“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. “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.

USA TODAY bestselling author LYNN RAYE HARRIS burst onto the scene when she won a writing contest held by Mills & Boon®. The prize was an editor for a year—but only six months later Lynn sold her first novel. A former finalist for the Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart Award, Lynn lives in Alabama with her handsome husband and two crazy cats. Her stories have been called ‘exceptional and emotional’, ‘intense’, and ‘sizzling’. You can visit her at www.lynnrayeharris.com

Recent titles by the same author:

A GAME WITH ONE WINNER

(Scandal in the Spotlight) REVELATIONS OF THE NIGHT BEFORE UNNOTICED AND UNTOUCHED MARRIAGE BEHIND THE FAÇADE

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

The Change in Di Navarra’s Plan

Lynn Raye Harris

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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One more time for my sweet cat, Miss Pitty Pat (MPP). This is the last book we wrote together before she succumbed to heart disease. Which, of course, means I wrote it and she lay on my feet or legs or lap, depending on her mood. I miss her like crazy.

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

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

“YOU, GET UP.”

Holly Craig looked up at the man standing so tall and imposing before her. Her heart skipped a beat at the sheer masculine beauty of his face. He had dark hair, piercing gray eyes and a jaw that had been chiseled out of Carrara marble. His nose was elegant, tapered, and his cheekbones were so pretty that supermodels must surely swoon in envy at the sight.

“Come on, girl, I don’t have all day,” he said, his tones sophisticated and clipped. And Italian, she realized. He had an accent that wasn’t thick. Rather, it was refined and smooth, like fine wine. Or fine perfume.

Holly clutched her case—a secondhand case that wasn’t even real leather—to her chest and shifted on the couch. “I—I’m not sure you have the right—”

He snapped his fingers. “You are here to see me, yes?”

Holly swallowed. “You are Mr. Di Navarra?”

He looked irritated. “Indeed.”

Holly jumped up, her heart thrumming a quick tempo. Her skin flushed with embarrassment. She should have known this man was the powerful head of Navarra Cosmetics. It wasn’t as if she’d never seen a photo of the man who might just hold her entire future in his hands. Everyone knew who Drago di Navarra was.

Everyone except her, it would seem. This meeting was so important, and already she’d got off on the wrong foot. Easy, ma belle, her grandmother would have said. You can do this.

Holly stuck her hand out. “Mr. Di Navarra, yes, I’m Holly—”

He waved a hand, cutting her off. “Who you are isn’t important.” His gaze narrowed, dropped down over her. She’d worn her best suit today, but it was at least five years out of season. Still, it was black and serviceable. And it was all she had. She lifted her chin, confused by the strange meeting thus far, but not yet willing to ruin it by calling him on his rudeness.

“Turn around,” he ordered.

Holly’s cheeks flamed. But she did it, slowly turning in a circle until she faced him again.

“Yes,” he said to an assistant who hovered nearby. “I think this one will do. Let them know we’re coming.”

“Yes, sir,” the woman said, her manner cool and efficient as she turned and strode back toward the office they’d both emerged from.

“Let’s go,” Drago said. Holly could only stand and watch him stride away from her, bewilderment muddling her head and gluing her feet to the floor.

He seemed to realize she wasn’t with him, because he stopped and turned around. He looked impatient rather than angry, though she suspected angry was next on the agenda.

“Are you coming or not?”

Holly had a choice. She could say no, she wasn’t coming. She could tell him he was rude and appalling and she’d come here for an appointment, and not to be talked down to, scrutinized and ordered around.

Or she could go, figure out what his strange manner was all about and get her chance to pitch him her ideas. The case in her hands was warm, fragrant with the samples she’d tucked inside. It reminded her of home, of her grandmother and the many hours they’d spent together dreaming about taking their perfumes to the next level, instead of only blending them for the friends and townspeople who purchased their custom combinations.

She’d come a long way to see this man. She’d spent every bit of savings she had getting here, with only enough for her lodging and the return trip home again. If she lost this opportunity, she lost far more than money. She lost her dream. She lost Gran’s dream. She’d have to go home and start over again.

Because Gran was dead and the house would soon be gone. She couldn’t afford to keep it any longer. Unless she convinced Drago di Navarra that she had something worth investing in. Something worth taking a chance on.

And she would do whatever it took to get that opportunity.

“Yes,” she said firmly. “I’m coming.”

* * *

Drago could feel her eyes upon him. It was nothing he wasn’t accustomed to. Women often stared. It was not something he felt was an inconvenience. No, it was an advantage, especially for a man in the business he was in.

In the business of making people more beautiful, it did not hurt to be attractive yourself. If much of that was genetics, well, it was not his fault.

He still used Navarra products—soap, cologne, skin care, shampoo—and he would always maintain, to whoever would listen, that they benefited him greatly.

Now he sat in the back of the limousine with his projections and printouts, and studied the focus-group information for the newest line of products NC was bringing out this fall. He was pleased with what he saw. Very pleased.

He was not, it should be noted, pleased with the agency that had sent this girl over. She was the fourth model he’d seen this morning, and though they’d finally got it right, he was angry that it had taken four attempts to get the correct combination of innocence and sex appeal that he’d desired for this ad campaign.

He was selling freshness and beauty, not a prepackaged look that many of the models he’d seen recently came with. They had a hard edge about them, something that looked out from their eyes and said that, while they might appear innocent, they had actually left innocence in the rearview mirror a thousand miles ago.

This girl, however...

He looked up, met her gaze boldly, appraisingly. She dropped her eyes quickly, a pink stain spreading over her cheeks. A sharp feeling knifed into him, stunning him. He had a visceral reaction to that display of sweetness, his body hardening in a way it hadn’t in quite some time. Oh, he’d had sex—plenty of it—but it had become more of a box to check off in his day rather than an escape or a way to relax.

His reaction just now interested him. His gaze slipped over her again, appraised what he saw, as he had the first time. She was dressed in a cheap suit, though it fit her well. Her shoes were tall, pink suede—and brand-new, he realized, looking at the sole of one where she’d turned her legs to the side. The price tag was still on the shoe. He tilted his head.

$49.99

Not Jimmy Choo shoes or Manolo Blahnik shoes, certainly. He didn’t expect her to be wearing thousand-dollar shoes, or even the latest designer fashions, but he had rather expected she would be more...polished.

Which was odd, considering that polish was precisely what he did not want. Still, she was a model with a highly respected New York City firm. He’d have thought she might be a bit more prepared. On the other hand, perhaps she was fresh from the farm and they’d sent her over straightaway in desperation.

“How many of these jobs have you done before?” he asked.

She looked up again. Blinked. Her eyes were blue. Her hair was the most extraordinary shade of strawberry-blond, and a smattering of light freckles dotted her pale skin. He would have to tell the photographer not to erase those later. They added to her fresh look.

“Jobs?”

Drago suppressed a stab of impatience. “Modeling jobs, cara.”

She blinked again. “Oh, I, um...”

“I’m not going to send you away if this is your first time,” he snapped. “So long as the camera loves you, I couldn’t care less if you’ve just come up from the family farm.”

Her skin flushed again. This time, her chin came up. Her eyes flashed cool fire, and he found himself intrigued at the play of emotions across her face. It was almost as if she were arguing with herself.

“There’s no need to be rude, you know,” she snapped back. “Manners are still important, whether you’ve got a billion dollars or only one.”

Drago had a sudden urge to laugh. It was as if a kitten had suddenly hissed and swatted him. And it had the effect of making some of his tension drain away.

“Then I apologize for being rude,” he said, amused.

She folded her arms over her breasts and tried to look stern. “Well, then. Thank you.”

He set the papers down on the seat beside him. “Is this your first time to New York?”

Her tongue darted out to moisten her lower lip. A slice of sensation knifed into his groin. “Yes,” she said.

“And where are you from?”

“Louisiana.”

He leaned forward then, suddenly quite certain he needed to make her feel comfortable if he was going to get what he wanted out of this shoot. “You’ll do a fine job,” he said. “Just be yourself in front of the camera. Don’t try to act glamorous.”

She dropped her gaze away and slid her fingers along the hem of her jacket. “Mr. Di Navarra—”

“Drago,” he said.

She looked up again. Her blue eyes were worried. He had a sudden urge to kiss her, to wipe away that worried look and put a different kind of look there. He gave himself a mental shake. Highly uncharacteristic of him. Not that he didn’t date the models—he did sometimes—but this one wasn’t his usual type. He liked the tall, elegant ones. The ones who looked as if ice cubes wouldn’t melt in their mouths.

The ones who didn’t make him think of wide-eyed idealists who chased after dreams—and kept chasing them even when they led down self-destructive paths. Women like this one were so easily corruptible in the wrong hands. His protective instincts came to the fore, made him want to send her back to Louisiana before she even stepped in front of the camera.

He wanted her to go home, to stop chasing after New York dreams of fame and fortune. This world would only disappoint her. In a few months, she’d be shooting drugs, drinking alcohol and throwing up her food in order to lose that extra pound some idiotic industry type had told her made her look fat.

Before he could say anything of what he was thinking, the car came to a halt. The door swung open immediately. “Sir, thank goodness,” the location manager said. “The girl isn’t here and—”

“I have her,” Drago said. The other man’s head swung around until his gaze landed on the girl—Holly, was it? Now he wished he’d paid more attention when he’d first seen her outside his office.

“Excellent.” The man wiggled his fingers at her. “Come along, then. Let’s get you into makeup.”

She looked terrified. Drago smiled encouragingly. “Go, Holly,” he said, trying the name he was fairly certain was correct. He didn’t miss the slight widening of her eyes, and knew he’d got it right. Clearly, she hadn’t expected him to remember. “I will see you again when this is over.”

She looked almost relieved as her eyes darted between him and the location manager. “Y-you will?”

She seemed very alone in that moment. Something inside him rose to the fore, made him ask a question he knew he shouldn’t. “Are you busy for dinner?”

She shook her head.

Drago smiled. He shouldn’t do this, he knew it, and yet he was going to anyway. “Then consider yourself busy now.”

* * *

Holly had never been to a fancy restaurant in her life, but she was in one now—in a private room, no less—sitting across from a man who might just be the most handsome man she’d ever seen in her life. The longer she spent in Drago di Navarra’s company, the more fascinated she was.

Oh, he hadn’t started out well, that was for sure—but he’d improved tremendously upon further acquaintance. He’d actually turned out to be...nice.

There was only one problem. Holly frowned as she listened to him talk about the photo shoot earlier. She wasn’t a model, but she’d stood there in Central Park and let people fuss over her, dress her in a flowing purple gown, paint her with makeup, tease her hair—and then she’d stepped in front of the camera and froze, wondering how she’d let this thing go so far.

She’d only wanted a chance to tell Drago di Navarra about her perfumes, but she hadn’t known where they were going or what he expected until it was too late. She’d choked when she should have explained. But she’d been worried that if she explained who she was and what she wanted, he would be angry with her.

And that wasn’t going to work, was it?

Still, as she’d stood there, frozen, she’d known it was over. Her dream was dead, because she was going to have to explain to all these people watching her that she truly had no idea what she was doing.

But then Drago had walked onto the shoot and smiled at her. She’d smiled back, and suddenly the photographer was happy. She was certain she’d still been awkward and out of place, but everyone had seemed delighted with her. They’d changed her clothes, her hair, her makeup several times. And she’d stood in front of that camera, thinking of her perfumes and wondering how on earth she was going to explain herself to Drago, until someone finally told her they were done.

Then Drago had whisked her off for dinner and she’d clammed up like a frightened schoolgirl. She was still wearing the last dress they’d put on her, a pretty, silky sheath in eggplant and a pair of gold Christian Louboutin pumps. This entire experience was a fantasy come to life in many ways. She was in New York City, being wined and dined by one of the most eligible bachelors in the world, and she wanted to remember every moment of it.

And yet everything about this day was wrong, because she’d come here to pitch her perfume, not model for Navarra Cosmetics. How could she tell him? How could she find the perfect moment to say “Oh, Drago, thank you for the dinner, but what I really want to talk to you about is my perfume”?

Still, she had to. And soon. But every time she tried to open her mouth and tell him, something stopped her. There were interruptions, distractions. When he reached across the table and took her hand in his, every last thought in her head flew out the window.

“You were fabulous today, Holly,” he said. And then he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed them against the back of her hand. A sizzle of electricity shot through her, gathered in her feminine core and made her ache in ways she’d never quite experienced before.

She’d had a boyfriend back home. She’d been kissed. They’d even gone further than that—but she’d never felt the moment was right to go all the way.

And then he’d broken up with her. Taken up with that catty Lisa Tate instead. It still stung.

You’re too selfish, Holly, he’d said. Too focused on your damn perfume.

Yes, she was focused. Holly dragged herself back to the present, tried so hard to ignore the skittering of her pulse and the throbbing deep in her core. She knew what this was. She might not have had sex before, but she wasn’t stupid. She’d experienced desire with Colin, but she’d just never got to the point where she’d tumbled over the edge into hedonism.

She could imagine it with this man. Her heart skipped as she met Drago di Navarra’s smoky gray eyes. Tell him, Holly. Tell him now....

“Thank you,” she said, dropping her gaze from the intensity of his as her pulse shot forward again.

“You’re quite a natural. I predict you will go far in this business if you don’t allow yourself to be corrupted by it.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but his cell phone rang. He glanced down at the display, and then said something in Italian that could have been a curse.

“You must excuse me,” he said, picking up the phone. “This is important.”

“Of course,” she replied, but he’d already answered the call. She sat with her hands in her lap and waited for him to finish.

Holly gazed at the silk wallpaper and the gilt fixtures, and felt as if she’d landed on another planet. What was she doing here? How had she ended up in the company of a billionaire, having dinner with him as if it were a daily occurrence?

Everything about her trip to New York thus far was so different from her usual experience that she could hardly get her bearings.

Why couldn’t she seem to say what she needed to say? She’d feel better if she had her samples. With those, she could find her way through this strange landscape. But her samples were in her case, which was stowed in his car. That had given her pause, but he’d convinced her that her belongings would be fine while they ate dinner.

If only she had her case, she could open it up and pull out her samples. She could explain her concepts, sell him on the beauty of Colette, the last perfume she and her grandmother had worked on together. It was the best one, though her ideas for others were infinite. She got a tingle of excitement just thinking about the blend of smooth essences, water and alcohol that produced the final product.

Drago finished his call and apologized for the interruption. “Forgive me, bella mia,” he said. “But the beauty industry never sleeps.”

“It’s fine,” she told him, smiling. Her heart was beating fast again, but she’d finally settled on a plan of action. Once she was reunited with her case, she would explain to this man why she was really here. She was certain he couldn’t say no once she’d given him a whiff of Colette.

Their dinner came then, and Holly found herself relaxing in Drago’s company. He was completely charming. He was attentive, sending most of his calls to voice mail, and interested in what she had to say.

She told him about Louisiana, about her grandmother—without mentioning perfume, since that had to wait for her samples—and about the trip to New York on the bus.

He blinked. “You came all this way on a bus?”

Holly dropped her gaze to her plate as heat seared her cheeks. “I couldn’t afford to fly,” she said. But she had spent nearly everything she had scraping together the money for this brief trip. Just to talk to this man, for pity’s sake.

Which she was doing, but not in the way she needed to. Not yet. She took a sip of her white wine and let it sit on her tongue for a moment while she sorted the flavors—the base notes were of wood and smoke while the top notes were floral. Delicious. Her nose was far better than her taste buds, but she could still sort flavors fairly well by taste.

“You really are fresh off the family farm,” he said.

But it wasn’t an insult, not this time, and she didn’t take it as such. He seemed rather...wondering, truthfully. “I suppose I am,” she replied.

“With big New York dreams.” His tone was a bit less friendly this time, but she didn’t let it bother her. Or maybe it was the wine that didn’t let it bother her.

She shrugged. “Doesn’t everyone have dreams?”

His gaze slipped over her face, and she felt heat curling in her belly, her toes. Oh, how she never wanted this night to end. She wanted to drink champagne under the stars, and she wanted to dance in his arms until dawn.

His hand settled over hers, and a shiver prickled down her spine. A delicious shiver. Her entire body seemed to cant toward him, like a flower turning to the sun. His fingers skimmed along her bare arm. Fire danced in their wake, and Holly wasn’t certain she could pull in her next breath.

“I have a dream,” he said softly, his body so close to hers now, his beautiful mouth within reach if only she leaned a bit farther forward. His fingers slid along her cheek, into her hair, and she felt as if she were melting. She ached and wanted and didn’t care what tomorrow brought so long as this man kissed her now. Tonight.

His lips hovered over hers and her eyes slid closed. Her heart was beating so hard he must surely see the pulse in her throat. But she didn’t care. She was too caught up in the beauty, the wonder, the perfection of this night. It was like a fairy tale, and she was the princess who’d finally been found by the prince.

His laugh was soft and deep. It vibrated through her, made her shudder with longing.

And then his mouth claimed hers in a tender kiss that stole her breath away. It was so sweet, so perfect—

But she wanted more. She leaned closer, and he laughed again, in his throat this time, before he parted her lips and thrust his tongue into her mouth. Holly couldn’t stop the moan that vibrated in her throat.

The kiss suddenly changed, turned more demanding then as his mouth took hers in a hot, possessive kiss unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. Their tongues met, tangled, dueled. She could feel the strength of that kiss in her nipples, between her legs. Her sex throbbed and her panties grew damp.

She wanted to be closer to him. Needed to be closer. She wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him, losing herself in this kiss, this moment.

Drago finally dragged himself up, away from her, breaking the kiss. Her mouth tingled with the memory of his. Her eyes settled on his mouth, and a thrill went through her.

“My dream,” he said, his voice a sensual purr in her ear, “is that you will accompany me back to my apartment.”

Holly could only stare at him as he stood and held his hand out. Everything in her wanted to be with him. She wasn’t ready for this night to end, no matter that a tiny corner of her soul urged her to be cautious. She wanted more of this excitement, this exhilaration.

More of Drago.

Holly put her hand in his, and her skin sizzled at the contact. This was right, she knew it deep down. So very right.

“Yes,” she said shyly. “I want that, too.”

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.

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