this was more appropriate.”
They sat down and a maid appeared with a tray laden with small appetizers—olives, sliced meats, tiny pastries filled with cheese, cucumber sandwiches, ham sandwiches and delicate chocolates to finish. It wasn’t much, but it was precisely the kind of thing she needed just now.
Holly dug in to the food, filling her plate and taking careful bites so as not to seem like a ravenous animal. She might not be accustomed to fancy New York society, but her grandmother had at least taught her the art of being graceful. The maid appeared again with a bottle of wine. Holly started to protest, but Drago shushed her. Then he poured the beautiful deep red liquid into two glasses.
“You should appreciate this,” he said. “A Château Margaux of excellent vintage.”
As if she even knew what that meant. But she did understand scents and flavors. Holly lifted the wine and swirled it before sniffing the bowl. The wine was rich and full and delicious to the nose. She took a sip, expecting perfection. It was there. And she knew, as she set the glass down again, it was the sort of thing she could never afford.
When she glanced up, Drago was watching her. His gray eyes were piercing, assessing, and she met them evenly. So unlike the Holly of a year ago, who’d stammered and gulped and been a nervous wreck in his presence. It took a lot to meet that stare and not fold, but she was getting better at it.
“Describe the wine to me,” he said, his voice smooth and commanding. As if he were accustomed to telling people what to do and then having them do it. Which, of course, he was.
Holly bristled, though it was a simple request. She was tired and stressed and not in the mood to play games with him. Not in the mood to be devoured like a frightened rabbit.
“Taste it yourself,” she said. “I’m sure you can figure it out.”
She didn’t expect him to laugh. “You have made it your mission in life to argue with me, it seems.”
“I wouldn’t say it’s a mission, as that implies I give you a lot of thought. But I’m not quite the same person you ordered around last year. I won’t pretend I am.”
She was still more of that person than she wanted to be, but she was working very hard on being bold and brave. On not letting his overwhelming force of a personality dominate her will.
Not that he needed to know that.
He leaned back and sipped his wine. “I didn’t force you to do anything you didn’t want to do, Holly. As I recall, you wanted to do the same things I did. Very much, in fact.”
Holly tried to suppress the heat flaring in her cheeks. Impossible, of course. They were red and he would know it. “The wine is delicious,” she said, picking up the glass and studying the color. “The top notes are blackberry and cassis. The middle might be rose, while the bottom hints at oak and coffee.” A small furrow appeared between Drago’s brows.
“Ah, you are embarrassed by what happened between us,” he said softly.
Her heart skipped a beat. “Embarrassed? No. But I see no need in discussing it. It’s in the past and I’d like to just forget the whole thing.”
As if she could.
His nostrils flared, as if he didn’t quite like that pronouncement. “Forget? Why would you want to forget something so magnificent, Holly?”
She picked up the wine and took another sip, kept her eyes on the red liquid instead of on him. “Why not? You did. You refused to listen to me and threw me out. I’m sure you promptly forgot about me once I was gone.”
His handsome face creased in a frown. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy our evening together.”
“I really don’t want to talk about this,” she said. Because it hurt, and because it made her think of her innocent child in the other room and the fact that his father sat here with her now and didn’t even know it. Hadn’t managed to even consider the possibility.
No, he thought she’d spent the night with him in order to sell her fragrances. And then, when that didn’t work, he thought she’d run home and got pregnant right after. As if she had the sense of a goat and the morals of an alley cat.
Yes, she could tell him the truth...but she didn’t know him, didn’t trust him. And Nicky was too precious to her to take that kind of chance with.
“What you see here is not who I have always been,” he said, spreading an arm to encompass the roof with its expensive greenery. “It may appear as if I were born with money, but I assure you I was not. I know what it’s like to work hard, and what it’s like to want something so badly you’d sell your soul for it. I’ve seen it again and again.”
Holly licked suddenly dry lips. Was he actually sharing something with her? Something important? Or was he simply trying to intimidate her in another way? “But Navarra Cosmetics has been around for over fifty years,” she said. “You are a Navarra.”
He studied the wine in his glass. “Yes, I am a Navarra. That doesn’t mean I was born with a silver spoon, as you Americans say. Far from it.” He drew in a breath. “But I’m here now, and this is my life. And I do not appreciate those who try to take advantage of who I am for their own ends.”
Holly’s heart hardened. She knew what he was saying. What he meant. Her body began to tremble. She wanted to tell him how wrong he was. How blind. But, instead, she pushed her chair back and stood. She couldn’t take another moment of his company, another moment of his smugness.
“I think I’m finished,” she said, disappointment and fury thrashing together inside her.
Of course he wasn’t telling her anything important. He was warning her. Maybe he hadn’t been born rich, maybe he’d been adopted or something, but she didn’t care. He was still a heartless bastard with a supreme sense of arrogance and self-importance. He could only see what he expected to see.
If she didn’t need the money so much, she’d walk out on him. Let him be the one to suffer—not that he would suffer much if she didn’t do the Sky campaign. He’d find another model, like he had last year, and he’d eventually give up the idea of her being the right person for the job.
No, the only one who would suffer if she walked out was Nicky. She wasn’t walking out. But she wasn’t putting up with this, either. She was going back inside and collecting her baby. Then she was going to her room and staying there for the evening.
Before she could walk away, Drago reached out and encircled her wrist with his strong fingers. They sizzled into her, sending sparks of molten heat to her core. Her body ached when he touched her, and it made her angry. Why hadn’t she ached when Colin had touched her? Why hadn’t she wanted him the way she wanted Drago di Navarra?
Life would be so much easier if she had. Lisa Tate would have never entered the picture. Nicky might be Colin’s son, and they might be married and living in her cottage in New Hope while he worked his lawn-care business and she made perfume for the little shop she’d always wanted to open.
They could have been a happy little family and life could have been perfect. She might have never gotten a chance to sell her fragrances to a big company, but Gran would have understood. Gran had only ever wanted her to be happy. She knew that now. A year ago, she’d thought she had to succeed in
