If he were truthful with himself, he hadn’t shown much interest, though he knew she worked hard on her fragrances. He’d been in the room she’d set up as a work area, he’d smelled her concoctions and he’d seen her notes. She was a professional. And she was good.
But he’d never told her that. Why not?
Drago stood in the darkness of his Rome apartment, with the city sounds wafting up from below and the lights of Rome’s ancient ruins and sacred domes glittering before him, and felt more alone than he’d ever felt in his life.
What was he doing? Why was he here instead of back at his villa, with his beautiful son?
And with Holly.
A cold, sinking feeling started in his gut, spread through his limbs. What if he’d ruined it this time? What if he’d gone too far? He tried to imagine his life without her in it. Emptiness engulfed him.
It was more emptiness than he’d ever thought he could feel. Somehow, she had become important to him. To his life. If he had to live without her in it, how could he ever laugh again?
He was a fool. A blind fool, driven by things that had happened to him over twenty years ago instead of by the things that his life had become. Inside, he was still lost and alone and frightened. And he was waiting—waiting for betrayal. He expected it, looked for it, congratulated himself when it happened. Because it was what he knew was supposed to happen to him.
But what if it wasn’t? What if the problem was all him? What if Holly was exactly what she seemed to be? A somewhat naive, trusting woman who’d had to learn how to survive on her own when she’d found herself pregnant and alone.
Drago turned away from the window, panic bubbling up from a well inside him that he’d kept capped for far too long. He was an idiot. And not for the reasons he’d supposed. No one had made him into a fool. He’d done it all by himself.
* * *
Holly woke in the middle of the night, her eyes swollen, her throat aching, and knew she had to leave. There could be no Sky. There could be no Drago. She would do whatever it took to arrange for him to see his son, but right now Nicky belonged to her and she wasn’t leaving here without him.
She dressed in the dark, tossed some things into a bag and went to gather Nicky from his crib. Somehow she managed to get him into his carrier without waking him, and then she crept down the stairs and stood in the empty foyer, undecided about what to do. On the hall table, there were several sets of car keys in a box. She took one—a BMW—and went out to the garage.
It took her nearly forty-five minutes to get the car, find the nearest train station on the GPS and drive to it. She could have gone to the airport, but for now she figured she’d get a train to Rome, call Santo Lazzari and arrange to meet with him about Colette, and then get a one-way ticket back to Louisiana. If she could just get an advance, she’d be all right. She had some money, but not enough to get her very far.
Holly purchased a ticket to Rome and went to sit on a bench. She studied her ticket and studied the boards, hoping she’d found the right track. Her eyes were gritty and tired, and she suddenly just wanted to go back to sleep. Nicky stirred in his carrier, but he was too sleepy to wake just yet. She prepared a bottle and hoped it would keep him quiet once he did.
Eventually, her train arrived—or she hoped it was her train—and she boarded it, finding a seat in a corner and leaning her head against the window. It throbbed with the remnants of her crying fit, and the early-morning coolness felt good against her skin.
She dozed a bit and then the train lurched and started to glide down the tracks. Her heart ached with such a profound sadness that she could hardly acknowledge it. How could she go back to the life she’d left behind? How could she forget Drago this time?
The last time, she hadn’t been in love with him—or maybe she had, but it had been so easy to convince herself she hated him instead. This time, her heart mourned for everything that could never be. They would see each other again. Because of Nicky. She couldn’t get out of it and she didn’t want to.
But she would have to figure out how to survive those moments when she had to face him for the sake of their child.
The train lurched again, and then began to slow. They hadn’t quite made it out of the station when it stopped completely. The Italians on board seemed unperturbed about it all, but her pulse hummed along a little bit faster. She just wanted to get away, before Drago discovered she was gone. She figured she had time, since he’d presumably returned to Rome last night, but she was nervous nevertheless.
There was a commotion in the car behind her, raised voices, and she turned to look along with the other passengers. Her heart seemed to stop beating then. She could see Drago’s face, determined and hard, and her legs turned to mush. She reached for her bag, slid out of her seat and grabbed the carrier. She was on her way down the car when the door behind her opened and a man shouted her name.
She spun, her hair whirling into her face, and confronted him—because there was no escape now.
“Go away, Drago,” she said. “Just leave me alone.”
He looked wild-eyed as he moved into the car. The other passengers glanced between them with interest, eyes bouncing back and forth as if they were at a tennis match.
“Holly, please.” He held his hand out, and she saw that it shook. She steeled her heart against him and shook her head. What a good actor he was.
“Stop it,” she said coldly. “You’re only pretending so these people won’t think you’re some kind of unfeeling monster. But we both know the truth, don’t we?”
He looked taken aback. “No, that’s not true.” He tried to smile, but it wasn’t a very good attempt. “Besides, since when do I care what anyone else thinks about me?”
He had a point there, but if she allowed it to penetrate, her shield would crumble. She had to be strong. For her baby. For herself.
“You don’t care about anyone.”
He took another step forward, one hand out in supplication. “I care about you.”
Panic bloomed in her soul. “You don’t. You’re only saying that because I tried to leave. Well, guess what, Drago, you can’t force me to stay! I won’t prevent you from being a part of Nicky’s life, but I won’t stay here and let you ruin my life, either.”
His hand dropped to his side. “I don’t want to ruin your life, Holly. I want to make it better.”
She laughed bitterly. “By locking me up in a gilded cage? By not trusting me? By belittling my dreams and my interests? By telling me I’ll never be good enough for the likes of you?”
His expression was stark. And then he said something that stunned her. “You’re too good for me, Holly. I’m the one who isn’t good enough.”
Anger seeped from her like air from a balloon. Confusion took up residence in her brain. She wanted to believe him, but how could she? “Is this a trick?”
He shook his head, and she finally saw that lost, lonely man that lurked inside him. “It’s not a trick. I’m a fool, Holly. I need you too much, and it scares me.”
Holly stared at him for a long moment, studying his face. Her heart thundered and her blood pounded and her skin felt hot and tight.
“I think he tells the truth,” a woman said, and Holly glanced over at her. She was a pretty woman, with dark hair and eyes shiny with tears. “It is amore, signorina.”
Holly’s heart skipped. “Is that true, Drago? Do you love me? Or is this all an elaborate ruse to get me to go back with you so you can take our son away?”
He stood there before her, so tall and commanding—and then he drew in a sharp breath and she heard the pain in it.
“I don’t know what love is, Holly. I loved my mother. I know I did, and yet she didn’t seem to care. She left me. I meant nothing at all to her. What if I am incapable of love? Of being loved?”
There was a huge lump in her th
roat. “You aren’t incapable of being loved.”
His eyes were filled with so much pain. “How do you know?”
She felt a tear spill over, and then another. How could she let him think such a thing when she knew the truth?
“Because I love you.” The words felt like razor blades coming up, but once they were free, she was glad she’d said them.
She didn’t know what would happen, but he moved then, an inexorable wave coming for her. Then he swept her up in his arms, her and Nicky, and held them tight, burying his face against her neck.
“I don’t know what love is,” he said, his voice a broken whisper in her ear. “But if it’s this feeling that I would die without you, then yes, I love you. If you leave me, Holly, I will be more alone than I’ve ever been in my life.”
The tears flowed freely down her cheeks now, and the train’s inhabitants clapped and cheered.
“I want to stay with you, Drago. But I’m afraid. You hurt me, and I’m afraid.”
His grip didn’t ease. “I know. I’ve been an ass, Holly. I want you to come home with me, and I want you to marry me. And I want Colette, and whatever other perfume you want to make for me. I want you to be happy, to do what you love—and I’m sorry I said it was trite. It’s not. Nothing you do is trite. I was just...afraid.”
Holly drew in a shaky breath. And then she pulled back and put her hand on his cheek—his beloved cheek—and caressed him. “I love you, Drago. You can’t make me stop. It has nothing to do with your money or your stupid cosmetics company. Even if you had nothing, I would love you.”
He wiped away the tears on her cheeks with shaky fingers. His eyes shimmered with moisture, though he grinned to try to hide it. “That’s a pretty speech, considering I am worth somewhere in the neighborhood of eighty billion dollars. It’s easy to love a rich man, amore mia.”
She laughed then. “Perhaps it is, but not when that rich man is you. Do you have any idea what a pain in the ass you can be? Sometimes it would be easier to love a cactus.”
His laugh was broken, and it tore her heart to hear it. “You are too much, Holly Craig. You and that smart mouth.” He drew in a breath. “Please marry me. Please come home and bring our son and let me spend the rest of my life making it up to you for being so blind and stupid.”
“Yes,” she said simply. Because it was right. Because there was nowhere else she’d rather be than in this man’s arms for the rest of her life.
His smile was filled with relief and tenderness. “Then let me do this right,” he said. Before she knew what he was about, he pulled a box from his pocket and dropped to one knee. “Marry me, Holly Craig. Fill my life with light and happiness. Tease me, exasperate me, challenge me—and never give up on me.”
“Do it, signorina,” the dark-haired woman urged.
Holly laughed. As if she could do anything else when she had the great Drago di Navarra on his knees in front of her. As if she wanted to.
“It’s a deal,” she said softly. “No contract required.”
Drago slipped the ring on her finger. Then he got to his feet and kissed her right there in the middle of the train as everyone cheered.
EPILOGUE
DRAGO LOOKED UP from the photos he’d been studying and found his wife standing in his office, looking amazingly gorgeous in a simple dress and flats.
“I didn’t hear you come in,” he said.
“Obviously.” She came and looked over his shoulder. And then she sighed. “Are you sure about these?”
“Of course. You are the most gorgeous model to ever grace a fragrance ad.”
“I think your colleagues are going to think you’ve lost your mind,” she grumbled.
He turned and put his hands on her waist. “Holly, you are precisely what I wanted for this campaign. You’re gorgeous but approachable. Women will buy this perfume in droves.”
She ran her hands through his hair. And then she kissed him. “I think they’ll buy Colette in greater droves.”
He laughed. “You could be right. I guess we’ll see when we launch it in the spring, yes?”
She arranged herself on his lap. He did not mind. His arms went around her and held her tight. How had he ever, ever thought he could live without her?
“I’m perfectly confident,” she said. And then she frowned. “But, Drago, I’m afraid I can’t work in your fragrance development lab as first planned.”
He studied her face, shocked at this news. “But you insisted you wanted this. You’ve proved to me how good you are, and I’ve been counting on adding your expertise to the staff.”
She toyed with the lapel of his collar. “Yes, well, you can still have that expertise. But I’m afraid the scents will be too much for me. In a lab. At home, I can do it when I’m feeling well. But all those scents? No, not happening.”
Drago shook his head. She’d left him about a mile back, standing on the side of the road and staring at her dust cloud. “I’m not following you,” he told her.
She leaned down and kissed his nose. “Oh, you darling man. No, I suppose it wouldn’t make a lick of sense to you. The smells, my darling, will be too much for a woman in my condition.”
He felt as if his brain was stuck in the mud, spinning tires—
And then he came unstuck and her meaning dawned. “You’re pregnant?”
Her smile could have lit up the grid. “Yes.”
Drago squeezed her tight, unable to say a word. And then he panicked and let her go again. “I’m sorry, was that too much?”
“No, of course not.” She squeezed him back and they sat together, holding each other and laughing.
“I almost forgot,” he said. He pulled open a drawer and took out some papers. “I just got these. I wanted to surprise you.”
Holly took the papers and opened them. Tears filled her lovely blue eyes as she read the deed. “Gran’s house.”
“Your house,” he said, the lump in his throat nearly too big to get the words past.
“Our house,” she said, squeezing him tight. “Oh, Drago, thank you.”
He pushed her hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ears. And then he drew her down and kissed her sweetly. “Anything for you, Holly. Anything.”
She made his life complete. Her and Nicky. And this new baby, whoever he or she turned out to be. Drago’s heart was full as he kissed her again. Life was full.
And it always would be. In that, he had complete faith.
* * * * *
Unnoticed and Untouched
To the men in my life—my husband, Mike, who has never met a sport he didn’t like (and who patiently attempts to explain the rules to me every time), and to my dad and father-in-law, who both love motor sports. I still don’t get that hockey thing, and I’ll never understand what makes baseball on television so fascinating or why anyone wants to watch cars go in circles for hours. But I do, finally, mostly understand American football. I think.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
EPILOGUE
EXCERPT
CHAPTER ONE
“MISS BLACK, YOU will accompany me this evening.”
Faith’s head snapped up. Her boss, Lorenzo D’Angeli, stood in the doorway to his office, looking every bit the arrogant Italian businessman in his custom suit and handmade loafers. Her heart skipped a beat as she contemplate
d his gorgeous face—all hard angles and sharp planes, deeply bronzed skin, and eyes as sharp and clear blue as a Georgia spring sky. It wasn’t the first time—and likely wouldn’t be the last—but it irritated her that she reacted that way.
She knew all about men like him. Arrogant, entitled and selfish—she had only to look at the way he treated the women who paraded in and out of his life with ruthless regularity to know it was the truth, in spite of the fact he’d only ever been courteous to her.
“The dress is formal,” he continued. “If you need clothing, take the afternoon off and charge your purchases to my account.”
Faith’s heart was skipping in earnest now. She’d often gone shopping for her boss in the six months she’d worked for him, purchasing silk ties or gold cuff links at his direction or picking up little gifts for whatever woman he was seeing at the time, but he’d never told her to shop for herself. It was, without question, unusual.
And perfectly impossible.
“I’m sorry, Mr. D’Angeli,” she said as politely as she could, “but I don’t believe I understand you.”
His stance didn’t soften an inch. “Miss Palmer is no longer going. I need a date.”
Faith stiffened. Of course. But stepping in because he’d had a fight with yet another woman he was sleeping with was not part of her job description.
“Mr. D’Angeli,” she began.
“Faith, I need you.”
Four words. Four words that somehow managed to stop the breath in her chest and send a tremor over her. Oh, why did she let him get to her? Why did the mere thought of parading around town on his arm make her feel weak when he was the last person she would ever want to be with?
She forced herself to think logically. He wasn’t saying he needed her. He needed the efficient PA at his side, ever ready to make calls or take notes or rearrange his schedule at a moment’s notice.
He did not need the woman. Lorenzo D’Angeli needed no woman, she reminded herself.
“It’s highly inappropriate, Mr. D’Angeli. I cannot go.”
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