Читать книгу Keeping Her Close: In Christofides' Keeping / The Call of the Desert / The Legend of de Marco - Эбби Грин, ABBY GREEN - Страница 14

RICO sat heavily on the couch once Gypsy had left. In truth his legs felt profoundly unsteady. His heart was racing and, despite the coolness he’d just projected, the taste of Gypsy, the feel of her, the scent of her, had all acted like the most powerful aphrodisiac. If they’d not been interrupted by Lola just now, he wouldn’t have been far from freeing himself from his confining clothes, pulling off her jeans and surging up and into her moist heat against the window he’d just taunted her with. He burned with a need he’d only felt once before—the night he’d met her.

He reeled at realising how quickly passion had blazed—literally within minutes of arriving in the door from work. But something about the way she’d told him that she intended to leave had unleashed a wave of possessiveness and desire inside him so strong that it still astounded him.

Through the baby monitor he heard Lola’s cries abate, and Gypsy saying in a voice that sounded suspiciously husky, ‘What is it, sweetie? You woke up?’

Even at that Rico tensed all over again, and cursed volubly. And then the monitor went suddenly silent, as if Gypsy had realised he might hear them and had turned it off, and he had to restrain himself from going down to the room and demanding irrationally that she put it back on.

That Friday morning Gypsy got the call which meant the inevitable end of life and freedom as she and Lola had known it. In a curt voice Rico wasted no time in informing her that he had the paternity test results and they were positive.

You could have saved your precious money, Gypsy wanted to hurl at him but didn’t. She merely listened to him tell her that he’d be home soon to talk to her, and put down the phone.

While Mrs Wakefield gave Lola some lunch, Gypsy paced the floor of the living room. Every nerve in her body was coiled tight, and had been ever since that kiss three nights ago. Since then she’d done everything possible to avoid being alone with Rico—much to his evident and mocking amusement. His steel-grey eyes followed her with heavy-lidded intent whenever they were together—which hadn’t been that often, as he’d been working till late most days, confirming for her that he would fall into a predictable pattern of work. Even that hadn’t induced feelings of recrimination, only something suspiciously like disappointment.

Her motivation had changed from an intense desire to get away from Rico and his autocracy to the treacherous desire for her own self-protection. She was already so vulnerable to him, and now she was even more vulnerable. Because clearly her mind had absolutely no control over her body. And her body wanted Rico so badly that she dreamt of it when she slept and craved it when she was awake.

She hated that she could be so weak, that even knowing Rico was intent on controlling them she could still desire him so badly.

Just then she heard the unmistakable sound of his return, and went to see him standing at the door of the kitchen, taking in the sight of Lola happily chirruping away with Mrs Wakefield, causing a circle of destruction around her highchair. He had a look on his face that made Gypsy’s heart twist, and then he said, sounding suspiciously gruff, ‘Mrs Wakefield, I’d like to introduce you to my daughter—Lola.’

Mrs Wakefield smiled affectionately. ‘Well, I could have told you that the minute I saw her. She’s the image of you.’

As if just becoming aware of Gypsy’s presence Rico turned his head, and all that warmth was gone in a flash. She shivered. He hated her. He really hated her now that he had incontrovertible proof that he was Lola’s father.

He turned back to Mrs Wakefield and asked, ‘Would you mind taking Lola for a walk when you’ve finished here? I have some things to discuss with Gypsy.’

The older woman said yes easily, and Rico looked back to Gypsy and said curtly, ‘My study—now.’

Feeling like rebelliously stamping her foot and saying no, Gypsy took a deep quivery breath and followed his tall, broad figure down the hall and into the study. It was dark and book-lined, with all sorts of modern technology humming silently.

Rico turned and watched Gypsy enter the room, shutting the door behind her. Feeling acutely aware of her effect on him, and not liking it one bit, he sat on the edge of his desk and crossed his arms.

She looked at him with that familiar wary defiance, and a part of him felt the need to soothe, to protect and comfort. She looked incredibly young and innocent—her face clear of make-up, her hair pulled up high into a ponytail of crazy corkscrew curls that he wanted to loosen over her shoulders. But he quickly quashed the impulse.

This was what desire did to you. It clouded the ability to think straight. To see what was real. And what was real was this: Gypsy was not innocent. She might not be mercenary in a monetary sense, although the jury was still out on that, but she was mercenary in a far worse way as far as Rico was concerned. She would have quite happily kept Lola from him—perhaps for ever. And it was clear that she was not going to give him any straight answers. She trusted him about as much as he trusted her—that much he suspected they would agree on.

Bitter, futile anger rose again in acknowledgement of what he’d missed out on, but Rico pushed it down. He had to be cool, controlled. Stake his claim and leave Gypsy in no doubt as to who held the power between them.

He saw her hitch her chin up imperceptibly. ‘You wanted to talk?’

He inclined his head slightly. ‘As I told you earlier, I now have proof that I’m Lola’s father.’

Gypsy crossed her arms across her chest, inadvertently pushing her breasts forward. Rico kept his gaze lifted with an effort, and shifted irritably on the desk.

‘And…?’ Gypsy asked, with all the hauteur of a queen.

Rico bit back a reluctant smile. He had to hand it to her for bravado. No one stood up to him the way she did. And he admired that, even if he didn’t like admitting it.

‘And that means that I am now going to exercise my rights as her father to care for her, provide for her and protect her—as befitting my heir.’

Gypsy’s generous mouth tightened. ‘You can do that all you want. Just let us get on with our lives and we can work out some custody arrangement.’

Rico sneered. ‘You think I am going to allow you to return to that hovel of a flat with my daughter?’ He dismissed the very notion with a slashing hand, making Gypsy flinch slightly. Perversely that made him contrite, and angry for feeling it. ‘I am not interested in custody arrangements. And I am certainly not interested in being forced to stay in the UK so that I can drive into that ghetto twice a month to see my daughter for a few measly hours.’

Gypsy’s arms fell, her hands clenched into fists by her sides. ‘We’ll take you to court. You can’t do this.’

He arched a mocking brow. ‘You’ll take me to court with what? Your leftover tips from the restaurant? Believe me, Gypsy, any court you drag me to will be packed to the rafters with my own people. The best that money can buy. Do you honestly think that any judge will look favourably on a mother who wilfully cut the father of her child out of their lives for no apparent good reason? What judge will deny me my right to have access to Lola when they hear how you took it upon yourself to make her solely yours?’

He saw how she paled in the dim light, how she swayed for a moment, and with a silent curse he nearly got up to steady her. He saw her visibly compose herself. He could almost hear her brain whirring.

He decided to go for the jugular. ‘You have no job. You have no prospects, despite the degree you say you have. To work you’re going to need childcare, better childcare than a pensioner down the road, and to afford childcare you need to work. It’s a catch-22.’

White-lipped, her green eyes huge in her face, Gypsy bit out, ‘So tell me what it is you want.’

Rico relished the moment before speaking. He had Gypsy exactly where he wanted her. ‘What I want is the fifteen months you owe me. You and Lola living with me for fifteen months, so that I don’t miss out on another day of her development.’

This time Gypsy did sway, and Rico got to her just in time to lead her over to a chair and sit her down. In seconds he was back, with brandy in a glass. She waved it away, saying distractedly, ‘Don’t drink…’

He put the glass down, but stood over her and restrained himself from hauling her up and shaking her. She was acting—she had to be. This apparent vulnerability couldn’t be real. And what on earth was wrong with the prospect of fifteen months living in the lap of luxury?

She looked up then, a hopeful light in her eyes. ‘Fifteen months…and then you’ll let us go?’

Rage bubbled inside Rico’s gut. How delusional was she? And why did her eagerness to get away from him cause a spike in his gut? ‘Not as such…But I am willing, after fifteen months are up, to help set you up in employment, help you find somewhere to live…help you get back on your feet. Providing, of course, that I have full and unimpeded access to Lola and a say in her future.’

Her mouth tightened again, and he could see her hands in fists on her lap.

‘And in the meantime you plan on dragging us around the world with you? What kind of a life is that for a small child? She needs a routine, Rico, not a billionaire playboy father. Or are you planning to leave us in a sterile apartment like this one and visit whenever the mood strikes?’

Gypsy looked up at Rico and felt as if her neck might snap. She was so tense. His words were whirling sickeningly in her head, and along with them his obviously smug sense of satisfaction at having got her exactly where he wanted her. She needed space. She had to digest this—even though she knew with fatal certainty that what he said was true: she wouldn’t have a leg to stand on in court, and had no means to get there. And, she had to acknowledge heavily, she only had herself to blame. If she hadn’t taken the decision to keep Lola a secret who knew how things might have developed?

He answered her now, coldly. ‘On the contrary. My main base is in Greece. I live between Athens and the island of Zakynthos. Most of my business is conducted there. This is actually my first visit back to London in…two years.’

The way he said the words, as if he was remembering that night, made the air crackle between them. Feeling claustrophobic, Gypsy blurted out before she could censor her words, ‘You’re not going to…to demand that we get married…?’

Rico looked down at her. He was far too close. He arched one brow. ‘Is that what you’d like, Gypsy? Is that what you’re holding out for? Nothing less than matrimony?’

Before she could say that it was the last thing in the world she wanted he continued. ‘Curiously, I have no desire to marry someone who believes that she has the divine right to play God with a child’s life. Any wife I choose will understand the concept of honesty and trust.’

Standing up, because the feeling of claustrophobia was getting worse, and not liking they way he’d said he had no desire to marry her had impacted her somewhere very secret she bit out, ‘Men like you don’t even know the meaning of trust or honesty. And if I had to go back in time I’d make the same decision all over again.’

Gypsy expected Rico to move back to give her space. But he didn’t. He brought his hands up to her arms and held her. Gypsy tried to pull away but his hold tightened.

Her words had hit a nerve. His eyes flashed, his jaw tightened. ‘I’m not finished. I haven’t told you the other thing I want.’

Gypsy’s whole body was tensed against the inevitable effect of Rico’s proximity. They were practically touching. All she’d have to do was take a deep breath and her breasts would push against his chest. Anger at realising that, and wanting it, made her lash out. ‘What? Haven’t you asked for enough? What more can I give you?’

He looked at her for a long moment, his steel-grey gaze intent, focused. And then he said, with devastating simplicity, ‘You.’

His words sank in, slowly, and with it came an awful trickling of heat through her veins and into her belly. She started to struggle in his arms. ‘No…no…I won’t have it. I don’t want you.’

But Rico just kept on holding her and said, ‘Stop lying to yourself, Gypsy.’

He brought his hands up to her face, fingers around the back of her head, holding it. His thumbs were warm on her jaw. To her utter horror she could hear her breaths coming, hard and shallow. She put her hands over his, as if she could pull them down, and entreated with everything she had, all her secret vulnerabilities where this man was concerned, ‘Rico…please don’t do this.’

He shook his head. ‘I can’t not do this.’

And with his big hands cupping her face and head, crowding her utterly, he lowered his head to hers and took her lips in a kiss of soul-destroying and surprising sweetness. As if all the tension and animosity between them was an illusion. If he’d been hard and forceful it would have been easier to remember to fight, but this…this was something else entirely.

Gypsy emitted a sound that was somewhere between a moan of capitulation and frustration. Rico urged her even closer, and she could feel him taking out her hairband and letting her hair fall, combing through it and twining long strands around his fingers. Her treacherous hands dropped.

And meanwhile his mouth was on hers, getting hotter and harder, opening her to him. He stroked his tongue along hers, enticing her to explore. And Gypsy felt her legs weaken.

In mere seconds the world shifted, and Gypsy found herself straddling Rico’s lap on the chair, facing him, her legs either side of his powerful thighs. His hands were still on her head, allowing no quarter as he brought her face back to his and set about undoing every one of her defences. With a moan Gypsy had to place her hands on his chest, to stop herself falling forward completely, but that action transmitted the heavy beat of Rico’s heart right through to her bones.

His hands came down to her waist, searching for and finding the bare skin between her jeans and top, stroking sensuously. Gypsy was aware that she was arching her back, but couldn’t stop it. She was in another world where time and reality didn’t exist. And, weakly, she resisted reality.

When Rico started to pull her T-shirt up, after only a moment of hesitation Gypsy lifted her arms and let him pull it off. Rico sat up straighter, and a new urgency infused the desire-laden air around them as he pulled her into him and pressed kisses against her neck and throat, down to the valley between her breasts.

Gypsy clutched his head, trembling all over, aching to get closer, and as if Rico heard her silent plea he shifted them subtly, so that the apex of her thighs came into direct contact with his burgeoning arousal.

She gasped and pulled back, and in that moment she realised that Rico had somehow undone her bra and was pulling it down her arms, baring her rosy-tipped breasts to his gaze.

‘So beautiful…’ he breathed. ‘I’ve never forgotten this…I’ve dreamt of this…’

Something about his words melted Gypsy inside, and with her hands spread on his shoulders all she could do was suck in a breath of pure pleasure as he cupped one breast and then brought her forward to his mouth, so that he could lick teasingly around the aureole before flicking his tongue against the hard nub.

The bare skin of her shoulders was incredibly sensitised by her hair, and before Gypsy knew what she was doing she was blindly tearing off Rico’s tie and opening the buttons of his shirt with feverish hands, all while his mouth was wickedly bringing her closer and closer to the edge of delicious sensation.

Finally, with his shirt open, Gypsy spread her hands across his broad chest with its smattering of hair, revelling in his innate strength. Rico broke away from her breast and, heavy-lidded, Gypsy looked down, her eyes roving over the stark planes of his gorgeous face, marvelling that he desired her like this. A burgeoning feeling of something awfully like tenderness rushed through her, disorientating her for a moment. It unsettled her, because she’d felt it the night they’d slept together, and finding him gone in the morning, leaving nothing but that note, had been like a slap in the face.

But he didn’t give her time to dwell on that, to allow it to filter through and break the moment. Bringing her close again, he caught her mouth and kissed her until she was dizzy. One of his hands moved down over her soft belly to flick open her jeans, and she gasped openmouthed into his kiss. His other hand came around and slid down between her jeans and her bottom, caressing the flesh, moving her in even closer, so she could feel how hard he was. In that moment he thrust upwards, and even though their clothes acted as a barrier the sheer memory of his potent size and strength made stars explode behind Gypsy’s eyes.

Instinctively her hips moved, seeking more friction. He was relentless, kissing her, his hot mouth moving down, finding a breast and suckling. One hand kneaded her bottom, pulling her closer, and his other hand delved under the opening of her jeans to the apex of her legs, underneath her pants, where one finger found the moist centre of her desire and rubbed, back and forth, as he rhythmically thrust against her.

Almost sobbing, because on some level Gypsy knew that he was only displaying his control over her, showing her how weak she was, she couldn’t save herself from the ultimate surrender. With a cry, she felt her body tense and peak, before falling down into spasms of pleasure so intense that her hands dug into Rico’s shoulders as if he was her anchor in the storm.

To her absolute horror, as sanity came back in slow doses, she could feel her body still clenching spasmodically. She was half naked, in his study, and had just been brought to orgasm for the first time in two years with little more than heavy petting.

On roiling waves of shock and horror Gypsy pulled Rico’s hands away and scrambled up. Her jeans were undone, half off. Her breasts throbbed, her body ached—and Rico sat there, sprawled in sexy abandon, with his shirt open and his hair dishevelled.

She saw her T-shirt and whipped it up, pulling it on with shaking hands, not caring if it was back to front or inside out. Or where her bra was. With a strangled cry of something she couldn’t even articulate she fled from the study.

All she heard behind her was a dark, knowing chuckle.

Fleeing straight to her bedroom, Gypsy locked herself in the bathroom, turned the shower onto steaming, stripped and got in. Only once she was under the powerful spray did she give in to tears of humiliation and anger. Rico had proved his point. He held all the power—over her situation, over Lola, and—possibly worst of all—over her. Because if she couldn’t remain immune to Rico how could she protect herself or Lola, when inevitably he would lose interest in being a father and reject them both?

When she felt composed and had changed into a poloneck top and fresh jeans, Gypsy wound her damp hair up and stuck a clip in it. Taking a deep breath, she went back out to the living room—where, to her dismay, she saw Rico standing looking out of the window. No sign of Mrs Wakefield or Lola yet.

Rico turned to face her, hands in his pockets, and Gypsy cursed the fact that he hadn’t gone back to work—knowing that it was hypocritical of her, because if he had she’d have found fault with that too. Looking as cool as a cucumber, and not as if he’d just made love to her within an inch of her life on a chair in his study, Rico held out a piece of paper to Gypsy.

She had to go closer to get it, and all but snatched it out of his hand. She glanced at him before reading it. ‘What’s this?’

‘It’s a press release.’

Gypsy read the print.

After a break in relations, Rico Christofides and Gypsy Butler would like to announce their joyful reunion, together with their daughter Lola.

She looked up from the paper and felt shaky all over. ‘Is this really necessary?’

He nodded curtly. ‘Absolutely. They will dig and dig until they know who you are, who Lola is, and what her relationship to me is. We give them that, and a staged photo, and they’ll leave us alone…’

Gypsy could feel her blood drain southwards, and was barely aware of Rico’s narrowed look. ‘They won’t dig if we give them this?’

His look was far too assessing, and Gypsy tried to hide her fear of people finding out about her past, terrified that Rico would use the knowledge in some way to strengthen his position. He shook his head. ‘No, they’ll still hound us to a certain extent, but it won’t have the same intensity…’

Gypsy handed him back the paper. ‘OK, then, go ahead with it.’

Rico said smoothly, ‘I already have.’

Gypsy’s eyes clashed with his. ‘Of course. How could I forget? You act and then ask later.’

Rico shrugged nonchalantly. ‘I know what I want and I go after it. Now,’ he said crisply, and looked at his watch, ‘my driver is downstairs, waiting to take you to your flat, where you will pack up the rest of your things. Bring back only what you can carry. I’ll have my assistant box everything else up and ship it to my home in Athens.’

‘But what about the flat?’

Rico’s lip curled. ‘My assistant will look after informing the landlord. No doubt it’ll soon be snapped up by the next unfortunate individual who has to live there.’

Gypsy bit back words of protest, knowing they were futile. ‘Then what?’

‘Then…’ Rico came close to Gypsy, but she backed away, not liking the way butterflies took off in her belly. ‘Tomorrow we travel to Buenos Aires for my nephew’s christening, which is in a few days. I’m to be his godfather. I also have some business to attend to while we’re there.’

Intrigued despite herself, Gypsy asked, ‘You have a nephew?’

‘He’s my younger half-brother’s son.’ Almost accusingly he said, ‘Lola has cousins: four-year-old Beatriz and six-month-old Luis. My brother Rafael and his wife Isobel are looking forward to meeting you and Lola.’

Gypsy felt a little overwhelmed to suddenly discover that he had family—that he was going to be a godfather and that Lola had cousins. It made her feel a curious wrenching inside. Family. Lola might never have known. It was something Gypsy had always longed for—a brother or sister, even cousins. But both her parents had been only children, and she’d been her father’s only child.

In something of a daze, she let Rico guide her out to the hall. She put on her coat and went down to the car. All the way to her flat, and as she packed up her paltry belongings, Gypsy was still in a bit of a daze. Finally she looked around and heaved a sigh. The flat looked even worse now that she’d been living in Rico’s penthouse for a week. Even she couldn’t stomach the thought of bringing Lola back here…

She looked down and made sure she had her most important possession: an old box full of mementos of her mother—photos, and those letters she’d found in her father’s study after he’d died. She didn’t care about anything else.

She sat down heavily on a chair for a moment, feeling emotion welling within her, but she stayed dry-eyed and just felt inexplicably sad and fearful that despite everything she was destined to watch as Lola received the same treatment she’d got from her own father.

And yet Gypsy had to acknowledge the utter shock Rico must have felt to find out about Lola. But from that first moment he’d taken it on board and assumed Lola was his. At no point had he rejected her, or ignored her until he’d got the results of the paternity test back. She had to admit grudgingly, for the second time in the space of a few days, that in spite of his autocratic takeover of their lives he hadn’t been acting exactly as she’d feared.

Gypsy had borne little physical resemblance to her father, and he too had insisted on a DNA test once he’d been forced to take her in—even though he’d known of her existence. With the proof that she was his, he’d just looked at her, shaken his head, and said, ‘It’d be easier to look at you if you at least took after the Bastions…but there’s nothing. You’re all your poor, stupid, mad Irish mother—and with that hair you look just like the gypsies she named you after…’

Gypsy blinked back the memory, her focus returning to the room. In a way, she thought, at least Lola did resemble Rico. That must be why it was easier for him to bond with her.

With a last desultory look around, she stood up, picking up the bags. Making sure she had the box, she left the flat for the last time. On her way back to the penthouse, the prospect of facing Rico and the future he’d outlined for them made the emotions clamouring in her chest feel much more ambiguous than she liked to admit.

The following day, after they’d arrived at a private airfield and been shown onto a plush private plane, Gypsy thought back to that morning. In a hive of activity, while getting ready for the trip to Argentina, Rico had reminded her of completing the necessary paperwork to have him added to Lola’s birth certificate.

Then he’d curtly informed her, ‘The paparazzi are outside waiting. They know they’re going to get a shot of us leaving, so I’d appreciate it if you could bring yourself to wear some of the clothes I bought for you. Also, in Buenos Aires there are a couple of functions I have to attend—not to mention the christening…’

In other words, Gypsy had surmised as she’d packed angrily, leaving behind her own shabby clothes, she’d better dress the part from now on. And he was also informing her that he expected her to be at his side in public…

She turned to him now on the plane, as she held Lola on her lap as they took off, but he was engrossed in some paperwork, giving her his slightly crooked profile, which only made him look more dangerous.

Stifling a sigh, Gypsy looked out of the window as England dropped away below them and felt as though a net was tightening around her, slowly but surely.

A couple of hours into the flight, after Lola had exhausted the length and breadth of the plane, and had been fed and changed, she was asleep on one of the reclined seats near Gypsy, the seat belt tied securely over her blanket, thumb stuck firmly in her mouth.

Gypsy looked from Lola to Rico, and flushed when she caught him staring at her. She blurted out what had been on her mind earlier. ‘Are you suggesting that we appear in public together…like some sort of…couple?’

His eyes narrowed. ‘I’ve released a press statement to the effect that we are…together, so, yes, I am going to make full use of you by my side. I need a companion in public, and of late have not had anyone to fulfil that role.’

Gypsy’s heart beat fast, and to counteract it she said waspishly, ‘The redhead wasn’t fit for public duty?’

Rico smiled, and it made him look years younger, more carefree…Lord, thought Gypsy, remembering when he’d smiled at her like that the night they met.

‘You’re inordinately interested in this redhead.’

Gypsy snorted inelegantly, but couldn’t look away. Had he slept with her? She hated that she wanted to know, and that she cared. She balled her hands into fists, nails scoring her palms.

‘I’m not interested in the slightest,’ she lied. ‘I would just like to know what the public perception of my role is likely to be if I’m to be seen by your side.’

‘I’d say it’s likely to be that you are the mother of my child, who is also sharing my bed. And if it’s any consolation I didn’t sleep with the redhead that night; seeing you again rendered me all but impotent.’

Gypsy flushed and struggled to control her wayward response to hearing that admission. She asserted hotly, ‘I will not be sharing your bed.’

He shrugged, and released her from his gaze to look back to his work, then said, ‘We both know if I started kissing you I could have you on the bed in the back of this cabin within minutes…But with respect to our daughter I’ll desist from making my point here and now.’

Gypsy choked back something rude…but couldn’t for the life of her stop her mind from imagining Rico coming over to her seat, trapping her with his arms and bending down to kiss her, before lifting her up and carrying her to the back of the plane…to that bed…where all she could imagine was a tangle of limbs, olive skin contrasting with pale skin…

What was wrong with her? Gypsy opened her belt and got up to go to the bathroom. Only once she was locked inside, and after splashing cold water on her face, did her pulse finally return to something close to normal. She looked at her face in the mirror, eyes huge. She was terrified that sleeping with Rico would crumble her precious defences…he already had so much control—too much control. If he had her, then he would have it all.

She’d been too young to fight against her father’s control, and he’d tried to wipe away every last trace of who she really was. She couldn’t forget that. She had to fight Rico for her own preservation and Lola’s. She had to.

Gypsy woke to a gentle prodding, and opened her eyes to see Lola’s big grey ones staring up at her, alongside Rico’s. He was squatting by her side, holding her. She was awake in an instant, her back protesting as she’d fallen asleep sitting up.

Lola smiled at her, small teeth flashing, ‘Mama…fly!’

Gypsy smiled tightly, hiding her momentary sense of disorientation at knowing that Rico had obviously taken care of Lola when she’d woken, and had been watching her sleeping. Lola was picking up more and more words every day now, generally repeating back any words said to her. Gypsy automatically went to reach for her, but Rico took her over to sit on his lap. Gypsy saw that his paperwork was put away.

He glanced at her and said, ‘We’re landing shortly. Buckle up.’

And just like that he was settling a completely contented Lola in his arms, and securing the seat belt around them. It made her think again of how at ease he’d been with Lola from day one. And he was growing in confidence around her, having no apparent qualms about picking her up or playing with her. He’d shielded her from the glare of the paprazzi cameras as they’d left the penthouse that morning, cocooning her within his arms. This side of Rico was one she hadn’t anticipated, and while she still didn’t doubt it was temporary, while the novelty lasted it unsettled her more than she liked to admit.

She couldn’t help asking curiously, ‘Have you always wanted children?’

Rico sent her a quick look, his hands huge around Lola, making something ache in Gypsy’s chest. She qualified. ‘That is…you seem very comfortable with Lola…’

Rico felt his daughter’s plump and solid little body curved into him so trustingly, and knew without a moment’s hesitation that he would lay his life down for her. Gypsy was looking at him with those huge eyes, her hair tumbled around her shoulders in glorious abandon. Her question unsettled him. He’d never thought about having children—had never wanted to have children. How could he explain that the concept of fatherhood had always mystified him, having had no good experience to call on?

But the day he’d seen Lola for the first time he’d suddenly known instinctively what it was. And as he’d come to terms with it, he had been able to feel so much more of his father’s pain and loss. And also to hate his stepfather even more for his cruel treatment. And…a hardness settled in his chest…he could also hate Gypsy a little bit more for denying him this basic right.

But he couldn’t articulate this to the woman who sat across from him, the woman he’d found himself staring at while she slept, looking so innocent. It had taken all his restraint and control not to pick her up out of her seat and carry her down to the bedroom to slake his lust. He hated wanting her so badly. He wanted to be able to control his desire. He wanted to be immune to her charms, unmoved by her wild beauty which called to him as strongly now as when he’d first seen her.

He schooled his features, afraid she might see something of the turmoil within him. ‘Whether I wanted children or not is no longer a relevant question. I have Lola, and the reason I’m comfortable with her is because she is mine, my flesh and blood, and I will do everything in my power to protect her.’