The Change in Di Navarra's Plan. Lynn Raye Harris
was going to anyway. “Then consider yourself busy now.”
* * *
Holly had never been to a fancy restaurant in her life, but she was in one now—in a private room, no less—sitting across from a man who might just be the most handsome man she’d ever seen in her life. The longer she spent in Drago di Navarra’s company, the more fascinated she was.
Oh, he hadn’t started out well, that was for sure—but he’d improved tremendously upon further acquaintance. He’d actually turned out to be...nice.
There was only one problem. Holly frowned as she listened to him talk about the photo shoot earlier. She wasn’t a model, but she’d stood there in Central Park and let people fuss over her, dress her in a flowing purple gown, paint her with makeup, tease her hair—and then she’d stepped in front of the camera and froze, wondering how she’d let this thing go so far.
She’d only wanted a chance to tell Drago di Navarra about her perfumes, but she hadn’t known where they were going or what he expected until it was too late. She’d choked when she should have explained. But she’d been worried that if she explained who she was and what she wanted, he would be angry with her.
And that wasn’t going to work, was it?
Still, as she’d stood there, frozen, she’d known it was over. Her dream was dead, because she was going to have to explain to all these people watching her that she truly had no idea what she was doing.
But then Drago had walked onto the shoot and smiled at her. She’d smiled back, and suddenly the photographer was happy. She was certain she’d still been awkward and out of place, but everyone had seemed delighted with her. They’d changed her clothes, her hair, her makeup several times. And she’d stood in front of that camera, thinking of her perfumes and wondering how on earth she was going to explain herself to Drago, until someone finally told her they were done.
Then Drago had whisked her off for dinner and she’d clammed up like a frightened schoolgirl. She was still wearing the last dress they’d put on her, a pretty, silky sheath in eggplant and a pair of gold Christian Louboutin pumps. This entire experience was a fantasy come to life in many ways. She was in New York City, being wined and dined by one of the most eligible bachelors in the world, and she wanted to remember every moment of it.
And yet everything about this day was wrong, because she’d come here to pitch her perfume, not model for Navarra Cosmetics. How could she tell him? How could she find the perfect moment to say “Oh, Drago, thank you for the dinner, but what I really want to talk to you about is my perfume”?
Still, she had to. And soon. But every time she tried to open her mouth and tell him, something stopped her. There were interruptions, distractions. When he reached across the table and took her hand in his, every last thought in her head flew out the window.
“You were fabulous today, Holly,” he said. And then he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed them against the back of her hand. A sizzle of electricity shot through her, gathered in her feminine core and made her ache in ways she’d never quite experienced before.
She’d had a boyfriend back home. She’d been kissed. They’d even gone further than that—but she’d never felt the moment was right to go all the way.
And then he’d broken up with her. Taken up with that catty Lisa Tate instead. It still stung.
You’re too selfish, Holly, he’d said. Too focused on your damn perfume.
Yes, she was focused. Holly dragged herself back to the present, tried so hard to ignore the skittering of her pulse and the throbbing deep in her core. She knew what this was. She might not have had sex before, but she wasn’t stupid. She’d experienced desire with Colin, but she’d just never got to the point where she’d tumbled over the edge into hedonism.
She could imagine it with this man. Her heart skipped as she met Drago di Navarra’s smoky gray eyes. Tell him, Holly. Tell him now....
“Thank you,” she said, dropping her gaze from the intensity of his as her pulse shot forward again.
“You’re quite a natural. I predict you will go far in this business if you don’t allow yourself to be corrupted by it.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but his cell phone rang. He glanced down at the display, and then said something in Italian that could have been a curse.
“You must excuse me,” he said, picking up the phone. “This is important.”
“Of course,” she replied, but he’d already answered the call. She sat with her hands in her lap and waited for him to finish.
Holly gazed at the silk wallpaper and the gilt fixtures, and felt as if she’d landed on another planet. What was she doing here? How had she ended up in the company of a billionaire, having dinner with him as if it were a daily occurrence?
Everything about her trip to New York thus far was so different from her usual experience that she could hardly get her bearings.
Why couldn’t she seem to say what she needed to say? She’d feel better if she had her samples. With those, she could find her way through this strange landscape. But her samples were in her case, which was stowed in his car. That had given her pause, but he’d convinced her that her belongings would be fine while they ate dinner.
If only she had her case, she could open it up and pull out her samples. She could explain her concepts, sell him on the beauty of Colette, the last perfume she and her grandmother had worked on together. It was the best one, though her ideas for others were infinite. She got a tingle of excitement just thinking about the blend of smooth essences, water and alcohol that produced the final product.
Drago finished his call and apologized for the interruption. “Forgive me, bella mia,” he said. “But the beauty industry never sleeps.”
“It’s fine,” she told him, smiling. Her heart was beating fast again, but she’d finally settled on a plan of action. Once she was reunited with her case, she would explain to this man why she was really here. She was certain he couldn’t say no once she’d given him a whiff of Colette.
Their dinner came then, and Holly found herself relaxing in Drago’s company. He was completely charming. He was attentive, sending most of his calls to voice mail, and interested in what she had to say.
She told him about Louisiana, about her grandmother—without mentioning perfume, since that had to wait for her samples—and about the trip to New York on the bus.
He blinked. “You came all this way on a bus?”
Holly dropped her gaze to her plate as heat seared her cheeks. “I couldn’t afford to fly,” she said. But she had spent nearly everything she had scraping together the money for this brief trip. Just to talk to this man, for pity’s sake.
Which she was doing, but not in the way she needed to. Not yet. She took a sip of her white wine and let it sit on her tongue for a moment while she sorted the flavors—the base notes were of wood and smoke while the top notes were floral. Delicious. Her nose was far better than her taste buds, but she could still sort flavors fairly well by taste.
“You really are fresh off the family farm,” he said.
But it wasn’t an insult, not this time, and she didn’t take it as such. He seemed rather...wondering, truthfully. “I suppose I am,” she replied.
“With big New York dreams.” His tone was a bit less friendly this time, but she didn’t let it bother her. Or maybe it was the wine that didn’t let it bother her.
She shrugged. “Doesn’t everyone have dreams?”
His gaze slipped over her face, and she felt heat curling in her belly, her toes. Oh, how she never wanted this night to end. She wanted to drink champagne under the stars, and she wanted to dance in his arms until dawn.
His hand settled over hers, and a shiver prickled down her spine. A delicious shiver. Her entire body seemed to