Читать книгу Keeping Her Close - Эбби Грин - Страница 13

GYPSY hoped Rico would just take her explanation and leave it at that. She didn’t like the look on his face now, though, it was far too determined. And Lola was being far too quiet.

Gypsy turned her head to see that she was just looking at Rico, with big, watchful eyes, thumb in her mouth. Mrs Murphy, Lola’s minder, had commented plenty of times that Lola was an ‘old soul’.

And then Rico said, ‘Get your things together. You’re coming with me.’

Gypsy’s head whipped around so fast she nearly got whiplash. ‘What?’

‘You heard me.’ Steel ran through his voice. ‘I want you to get whatever you need and pack it up. We’re leaving this place now.’

Gypsy shook her head, panic trickling through her even as the prospect of being whisked away from this flat held undeniable appeal. With anyone but him.

‘I’m not going anywhere with you. We’re not going anywhere.’

Rico folded his arms. ‘Why? Because you’ve got work to go to later?’ He clicked his fingers then, as if remembering something. ‘Oh, but that’s not right, is it? You walked away from your job last night. Not a very responsible thing to do if you’re a single parent, is it?’

Gypsy blanched. She’d forgotten for a moment.

And then, as if thinking of something, Rico asked abruptly, ‘Who was minding Lola last night?’

Immediately Gypsy was defensive. Her hackles rose—he was already sounding far too proprietorial. ‘Mrs Murphy from down the road. She’s a retired qualified childminder who looks after Lola in the evenings for some extra cash.’

He bristled. ‘You leave my daughter with a stranger in this armpit of a street?’

Gypsy bristled right back. ‘She’s not a stranger, she’s a lovely woman, and Lola has always been perfectly safe with her.’ Gypsy’s conscience struck her then. She knew that if she’d had a choice she wouldn’t have been leaving Lola with anyone. ‘And,’ she added hurriedly, ‘Mrs Murphy comes here to mind her, as Lola is usually already down for the night when I go to work.’

‘When you used to go to work,’ Rico amended. He slashed a hand in the air, ‘Here or there, it doesn’t matter. This street is a minefield of drug abuse and gangs. I won’t have you here for one more night.’

Shaking inside, because her worst fears were manifesting themselves, Gypsy said, ‘You can’t just come in here and turn us upside down like this.’

‘Oh?’ Rico sneered. ‘Because you have such a lovely set-up here and such a perfect routine?’ His voice rang with determination. ‘This place is not fit for a dog, much less a small child. You are coming with me and you will stay with me tonight.’

Right then Lola reached up to touch Gypsy’s face, and she could feel how cold her small hands were. Guilt rushed through her. The storage heating still hadn’t come on, and Gypsy knew that even when it did its heat output was not great. Without the supplementary heater things would be bleak, and far colder than usual. It was freezing, it was damp, and she was horribly aware of the leak in the corner—and the fact that Lola had just got over a bad cold.

Rico Christofides couldn’t have picked a worse moment to confront her. Or a better one, she realised bitterly.

‘What’s wrong with her?’ Rico asked sharply, his eyes on Lola, who Gypsy could feel getting heavier in her arms.

Weariness struck Gypsy. ‘She’s tired. She didn’t sleep well last night, and she only got a small sleep in the buggy just now.’

Something even more determined crossed Rico’s face then. ‘I will carry you both out of here bodily if that’s what it takes, Gypsy, don’t think I won’t. We have to talk. You owe me this. And I refuse to stay here a moment longer.’

To her utter shame, Gypsy could feel the fight leaving her. She couldn’t in all conscience deny him the chance to talk things over. ‘Where are you proposing to take us?’

‘To my apartment in town. It’s infinitely more comfortable there. I have a housekeeper who can keep an eye on Lola while we talk.’

Feeling as though she was being carried aloft on white water rapids, with the utmost reluctance, Gypsy finally said, ‘OK—fine. We’ll come with you.’

And then things moved with scary swiftness. Gypsy put a drowsy Lola into her buggy while she got together a bag of essentials. She balked at Rico’s assertion that they wouldn’t spend another night here, and resolved to make him see he couldn’t just waltz in and change their lives, but she packed a small suitcase just in case, knowing well that with a small child she couldn’t afford not to be practical.

Finally she was ready, and saw Rico had his coat on again and stood in a wide-legged stance, waiting. He’d asked her about a car seat for Lola, and she’d explained that the buggy seat doubled as one. She’d heard him on his mobile phone, barking out what sounded like orders in Greek. Now he just watched her with cold eyes. So unlike the seductive man who had danced with her in that club that night—not that his effect on her was any less now.

She pushed aside the memory ruthlessly. Her hands were full with bags, and she looked to Lola’s pram.

Before she’d articulated anything he moved and said, ‘I’ll take her. You lock up.’

And before Gypsy could protest or say a word she watched as Rico detached the seat from the buggy frame, as if he’d been doing it all his life, and then lifted the seat up with an ease Gypsy envied. Seeing him cradling the seat with Lola in it made something primal and treacherous rush through her. She wanted to snatch her daughter back from him, and yet her eyes pricked ominously. Gypsy forced the tears aside, knowing that to show any emotion to Rico Christofides would show him weakness—and she couldn’t afford to be weak.

Once the flat door and main door had been closed and locked, Rico let Gypsy go to the car first in the teeming rain, accompanied by the solicitous driver, who held an umbrella over her head. He put her bags in the boot, before helping her into the car. When she was settled, Rico strode forward, Lola protected by his coat. Once at the car, he handed her in to Gypsy, who was all fingers and thumbs securing the seat belt around the chair. Lola was bone-dry and contentedly sucking her thumb—which made Gypsy feel peculiar inside.

As the car slowly pulled away from the kerb she remembered something. ‘The buggy!’

Rico all but ignored her, officiously making sure that her own seat belt was fastened. Gypsy wanted to slap his hands away when she felt them brush against her thigh, hating the shiver of heat that went through her lower body. He was far too close, as she’d had to move to the middle of the back seat to accommodate Lola’s chair. His musky and uniquely masculine scent wound around her, threatening to make all sorts of memories flood back. It was humiliating in the extreme when he clearly didn’t feel the same way, at all.

And who could blame him? Gypsy thought wearily, knowing that she looked not far removed from a homeless person. The only smart clothes she owned were her work clothes, and they were useless now…

He finished and straightened up, and said grimly, ‘That pram is the least of your worries. By the time we get to my apartment there will be a new one waiting.’

Gypsy tried not to let the quiet warm luxury of the car seduce her. ‘You can’t just do this, you know…just because you’re her father.’

He turned a blistering grey gaze on Gypsy, and she tried not to quail beneath it. The space in the back of the car was claustrophobic. ‘The moment you decided to leave me out of the equation was the moment you started stacking the odds against yourself. I have just as much right to my daughter as you, and now that I know of her existence I will move heaven and earth to ensure that she grows up knowing me.’

He turned away to look out of the window, his profile austere, jaw clenched.

Gypsy closed her mouth firmly. She knew that there was no point in remonstrating further right now. Men like Rico Christofides and her father switched off when they weren’t hearing what they wanted or expected to hear.

Gypsy turned her head too, her stomach in knots, aghast at how easy it was to just stare at him. She looked out of her own window as London slid past in bleak greyness. She just hoped and prayed that when he saw the reality of living with a toddler even for a few hours he’d be all but paying them to go home.

Before long they were in the much more salubrious area of Mayfair. Clean streets, expensive cars, and even more expensive-looking people. It had stopped raining, almost as if they’d left the black cloud behind over Gypsy’s dismal street. Distaste curdled her insides; her father had had an apartment here, where he’d housed his various mistresses.

Rico’s car drew to a smooth halt outside a sleek building with an awning over the pavement. A doorman rushed to the car to open the door for them. Gypsy got out and extricated Lola, who had fallen asleep during the journey. She stood on the pavement with Lola in her arms, blinking, feeling a little as though she’d been transported to another planet, and half hoping that she might wake up in a minute and see that this had all been a bad dream.

With not a word, and barely a glance, Rico took Gypsy’s bags and led the way into the building and into a lift, where he pressed a button that said P. She grimaced to herself. The penthouse—of course.

When they emerged from the lift into a plush corridor an apartment door stood open, and Gypsy could see an ample-figured middle-aged woman taking delivery of a myriad assortment of boxes, directing the men to somewhere inside the apartment and saying, ‘We need it all set up as soon as possible, please.’ Then she saw Rico and broke off with a smile. ‘Mr Christofides—you’re back already! As you can see it’s all just arrived. The men won’t be two ticks getting it put together, and then I’ll make sure it’s set up to your satisfaction.’

Rico brought Gypsy from behind him, his hand on her back, making her feel as if she wanted to arch into it. She stood stiffly, Lola heavy in her arms.

‘Gypsy, this is Mrs Wakefield—my housekeeper.’

The warmth in his voice made Gypsy suck in a breath. It reminded her too much of how he’d seduced her so easily. She avoided looking at him and smiled tightly at the openly curious woman, who now looked to Lola.

‘Ah, what an absolute cherub. Now, you must be tired and famished. I thought she might be sleeping after the car journey, so I’ve got a little makeshift bed set up in the sitting room if you want to take her through and lie her down.’

More than a little stunned, Gypsy meekly followed the motherly woman through a gleamingly modern reception area to a huge open-plan room decorated in dark greys and muted tones. A bachelor pad if ever there was one.

Mrs Wakefield showed Gypsy where to lie Lola down, and she even had a cashmere blanket to put over her. She confirmed Gypsy’s suspicions when she said chattily, ‘I have five girls myself, but they’re all grown up now. They grow so fast—mark my words, you won’t even see the time fly by before she’s turning your heart in your chest with boyfriends and wanting to go out all night.’

Gypsy made some trite comment, but she was very aware of Rico, who had followed them in and was standing silently by. She could feel his censorious gaze. No doubt his housekeeper’s words were reminding him of how much he’d missed already.

With a promise to return soon, with some tea and sandwiches, she left them alone in the huge room. Gypsy fussed over Lola for a moment, wanting to avoid looking anywhere near Rico.

He asked then, ‘Is it normal for her to sleep like this?’

Gypsy finally stood up and crossed her arms. His question unsettled her, making her defensive. ‘She’s just catching up. And she normally has a nap in the afternoon anyway.’

Rico’s jaw was tight. ‘How would I know this?’

Gypsy just looked at him, quashing the dart of guilt, and watched as he took off his coat with jerky movements, before flinging it down over the back of a chair. He started to pace, and Gypsy felt that weariness snake over her again. She hadn’t realised how tired she was. But she was exhausted.

In an effort to put some space between them, she moved away and looked around. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over London, where clouds made it seem darker, the skyline soaring against them. Despite the grim weather it was enchanting. And completely impractical.

She turned around again, determined, despite the pathetic state of her own flat, not to allow Rico to railroad them. ‘We can’t stay here for long. This place is a recipe for disaster with a toddler.’ She gestured with a hand towards a low glass table. ‘There are sharp edges and corners everywhere. Lola’s far too inquisitive at the moment—she’ll get hurt.’

Rico stood with hands in his pockets, grey eyes narrowed on Gypsy, who could feel a flush rising over her chest and her face. All of a sudden she felt hot, and wanted to take off some layers.

‘I will make sure Lola is protected. Within twenty-four hours this apartment will be child-proofed. You’ll have to come up with more than such a flimsy pretext to deter me, Gypsy.’

Suspicion and a trickling of cold horror gripped her then, and she asked, ‘Those men…what were they delivering?’

Rico ticked off on his fingers. ‘A pram, a cot, a changing table…I told my assistant to make sure all the basics were bought and delivered. You can let me know what’s missing.’

Gypsy’s hands dropped to her sides. ‘But…I just came to talk…for one evening…one night. We are going home tomorrow. I have work to find, and Lola’s in a routine.’ Hysteria was rising. ‘You have no right to presume anything. We don’t need all that for one night, so you’re just going to have to get it taken away again.’

Rico advanced on Gypsy, and she fought not to snatch up Lola, turn and run. He came and stood before her with a look of almost savage intent on his face, in his eyes, and Gypsy knew that this was the moment she’d realised just how formidable he was going to be.

‘That child is my daughter. I have missed fifteen months of her existence—fifteen months of her development and watching her grow. As far as she’s aware she has no father. It doesn’t matter that she might be too young to realise the import of that now, I do. Know this, Gypsy Butler: as of this day, and from now on, I am in her life and your life. And you, with no job and living in a hovel, are in no position to argue with my wishes.’

Conversely, even as his words horrified Gypsy, she felt on more even ground. She knew what she was dealing with now. She asked, ‘Are you threatening me, Rico? Are you saying that if I were to leave with Lola right now, walk out of here, you would bring down the full force of your power on us?’

A muscle jumped in his jaw. His eyes were so dark they looked almost black and not grey. Eventually he said with chilling calm, ‘That’s exactly what I’m saying. If you were to walk out of here right now, the only way I would allow it to happen was if you were to leave alone.’ He smiled, and it was feral, ‘But, based on the evidence of how determined you’ve been to keep her from me and all to yourself, I don’t think you’ll be doing that.’

The implication that he would quite happily let her walk away sent something dark to Gypsy’s gut. ‘You’re right. I wouldn’t dream of leaving my daughter behind. As for our situation—yes, we’re vulnerable, and certainly in no position to fight you should you decide that it’s necessary. So of course I’m not stupid enough to encourage your wrath. I know how men like you operate, Rico Christofides. You have no compunction about squashing the opposition just so long as you get whatever it is that takes your fancy at the time. We’ll bow to your wishes for now, as we have little choice, but I don’t doubt that as soon as you’ve seen the reality of setting up home with a small child you’ll be throwing us back to where we came from, so you can get on with your self-absorbed existence and your bid for world domination. And as far as I’m concerned that moment can’t come soon enough.’

Gypsy stopped talking. She was breathing hard. Rico was just looking at her, far too assessingly, and she cursed herself for having said too much. But, as she knew well from experience, it would be utterly futile to fight with someone like him. Better to indulge him, let him play out his father role, and wait for him to get bored. She had no doubt he would—especially with red-haired beauties like the one last night waiting in the wings. At the thought of him sleeping with her something even darker clenched in Gypsy’s gut.

Just then Mrs Wakefield bustled back into the room, with tea and sandwiches, and Lola woke up, struggling out of her makeshift bed. Gypsy rushed to help her off the couch, and automatically lifted her away from the hazardous glass coffee table. Lola slipped out of her hands again, like a wriggling eel, and toddled over to the huge window, fascinated by the staggering view.

She pointed when a bird flew past and exclaimed, ‘Birdy!’

Mrs Wakefield finished putting out the tea and went over to make friends with a clearly delighted Lola. After a few minutes of largely nonsensical but earnest chatter from the toddler, she turned to Gypsy, ‘She’s a sunny one, isn’t she?’

Gypsy smiled wryly, glad of the momentary distraction. ‘Most of the time, yes. But woe betide anyone who gets close when she’s tired or hungry…’

Mrs Wakefield held out a hand, and Lola took it trustingly. ‘Why don’t we go off for a little exploring and let Mum and Mr Christofides have their tea?’

Before Gypsy could protest Lola was happily toddling out of the room with Mrs Wakefield, not a care in the world at leaving her mother behind. And while Gypsy felt proud, because it was a sign of a happy and secure child, she also felt absurdly hurt.

When she turned around Rico was holding out a chair at the larger table for her to sit down, and he said mockingly, ‘Don’t worry. She’s not going to kidnap her or spirit her away.’

Gypsy said nothing, just sat down, still a little shocked at what had spilled out of her mouth only moments before. Clearly she was feeling far too volatile at the moment to be sure of remaining calm and rational. With grim reluctance she finally slipped off her coat, knowing they wouldn’t be returning to her flat any time soon.

Rico poured tea and pushed some sandwiches towards Gypsy. She was avoiding his eyes again, and he was still reeling slightly at her outburst. The fact that she was projecting something deeply embedded within her onto him was obvious. He suspected it was the same thing that had stopped her from automatically telling him about her pregnancy. But what?

His interest piqued, he vowed, among everything else he’d already set in motion, to look into Gypsy Butler’s life for clues. The fact that he knew nothing about the mother of his child did not sit well with him. If he had ever contemplated having a child with anyone, he knew he was the kind of person to have chosen someone based on cool logic and intellect. The mother of his child would not be left to fate and circumstance, the child would not be conceived in a moment of blind passion—His stomach clenched. But that was exactly what had happened…

But, he reassured himself, he had the means to control that. To control her. He watched her eat the sandwiches with relish, and wondered how long it had been since she’d eaten properly. Her baggy shapeless clothes hung off her petite frame, and that slightly plump litheness he remembered so well was gone. Even so, he conceded reluctantly, it did nothing to diminish her appeal or douse his desire.

Abruptly he stood, cup in hand, and went to look out of the window. He didn’t like the way she could rouse him so effortlessly, or the way he cared even for a moment that she’d grown thin. And especially he didn’t like the way he felt inclined to do everything in his power to restore that vivacious health.

He turned to face her and she was looking at him with big wary eyes. Very like the way Lola had been looking at him in the flat. Her hand was clenched around her cup, a tiny crumb at the corner of her mouth. Her wildly curling hair lay around her shoulders, reminding him of that free spirit image she’d projected when he’d first seen her, which had pulled him to her like a magnet. It made him think for an uncomfortable moment that perhaps she was someone who wouldn’t be influenced by his wealth.

He steeled himself and reminded himself of exactly what she’d done to him. The worst thing possible. Distaste and disgust for the type of woman she was, for the type of mother she was, rose up within him and he welcomed it. On the evidence of her reluctance to inform him about Lola she might not be a gold-digger, but she was something worse. She was the kind of woman who wouldn’t hesitate to marry another man and have him bring her daughter up as if she were his own, uncaring of the cataclysmic fall-out that would ensue.

He reacted to the way she was still looking at him, with trepidation mixed with a kind of defiance. ‘You do know that I’ll never forgive you for this, don’t you?’