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