Abby Green - Keeping Her Close

To her utter chagrin and horror she couldn’t remember exactly why she and Lola had to get away so badly. She was back in time, staring up at Rico for the first time and thinking that he had to be looking at someone else—he couldn’t be looking at her like that.

His hands drew her closer, and Gypsy felt her feet moving against some dim and distant will she was trying to impose.

Rico was finding it hard to remember what they’d been talking about. He was forgetting the tinge of guilt he’d felt at Gypsy’s accusation. While he certainly hadn’t intended for them to be hounded by the press, he had seen the advantage in allowing it to become public knowledge that he had a daughter. But now, as he looked down into Gypsy’s deep green eyes, all that faded.

His voice was rough and deep. The words felt as if they were being pulled out of him. ‘Dammit, I still want you. I couldn’t forget about you, no matter how hard I tried. That’s why I came after you.’

Gypsy fought the clamour of her pulse, threatening to suck her under. Everything she’d been angry about was disappearing under a wave of need so strong it was making her shake. She fought not to give in to Rico’s pull, and said scathingly, ‘You were thinking of me even as you slept with that woman the other night?’

He smiled, and it was pure danger, ‘Jealous, Gypsy? Because if you are then surely that means you haven’t been able to forget about me either.’

‘Damn you to hell, Rico,’ Gypsy said shakily. Too many nights when she’d woken aching for this man’s touch were mocking her now.

‘Well, if I’m going to hell then you’re coming with me.’

He pulled her right into him, and her T-shirt and jeans were no barrier against his long, lean, hardening body. A tremor of pure arousal shot through her as his head descended. For a split second Gypsy tried to articulate something negative, but their breaths were mingling, and then his mouth was slanting over hers with expert precision and she was lost…

She was back in time, on the street outside that club, after putting her hand over Rico’s mouth because she didn’t want to know his name, because she didn’t want any kind of reality to intrude on the moment. And he’d pulled her into him and kissed her for the first time.

The kiss then, as now, had been the culmination of an intense build-up. His mouth was hard and firm, and yet soft enough to make her melt and yearn and lean into him even more. Tacitly telling him of her approval, of her desire. Rico groaned deep in his throat and deepened the kiss, plundering Gypsy’s mouth, finding her tongue and stroking along it with erotic mastery. His hands had moved down to clasp her hips, fingers digging into her waist. Her hands clung to broad shoulders. She could feel her hair loosen from its topknot and fall down over her shoulders.

Between her legs she was burning up, the ache she’d been feeling for two years growing more acute with each passing second, with the tantalising promise of fulfilment. As if reading her mind, Rico pulled her even closer, his big hands spreading around her buttocks to lift her against him slightly, so that she could feel his arousal more fully.

And all the while their mouths clung, and a desperation was building in the kiss, as if they’d both suddenly realised the depth of the passion they’d been missing for two years. Gypsy strained higher, her hands going to Rico’s head, where her fingers tangled in silky strands, keeping his head against hers. Not allowing him to escape…

With another guttural moan, Rico impatiently found and pushed up Gypsy’s T-shirt, smoothed his hand up over her waist and belly to cup her breast. With a gasp she couldn’t hold back she tore her mouth away from Rico’s and looked up—dazed, dizzy.

At that moment a little squeak came from the baby monitor. They both tensed and froze. The red mist of arousal cleared from Gypsy’s brain and the present moment came back. She was plastered to Rico’s front, all over him like a clinging vine. And his hand cupped her lace-covered breast intimately.

No other sound came from the monitor, but Gypsy used the impetus to push roughly away from Rico, who stood there looking dishevelled and utterly gorgeous, cheeks flushed, eyes so dark they looked black in the dim lighting. More buttons on his shirt had been opened. Horror gripped her. Had she done that?

She backed away and hit the window, was glad of the support. She felt as though she might just slide down it and land in a heap of sprawled limbs. ‘I don’t know…’ she began shakily ‘…that was…’

‘That,’ Rico said grimly, sounding utterly composed, ‘was something we will return to—without interruption.’

Gypsy shook her head, and quivered as Rico strode forward and caged her in, putting his hands either side of her head on the thick glass.

‘We’ve just proved that this desire has not died. If I were to seduce you right here and now I could have your legs around my waist and take you right against this window.’

The carnality of his words made Gypsy blush brick-red, even as the image in her mind strangled any denial she might make. She just shook her head again—pathetically.

Rico brought a finger to her cheek and trailed it slowly and sensuously down over her jaw, and lower, to the V of her T-shirt which rested just above her cleavage. His eyes met hers. ‘You won’t be going anywhere, Gypsy. Not until I say so.’ A chill entered his voice. ‘And if you do, I’ll find you. So you see, no matter where you go, I’ll simply bring you back. You and Lola are mine now, and I always claim what’s mine.’

At that moment the monitor sprang to life again, and Gypsy jumped. A plaintive wail sounded. ‘Mama…’

‘I hate you, Rico.’

He smiled, and it didn’t reach his eyes. ‘I hate you too, Gypsy. But conveniently enough our desire seems to exist in spite of our mutual antipathy.’

Gypsy finally managed to bring her hands up to knock Rico’s down, and on extremely wobbly legs, feeling perilously close to tears, she left the room to tend to Lola.

RICO sat heavily on the couch once Gypsy had left. In truth his legs felt profoundly unsteady. His heart was racing and, despite the coolness he’d just projected, the taste of Gypsy, the feel of her, the scent of her, had all acted like the most powerful aphrodisiac. If they’d not been interrupted by Lola just now, he wouldn’t have been far from freeing himself from his confining clothes, pulling off her jeans and surging up and into her moist heat against the window he’d just taunted her with. He burned with a need he’d only felt once before—the night he’d met her.

He reeled at realising how quickly passion had blazed—literally within minutes of arriving in the door from work. But something about the way she’d told him that she intended to leave had unleashed a wave of possessiveness and desire inside him so strong that it still astounded him.

Through the baby monitor he heard Lola’s cries abate, and Gypsy saying in a voice that sounded suspiciously husky, ‘What is it, sweetie? You woke up?’

Even at that Rico tensed all over again, and cursed volubly. And then the monitor went suddenly silent, as if Gypsy had realised he might hear them and had turned it off, and he had to restrain himself from going down to the room and demanding irrationally that she put it back on.

That Friday morning Gypsy got the call which meant the inevitable end of life and freedom as she and Lola had known it. In a curt voice Rico wasted no time in informing her that he had the paternity test results and they were positive.

You could have saved your precious money , Gypsy wanted to hurl at him but didn’t. She merely listened to him tell her that he’d be home soon to talk to her, and put down the phone.