Читать книгу Italian Bachelors: Unforgotten Lovers: The Change in Di Navarra's Plan / Bound by the Italian's Contract / Visconti's Forgotten Heir - Elizabeth Power, Elizabeth Power - Страница 13

CHAPTER FIVE

DRAGO’S APARTMENT IN New York was somehow even grander than she remembered it. Holly lay back on a bed that was almost as big as her entire room had been in New Orleans and stared up at a ceiling that had actual frescoes painted on it. Frescoes, as if this were a grand church instead of a personal dwelling.

Stunning. And completely surreal.

It was late afternoon and she needed to get out of bed, but she didn’t want to. Early this morning—far earlier than she would have liked—Nicky had been awake and ready for his bottle. While she’d fed her baby, she’d done a pretty good job of convincing herself that Drago wasn’t coming back. That she’d dreamed the whole thing.

Gabi had stumbled home at six, and Holly had told her the whole story—including the part where she was supposed to leave New Orleans and never have to worry about living in squalor again.

Gabi’s face had lit up like the Fourth of July. “Oh, my God, Holly, that’s amazing! You have to go! You are going, right?”

Holly had frowned. “I’m not sure.” Then she’d raked a hand through her tangle of hair. “I mean, last night I was pretty sure. But how can I leave you? And how can I possibly deal with that man again? He’s not nice, Gabi. He’s selfish and arrogant and only concerned with his bottom line and—”

“And handsome as sin,” Gabi had interrupted. “As well as richer than God. Not to mention he’s the father of your baby.”

Holly had frowned. “That’s what worries me the most.”

Gabi had sat down and taken her hand, squeezing it. Her blue eyes had been so serious. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Holly. You have to go. There’s a reason this is happening now, and you have to go see what it is.”

In the end, Holly had gone. Drago had arrived at eight, and by then Holly had packed everything she needed into three suitcases and a diaper bag. It was everything she owned. Drago had looked over her belongings coldly, and then his driver had carried them all down to the limo. Holly had hugged Gabi goodbye, crying and promising to call. She’d been terrified to leave her friend alone, but Drago had handed Gabi a fat envelope and told her to use it wisely.

Holly had bitten her lip to keep from saying something she might regret. It was up to Gabi to accept or decline the money, and in the end she’d accepted. She’d had no choice, really. Without Holly to help with expenses, she would have had to hustle to find another roommate or take on extra hours at work. The money was the better choice.

Within an hour, they’d been on a plane to New York. Within two hours, they’d landed. And, an hour later, she’d found herself in this room. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but staying at Drago’s had not been it. When she’d turned to him, he’d known what she was going to say, because he’d preempted her.

“There’s no sense putting you in a hotel with a baby when this place is so big.”

Nicky was in an adjoining room—the situation was going to take some getting used to. He had a nice crib and a play area with plenty of appropriate toys for a young baby. When she’d put him down for his afternoon nap, she’d come straight in here and climbed into bed. She always tried to snatch a few moments’ sleep while Nicky was out—but he usually woke her before she was fully rested.

A prickle of alarm began to grow in her belly as she reached for her cell phone. She blinked at the display, certain she wasn’t seeing it right. Because, if she was, that meant she’d been asleep for nearly three hours now.

Holly scrambled off the bed and ran into the adjoining room. Panic slammed into her when she realized Nicky was not in the crib. She tore open the door and raced down the hall, skidding into the palatial living area, with its huge windows overlooking Central Park. A woman sat on the floor and played with her baby. Nicky was on his belly, twisting the knobs of a toy, and the woman made encouraging noises as he did so.

“Who are you?” Holly demanded. She was trembling as she stood there. Part of her wanted to snatch her baby up and take him away from this woman, but the rational part told her not to alarm him when he was perfectly happy with what he was doing. And clearly safe and well.

The woman got to her feet and smiled. She was older, a bit plain, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. She held out her hand. “I’m Sylvia. Mr. Di Navarra hired me to help with your son.”

Holly’s throat tightened painfully. She would not allow him to interfere. “I don’t need help,” she said. “He made a mistake.”

Sylvia frowned. “I apologize, Miss Craig, but Mr. Di Navarra seems to think you do.”

“I will speak to Mr. Di Navarra,” she said tightly.

“Speak to me about what?”

Holly spun to find Drago standing in the door. Her heart did that little skip thing she wished it wouldn’t do at the sight of him. But he was beautiful, as always, and she couldn’t help herself. How had this splendid creature ever been interested in her for even a moment? How had they managed to make a baby together when she was so clearly not the class of woman he was accustomed to?

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.”