by Abby Green
In shock, she took in what had to be thousands of pounds worth of clothes for her and Lola, hanging up or put away in drawers. The temporary nursery had been moved to a little ante-room off the bathroom, and was kitted out with even more accessories.
A potent memory of her father made her vision blur with anger. At the age of thirteen she’d been mesmerised when she’d seen the profusion of beautiful clothes he’d bought for her—until she’d realised to her shame and horror that they were all either too big or too small. And that he’d bought them specifically for her to wear socially, at his side, not out of any genuine paternal affection. He’d forced her to wear them, reading her acute embarrassment as ungrateful thanks. He’d had no comprehension of a daughter on the threshold of puberty, with a rapidly developing body.
And now Rico had taken a decision to do more or less the same thing. At no point during the day had he even asked her opinion. Or suggested that they go shopping together. Not that she would have complied, she knew grimly, but it would have been nice to be consulted. He was buying them—throwing money at the problem.
Gypsy gathered up some of the baby clothes, with their ostentatious designer labels, and stalked into the living room, where Rico was standing at the window with Lola held high, pointing things out. He looked around, those grey eyes glowing, only to rapidly cool as he took in Gypsy’s stiff stance.
‘What’s the meaning of this?’ She held the clothes out stiffly, some falling to the ground.
Rico’s eyes flashed as he turned to face her. ‘You’re both in dire need of new wardrobes. I can provide that.’
‘I’ve already told you,’ Gypsy spat, ‘we don’t need you, or your money. To spend money on clothes this expensive is pure extravagance. There’s enough in there to clothe an entire village of babies, not just one. As it is, Lola’s growing so fast that she’ll have outgrown most of them before she can even wear them.’
Rico’s face tightened, a muscle moving in his jaw, and Gypsy felt like a complete bitch. Because she had the strangest sensation that she’d just hurt him.
‘I will provide for my daughter. That is non-negotiable. And while you are with me, under my roof, you will not go outside the door looking like a bag lady.’
‘God forbid,’ Gypsy muttered caustically, somehow relieved that Rico was retaliating, ‘that we should embarrass the great Rico Christofides.’ She put down the rest of the clothes and held her hands out for Lola, who squirmed to get to Gypsy. ‘It’s time for her dinner now.’
After an interminable moment full of crackling tension Rico finally handed her over, and bit out, ‘I’ll be in my study for the rest of the evening. If you’re so concerned about the excess of clothes, take out what you think she won’t need and I’ll have them sent back.’
And then he walked out, and Gypsy inexplicably felt like a complete heel.
A couple of hours later she sat by Lola’s cot, watching her fight against sleep, her eyes getting heavier and heavier. And Gypsy was still fighting that feeling of guilt. Because Rico was all at once confirming every one of her worst suspicions and yet confounding them at the same time. The image of Lola in his arms earlier was still clear, and she knew she’d been a coward in not acknowledging how it had made her feel—knew too that her knee-jerk reaction to the clothes had come from somewhere that had much more to do with painful memory than the present situation.
In his study at the same moment, Rico looked impossibly grim as he picked up his phone. When someone answered, he bit out tersely, ‘Gypsy Butler. I want you to find out everything you can about her. Money is no object.’
When he put the phone down Rico took another gulp of whisky from the bulbous glass and passed a weary hand over his face. Women caused not a ripple in his life: they were there, they were willing, and he always chose the most beautiful and experienced. Until that night, when everything he’d thought he knew had blown up in his face…
No woman, ever, had made him want to simultaneously throttle her and kiss her. His mouth curled up in a feral smile. Kissing Gypsy certainly would help assuage the near-constant ache in his groin, but he could well imagine the resistance she would undoubtedly put up. She tensed whenever he came near her, but he could see the signs of attraction. It hummed between them like a current of electricity.
Domination of this woman was rapidly becoming his life’s obsession, and sensual domination over her rebellious nature was going to be sweet indeed. For the first time since he could remember work was taking a back seat in his life. Going shopping was something he hadn’t indulged in in a long time. It had reminded him uncomfortably of the night when he’d met Gypsy in the club, and he had ducked into an all-night pharmacy to get protection, like an out-of-control teenager.
He’d felt uncomfortably exposed when she’d pointed out his impulsive gesture to spoil his daughter. How could he explain to Gypsy that he wanted the chance to lavish everything on Lola that he’d been denied up till now? He’d felt exposed and weak; no one had made him feel like that in a long time and he didn’t welcome it.
Perhaps when he’d had Gypsy again he would be able to see clearly how best to slot her into his life. She had to want something, despite her apparent moralistic outrage at his wealth; she’d made a big song and dance earlier, insisting on paying for everything—Rico couldn’t remember the last time a woman had insisted on paying for anything—but once he knew what it was Gypsy wanted, what her weakness was, he would manipulate her to his ends. The most important thing for now was to ensure that he bound both Gypsy and Lola to him as tightly as he could. They weren’t going anywhere for the foreseeable future.
The following evening Gypsy fumed and seethed. She paced along the huge window in the living room and glared at the view. The apartment was quiet. Mrs Wakefield had gone home and Lola was asleep.
When they’d woken that morning Gypsy had found a note from Rico.
I’ll be at the office all day. Call me if you need anything.
He’d listed a number. Gypsy had breathed a sigh of relief, but had momentarily felt an uncomfortable spiking of something suspiciously like disappointment.
It had been later, when she’d been in the hallway, putting the last of the bags full of new clothes she’d decided she and Lola didn’t need—which was most of them—that she’d noticed the tabloid newspapers.
Mrs Wakefield had confided to her that they were her weakness, and that Rico got them delivered each day for her. Something had caught her eye, and she’d opened the top one out to see a grainy picture of Rico, herself and Lola in the park the day before.
Rico had Lola in his arms, and Gypsy stood to one side smiling. She couldn’t even remember that she had been smiling, and it felt like a treachery to see it now. The headline screamed out: Tycoon Rico’s secret family!
In horror, Gypsy had thrown the paper down. With anger boiling upwards she’d tried to call him, but hadn’t been able to get past the clipped secretary who’d said officiously, ‘I’m terribly sorry but Mr Christofides cannot be disturbed at the moment if it’s not urgent. I’ll pass on a message?’
Gypsy had bitten out, ‘Tell Mr Christofides that his secret family would like to talk to him.’
He’d planned it—she knew he must have planned it. To make sure that it was out there in the public domain that he had a child. So that they wouldn’t be able to make a move without being followed.
Sure enough, when Gypsy had rung down to the doorman he’d sounded bewildered and confirmed that, yes, there suddenly seemed to be hundreds of photographers outside the door. To think that she had been surprised by Rico’s apparent willingness to spend time with them.
The apartment door opened at that moment and Gypsy turned round, hands clenched into fists at her sides. With her heart thumping she waited, and watched as Rico’s powerful frame appeared in the doorway. He was tugging at his tie and looked tired. She quashed the concern.
‘Thank you for calling me back today.’ Sarcasm dripped from her voice.
; His eyes burned a dark grey, no expression on his face. ‘I got the message.’
Gypsy was starting to shake at his non-response. ‘Do you know that if I hadn’t seen the tabloids and had gone out with Lola we would have been ambushed by the hundreds of photographers outside? As it was we couldn’t leave all day, and to keep a toddler cooped up in an apartment—even one as large as this—is not a pleasurable experience.’
He walked further into the room and pulled off his tie, flicking it down onto a sofa while his large hand went to open the top button of his shirt. Gypsy wanted to back away, but couldn’t as the window was already at her back.
‘I heard about the tabloids getting pictures. There were bodyguards waiting outside. You would have been protected.’
Gypsy threw up her hands. ‘Oh, I’m sorry—is that something I’m just meant to know by osmosis? And what good would bodyguards have been with a hundred paparazzi snapping pictures of me and my child?’
He came closer, and Gypsy could see the glorious olive tone of his skin, that stunning bone structure, and the slightly crooked nose which hinted at a past which contained violence. Despite his urbane exterior, a sense of barely leashed danger oozed out of him.
His mouth was grim. ‘I didn’t call you back because I was involved in intricate negotiations and could not break away.’
Gypsy smiled bitterly. ‘Oh, I’m sure you were. Nothing is as important as negotiations, or making your next million.’
His eyes flashed at that, but he just said, ‘I knew you and Lola were safe. If I’d thought for a second you were calling about something serious—’
Gypsy gasped. ‘That was serious! Our safety was compromised, and we were forced to stay inside like fugitives. Not to mention the fact that our faces are all over the tabloids and everyone is wondering who this secret family is.’
Horror trickled through Gypsy at the thought of people digging and finding out about her history. She had a very real fear that if Rico found out who her father had been, and what she had done when he’d died, he would hold it against her—use the information to make her seem like a weak mother. And if he ever found out about her mother’s mental instability…
Fear galvanised her as she squared up to Rico. ‘I’m leaving in the morning. Taking Lola with me, back to our flat. Your plans are not going to work. I have rights as Lola’s mother. I’ve given you a chance to see her, but I will not let our lives be turned upside down like this.’
Gypsy went to stalk past Rico, but he caught her arm in a bruising grip.
She looked up and tried not to be aware of how tall he was. ‘Let me go.’
His mouth was a grim line. ‘You’re not going anywhere, Gypsy. We don’t have the test results back yet, and that mob outside will follow you and hound you until they know every last detail of your life.’
He articulated her fears exactly. Bitterness blinded her. ‘Which is exactly what you planned, isn’t it? You expect me to believe that you didn’t know about the pictures? Tell me—is one of those filthy editors your friend? Can you feed him stories when you want? Manipulate things to suit you? Manipulate us?’
It had been one of her father’s favoured modus operandi—the manipulation of the media.
‘No.’ Rico sounded incensed, insulted. A muscle clenched in his jaw. ‘Of course not. The paparazzi are always on my trail. I’ll admit I was aware of them lurking yesterday—and, yes, I’ll admit that the thought of some pictures turning up didn’t bother me too much. But I didn’t anticipate this level of interest.’
His hand was still on her arm, making Gypsy feel all sorts of sensations, making her forget why she was so angry. He was so close—too close. She tried to pull away but his hold increased. She felt desperation rise.
‘Let me go, Rico. You had no right to expose us like that, and you didn’t mind the thought of pictures turning up because you had to realise that it would constrain our movements. No wonder you went back to work today. I’m taking Lola tomorrow, and we’ll leave London if we have to.’
Rico whirled her so fast that Gypsy lost her balance and only stayed standing because he gripped both her arms. He stared down at her and she was mesmerised by his eyes. He shook his head, and his harsh hold on her arms inexplicably gentled, even though he was silently telling her of his refusal to let her go. His eyes roved her face, and Gypsy’s mouth tingled betrayingly where his eyes rested on it for a long moment.
To her utter chagrin and horror she couldn’t remember exactly why she and Lola had to get away so badly. She was back in time, staring up at Rico for the first time and thinking that he had to be looking at someone else—he couldn’t be looking at her like that.
His hands drew her closer, and Gypsy felt her feet moving against some dim and distant will she was trying to impose.
Rico was finding it hard to remember what they’d been talking about. He was forgetting the tinge of guilt he’d felt at Gypsy’s accusation. While he certainly hadn’t intended for them to be hounded by the press, he had seen the advantage in allowing it to become public knowledge that he had a daughter. But now, as he looked down into Gypsy’s deep green eyes, all that faded.
His voice was rough and deep. The words felt as if they were being pulled out of him. ‘Dammit, I still want you. I couldn’t forget about you, no matter how hard I tried. That’s why I came after you.’
Gypsy fought the clamour of her pulse, threatening to suck her under. Everything she’d been angry about was disappearing under a wave of need so strong it was making her shake. She fought not to give in to Rico’s pull, and said scathingly, ‘You were thinking of me even as you slept with that woman the other night?’
He smiled, and it was pure danger, ‘Jealous, Gypsy? Because if you are then surely that means you haven’t been able to forget about me either.’
‘Damn you to hell, Rico,’ Gypsy said shakily. Too many nights when she’d woken aching for this man’s touch were mocking her now.
‘Well, if I’m going to hell then you’re coming with me.’
He pulled her right into him, and her T-shirt and jeans were no barrier against his long, lean, hardening body. A tremor of pure arousal shot through her as his head descended. For a split second Gypsy tried to articulate something negative, but their breaths were mingling, and then his mouth was slanting over hers with expert precision and she was lost…
She was back in time, on the street outside that club, after putting her hand over Rico’s mouth because she didn’t want to know his name, because she didn’t want any kind of reality to intrude on the moment. And he’d pulled her into him and kissed her for the first time.
The kiss then, as now, had been the culmination of an intense build-up. His mouth was hard and firm, and yet soft enough to make her melt and yearn and lean into him even more. Tacitly telling him of her approval, of her desire. Rico groaned deep in his throat and deepened the kiss, plundering Gypsy’s mouth, finding her tongue and stroking along it with erotic mastery. His hands had moved down to clasp her hips, fingers digging into her waist. Her hands clung to broad shoulders. She could feel her hair loosen from its topknot and fall down over her shoulders.
Between her legs she was burning up, the ache she’d been feeling for two years growing more acute with each passing second, with the tantalising promise of fulfilment. As if reading her mind, Rico pulled her even closer, his big hands spreading around her buttocks to lift her against him slightly, so that she could feel his arousal more fully.
And all the while their mouths clung, and a desperation was building in the kiss, as if they’d both suddenly realised the depth of the passion they’d been missing for two years. Gypsy strained higher, her hands going to Rico’s head, where her fingers tangled in silky strands, keeping his head against hers. Not allowing him to escape…
With another guttural moan, Rico impatiently found and pushed up Gypsy’s T-shirt, smoothed his hand up over her waist and belly to cup her breast. With a gasp she couldn’t hold back she tore her mouth away
from Rico’s and looked up—dazed, dizzy.
At that moment a little squeak came from the baby monitor. They both tensed and froze. The red mist of arousal cleared from Gypsy’s brain and the present moment came back. She was plastered to Rico’s front, all over him like a clinging vine. And his hand cupped her lace-covered breast intimately.
No other sound came from the monitor, but Gypsy used the impetus to push roughly away from Rico, who stood there looking dishevelled and utterly gorgeous, cheeks flushed, eyes so dark they looked black in the dim lighting. More buttons on his shirt had been opened. Horror gripped her. Had she done that?
She backed away and hit the window, was glad of the support. She felt as though she might just slide down it and land in a heap of sprawled limbs. ‘I don’t know…’ she began shakily ‘…that was…’
‘That,’ Rico said grimly, sounding utterly composed, ‘was something we will return to—without interruption.’
Gypsy shook her head, and quivered as Rico strode forward and caged her in, putting his hands either side of her head on the thick glass.
‘We’ve just proved that this desire has not died. If I were to seduce you right here and now I could have your legs around my waist and take you right against this window.’
The carnality of his words made Gypsy blush brick-red, even as the image in her mind strangled any denial she might make. She just shook her head again—pathetically.
Rico brought a finger to her cheek and trailed it slowly and sensuously down over her jaw, and lower, to the V of her T-shirt which rested just above her cleavage. His eyes met hers. ‘You won’t be going anywhere, Gypsy. Not until I say so.’ A chill entered his voice. ‘And if you do, I’ll find you. So you see, no matter where you go, I’ll simply bring you back. You and Lola are mine now, and I always claim what’s mine.’
At that moment the monitor sprang to life again, and Gypsy jumped. A plaintive wail sounded. ‘Mama…’