Keeping Her Close: In Christofides' Keeping / The Call of the Desert / The Legend of de Marco

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.’

Chapter Eight

THE fervour of Rico’s words still rang in Gypsy’s head as they sped along the wide Buenos Aires boulevards to Rico’s brother’s home, where they were going to be guests. A trickle of sweat dropped between her breasts even though the car was air-conditioned. It had been like walking into a baking oven, stepping off the plane into the bright Argentinian sunshine just a short while before.

Rico had warned Gypsy how hot it was likely to be, but even in light linen trousers and a shirt she was still hot. Luckily there had been some summer dresses and light clothes amongst Lola’s new wardrobe, and now she was all decked out in a gorgeous polka dot dress, complete with sandals and matching pants.

Sitting in a baby seat, she looked out at the view with big eyes, turning to smile winningly at Gypsy every now and then, or to point and exclaim intermittently, ‘Car!’ or, ‘Woof! Woof!’ when she saw a dog.

Rico was sitting in the front, alongside the driver, conversing in Spanish. He looked back at Lola indulgently when she pointed out the umpteenth car. ‘Very good, mi nenita…’

Gypsy had to swallow an inexplicable lump, and looked out of her own window. She wondered if there would come a time when Rico might look at her without that censorious, unforgiving light in his eyes, and despaired that she even wanted that.

She could see that they were in a more residential area now, with huge houses just visible behind tall trees and flowering bushes. The car slowed, and a set of ornate black gates opened to reveal a long drive which led to a huge open courtyard and a stunning house.

On the steps Gypsy could see a beautiful slim woman with short dark hair holding a chubby black-haired baby, and beside her a tall dark man who bore a striking resemblance to Rico. It had to be Rafael—his half-brother. And between their legs danced a small dark-haired girl in worn shorts and a T-shirt, bare feet. The sight comforted Gypsy, who hadn’t really known what to expect.

They got out. Gypsy was all fingers and thumbs on Lola’s straps, but finally managed to extricate her. She went shy at the sight of so many new faces and leant into Gypsy, her thumb in her mouth.

Rico was by her side then, a hand on her back, and Gypsy felt slightly comforted. They walked forward, and any trepidation fled at the huge smile on Rafael’s wife’s face as she walked forward to meet them, embracing Gypsy warmly, and then Rico.

‘It’s so lovely to meet you, Gypsy. And Lola—isn’t she a sweetie?’ Gypsy was surprised to hear that Isobel sounded quite English, and also looked more English than Argentinian.

Gypsy was aware of the two brothers greeting each other warmly, but with a certain reserve she couldn’t put her finger on. She smiled at Rafael in greeting, and could see that up close there were distinct similarities. But where Rico’s eyes were that cold steel-grey, Rafael’s were dark brown. And he didn’t have the air of suppressed danger that seemed to surround Rico like a cloak of darkness.

The introductions were quick and chaotic. Beatriz their four-year-old daughter, was adorable, with big chocolate-brown eyes, and clearly excited to meet her new cousin.

Rico surprised Gypsy by picking Beatriz up and making her squeal with delight, before saying, ‘Once Lola is settled in you can get to know her…’

Beatriz smiled and said, ‘OK, Uncle Rico.’

In a flurry of being ushered inside, where a homely housekeeper appeared, wiping her hands on an apron, and more introductions, Gypsy deduced that Rafael and Isobel were blissfully happy. It oozed from every cell of their beings and throughout the house as Isobel led Gypsy on a whirlwind tour.

Standing at a bedroom door some minutes later, Isobel apologised, saying with a grimace, ‘I’m sorry—you must be absolutely exhausted. I know how arduous the flight can be from England; I went to school there, near my father’s family. But here I am chattering on when all you probably want to do is wash and rest.’

Isobel was cradling her smiley baby easily, and Gypsy felt in that moment that they could be good friends. She’d never had a close female friend before. She smiled shyly, feeling a sudden weariness wash over her. ‘To be honest, it’s all been a bit of a whirlwind…but I’m very happy to meet you too—and your children are gorgeous.’

Isobel grimaced again, but smiled. ‘Most of the time, as I’m sure you well know.’

Gypsy shared a complicit smile and appreciated Isobel’s lack of questions when she and Rafael had to have dozens. Just then Rico appeared, and Isobel gestured to the huge luxuriously furnished room through the open door. ‘I hope this will be suitable for you both, and Lola. I’ve set up a cot for Lola in the room off the dressing room, so she’s close by. I’ve also left baby monitors in there if you want them at night. If you need anything else just shout. Someone will bring your bags up shortly, but get some rest in the meantime. We’ll eat at about eight, after the children are in bed.’

Rico’s voice rumbled through Gypsy. ‘Thank you, Isobel, we’ll see you later.’

With a little wave Isobel walked quickly down the corridor. Gypsy and Rico still stood at the bedroom door. With a hand on her back he propelled her inside. Gypsy clutched Lola to her like a lifeline as she realised something very scary on investigating the rooms. One bedroom, one bathroom, one dressing room and one smaller room, where a cot and changing table had been set up.

She whirled to face Rico. ‘This room is surely for me and Lola. Where’s your room?’

He crossed his arms. ‘Right here.’

Gypsy backed away and shook her head. Rico had changed on the plane, into a pair of faded denims and a dark polo shirt, and he was all too devastating to her equilibrium like this. ‘No way. We are not sharing a bed. Obviously Isobel has assumed we’re a…a couple. I’ll have to let her know.’

Gypsy walked purposefully forward, but Rico stopped her with his arm. Lola, the little traitor, squirmed out of Gypsy’s arms towards Rico, and she had to let her go when he reached for her. Looking far too smug, he said, ‘You will do no such thing. She’s gone to a lot of trouble to set this room up, and would be mortified to think that you’re not happy with the arrangement.’