Italian Bachelors: Unforgotten Lovers. Lynn Raye Harris
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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.
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