Читать книгу Italian Bachelors: Unforgotten Lovers - Lynn Raye Harris - Страница 15
ОглавлениеDRAGO 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.
“Where are your parents?” he asked her.
“I never knew them. My father is a mystery man, and my mother died when I was a baby.” She said it so unemotionally, but he knew it had to hurt. He’d never known his father, though of course he knew his identity. He hadn’t been that lucky with his mother. She had left her imprint deep. He was still trying to cover the scars of what she’d done to him.
“And what about the father of your child?” he asked, shaking away painful thoughts of his mother. “Why didn’t he step up and help?”
Her lips flattened and she took a deep breath. “He didn’t want to be burdened, I imagine,” she finally said, her voice soft and brittle at once.
He imagined her pregnant and alone, without a home, and felt both anger and sympathy. Anger because she reminded him of his mother and sympathy because she’d lost so much. Was that what had happened to his mother? He’d never understood why she’d been so flighty, why she’d moved from place to place, always searching for something that eluded her.
She might have had to settle down if not for him. If not for the money he represented. The money his uncle gave for his care, but which she would spend taking him someplace remote and hiding him from the Di Navarras. When she would run out, she would emerge again, hand outstretched until Uncle Paolo filled it—and then they would disappear once more.
Clearly, Holly wasn’t doing that with this child—but she had been living in that dingy building and leaving the baby with strangers. His mother had done the same thing, time and again. If Holly got money from the baby’s father, would she spend it all recklessly in the pursuit of filling some emptiness inside herself? Or would she settle down and take care of the baby the way he should be taken care of?
“I am given to understand you can sue for child support in this country,” he said mildly. “At the least, you could have gotten a bit of help for your child. I wonder that you did not do it.”
Her eyes flashed hot. “You make it sound so simple. But I would have needed money for a lawyer, wouldn’t I? Since I couldn’t afford to make the mortgage payments, I couldn’t afford a lawyer, either.”
“So you got a job as a cocktail waitress.” There was condemnation in his tone. He knew it, and so did she. Certainly she could have found something else. Something safer for a child.
Her chin came up. “After I left New Hope, yes. I went to New Orleans and got a job in the casino. The tips were good and I needed the money.”
“But not good enough to afford you a decent place to live.”
“Not everyone is so fortunate as you.”
“I have had nothing handed to me, cara. I worked for everything I have.”
“Yes, but you had all the advantages.”
“Not quite all,” he said. For the first eleven years, he’d had no advantages. Hell, he hadn’t even been able to read until Uncle Paolo had taken him away from his mother and gotten him an education that didn’t require him to count out coins for supper. “Besides, when you are done here, you’ll have enough money to take your baby somewhere safe.”
“How dare you suggest I would put my baby in danger?” she said tightly. “Just because I couldn’t afford a home that meets your standards, Your High and Mightiness, doesn’t mean my son wasn’t safe.”
She was tightly strung, her body practically trembling with nervous energy. Her eyes flashed fire and her jaw was set in that stubborn angle he’d oddly come to enjoy. Such a firecracker, this girl.
They’d burned together before. What would it be like now?
He shoved the thought away and let his gaze slide over her lovely face. She was going to make Navarra Cosmetics a lot of money, if his gut was any judge. And it usually was.
He didn’t need to screw it up by getting involved with her again, however enticing the thought. Instead, he thought of where he’d found her, of the utter desolation of that apartment building, and his anger whipped higher.
“Do you really want your child to grow up there, Holly? Do you want Mrs. Turner keeping him every night, while he cries and asks where his mother is? Do you want him to only see you for a few minutes a day while you do whatever it is you plan to do with the money?”
She blinked at him, and he knew his voice had grown harsh. But he wouldn’t take any of it back. She had to consider these things. She had to consider the child.
“Of course I don’t want that,” she said. “I want a house somewhere, and a good school. I want Nicky to have everything I had growing up. I intend to give it to him, too.”
Everything inside him was tight, as if someone had stretched the thinnest membrane over the mouth of a volcano. He didn’t know why she got to him so badly, but he didn’t like it. Drago worked to push all the feelings she’d whipped up back under the lid of the box he kept them in.
“Perhaps you can give him those things,” he finally said when he no longer felt so volatile. “Do you have any idea what the going rate is on a cosmetics campaign?”
She shook her head.
“It could be in the six figures, cara. But we’ll need to see how the test shots go first.” Because, no matter how bad he felt for her and the baby, he wouldn’t hand over that kind of money for nothing. He’d go out of business if he allowed sympathy to get in the way of his decisions.
Her eyes were huge. Then she swallowed and fixed him with a determined look. “I expect to see that contract, spelling it all out, before anything happens.”
Irritation lashed into him. “You don’t trust me?” he asked, a dangerous edge to his voice.
She was nobody. She had nothing. She needed this job—and she needed his goodwill, after what she’d pulled last year.
But she didn’t hesitate to push him. To demand her contract. He had to admit that a grudging part of him admired her tenacity even while she maddened him.
“Should I?” she said sweetly.
“Do you have a choice?”
Her jaw worked. Hardened. “No, I don’t suppose I do.”
“Precisely.” He shoved back from the table and stood. “You will get your contract, Holly, because that is what businesses do.”
Then he leaned down, both hands on the table, and fixed her with an even look. “And if you don’t like the terms, you will be taken back to where I found you and left there without the possibility of ever seeing a dime.”
* * *
Holly was restless. She was so accustomed to being on the go, to working hard for hours every day and then scrambling to get home and take care of her child, that being in this apartment with a nanny and no schedule felt surreal.
She’d tried to read a book. She’d tried to watch television—what was with all these people airing their private business in front of a TV judge for public consumption, anyway?—and she’d tried to listen to music. Nothing made her feel settled for more than a few moments.
She thought about going for a walk, but she was a little too intimidated by the prospect of roaming New York City streets alone. She’d walked the short distance from the casino to the streetcar stop in the dark—risky enough in some ways, but she’d never felt intimidated doing it.
Here, she thought if she went outside, she might never find her way back again.
So, she sat with the television remote and skipped through a variety of shows. And she finally had to admit to herself that the source of her restlessness wasn’t just that her life had gone from two hundred miles an hour to a full stop in the space of a heartbeat.
No, it was also Drago di Navarra. He’d been angry at her earlier, and he’d threatened to drop her back in New Orleans, where he’d found her. The thought had chilled her. Yes, she was murderously furious with him—with his high-handedness and his arrogance and his certainty she’d been out to dupe him—but she couldn’t let her anger get in the way of this job. She couldn’t let him send her away before she’d earned that money.
It frightened her that she was suddenly so dependent on the promise of so much money. Yesterday, she’d nearly thrown a tray of drinks in his face. She’d been hostile to him and she’d wanted him gone—but he’d seduced her with words, with the promise of a better life for her child, and now she’d bought into it so thoroughly that the prospect of not having it threatened to make her physically ill.
She’d pushed him during their conversation. She’d been angry and she’d lashed out. Part of her regretted it—and part of her was glad. Damn him and his smug superiority anyway!
As if thinking of the devil conjured him, Drago walked into the living room, dressed in a tuxedo and looking every inch the gorgeous tycoon. Holly’s heart thumped. Her jaw sagged and she snapped it closed again when she realized she was gaping at him.
Of course he was going out. Of course.
She didn’t know where he was going, or who he was going with, but the thought of him out there dancing with some beautiful woman pierced her.
Why?
She did not care what he did. Holly lifted her chin and stared at him, waiting for him to speak. Because, clearly, he’d come in here to say something to her. Perhaps he’d decided she wasn’t worth the trouble after all. Perhaps he’d come to tell her to gather her things because a car was waiting to take her back to the airport.
“I have to go out,” he said without preamble, and she let her gaze drop over him.
“I can see that. Have a wonderful time.”
He ignored her and came over to perch on the arm of the chair facing where she sat. The TV was behind him, so she tried to focus on it.
Impossible, of course.
“We need to talk,” he said, and her heart skipped. He was going to send her home. It was over. Well, she’d known it couldn’t last. But he was going to have to pay her for her inconvenience, damn him. She’d left her job, for heaven’s sake.
He lifted his arm, tugged the cuff of his sleeve. Adjusting. Making her wait for it. He was so cool, so unconcerned. His gaze lifted, bored into hers.
“Do you have a passport?” he asked, and Holly blinked.
“I— Um, no.” Well, that wasn’t what she’d expected.
He frowned. “Then we’ll need to take care of it. As soon as possible.”
“Why?”
“Because we are going to Italy, cara.”
Italy? Her pulse throbbed with a sudden shot of fear. “Why?”
He looked annoyed. “Because this is where the Sky shoot will take place. Because I am the boss and I say so.”
Holly shifted on the couch. “You aren’t my boss,” she pointed out, and then berated herself for doing so. But why should she let him get away with being so pointedly arrogant? He’d asked her to do the campaign. She’d said yes—but they hadn’t started yet and she didn’t have a contract.
He lifted one eyebrow. “Am I not? Somehow, I thought the one paying the salary would be in charge.”
“You haven’t paid me a single penny yet,” she said.
“Haven’t I? You did not get to New York by magic, Holly. Nor does Sylvia work for free.”
Her ears felt hot. Well, yes, those things did cost money. “I did not ask you to hire her.”
“No, but a baby on the hip was not quite what I had in mind for the ad.”
“I won’t go to Italy without a contract.” She said it belligerently, and then winced at her tone. What was the matter with her? Did she want him to send her home? Back to nothing?
“These things take time to draft,” he said coolly. “I don’t keep a sheaf of contracts in my desk and whip one out as needed. Rest assured, Holly, you will get a contract. But you still need a passport, and so does the baby.”
Her heart slid into her stomach. She’d never filled out paperwork for a passport before, but she imagined it required information she’d rather not share with Drago. Information that might make him ask questions.
“I don’t understand why we can’t do the shoot here. We did before. The park is lovely, and—”
“Because it’s not what I want this time,” he said. “Because I have a vision, and that vision takes place in Italy.”
She dropped her gaze to the tips of her tennis shoes, where they rested on the ottoman in front of her. Jeez, he sat there in a tuxedo, and she was wearing jeans and tennis shoes as if she was still a teenager or something.
It reminded her starkly of the difference in their circumstances.
“It seems like a waste of money,” she said softly. “The park is here, and it was so pretty the last time.”
He stood and she could feel his imposing gaze on her. She looked up, and her heart turned over at the intensity of his stare. There was something in that gray-eyed gaze, something hot and secret and compelling.
Holly swallowed.
“I appreciate you thinking about the bottom line,” he said with only the mildest hint of sarcasm, “but the fact is I can afford to do what I want. And what I want is you in Italy.”
Holly twisted her fingers together in her lap. “Then I suppose we’ll have to get passports.”
“Yes,” he said. “You shall. I’ll make arrangements.” He looked at his watch and frowned. “And now, if you will excuse me, I have a date.”
A date.
Holly’s stomach twisted, but she forced herself to give him a wan smile. Really, she didn’t care at all—but being here made her remember what it had been like between them. The heat and passion and pleasure, the utter bliss of his possession.
Another woman would experience that tonight, while Holly lay in a bed in his apartment, only steps from the room where he’d first shown her what it was like between a man and a woman. She would twist and turn and imagine him with someone else. She would burn with longing, the way she’d done during the lonely nights when she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him no matter how much she’d wanted to.
Holly picked up the remote and flipped through the channels. She didn’t see what was on the screen, couldn’t have focused if her life depended on it, but it was something to do while she waited for him to walk out.
“Have fun,” she said, because she had to say something.
He stood there a moment more, hands thrust in pockets. And then he turned and walked out and her heart slid to the bottom of her toes. Her eyes stung with unshed tears that she angrily slapped away.
She was furious because she was helpless. Because she had to do what he wanted or lose the money. That was the reason she wanted to cry.
The only reason.
* * *
Drago was not enjoying himself. He’d been expected to attend this event for the past month—a charity gala at the Met—but his attention was elsewhere. The woman on his arm—a beautiful heiress he’d met at a recent business dinner—bored him. He didn’t remember her boring him when he’d met her only a few weeks ago. He remembered that he’d been interested.
She was lovely and articulate, and she had her fingers in many causes. But he saw beneath that veneer tonight. She had causes because she needed something to do with her money and her time.
She didn’t care about the people she helped. She did it because it was expected of her. And because it brought her attention. He remembered seeing her in the paper only a couple of days ago, being interviewed about some fashion show she’d attended in Europe.
Even that wouldn’t have been enough to make him think she didn’t really care. No, it was her behavior tonight. Her need to be seen on his arm and her ongoing catty chatter about some of the other people in the room. As if she were better than them. As if he were, too, and needed to be warned about them.
The disconcerting thing was this: he wasn’t quite certain any of these things would have truly bothered him just a few days ago. But now he thought of Holly sitting in that squalid apartment and feeding her baby a bottle, and a hot feeling bloomed in his chest.
Holly knew what it was like to struggle. To have almost nothing. She’d lost her home, and she’d gone to work as a waitress to make ends meet. His mother had done much the same, though for reasons of her own that had made no sense to anyone but her.
This woman—Danielle, was it?—wouldn’t know the first thing about what struggling really meant.
He did. Even if he hadn’t been a part of that world in a very long time, he knew what it was to have nothing. To rely on the kindness of strangers to eat. To beg and struggle and do things you didn’t want to do, simply because you needed to survive. He’d only been a child, but the memory was imprinted deep. It was also usually buried deep—but not since Holly Craig had come back into his life.
“Drago, did you hear anything I said?”
He looked down at the glittering creature by his side—and a wave of disgust filled him. He didn’t want this artifice. Not tonight. He didn’t want to spend his time in the company of a woman who was superficial and selfish. She had millions, but she was still a user. A user of a different kind than his mother had been, but a user nonetheless. It dismayed him that he’d never seen it before.
Tonight, he wanted a woman who would look at him like he wasn’t a god, a woman who would refuse to accept his pronouncements as if they were from some exalted place and, therefore, not to be questioned.
He wanted Holly. He wanted a woman who was direct with him. Oh, she hadn’t always been. But she was now. She knew where she stood with him, so she was no longer trying to scam him. There was no need for pretense between them. She glared and huffed and stubbornly tried to get her way. She did not cajole. She spoke her mind.
No one spoke their mind to him. Not the way Holly did. She didn’t even seem to like him much—but she did want him.
He knew that from the way her breath shortened when he was near, the way her eyes slid over him and then quickly away, as if she didn’t want to be caught looking at him. Her skin grew pink and her breathing shallow.
That wasn’t hatred, no matter what she claimed. It was desire.
“I heard you,” he said to the woman at his side. “And I am terribly sorry, but I have to leave. I’m afraid I have another engagement tonight.”
Danielle’s mouth opened, as if she couldn’t quite believe it. “But I thought...”
Drago lifted her limp, cool hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss there. “Ciao, bella. It was lovely to see you again.”
And then, before she could utter another word, he strode from her side, out the front doors and down the sidewalk. His apartment wasn’t far. His driver would have come to pick him up, but he wanted to walk. He needed to walk if he were to quench this strange fire for Holly Craig, before he stormed into his home and took her into his arms.
It was inconvenient to want a woman he’d once thrown out of his life. But he couldn’t seem to stop himself.
He reached his building in less than fifteen minutes. The doorman swung the entry open with a cheery good-evening. Drago returned the greeting, and then he was in his private elevator and on his way up to the penthouse.
It was quiet when he let himself in. He glanced at his watch. It wasn’t late, only nine-thirty. But his apartment was just as always. There was no television blaring, no one sitting in the living room, no baby on the floor surrounded by toys.
He found that oddly disappointing. He didn’t care much for babies, but when he’d walked in earlier and seen Sylvia playing with the child while Holly made up a bottle, he’d had an odd rush of warmth in his chest. He’d dismissed it as something minor; a physical malady like acid reflux.
But now he felt strangely hollow, as if that warmth would rush back if Holly were here with her son. He strode through the living room and toward the hall where the bedrooms were, his heart pounding. What if she’d left? What if she’d changed her mind and taken her opportunity to leave while he was out?
He’d taken the precaution of informing his driver—and the doorman—to alert him if she did, but no one had called. So why did he feel anxious?
A sound came from the direction of the kitchen, and he stopped, his heart thumping steadily as his ears strained to hear it again. It was late enough that the staff he employed would have gone home for the day, so he didn’t expect to find any of them lurking about the kitchen.
He stopped abruptly as his gaze landed on the figure of a woman standing at the counter, her long blond hair caught in a loose ponytail. She was wearing yoga pants and a baggy T-shirt that looked as if it had been washed so frequently the color had faded to a flat red, one shade removed from pink.
She reached up to open the microwave and took out a bowl of something. Then she set a baby bottle inside it. Something about watching her warm the bottle hit him square in the gut. He’d never considered his life to be lacking, never felt as if he were missing out by not having a wife and children. He didn’t know how to be close to anyone, not really, and he didn’t know how to bridge that gap.
He’d always been on the outside looking in. And it had never bothered him until this moment. It was not a pleasant sensation to feel like an outsider in his own house.
But he did. And it made him feel empty in a way he had not in a very long time.
