The Change in Di Navarra's Plan Page 11

  Her life had been on the brink of disaster since Gran had died. She was accustomed to it. She was not accustomed to having hope. It terrified her. She tugged her hand away and tucked it into her lap.

  Storm clouds fought a battle in Drago’s expression. He looked frustrated and confused, and then he looked angry, his eyes hardening by degrees. Finally he sat back again. Incongruously, she wanted to reach out to him, beg him to touch her again.

  “You have no reason to be scared of me,” Drago said, shoving his chair back and standing. “I’m not a monster.”

  She tilted her head up to meet his hard gaze. But it stunned her to realize there was something more in his eyes. He looked...lost, alone. Her breath razored into her lungs.

  “I don’t think you’re a monster,” she said softly.

  “I’m not sure I believe you.”

  Impulsively, she put her hand on his arm. His skin was warm beneath his sleeve, the muscle solid. His eyes were hooded as he stared at her, and a wave of fire sizzled through her body, obliterating everything in its path except this feeling between them.

  This hot, achy feeling that made her body sing.

  She dropped her hand away, suddenly uncertain. Why did she want to tempt fate again? Why did she want to take the risk and immolate herself in his flame?

  Drago tilted her chin up when she would have looked away. “I don’t understand you, Holly Craig. You are hot and cold, fierce and frightened. One minute I think you want...” He shook his head. “But then you don’t. And I’ll be damned if I can figure it out.”

  She tried to drop her chin, but he wouldn’t let her. He forced her to meet his gaze. It was unflinching, penetrating. She trembled inside, as if he were reaching deep inside her soul and ferreting out all her secrets.

  Except, he wasn’t. He couldn’t know what she kept hidden.

  “It didn’t end so well the last time,” she told him. “Maybe that’s what scares me.”

  He blew out a breath and closed his eyes for a long moment. “I make no apologies for what happened, Holly. You lied to me.”

  “I know. And I’m sorry for it. But I already told you why.”

  “Yes, you did.” He sank onto the stool beside her and rubbed his palms along his jeans. “I don’t like being lied to. And I don’t like being used.”

  She wondered if he could see her pulse throbbing in her throat. Her palms were damp, but she didn’t dare to wipe them dry while he watched her.

  “I understand,” she said.

  “I don’t think you do,” he replied. He picked up a glass of some kind of liquor that had been sitting beside his paperwork and took a drink. She watched the slide of his throat, wondered how on earth such a thing could make her gut clench with desire.

  “I’ve always been a Navarra, but I haven’t always lived as one,” he said quietly, after a long moment of silence.

  Holly wrapped her arms around herself, her gut aching with the loneliness of his words.

  “My parents were not married. My father was a playboy, a wastrel. My mother was easily corrupted, I think. When he wouldn’t marry her, she might have had a bit of a breakdown.” He shrugged, and she wondered what he did not say. “They were together for a couple of years, at least. I was a baby when he left her. He died in a car accident not too long after that. And that’s when my mother started trying to use me to get things from his family. She spent years trotting me out in front of my uncle, demanding money and then spending it all foolishly.”

  “Babies need a lot of things,” she said. “Maybe she didn’t have enough, and...”

  The fire in his eyes made her words die. She swallowed, her soul hurting so much for him. And for the woman who’d tried to raise him alone.

  “She had enough, Holly. But not enough for her to get what she wanted.”

  “What did she want?”

  His throat worked. “I wish to hell I knew.” He threaded a hand through his hair, dropped it to his side again. “My uncle offered to take me in, but she refused to give me up.”

  Holly’s stomach tightened. “I understand that. I wouldn’t give Nicky up, either.”

  Drago leaned toward her. His expression was filled with pain and confusion. “She refused because she knew what she had. I was the golden goose, and periodically I brought her a golden egg. Eventually, my uncle offered her enough to let me go.”

  Holly’s heart thudded painfully for him. But she understood why a mother wouldn’t give up her child. Why she tried and tried to make it work before she finally gave in. What must Drago’s mother have felt when she’d realized she couldn’t keep him? That he would be better off with the Di Navarras than with her?

  And why wouldn’t Drago’s uncle take them both? Why didn’t he provide them with a home instead of an unthinkable option for a mother?

  “I’m so sorry, Drago.” What else could she say?

  His features were bleak, ravaged. She wanted to put her arms around him and hold him tight. But she didn’t. She didn’t know if he would welcome it. If she could be strong enough to do it without confessing her own sins.

  Oh, God, how could she ever tell him about Nicky now? He would never comprehend why she’d kept it a secret.

  “I don’t like to be used, Holly. I don’t like the way it makes me feel.”

  “I understand,” she said, her throat aching, her eyes stinging with tears. “And I’m sorry.”

  For so many things.

  He sighed again. And then he shook his head as if realizing how much he’d said. “You should finish your dinner.”

  She looked at the food congealing on the plate. There was no way she could eat another bite. “I’m finished.”

  He stood again, shoved his hands into his pockets. He looked more lost than she would have ever thought possible.

  “Do you see your mother much now?” she asked tentatively, imagining him as a little boy who must have felt so alone and confused when his mother had finally given in to his uncle’s demands.

  His eyes glittered as he turned to look at her. “I have not seen her since I was eleven and my uncle finally convinced her to sign over custody. And I never will again. She committed suicide six years ago.”

  Holly’s heart hurt. “I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged with a lightness he could not possibly feel. “This is life.”

  “But...your mother,” she said, her throat aching.

  He reached out and slid his finger over her cheek, softly, lightly. “I believe you are a good mother, Holly Craig. But not all women are as dedicated as you.”

  His words pierced her in ways he would never know. What kind of mother kept a son from his father? What kind of mother struggled to raise him, to provide for him, when he could be the heir to all of this wealth? When he could have everything?

  “Drago, I—” But she couldn’t say it. Her throat closed up and nothing would come out.

  He smiled, but it was not a real smile. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Go to bed, Holly. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

  Like a coward, she fled.

  CHAPTER NINE

  HOLLY DIDN’T SLEEP very well. She kept waking up for myriad reasons. First, she couldn’t stop thinking about Drago telling her, his eyes stark and lonely, that his mother had given him to his uncle and that he’d never seen her again. Then she kept worrying about Nicky, wondering if he was safe in his crib or if he was awake and crying and feeling alone.

  She knew he wasn’t crying, because she had a baby monitor. But every time she’d drift off to sleep, she’d hear him crying. Lost little boy. Lonely little boy. So she’d pop awake to silence—or as silent as the city could be with the cars rolling by far below, the honk of horns and squealing of brakes reaching high into the sky and finding her ears even in this protected environment.

 
She thought about Drago and Nicky and wondered how she would ever—or could ever—broach that topic. And she thought about getting on a plane and flying across a vast ocean to a place she’d never been. A place where she knew no one. Where she would be as lost as if she’d been plunked down on another planet.

  Finally, Holly gave up and got out of bed. She showered and dressed in her best pair of jeans and a silky top with a cardigan she could put over it if she got chilled. She looked at herself in the mirror and felt woefully inadequate in her simple clothes.

  Unsophisticated. Plain.

  She leaned closer to the mirror, peering into it, trying to figure out what it was about her face that Drago wanted for his perfume. Freckles? She had a few of those, but she thought of them as imperfections rather than characteristics.

  Her nose was small and straight, her cheekbones were on the plump side these days, and her mouth wasn’t exactly a supermodel mouth. Her lips weren’t luscious. They were average. Two pink lines that formed a pretty pout if she pursed her lips.

  Her eyes were blue, but not spectacular. They weren’t cornflowers or sapphires or any of those other things. They were just blue. Maybe sky-blue. Maybe just plain blue.

  Holly brushed her hair into a ponytail and went to check on Nicky. He was awake, looking up at the mobile above him and kicking his little legs. Holly took him out of his crib and went into the kitchen to fix his bottle.

  Drago looked up as she entered. He was sitting at the tall table facing the view, drinking coffee and reading the newspaper. Her heart flipped at the sight of him. She was getting a little tired of reacting so strongly to him, but she knew it wasn’t going away. It had been there from the first moment, and would likely always be there.

  “Buongiorno, cara,” he said.

  “Good morning,” she replied. Nicky pumped his arms and made a loud noise, and she laughed, unable to help herself. When she looked at Drago, he was smiling, though he looked tired. Perhaps he’d had trouble sleeping, too.

  “He is rather, uh, energetic, yes?”

  Holly nodded. “Oh, yes. He keeps me on my toes.”

  She rummaged in the refrigerator for the formula she’d mixed in the wee hours. Nicky hadn’t drunk it all, so she’d put it away. Now she needed to heat it up. Which was hard to do with a squirming baby in her arms. She tried to shift him around, but he kept wiggling.

  “Let me,” Drago said, coming over and holding out his hands.

  Holly’s heart skipped several beats as she gazed up at him. Then she handed over his son. It felt as if someone had wrenched her child from her arms, so much did it hurt to give him to Drago at this very moment.

  A ridiculous notion, but there it was. And then it was gone as Drago stood there with Nicky in his arms, looking suddenly uncertain. He held the baby out from his body with both hands, and Nicky kicked his legs back and forth.

  “You won’t break him,” Holly said. “Cradle him to your chest and be sure to support his head.”

  Drago dragged his gaze from the baby to her. “That’s it?”

  Holly nodded. “That’s it.”

  Drago did as she said, and she turned back to the counter, getting a bowl and filling it with water. She popped it into the microwave to heat and turned back to where Drago stood, looking down at Nicky warily.

  She would have laughed if her heart hadn’t been breaking.

  “He’s so small,” Drago said.

  “But getting bigger every day.”

  Nicky started to fuss and Drago shot her a panicked look.

  “Bounce up and down a little bit,” she said. Drago looked doubtful, but then he started to do as she said, and Nicky quieted. Holly bit her lip to keep from smiling at the sight of strong, handsome Drago di Navarra—playboy, billionaire cosmetics king—bouncing awkwardly with a baby in his arms.

  But then her smile faded when she considered that Nicky was his baby and she still needed to tell him so. After last night, after she’d understood how lonely his life had been, it felt terribly wrong not to tell him he had a son.

  But the moment had to be right. And it wasn’t now.

  She turned to the microwave and took the water out, setting the bottle inside and then reaching for her baby. Drago seemed relieved as he turned him over. Holly bounced Nicky and said nonsensical things to him while Drago went back to his coffee and paper. But rather than pick up the paper, he watched her. She met his gaze, saw the confusion and heat in his beautiful gray eyes.

  “You make me want the strangest things, Holly Craig,” he said softly, and a hot feeling bloomed in her belly, her core.

  “It’s probably just indigestion,” she said flippantly, and he laughed. But her heart thrummed and her blood beat and a fine sheen of sweat broke out on her upper lip and between her breasts.

  What she really wanted to know was what kind of things. That was the question she wanted to ask, but was too scared to. Coward.

  Yes, she was a coward, at least where Drago was concerned. Because there was something about him, something she desperately desired. And if she angered him, if he sent her away, then she wouldn’t get that thing, would she? It wasn’t just sex, though it was that, too.

  It was...something.

  He folded the paper and sat back to sip his coffee with one arm folded over his body. He wore faded jeans and a dark button-down shirt, and his muscles bulged and flexed as he moved his arm. Her knees felt weak.

  “Yes, perhaps you are right,” he said. “Perhaps I just haven’t had enough coffee yet.” He glanced at his watch and frowned. “We need to leave for the airport in an hour. Will you be ready?”

  Her stomach spun. “Yes.”

  “Good.” He stood then. “I have some paperwork to attend to first. I’ll let you know when it’s time.”

  He left her in the kitchen alone, and she fed Nicky while looking out over the early-morning mist wreathing Central Park. She grabbed a cup of coffee and a bagel from the bag of fresh ones sitting on the counter.

  Soon, they were in the car and on their way to JFK airport. Traffic was insane in New York and they spent a lot of time sitting still. Drago worked on his laptop, and Holly gazed out the window while Nicky slept.

  She must have dozed, because suddenly Drago was shaking her awake and she was clawing back the fog in her brain while trying to process what he was saying.

  “Passports,” she finally heard him say. “I need your passports.”

  She fished in her bag and dug them out. Drago took them from her and then she leaned back and closed her eyes again. It was several minutes before the uneasy feeling in her belly finally grabbed her brain and shook hard enough to drag her into alertness.

  But it was already too late. She sat up ramrod straight to find Drago looking at her, his gaze as hard as diamonds, his face some combination of both disgust and rage.

  She’d had every chance in the world, and she’d blown it. Drago wasn’t stupid. He would have realized by now she hadn’t told him the truth. And he would never believe she hadn’t meant to deceive him.

  He held a blue passport in his hand, opened to the first page. He turned it toward her. She didn’t need to look at it to know what it said.

  “Tell me, Holly, precisely how old your child is again. And then I want you to tell me once more about this married man you had an affair with.”

  * * *

  Drago felt as if someone had put a vise around his neck and started twisting. He couldn’t breathe properly and he had to concentrate very, very hard on dragging each breath in and then letting it out again. It was the only thing keeping him from raging at her and demanding a definitive answer right this instant.

  He held the passport in a cold grip and watched the play of emotions across her face. Her eyes were wide, the whites showing big and bright, and her skin was flushed. Her mouth was
open, but there was no sound coming out.

  Then she went deadly pale as all that heat drained away. He kept waiting for her to explain. To tell him why her baby was three months old and not two. Not that it meant anything that the child was three months old. It didn’t make the boy his. He kept telling himself that.

  Drago hadn’t noticed the baby’s real age at first. Hadn’t realized the implications. She’d been soft and sleepy and he hadn’t wanted to wake her, but he’d needed the passports for when they went through the checkpoint to reach the private jets. She’d handed them to him and gone back to her nap, and he’d flipped them open, studying the details as the car crawled closer to the guard stand. He was a detail-oriented man.

  Holly was twenty-four, which he already knew, and she’d been born in Baton Rouge. Nicholas Adrian Craig had been born in New Orleans a little over three months ago.

  That detail had meant nothing to him at first. Nothing until he started to think about how long ago it had been that he’d first met Holly when she’d come to New York. It was a year ago, he remembered that, because he remembered quite well when he’d had to scrap all the photos from the false shoot and start over. The numbers were imprinted on his brain.

  Even then, he’d had a moment’s pause while he’d pictured pretty, virginal Holly rushing home to Louisiana and falling into bed with another man. He didn’t like the way that thought had made him feel.

  But then, as he’d pondered it, as he’d watched her sleep and let his gaze slide over to the sleeping baby in his car seat—the baby with a head of black hair and impossibly long eyelashes—another thought had taken hold.

  And when it did, Drago felt as if someone had punched him in the gut. He’d struggled to breathe for the longest moment.

  There was no way. No way this child could be his. Black hair and long lashes meant nothing. He’d used protection. He always used protection.