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

Drago lifted her limp, cool hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss there. “Ciao, bella. It was lovely to see you again.”

And then, before she could utter another word, he strode from her side, out the front doors and down the sidewalk. His apartment wasn’t far. His driver would have come to pick him up, but he wanted to walk. He needed to walk if he were to quench this strange fire for Holly Craig, before he stormed into his home and took her into his arms.

It was inconvenient to want a woman he’d once thrown out of his life. But he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

He reached his building in less than fifteen minutes. The doorman swung the entry open with a cheery good-evening. Drago returned the greeting, and then he was in his private elevator and on his way up to the penthouse.

It was quiet when he let himself in. He glanced at his watch. It wasn’t late, only nine-thirty. But his apartment was just as always. There was no television blaring, no one sitting in the living room, no baby on the floor surrounded by toys.

He found that oddly disappointing. He didn’t care much for babies, but when he’d walked in earlier and seen Sylvia playing with the child while Holly made up a bottle, he’d had an odd rush of warmth in his chest. He’d dismissed it as something minor; a physical malady like acid reflux.

But now he felt strangely hollow, as if that warmth would rush back if Holly were here with her son. He strode through the living room and toward the hall where the bedrooms were, his heart pounding. What if she’d left? What if she’d changed her mind and taken her opportunity to leave while he was out?

He’d taken the precaution of informing his driver—and the doorman—to alert him if she did, but no one had called. So why did he feel anxious?

A sound came from the direction of the kitchen, and he stopped, his heart thumping steadily as his ears strained to hear it again. It was late enough that the staff he employed would have gone home for the day, so he didn’t expect to find any of them lurking about the kitchen.

He stopped abruptly as his gaze landed on the figure of a woman standing at the counter, her long blond hair caught in a loose ponytail. She was wearing yoga pants and a baggy T-shirt that looked as if it had been washed so frequently the color had faded to a flat red, one shade removed from pink.

She reached up to open the microwave and took out a bowl of something. Then she set a baby bottle inside it. Something about watching her warm the bottle hit him square in the gut. He’d never considered his life to be lacking, never felt as if he were missing out by not having a wife and children. He didn’t know how to be close to anyone, not really, and he didn’t know how to bridge that gap.

He’d always been on the outside looking in. And it had never bothered him until this moment. It was not a pleasant sensation to feel like an outsider in his own house.

But he did. And it made him feel empty in a way he had not in a very long time.

CHAPTER SEVEN (#u7a4c4a26-b33e-537e-bdd9-bc5118cd1434)

SOME SIXTH SENSE told Holly she wasn’t alone. The skin on the back of her neck prickled and heat gathered in her core. She knew who it was. She didn’t have to see him to know. She could feel him. Smell him.

She turned slowly, nonchalantly, her heart pounding in her breast. The sight of him in that tuxedo nearly made her heart stop. He was dark, beautiful, his gray eyes heated and intense as he watched her. He looked...broody, as if he’d had a bad evening. As if something had gone awry.

Was it wrong that her heart soared to think his date might not have worked out?

“You’re back early,” she said, keeping her voice as even as she could. Hoping he didn’t hear the little catch in her throat.

“Perhaps I am not,” he said, moving toward her, all hot handsome male. His hands were in his pockets and his jacket was open to reveal the perfect line of studs holding his shirt closed. His bow tie was still tight, as if he were going to an event instead of coming from one. “How would you know which it is?”

Holly turned to check the bottle. Not quite ready yet, so she dropped it back in the water. Then she shrugged. “I wouldn’t. I’m just guessing. You don’t strike me as the ‘home and in bed by ten o’clock’ type.”

The moment she said it, she wished she could call the words back. Heat flared in her cheeks, her throat, at the mention of Drago and a bed. Good grief, what was the matter with her?

Drago arched one eyebrow, and she knew he wasn’t about to let her get away with that statement without comment.

“Oh, I most definitely am the ‘home and in bed’ type. Sometimes, I like to skip the evening out and go straight to bed.”

Holly deliberately pretended not to understand. “How tragic for you. I would have thought the rich and dynamic CEO of a major corporation dedicated to making people beautiful would like to see and be seen.”

“There’s a time for everything, cara mia,” he said, his voice low and sexy and relentless in the way it made vibrations of pleasure move through her body.

She’d spent the past few hours thinking about him. Wondering what he was doing tonight, if he was waltzing under the stars with some beauty, captivating her the way he’d once captivated Holly. He was a mesmerizing man when he set his mind to it. It had depressed her to think of him turning his charm onto another woman.

She told herself the only reason for her feelings was because she was here, in his apartment again, where he’d made love to her and created a baby. Her feelings were only natural in this setting. They would abate as soon as she was gone from this place.

He came closer, until she could smell him. Until her senses were wrapped in Drago di Navarra and the cool, clean, expensive fragrance of him. It wasn’t just his cologne, which was subtle as always. It was him. His fragrance.

She wanted to turn and press her cheek to his chest, wanted to slide her fingers along the satin of his lapels, and just pretend for a moment that he was hers.

“Yes, and now it’s time to feed Nicky,” she said, her voice trembling more than she would have liked as she checked the bottle again. It was almost ready, but not quite. She set it back in the water with shaking fingers and then turned to lean against the marble counter. “So tell me all about your evening. Was it fun? Did you see anybody cool?”

He blinked. “Anybody cool?”

“You know. A movie star or something.”

He shrugged. “There might have been. I wasn’t paying attention.”

Holly could only shake her head. Drago was a law unto himself, a man unimpressed with such fickle things as fame. It would take a very great deal to impress him, she imagined.

“Oh, yes, I suppose these things are ever so tedious for you,” she said, with more than a little sarcasm. “Dress up in expensive finery, drink champagne, eat fancy hors d’oeuvres and hobnob with celebrities. What a life.”

“Actually,” he said, “it is tedious sometimes. Especially when the people one is with are shallow and self-absorbed.”

Holly wanted to say something about how he was shallow and self-absorbed, but she suddenly couldn’t do it. She should, but she couldn’t seem to make the words come out. Because, right now, he looked a little lost. A little bleak. She wasn’t sure why, but from the moment she’d turned around and seen him there, she’d been thinking of a lost and lonely soul.

Completely incongruous, since Drago di Navarra didn’t have a soul. She tried to call up her anger with him, but it wouldn’t surface.

She shrugged. “There are shallow people everywhere. I could tell you tales about the casino, believe me.”

His eyes were hot and sharp. “And then there are people like you.”

Her heart sped up. She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. “What does that mean?”

He came and put his hands on her shoulders, stunning her. A shiver slid down her spine, a long slow lazy glide that left flame in its wake. Her body knew the touch of his. Craved it.

Holly felt frantic. No, no, no. It had hurt too much the last time she’d let him touch her. Not during, but after. When he’d sent her away. When she’d known she would never see him again. When he’d shattered her stupid, innocent heart into a million pieces. She hadn’t been in love with him—how could she have been in only one night?—but he’d made her feel special, wonderful, beautiful. And she’d mourned because his rejection meant she hadn’t been any of those things.

She could not endure those feelings again.

“What do you think it means?” he asked.

Holly sucked in a breath as doubt and confusion ricocheted through her head. “I think it means you’re trying to seduce me again.”

He laughed, and warmth curled deep inside her. She loved his laugh. He seemed a different man when he laughed. More open and carefree. He was too guarded, too cold otherwise. She could like him when he laughed.

“Dio, you amuse me, cara. Perhaps I was too hasty last year.”

She refused to let those words warm her or vindicate her. “Perhaps you were,” she said shakily.

His hands moved up and down her arms. Gently, sensually. She wanted to moan with everything he made her feel. “And yet here we are, with an entire evening to kill.”