Keeping Her Close. Эбби Грин
Читать онлайн книгу.
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,