Italian Bachelors: Unforgotten Lovers: The Change in Di Navarra's Plan / Bound by the Italian's Contract / Visconti's Forgotten Heir. Elizabeth Power

      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.

      * * *

      Drago was not enjoying himself. He’d been expected to attend this event for the past month—a charity gala at the Met—but his attention was elsewhere. The woman on his arm—a beautiful heiress he’d met at a recent business dinner—bored him. He didn’t remember her boring him when he’d met her only a few weeks ago. He remembered that he’d been interested.

      She was lovely and articulate, and she had her fingers in many causes. But he saw beneath that veneer tonight. She had causes because she needed something to do with her money and her time.

      She didn’t care about the people she helped. She did it because it was expected of her. And because it brought her attention. He remembered seeing her in the paper only a couple of days ago, being interviewed about some fashion show she’d attended in Europe.

      Even that wouldn’t have been enough to make him think she didn’t really care. No, it was her behavior tonight. Her need to be seen on his arm and her ongoing catty chatter about some of the other people in the room. As if she were better than them. As if he were, too, and needed to be warned about them.

      The disconcerting thing was this: he wasn’t quite certain any of these things would have truly bothered him just a few days ago. But now he thought of Holly sitting in that squalid apartment and feeding her baby a bottle, and a hot feeling bloomed in his chest.

      Holly knew what it was like to struggle.