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

He shrugged insouciantly. ‘All we have to do is share a king-sized bed. You can put pillows down the centre, if you like. Or is it that you’re just afraid that you won’t be able to help yourself from ripping my clothes off?’

Gypsy balled her hands into fists and felt another trickle of sweat go down the small of her back. ‘You’re just playing with me. You can’t seriously expect me to believe that there aren’t a dozen more bedrooms here that you could use.’

‘It’s not up for debate, Gypsy. Now, you can go and bother Isobel with this tiny problem, when she’s got her hands full with her kids and organising the christening in two days, or you can just let it go and be an adult about it.’

Once again Gypsy felt like stamping her foot. What was it about this man that made her regress to a mental age of fifteen? But steel resolve straightened her spine. ‘Fine. If that’s the way you want it, I will have no problem keeping my hands off you. But know this, Rico Christofides, if you so much as breathe near me I will scream this place down.’

Rico smiled a shark’s smile. ‘You might scream, but it won’t be to keep me away from you.’

Gypsy flushed, remembering how abandoned she’d been the night they’d slept together. And the other day in the study. No self-control whatsoever. Mortified, and burning up inside with humiliation but determined not to let him see it, she held out her hands for Lola, who just looked at her, quite content in Rico’s arms. ‘I should feed her now. She’ll be hungry.’

Rico said easily, ‘Why don’t I feed her and let you wash and rest? I’ll bring her back up when she’s ready to go down for the evening. Beatriz is probably driving her parents crazy wanting to see her again anyway.’

And just like that he took responsibility for her daughter. Feeling thoroughly disgruntled and at odds with everything, her emotions see-sawing wildly, Gypsy could only watch as Rico walked out with Lola high in his arms, chattering away happily.

Still muttering to herself, Gypsy had a brief shower, and when she emerged in a voluminous fluffy robe, feeling half-human again, there was a smiling girl putting away their clothes. Their clothes: hers and Rico’s. That curious ache settled in her chest again, and Gypsy stuttered her thanks as the girl melted away discreetly.

The bed looked both terrifying and more inviting than anything she’d ever seen and, feeling as if surely she could snatch ten minutes of a nap, Gypsy lay down.

She woke much later, when dusk had fallen outside, to the familiar sound of Lola’s cry. Instantly she was awake, and saw Rico come into the room with an obviously cranky Lola in his arms. When she saw Gypsy she started to wail even louder. For the first time since she’d met him again Rico didn’t look his assured self. He actually looked worried.

Gypsy pulled her robe tight around her, wishing she had taken the time to dress, and took Lola, whose wails decreased almost immediately.

Rico said tightly, ‘I’m not sure what’s wrong with her. She ate some lunch and played with Beatriz, and then suddenly she started crying…’

Gypsy knew it would be all too easy to make Rico feel bad, but that knowledge didn’t sit well. She couldn’t do it. She looked at him, trying not to notice how gorgeous he seemed in the dim light of the room, in the intimacy of this situation like any domestic couple with their child.

Smiling wryly, she said, ‘Welcome to cranky and tired Lola. She can go from upbeat and happy to heartbroken in an instant. It’s been a lot for her to take in today, that’s all. She just needs to wind down and get to bed…I’ll get her a bottle and put her down.’

Rico surprised her by saying he’d get the bottle, and while he was gone Gypsy bathed Lola and changed her for the night. She couldn’t help sensing his relief at knowing that he hadn’t been at fault for upsetting Lola and that she was OK.

When he came back Gypsy was rocking Lola back and forth. She took the bottle from Rico and, after testing it, gave it to Lola, who was already falling asleep after a few greedy gulps. Rico stood with a shoulder against the doorjamb, watching them, and Gypsy felt huge relief at escaping from his intense scrutiny when she put Lola down and those long-lashed eyes closed in exhaustion.

She came out of the small room and pulled the door partway closed behind her, making sure to leave the baby monitor on in the room.

Rico said, ‘I’ll have a shower and see you downstairs, if you like. Dinner will be ready soon.’

Gypsy nodded, and as soon as she heard the shower going raced out of the robe and into a plain black dress and slingback heels, tying her hair back at her nape to tame it as much as she could. Escaping downstairs before Rico might emerge with just a towel around his waist seemed like the most important thing in the world.

She’d taken the second baby monitor with her, and as she approached the reception area a maid appeared as if from thin air and showed Gypsy into the main drawing room. Gypsy blushed to the roots of her hair when she saw Isobel sitting on Rafael’s lap, their heads close together, his arms about her waist, her arms around his neck.

Isobel jumped up the minute she saw her, an impish grin on her face. ‘I’m sorry, Gypsy, we didn’t see you…Would you like an aperitif?’

Rafael stood too, and greeted Gypsy so urbanely that he defused her embarrassment. By the time Rico appeared, in a snowy-white shirt and black trousers, Gypsy was explaining to Rafael and Isobel about her name. As soon as Rico came and stood near her, though, her voice dried up in her throat at imagining sharing a bed with him that night.

The housekeeper appeared and called them through for dinner, which was served in a wood-panelled dining room.

Gypsy sat back after the dessert and patted her belly, trying to ignore Rico’s steely gaze across the table. She looked at Isobel. ‘That was too delicious for words…’

Isobel smiled. She was sitting directly opposite Gypsy, to Rafael’s right, with Rico beside her at the head of the table. ‘It’s nice that it’s just us this evening. I understand that you’re going to a function tomorrow night and that’s lucky for you as you’ll get to avoid the arrival of our other guests and the ensuing mayhem of preparations for the christening.’

Instinctively Gypsy leant forward. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

Isobel waved a hand. ‘Not at all. It’s all in hand. Believe me, it’s just lovely that you’re here.’ She sent a mischievous look to Rico. ‘According to Rico, we should never have believed that he might one day appear with a ready-made family.’ She continued. ‘What was it you said on our wedding day? Something about not offering a return invitation any time soon?’

Rico looked steadily at Gypsy and she was caught by his gaze, unable to read it or escape it. A muscle ticked in his jaw, and then he drawled, ‘Well…since I can’t remember issuing a proposal, I’d say what I said then still holds firm…’

Gypsy was only vaguely aware of Rafael’s sharp intake of breath, and the discreet look between him and Isobel. Gypsy burned inside with humiliation, which was made worse because she knew his statement shouldn’t bother her—especially not after he’d succinctly outlined his requirements for a wife. But before she could come back with some witty rejoinder, to show how he hadn’t affected her even when he had, the door opened and Rafael and Isobel’s nanny came in.

She said something to Isobel, who stood up, apologising. ‘It’s Luis. He won’t settle. Please excuse me?’

Wanting desperately to escape, Gypsy half stood and said, ‘I should check on Lola.’ But to her dismay Isobel waved her back down. ‘Don’t be silly. Have your coffee and I’ll check on her for you.’

Feeling sick inside, Gypsy sat back down and couldn’t meet Rico’s eye. Thankfully Rafael seemed happy to cover the gap in conversation, and Gypsy let the talk flow over her. She hated that she felt so hurt by Rico’s comment. He’d all but stated that he wouldn’t be marrying Gypsy if she was the last woman on earth, even if she was the mother of his child. And she didn’t even want to marry him! He was welcome to the tall, sleek, blonde heiress-type he’d undoubtedly go for. Or the sultry red-head—even if he said he hadn’t slept with her.

After what she deemed an appropriate amount of time she excused herself, saying to Rafael, ‘The jet lag is catching up with me. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll go to bed.’

Praying that Rico wouldn’t follow her, she breathed a sigh of relief when she heard Rafael continue the conversation. She all but ran up the stairs, and practically bumped into Isobel, who was coming back down.

Isobel touched Gypsy’s arm and asked gently, ‘Are you OK?’

Gypsy nodded. She felt like bursting into tears, but held it back.

Isobel bit her lip and said, ‘I didn’t mean to say anything to cause tension between you and Rico. I’m so sorry…I saw the way he was with you, and I guess I just assumed…’

She looked so mournful that Gypsy blocked out her pathetic need to know what Isobel meant by I saw the way he was with you and shook her head. ‘No, it’s not you at all. Believe me. It’s just…things aren’t exactly how they seem with me and Rico…we’re not…together.’

Isobel groaned. ‘And I put you two in the same room. I am so sorry. Look, I’ll move Rico—’

‘No!’ Gypsy said forcibly, anticipating Rico’s retribution, and forced herself to say calmly, ‘Don’t—really. It’s fine, honestly. Our relationship is not to be a cause of concern to you.’

Isobel took Gypsy’s arm and walked her back down the corridor towards the bedrooms. ‘If it’s any consolation, I think I might know a little of what you’re going through…’ she confided.

Gypsy frowned. ‘But you and Rafael seem so…’ She trailed off, remembering intruding on their intimate moment.

Isobel smiled ruefully. ‘Oh, we are now. But, believe me, it wasn’t always like that.’ She shook her head, ‘Considering their background, and the damage their father—’ She stopped and clarified. ‘That is the damage Rafael’s father, Rico’s stepfather, did to them both, it’s easy to see where they get their drive and arrogance. And Rico had it so much worse than Rafael, because he was someone else’s son. Rafael doesn’t even know what happened between Rico and his biological father when he left at sixteen to go and find him in Greece.’

Reeling inwardly at this information, Gypsy repeated, ‘He left at sixteen?’

Isobel nodded. ‘After a beating that nearly put him in a hospital. If he hadn’t turned on his stepfather that day and fought back, who knows what might have happened? As it was, he saved Rafael from years of further abuse…’ Isobel turned to Gypsy at the door of the bedroom. ‘Look, if there’s any way I can make this more comfortable for you, let me know.’

Gypsy forced a smile. ‘I will. And thank you.’

Isobel hugged Gypsy impulsively before walking away.

When Gypsy had let herself into the bedroom she stood with her back to the door for a long moment while silent tears slid down her cheeks. The other woman’s easy affection had pushed her over the edge of her control.

She wiped at the tears that wouldn’t seem to stop and told herself angrily that she wasn’t crying at the thought of a proud sixteen-year-old being beaten so badly that he’d left home. She’d already begun to suspect that Rico was a much more complex person than her father. Hearing that intriguing snippet about his and Rafael’s childhood made her want to know more, and that was dangerous. Along with the ever-increasing proof that when it came to his daughter he was proving to be nothing like her own father.

He was making Gypsy pay, yes, just as her father had done to her mother—but not because she’d asked him to acknowledge Lola, but because she hadn’t.

And while his words tonight should have comforted her, telling her of his intention that they would never formalise their relationship just for the sake of their daughter or because he might gain more control over them, they had done anything but. The words had scored through her like a serrated knife.

Suddenly anticipating Rico striding into the room, Gypsy hurriedly dressed in her nightclothes and got into bed, hugging one side. She put a pillow in the centre as a warning to Rico, but she had no doubt after that comment downstairs that he’d be as likely to try and seduce her as he would be to give Lola up.

Rico came into the room and saw the slight shape under the covers in the bed. A small bedside light threw out a dim glow, and Rico walked over to look down on Gypsy where she lay sleeping. He cursed softly when he saw the unmistakable sign of tear-tracks on her cheeks, feeling his chest tighten. He did not welcome the unbidden emotion where this woman was concerned.

Dammit. He’d just had to endure the worst look of reproach from Isobel, and Rafael’s clear disapproval. He hadn’t told them, however, that he had regretted the words as soon as they’d come out of his mouth. He’d wanted to snatch them back as soon as he’d seen the colour leach from Gypsy’s face and her eyes grow bruised. It had been a cheap shot designed to hurt, and it had.

Rico was disconcerted by this need to hurt Gypsy, because it hinted at a desire to force her to push him away. When really he knew he didn’t have to make much of an effort there. He was surprised she hadn’t hit him the other day, after he’d seduced her in his study and all but exploded like an inexperienced teenager in his pants. What had started out as an exercise in domination over her had turned rapidly into something completely out of his control.

Gypsy hated him, but perversely that thought didn’t give him the same satisfaction it might have a few days ago. His mouth thinned. He had done something or he represented something that she despised. It was becoming more and more clear that something lay behind her reasoning for not getting in touch with him when she’d found out about her pregnancy.

She kept making comments about men like you, or I know how you operate, and it was beginning to seriously get on his nerves. And yet she’d had an opportunity earlier to make the most of his discomfiture when he hadn’t known how to deal with Lola’s bad behaviour, but she hadn’t. She’d been generous and had put him at ease, assuring him it wasn’t his fault.

And he’d repaid her by making a snide comment.

He was used to people looking for a weakness and exploiting it, and she hadn’t done that. She was full of shadows and secrets which he was only now beginning to unravel. She didn’t trust him, she didn’t want his money, and she fought her attraction to him as if her life depended on it. And he wanted to know why. Right at that moment, despite the most urgent desire he’d ever felt for a woman burning him up inside, he felt the need to proceed cautiously, suddenly wary of what further vulnerabilities intimacy might bring.

‘I owe you an apology.’

Gypsy’s hand tightened around her coffee cup. It was just her and Rico in the bright and airy breakfast room. When she’d woken this morning she’d been inordinately relieved to find Rico’s side of the bed empty. He’d already taken Lola downstairs to eat with Beatriz, Isobel and Luis, and Isobel had insisted on taking Lola off to play with Beatriz.

So now it was just the two of them, and she had to have misheard. She looked at him warily. ‘Apology?’

He nodded once, curtly, the lines of his cleanshaven face stark. ‘What I said last night was unforgivably rude. You are the mother of my child and deserve more respect.’

If Gypsy hadn’t already been sitting down she would have fallen. She got the distinct impression that those words had cost him dearly. She might be the mother of his child but he still despised her for what she had done. But then her heart thumped—was he saying that he would marry her? She went hot all over, and clammy at the same time.

As if Rico could see the direction of her thoughts he said mockingly, ‘While I don’t envisage such a union between us, I had no right to say it so baldly. Suffice to say, I still don’t relish the thought of marrying a woman who thinks nothing of keeping the father out of his child’s life.’

Gypsy’s chin hitched up. So he was apologising not for what he’d said, but how he’d said it. Fresh hurt lanced her, mocking her attempt to deny it. ‘I didn’t think nothing of it. I had my reasons and they were good ones.’

Rico leant forward, suddenly threatening. ‘Yes, about those reasons…You’ve not been entirely forthcoming in that area. You’re determined to believe the worst of me—that’s been clear since the moment we met again—and you’ve obviously thought the worst since you knew who I was. That’s why you never contacted me, isn’t it? While I find it hard to believe, I’m willing to bet that you slept with me that night because you truly did think I was just some anonymous person, and not one of the wealthiest men in the world.’ He said this with no arrogance, just stated the fact.

Gypsy’s skin tightened across her bones and she confirmed his suspicion, saying faintly, ‘I didn’t know anything about you till I saw you on the news that morning…’

Her brain whirred sickeningly. He was issuing a direct challenge and skirting far too close to the truth. He couldn’t know about her father; he couldn’t know the dramatic step she’d taken after he had died. If he shared the antipathy her father had felt for him, he’d use that for sure. And he couldn’t know about her mother’s mental instability. He wouldn’t understand—few people would—and he would use all that information to make her appear an unfit mother.

She was aware on some level that this fear was coming from a visceral place, not necessarily rational, but she couldn’t control it. She didn’t see herself ever being able to trust Rico. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d trusted anyone.

How could she, when her formative experiences had been learnt so painfully at the hands of someone who hadn’t even been as powerful?

She reiterated. ‘As I told you before, I had no desire to be dragged through the courts, and your departure that morning had left me in no doubt as to how reluctant you were to see me again.’

He seemed to consider saying something for a long time, and eventually he said roughly, ‘I told you the day I came to your flat that I regretted leaving you the way I did.’

Gypsy swallowed. She’d dismissed his words as an easy platitude at the time, but now they skated over her skin and made little tremors race up and down.

His mouth tightened into a thin line. ‘I rang the hotel…most likely just after you would have seen me on the news…but you’d already left…’

Gypsy stopped breathing. She had the vaguest recollection of a phone ringing as she’d walked away from the room, but she had assumed it was coming from somewhere else. That had been him? To say what? That he wanted to see her again? But even as she thought that, and her heart clenched treacherously, she realised that she’d known who he was by then…so she would still have run, disgusted at having let herself be seduced so easily by someone like him. She’d still been raw after her father’s death—especially as she’d just found out the extent of his cruelty to her mother.

Gypsy tore her eyes from his and looked down, feeling very wobbly inside. ‘You say that you rang. Whether you did or not is a moot point now.’

‘Clearly.’

Rico’s voice was harsh enough to have Gypsy’s eyes meet his, and something in those grey depths made her breath hitch.

And then, moving abruptly, Rico put down his napkin and stood up. ‘I have to go into my office here today. The event we’re going to tonight is black tie—it’s for a charity I’m patron of. Be ready to go out at seven p.m.’

Gypsy watched as Rico strode powerfully from the room, and when he’d gone the absence of his intense energy made her sag like a lead balloon. She’d been to dozens of society charity events, as her father had been patron of many—but only to enhance his ego, avail himself of tax benefits, and occasionally to dip into the funds for himself.

He’d never got caught. He’d been too good at creating smoke and mirrors so people didn’t ask questions or looked the other way. But Gypsy had known, though she’d always been too terrified of the potential punishment if she did something as audacious as call the police. But nevertheless her father had managed to punish her for her knowledge.

Once again she was being hurtled back in time. With effort she forced her mind away. She’d never wanted to be party to something like this again, and here she was, right in the middle of it. She let familiar cynicism wash over her as she thought of the prospect of the evening to come, but knew it was a weak attempt to avoid the thought of going out on Rico’s arm in public.

She couldn’t even drum up the disgust she’d expected to feel at the thought of seeing Rico posture and preen purely to raise his profile. She had an uncomfortable presentiment that he would confound her expectations again.

That evening Gypsy sat beside Rico at the head table, in a thronged and glittering ballroom in one of Buenos Aires’ best hotels. She was incensed that her distaste for this milieu was being constantly diminished because she was so distracted by how gorgeous Rico looked in a classic black-tie tuxedo.

Isobel was minding Lola, and had kindly helped Gypsy to get ready earlier. She’d endeared herself to Gypsy even more when she’d confided with feeling that she and Rafael had a pact that they’d only go to charity events if and when it was absolutely necessary, and only if Rafael could promise that he would try to extort as much money as possible out of the assembled Buenos Aires elite. After they’d given over their own generous donation, of course.

Gypsy had been happy with her appearance once Isobel had left. Her hair was straightened and twisted into a classic chignon, and her plain dark green silk dress, sleeveless and with a cowl neckline, fell to the floor. She looked the part—the part she’d been trained well to play by her own father when it had suited him to act out the role of devoted parent, which had only ever lasted as long as they’d been on public display.

When Rico had come into the bedroom earlier and asked, with a horrified glance at her head, ‘What have you done to your hair?’ Gypsy had felt like a gauche teenager again—acutely self-conscious and aware that she just didn’t have the right look for this world.

Defensively she’d touched her hair and said, ‘Isobel straightened it for me. It’s tidier like this…I thought for the dinner—’

But he’d just said curtly, ‘Come on, we’ll be late,’ and strode out of the room, making Gypsy want to slam and lock the door behind him.

Now she looked resolutely away from Rico, and tried not to let the fact that his powerful thigh was brushing against hers intermittently bother her. But she couldn’t pretend to herself that she wasn’t affected, and squirmed inwardly at the thought of Rico knowing.

Suddenly a hush descended on the room as a compère got up and signalled to the crowd. She heard Rico sigh deeply beside her and snuck a look. His face was expressionless, but his jaw was tight, and she knew in that instant that he too hated this. Reeling at that information, she watched dumbly as he got up with fluid athletic grace after being introduced, and walked to the podium with thunderous adoring applause resounding around the room.

Up until that point Gypsy hadn’t taken much notice of what the charity in question was, but now she recognised it as one of her father’s own pet projects. One that he’d taken funds from. Her face burned with mortification at the realisation, and also at the weak fear that had led her to keep quiet about it when she’d been younger.

Rico was talking now, and Gypsy became quickly mesmerised by the simple articulacy of his words and his obvious genuine passion for the cause. A few people shifted uncomfortably around her; clearly they’d just expected him to get up and smile and say nothing of any consequence. But Rico was not going anywhere yet.