d come to New York armed with perfume samples that she hoped to sell to his company, and she’d cost him valuable time and money with her pretense. It wasn’t the first time a woman had tried to use him for her own ends, but it had been a pretty spectacular failure on his part. He’d had to scrap every picture from the photo shoot and start again with a new model, which had been a shame when he’d seen the photos and realized how perfect she’d been in the role.

He’d wondered in the weeks after she’d gone if he’d overreacted. But she’d scraped a raw nerve inside him, a nerve that had never healed, and throwing her out had been the right thing to do. How dare she remind him of the things he most wanted to forget?

Still, it had taken him weeks to find the right model. Even then, he hadn’t actually been the one to do it. He’d been so discouraged that he’d delegated the task to his marketing director. It wasn’t like him to let anything derail him for long, but every time he’d tried to find someone, he kept thinking about this woman and how she’d nearly made a fool of him.

How she’d taken him back to a dark, lonely place in his life, for the barest of moments, and made him remember what it was like to be a pawn in another’s game. He shook those feelings off and studied her.

The model they’d hired to replace her was beautiful, and the fragrance was selling well, but he still wasn’t satisfied. He should be, but he wasn’t.

There was something about this woman. Something he hadn’t quite forgotten over the past year. Even now, his body responded with a mild current of heat that he did not feel when Bridgett, whom he’d left fuming at the baccarat table, draped herself over him.

“The perfume business did not work out for you, I take it?” he asked mildly, his veins humming with predatory excitement. She was still beautiful, still the perfect woman for his ad campaign. It irritated him immensely.

And intrigued him, as well.

Her pretty blue eyes were hard beneath the dark eye makeup and black liner, but they widened when he spoke. She narrowed them again. “Not yet,” she said coolly. “I’m surprised you remembered.”

“I never forget a face.” He let his gaze fall to her lush breasts, straining beneath the fabric of the tight white shirt the casino made her wear. “Or a body.”

Her chin lifted imperiously. He would have laughed had he not sensed the loathing behind that gaze. Her plan hadn’t worked and now she hated him. How droll.

“Well, isn’t that fortunate for you?” she said, her Southern accent drawing out the word you. “If you will excuse me, sir, I have work to do.”

“Still angry with me, cara? How odd.”

She blinked. “Odd? You seduced me,” she said, lowering her voice to a hiss. “And then you threw me out.”

Drago lifted an eyebrow. She was a daring little thing. “You cost me a lot of money with your deception, bella mia. I also had to throw out a day’s worth of photos and start over. Far more regrettable than tossing you out the door, I must admit.”

The corners of her mouth looked pinched. But then she snorted. “I’m waiting tables in a casino and you talk to me about money? Please.”

“Money is still money,” he said. “And I don’t like to lose it.”

She was trembling, but he knew it wasn’t fear that caused it. “Let me tell you something, Mr. Di Navarra,” she began in a diamond-edged voice. “I made a mistake, but it cost me far more than it cost you. When you spend every last penny you have to get somewhere, because you’ve staked your entire future on one meeting with someone important, and then you fail in your goal and lose your home, and then have to provide for your—”

She stopped, closed her eyes and swallowed. When she opened them again, they were hot and glittering. “When you fail so spectacularly that you’ve lost everything and then find yourself at rock bottom, working in a casino to make ends meet, then you can be indignant, okay? Until then, spare me your wounded act.”

She brushed past him, her tray balanced on one hand as she navigated the crowd to deliver her drinks. Drago watched her go, his blood sizzling. She was hot and beautiful and defiant, and she intrigued him more than he cared to admit.

In fact, she excited him in a way that Bridgett, and any of the other women he’d dated recently, did not. And, damn her, she was still perfect for the ad campaign. She wasn’t quite as fresh-faced as she’d been a year ago, but she now had something more. Some quality he couldn’t quite place his finger on but that he wanted nevertheless.

And he always got what he wanted, no matter the cost. He stood there with eyes narrowed, watching her deliver drinks with a false smile pasted on her face. There was something appealing about Holly Craig, something exciting.

He intended to find out what it was. And then he intended to harness it for his own purposes.

CHAPTER THREE

HOLLY’S SHIFT ENDED at one in the morning. She changed her shoes and grabbed her duffel before heading out to catch the streetcar. Once she’d ridden the streetcar as far as she could go, she would catch the bus the rest of the way home. It was a long, tiring ride, but she had no choice. It was what she could afford.

She exited the casino and started down the street. A car passed her, and then another pulled alongside. Her heart picked up, but she refused to look. The streetcar wasn’t far and she didn’t want to cause trouble for herself by glaring at a jerk in a sedan. It wasn’t the first time some guy thought he could pick her up, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.