The Change in Di Navarra's Plan

by Lynn Raye Harris

  “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 t
here 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.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SOME SIXTH SENSE told Holly she wasn’t alone. The skin on the back of her neck prickled and heat gathered in her core. She knew who it was. She didn’t have to see him to know. She could feel him. Smell him.

  She turned slowly, nonchalantly, her heart pounding in her breast. The sight of him in that tuxedo nearly made her heart stop. He was dark, beautiful, his gray eyes heated and intense as he watched her. He looked...broody, as if he’d had a bad evening. As if something had gone awry.

  Was it wrong that her heart soared to think his date might not have worked out?

  “You’re back early,” she said, keeping her voice as even as she could. Hoping he didn’t hear the little catch in her throat.

  “Perhaps I am not,” he said, moving toward her, all hot handsome male. His hands were in his pockets and his jacket was open to reveal the perfect line of studs holding his shirt closed. His bow tie was still tight, as if he were going to an event instead of coming from one. “How would you know which it is?”