The Change in Di Navarra's Plan Read online

  The kiss was hotter than any she’d ever experienced with him. He took her mouth completely, utterly, and she gave herself up to him as if she’d been born to do so. Her legs went around his waist again, locked tight to keep him from leaving her.

  But he had no intention of doing so. He found her entrance—and then he slid inside her. Slowly, but surely. Exquisitely. Holly gasped at the fullness of his possession. She hadn’t remembered it being this way before, but of course it had been.

  She closed her eyes. No, it would have been somewhat more intense simply because she’d been a virgin. She was no longer a virgin, and while she had no experience of sex beyond that single night with Drago, she was more than ready for this moment.

  Drago groaned as he seated himself fully inside her. “Look at me, bella.”

  Holly opened her eyes again, met the intensity of his hot stare. The look on his face made her stomach flip. He was so intense, so beautiful. And, for this moment at least, he was hers.

  “You excite me, Holly. You make me...”

  Whatever he was going to say was lost as he closed his eyes and gripped her hips. His head tilted back, the muscles in his neck cording tight. And then he shifted his hips, withdrawing almost completely before slamming into her again.

  Holly licked her lips as sensation bloomed in her core. A moment later, Drago was there, sucking her tongue into his mouth. She wrapped her arms around him and held on tight while he held her hips in two broad hands and pumped into her again and again.

  She’d forgotten how amazing it was between them. How incredible. How necessary. The tension in her body wound tighter and tighter—until finally it snapped and flung her out over infinite space.

  She fell forever, her body shuddering and trembling as she cried out her pleasure. Her senses were so keen, so sharp. She could smell their passion, a combination of flame and sweat and sex, and she could smell the flowers in the garden, the wine, the food, the mingled perfumes of dozens of people.

  But, mostly, she smelled him—sandalwood, pears, moss and man. He was warm and hard and vibrant, and he owned her body in this moment.

  When she thought she would never move again, when she was boneless and liquid in his arms, he withdrew from her body. And then he turned her so that she was sprawled over the desk, her bottom in the air, her breasts pressed against the wood.

  She spread her arms and gripped either edge of the desk as Drago entered her again. It was different this time, though just as delicious. The pressure was exquisite as he stroked into her. She didn’t think she could come again but he slid his hand around her body, found her sweet spot. Holly moaned and bucked against him as the spring began to tighten once more.

  Too quickly, she shattered, coming in a hot, hard rush of feeling that left her limp and weak.

  Drago rocked into her body again and again—and then he stiffened. Her name was a broken groan in his throat. A moment later, his lips settled on her shoulder and a shiver went through her. He was still inside her, still hard. She tilted her hips up, and Drago gasped.

  “Dio, Holly. What you do to me should be illegal.”

  She couldn’t help but laugh, though it didn’t sound like her usual laugh. No, this was the laugh of a sensual woman. A satisfied woman. It was low and sexy and sultry. She liked it. “Maybe it is illegal,” she said. “Maybe I like it that way.”

  He withdrew from her body and helped her up, turning her until they were pressed together from breast to hip. Her heart beat hard, dizzily. Drago tilted her chin up with a finger and kissed her thoroughly.

  Then he broke the kiss and pressed his forehead to hers. “I’m taking you to bed, Holly. My bed. Any complaints?”

  She thought about the party in the garden, about her baby tucked away in his room, and about the man standing before her. “Not a single one,” she said.

  Drago grinned. “This is what I like to hear.”

  “Obedience?” she asked as she searched for her underwear in the darkened room. But she said it teasingly for once.

  He laughed. “In this instance, absolutely.” He came over and helped her into her dress, his mouth dropped to her shoulder as he slid her zipper up again. “But I promise to make it worth your while, amore mia.”

  * * *

  Drago awoke in that early hour before dawn. Something felt different, and it took him a moment of lying there in the darkness and processing everything to realize what it was.

  He was happy.

  He frowned. But he shouldn’t be happy. Not at all.

  He should be murderously angry with the woman lying beside him. He had been angry. Violently so. But then he’d lost himself in her body and he hadn’t been the same since. He couldn’t seem to dredge up the fury he’d felt earlier. All he had now was hurt and sadness and desire. Plenty of desire.

  Dio, what they’d done to each other last night. He was worn-out, sated. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so utterly drained after sex. Except, perhaps, the last time he’d been with her.

  Drago threw the covers back and got out of bed. Quietly, so as not to wake Holly. She lay on her side, curled up, with her buttocks thrust toward him.

  He had an urge to lean down and nip her.

  Drago resolutely turned away from the woman in his bed and tugged on a pair of jeans he’d thrown over a chair when he’d been changing into his tuxedo. He had no idea when the party had ended or when the last guest had left. He was confident, however, they’d had a good time, regardless of his absence.

  He left the room and padded down to the nursery, which was a few doors away on the same corridor. He’d originally planned to put Holly and her baby in another wing of the house—until he’d discovered the truth about the child.

  Now the baby was his son and he had no idea what that meant to him other than it meant something important. He stepped into the nursery and walked over to the crib. The boy lay on his back, eyes closed, little chest rising and falling evenly.

  Drago stood there and gazed down at the sleeping child while an emotional tornado whirled inside his soul. This was his flesh, his blood. He could see it now. In the dark hair, in the shape of the mouth, in the impossibly long lashes. This child was stamped with the Di Navarra signature traits like a piece of fine art was signed by the maker.

  He felt a rush of feeling in his gut. He wanted to pick the boy up and hold him, but of course he wasn’t about to do so. Even if he knew what he was doing, he didn’t want to wake the baby when he slept so peacefully.

  Drago might not know much about babies, but he knew they didn’t sleep on command or at the convenience of others. If this one was asleep now, best to leave him that way. He watched the boy and thought of his own mother. Had she ever stood over him and felt this rush of emotion and protectiveness like he felt right now?

  Probably not. What he didn’t understand was how she couldn’t feel those things. He didn’t even know this child, not really, and he already knew he would never allow anyone to harm this baby. Not ever.

  His eyes stung with tears. It stunned him, but he wiped them away and stood there a moment longer, clutching the sides of the crib and watching Nicky’s little mouth move in his sleep. So beautiful. So perfect.

  When he finally turned to leave, he drew up short. Holly stood in the doorway, her long reddish-blond hair hanging in disarray over her shoulders and down her back. She was bare-legged, having slipped into his discarded shirt. She looked so fresh and pretty, so innocent and sensual all at once.

  Something twisted in his chest. He wanted to grab her and hold her close, but he didn’t act on the urge.

  “How is he?” she whispered.

  “Asleep.”

  Holly glided over to his side and gazed down at her son. A smile curved the corners of her mouth and Drago felt a strong desire to kiss her. To own her and own that smile
, too.

  “He’s so sweet,” she said softly. “A very good baby.” Then she looked up at him, and his heart clenched at the sadness on her face. It surprised him how much she affected him. How much he wanted to protect her and their baby, too.

  He’d never felt this kind of possessiveness toward anyone. He knew it was because his feelings for her were all tangled up with the knowledge he’d fathered this child, but he couldn’t quite seem to separate them.

  He’d told her to walk away earlier. To take his money and walk away.

  Now he couldn’t imagine letting her go. He didn’t want to let her go. And that frightened him.

  Her brows drew together as she reached up and ran her hand along his jaw. “Don’t worry,” she said, and he knew that some of what he was feeling must have shown on his face. “You’ll be fine with him. He will love you to pieces.”

  His heart seized. “I’m sure you’re right,” he said.

  She slipped her arms around his waist and laid her head on his chest. “I am right. You’ll see. Everything will be perfect.”

  He wanted to believe it, but he’d learned a long time ago that nothing was perfect.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  TIME WAS FLUID. It moved like a river, rolling smoothly and inexorably forward. Sometimes there were rocks. Sometimes there weren’t.

  Holly sighed and looked up from her work. There had been no rocks for days now. She liked it this way. Life with Drago had been one long, immensely pleasurable ride along smooth water these past two weeks.

  The days were pleasant—she played with Nicky, read books and mixed her perfumes. Drago had supplied her with everything she needed, just as he’d promised. He worked from home much of the time, though sometimes he got up early and took a helicopter to his office in Rome. She missed him when he wasn’t at the house. Because when he was, he often came searching for her in the middle of the day.

  They’d made frantic love against the wall of a closet once. He’d come looking for her and found her heading for her workroom. Instead of leading her back to the room they shared, he’d opened the nearest door—a closet—and dragged her inside. It had been incredibly erotic, fumbling with their clothes among the linens, mouth seeking mouth. He’d had to put his hand over her mouth to stop her cries when he’d buried himself deep inside her, their bodies sweating and writhing as they’d flown toward that perfect release. She’d bitten him, and he’d laughed.

  There were other times, too, wonderful times, when they retreated to their room in the middle of the day and made love while the world moved by outside. She loved those moments, when it seemed as if they were the only two people who existed.

  But of course she loved it when Drago came to play with Nicky, too. He’d been wary at first, nervous, but now he was a natural. And Nicky loved him, laughing whenever Drago picked him up and swooped him around the room, pretending he was a bird or a superhero.

  She laughed, too, loving the sound of her two men enjoying each other’s company.

  But, as perfect as life had been lately, she wasn’t worry-free. She and Drago avoided discussing anything to do with the future. What happened now?

  She had no idea, and it worried her. For all her bravery, there were certain things she still couldn’t manage to be vocal about. And the future was one of them.

  There had been delays on the Sky campaign, so she’d told herself to stop thinking about it. Instead, she spent time working on her scents.

  She tested the latest batch of Colette. Then she leaned back, satisfied it was perfect. She’d given some to the maids, and then she’d given some to the cook when she’d expressed an interest. Several of Drago’s staff were now wearing her fragrances, not his. If he’d noticed, he hadn’t said anything.

  And she didn’t think he could help but notice, since she wore the same fragrance herself. Colette was light, fresh and floral. There was lavender, verbena, vanilla, and a few secrets she wouldn’t divulge to anyone. But it was unmistakable, and it tended to flatter most body chemistries. No one had been unable to wear it yet.

  She sniffed the tester again, closing her eyes as she did so. It made her think of home, of Gran’s lovely face. Of the fat blooms in Gran’s garden, and the delicious gumbo on Gran’s stove. She missed Gran so much.

  A tear fell and she dashed it away, sniffling. She was happy, dammit. Happy.

  She had a wonderful baby and a man she loved—

  Holly froze. Love? How could she love Drago di Navarra? What they had was hot, physical and addictive. It was also volatile and chaotic in many ways.

  But it wasn’t emotional. It was sex.

  When it was over, she could walk away and not miss a thing....

  Holly hung her head as a sharp pain carved into her at the thought. Oh, dear heaven, it was emotional. For her anyway. Because the thought of leaving Drago, of not being a part of his life anymore, felt as if she were trying to slice off an arm or leg. She couldn’t imagine life without him. Didn’t want to.

  That didn’t mean it was love, though. He was the father of her baby, and it was inevitable she felt something tender for him, especially as they spent time together and as he doted on his son. In spite of his childhood, in spite of a mother who’d given him up and made him feel unloved, he was capable of so much love when it came to his little boy.

  But what about her? How did he feel about her?

  “Holly.”

  She turned at the sound of his voice, her heart leaping. A single tear spilled down her cheek and she hurriedly wiped it away.

  “What’s wrong?” he said, coming over to her side and kneeling down. He looked so concerned, and her heart turned over.

  “I was thinking of Gran,” she said huskily. It was true.

  He reached up and wiped away another tear that escaped. “I’m sorry you lost her, Holly.”

  She shrugged, though she felt anything but lighthearted at the moment. “That’s life, right?”

  He stood and pulled her into his arms. She went willingly, burying her head against his chest and breathing him in. Oh, how she loved the smell of him. He wasn’t wearing cologne today, but he still smelled like pears to her. Not sweet, but not tart, either. Delicious and crisp and inviting. That was Drago.

  “It is life, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

  They stood that way for a long while, and then she pushed back and looked up at him, smiling through her tears. “I’m fine, Drago. I just miss her sometimes.”

  He took her hand and led her out onto the terrace. They sank onto a settee that was shaded from the sun by a vine-covered arbor. Fat grapes hung down, waiting for someone to pick them.

  “Tell me about her,” he commanded. She would have laughed at his imperious tone if she weren’t touched by his desire to make her feel better.

  “She raised me. I told you that before. I never knew my father, and my mother died when I was young. Gramps had died years before, so it was just me and Gran in her little cottage. She grew so many things, Drago. Vegetables, herbs and flowers. We ate well and we made essences. I had a wonderful childhood. I never thought I was missing out on anything.”

  “And then she died, and you couldn’t keep her home.”

  She nodded. “Gran didn’t have insurance, so when she got sick with cancer she had to borrow against the house. She didn’t want to do it at first, but she really had no choice. And I was positive we’d find a way, once she was cured, to pay the money back.”

  She sucked in a pained breath. “But she wasn’t cured, and I didn’t find a way. After I buried her, there was hardly anything left. The cottage was repossessed. Someone else lives there now.” She swallowed a fresh load of tears, her emotions whirling. “I just hope they love it the way I did.”

  His thumb skated rhythmically over the back of her hand. “I don’t think they
can, Holly. But I bet they love it in their own way.”

  Her throat was tight with emotion. He’d put it so perfectly. “Yes, I’m sure you’re right. It would be impossible not to appreciate its beauty. The house isn’t very big, but Gran had an acre of land and all of it planted and carefully tended. The wife was a gardener, so I’m sure she’s in heaven with all the plants.”

  One of the maids came outside then and asked if they’d like something to drink. Drago asked for a bottle of wine and some water. Holly could smell the scent of Colette in the air. Drago watched the maid walk away.

  “Don’t think I haven’t noticed that everyone smells similar to you,” he said mildly.

  She shrugged. “I was certain you must have. Are you angry?”

  He laughed. “No one who works here is required to wear Navarra products, cara. For all I know, the housekeeper mixes up her own scents in her kitchen.”

  “She might, but that’s not what she’s wearing right now,” Holly said.

  “It’s...different. I assume it’s your Colette?”

  Joy washed through her. “Yes. Gran and I made it together.”

  He looked thoughtful. “I think I like it. It’s fresh, not overwhelming. Floral, but not cloying.”

  Holly nodded eagerly. “Yes, that’s it exactly. I haven’t found a woman yet whose body chemistry didn’t complement the fragrance. It’s different on everyone, but the same, too. If that makes sense.”

  He laughed. “You are talking to a man who hears a hundred different pitches a week for things that are the same but different. Sometimes it makes sense. Often, it’s—how do you Americans say it?—bullshit.”

  “And is it bullshit this time?”

  He pursed his lips in thought. “Perhaps not. But I will need more information.” His gaze slid down her body, back up again, and she tingled everywhere he looked. “I will need a thorough, private demonstration, Holly Craig.”

  “I think I can arrange that,” she told him. “Let me speak to the research-and-development department. I’ll get back with you.”