Italian Bachelors: Unforgotten Lovers. Lynn Raye Harris

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      “I don’t think it’s possible,” she said. And it wasn’t. How would she go to New York with a three-month-old baby in tow? She didn’t think that was what Drago had in mind at all.

      “Of course it is. I will pay you far more than you earn in that casino. You will do the shoot and any appearances that are needed, and you will be handsomely rewarded. It’s a win for you, Holly.”

      She thought of her baby in his secondhand crib, of the tiny, dingy apartment she shared with Gabi. The air conditioner was one window unit that rattled and coughed so badly she was never certain it would keep working. The carpet was faded and torn, and the appliances were always one usage away from needing repairs.

      It was a dump, a dive, and she would do just about anything to get out of there and take her baby to a better life.

      But what if he didn’t mean it? What if he was toying with her? What if this was simply another way to punish her for not telling him the truth in New York?

      She wouldn’t put it past him. A man who threw her out and then refused all contact? Who didn’t know he had a son, because he was so damn arrogant as to think she would want to contact him for any other reason than to tell him something important?

      He was capable of it. More than capable.

      “I want a contract,” she said. “I want everything spelled out, legal and binding, and if it’s legit, then I’ll do it.”

      Because what choice did she have? She wasn’t stupid, and she wasn’t going to turn this opportunity down when it could mean everything to her child. Once she had a contract, signed and ironclad, she would feel much more in control.

      “Fine.”

      Holly blinked. She hadn’t expected him to agree to that.

      “I hope you’re certain about this,” she said, unable to help herself when her teeth were still chattering and her body still trembling. What if this was a mistake? What if she were opening up Pandora’s box with this act? How could she not be opening Pandora’s box, when she had a three-month-old baby, and this man didn’t know he was a father? “You know I’m not a model. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

      “Which is precisely why you’re correct for the campaign. Sky is for the real woman who wants to recapture a certain something about her life. Her youth, her innocence, her sex appeal.”

      Irritation slid into her veins. “I’ve smelled Sky. It’s not bad, but it’s not all that, either.”

      The match-scent of anger rolled from him again. Why, oh, why did she feel the need to antagonize him? Just take the money and shut up, she told herself. The silence between them was palpable. And then he spoke. “Ah, yes, because you are an expert perfumer, correct?”

      Sarcasm laced his voice. It made her madder than she already was, regardless that she knew she shouldn’t push him.

      “You have no idea. As I recall, you threw me out before I could show you.”

      He sat back in the limo then, his long limbs relaxing as if he were about to take a nap. She knew better, though. He was more like a panther, stretching out and pretending to relax when what he really planned was to bring down a gazelle.

      “It takes years to learn how to blend perfumes. It also takes very intense training, and a certain sensitivity to smell. While you may have enjoyed mixing up essences you’ve ordered off the internet for all your friends, and while many of them may have told you how fabulous you are, that’s hardly the right sort of training to create perfume for a multinational conglomerate, now, is it?”

      Rage burned low in her belly, along with a healthy dose of uncertainty. It wasn’t that she wasn’t good, but she often felt the inadequacy of her origins in the business. She had no curriculum vitae, no discernable job experience. How could she communicate to anyone that she was worthy of a chance without backing it up with fragrance samples?

      She glanced out the window, but they weren’t quite to her neighborhood yet. So she turned back to him and tried very hard not to tell him to go to hell. He was so arrogant, so certain of himself.

      And she suddenly burned to let him know it.

      “It’s gratifying that you know so much about me already,” she said, a razor edge to her voice. “But perhaps you didn’t know that my grandmother was born in Grasse and trained there for years before she met her husband and moved to Louisiana. She gave up her dreams of working for a big house, but she never gave up the art. And she taught it to me.”

      It wasn’t the kind of formal instruction he would expect, but Gran had been extremely good at what she did. And Holly was, too.

      She heard him pull in a breath. “That may be, but it still does not make you an expert, bella mia.”

      The accusation smarted. “Again, until you’ve tried my scents, you can’t really know that, can you?” She crossed her arms and tilted up her chin. Hell, why not go for it? What did she have to lose? “In fact, I want that in the contract. You will allow me to present my work to you if I model for your campaign.”

      He laughed softly. The sound scraped along her nerve endings. But not quite in a bad way. No, it was more like heated fingers stroking her sensitive skin. She wanted more.

      “You realize that I will say yes to this, don’t you? But why not? It costs me nothing. I can still say no to your fragrances, even if I agree to let you show them to me.”

      “I’m aware of that.”

      She believed him to be too good a businessman to turn her fragrances away out of spite. He hadn’t built Navarra Cosmetics into what it was today by being shortsighted. She was counting on that.

      And yet there was much more at risk here, wasn’t there? They were getting closer and closer to her home, and she had a baby that was one half of his DNA.

      But why should that matter?

      He was the sperm donor. She was the one who’d sacrificed everything to take care of her child. She was the one who’d gone through her entire pregnancy alone and with only a friend for support. She was the one who’d brought him into the world, and the one who sat up with him at night, who worried about him and who loved him completely.

      This man hadn’t cared enough about the possibility of a child to allow her even to contact him. He’d thrown her out and self-importantly gone about his life as if she’d never existed.

      A life that had included many trysts with models and actresses. Oh, yes, she’d known all about that even when she hadn’t wanted to. His beautiful, deceptive face had stared out at her from the pages of the tabloids in the checkout line. While she’d been buying the few necessities she could afford to keep herself alive and healthy, he’d been wining and dining supermodels in Cannes and Milan and Venice.

      She’d despised him for so long that to be with him now, in this car, was rather surreal. She had a baby with him, but she didn’t think he’d like that at all. And she wasn’t going to tell him. He’d done nothing to deserve to know.

      Nothing except father Nicky.

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