Abby Green - Keeping Her Close

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.