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

Gypsy sighed deeply and tried her best not to think of that now. Tried not to think of how it had killed her inside to realise the night she’d met Rico that she had found it so easy to gravitate towards a man of her father’s ilk. Was there something within her that resonated with powerful and ruthless men, despite what her father had done to her and her mother?

She sighed again, and turned over to face where Lola slept so peacefully. Her father was gone. And, while she might be in this untenable situation with Rico now, she was not like her mother. She would not be so easily separated from her daughter. She was infinitely stronger and more resourceful. They would get through this, and she would not let him consume them utterly just because he craved control.

The following morning, early, Rico sat at the breakfast bar in the state-of-the-art kitchen. The Financial Times couldn’t hold his interest. He looked around and grimaced, seeing for the first time exactly what Gypsy had seen yesterday evening. The place was a potential minefield for an innocent toddler. Watching how Lola had gleefully run around last night, having to be plucked from danger every two seconds, had made him sweat. He’d never had to account for a small child before.

His heart clenched at recalling her vibrant energy, and how right it had felt to have her here—how quickly he’d felt that if anyone so much as looked at her the wrong way he’d want to flatten them.

She was beautiful—more beautiful than anything he could have imagined. She was bright, sharp, inquisitive. And, he had to concede grudgingly, all the evidence pointed to the fact that Gypsy was indeed a good mother.

Finding Gypsy in the kitchen making hot chocolate last night had made him feel unaccountably off-centre. Because she’d looked right in that domestic milieu. It had been almost as if he couldn’t remember a time when this penthouse had just been his London pied-à-terre , a place where he invited his mistresses for transitory pleasures. The sense of triumph had disturbed him, making him sound more caustic than he’d intended when he’d outlined his plans for the week.

When he’d gone to look in on Lola as she’d slept, a wave of emotion he’d never felt before had nearly felled him. His hand had shaken as he’d reached out to stroke soft skin—soft as a rose petal. And he had known in that moment, as he’d looked down at her flushed and downy cheeks, at the riot of golden curls around her head and that tiny, fragile and yet so sturdy body, that he was possibly falling in love for the first time.

As for her mother…Rico welcomed the hardness that settled in his chest at just thinking of her. All he felt for Gypsy was a singular irritating desire, which he hated to acknowledge, and the need to seek vengeance. To make her bend to his will. To punish her for keeping their daughter secret from him.

Just then he heard Lola’s cry come from the baby monitor, which Gypsy had obviously left in the kitchen last night. She cried out again, and the cries became more forceful as she woke up. Rico tensed all over. Silently he cursed Gypsy. Why wasn’t she attending to their daughter? Perhaps something was wrong?

Feeling a very unwelcome sense of panic, Rico was about to stride from the room when he heard Gypsy’s soft, sleep-filled and husky voice. ‘Good morning, sweetheart…’

He heard the rustle of movement but still couldn’t relax; hearing Gypsy’s voice was sending a new kind of tension through his body.

‘Did you sleep well, my love?’

Lola cooed in response, and Rico heard the sound of kisses. Heat flooded his body.

‘I bet you did…you’re my best girl, aren’t you?’

With an abrupt move, Rico shut off the monitor. The problem was she was his girl now too, and the sooner Gypsy came to terms with that the better.

He finished his coffee with one gulp and went to his study to make some calls.

Gypsy was just finishing feeding Lola her breakfast when Rico walked into the kitchen. Immediately her heart thumped hard, and she felt self-conscious in the same baggy jeans and an ancient college T-shirt, with her hair dragged up and held in place with a big clip.

Lola grinned happily at Rico, sending specks of food flying as she waved her spoon around and chattered in baby-speak. Immediately aware of how pristine Rico was in comparison to her, in his dark trousers and white shirt, Gypsy leapt up to get a cloth and wipe the floor.

His voice came curtly. ‘Leave it. Mrs Wakefield will see to it.’

She flushed, but sat back down again. ‘I don’t want to give her any more work to do.’

Rico smiled tightly. ‘While your concern is commendable, Mrs Wakefield has a veritable army of cleaners under her, so don’t worry about it.’

He leaned back against the fridge and looked with such indulgence at Lola that Gypsy found it hard to breathe. Then his expression changed visibly to something much cooler as he looked at her. ‘I trust you slept well?’

She nodded, watching as Lola grabbed her cup. She was getting to that age when she was determined to do everything herself. ‘Yes. Very well. I’m lucky that Lola has always been a pretty good sleeper, and she was tired last night.’

‘ You look tired,’ he said abruptly, and when Gypsy glanced up she could see his face flush, as if he was angry with himself for noticing.

She shrugged, feeling even more self-conscious and haggard. ‘I’ve been working hard…’ She amended it, ‘ Was working hard.’

He obviously noticed her T-shirt and asked now, ‘You went to London University?’

Gypsy busied herself cleaning Lola, who squirmed to get away. She hated having to tell him anything, but nodded and said, ‘I studied psychology, and specialised in child psychology.’

‘When did you graduate?’

‘Two years ago.’ Just weeks before she’d met Rico in that club. Not that she was going to mention that now.

Rico finally walked over to the coffee machine, and with his intense regard off her for a moment Gypsy could breathe again. She cast his broad back a quick glance. ‘I’ll need to go out today to get some things for Lola. I need nappies and some other supplies.’

Rico turned around and leaned back easily against the counter, coffee cup in hand. ‘I’ve taken the day off work. My doctor will be here in about an hour to take the swabs and then we can go out together. We can get what you need, and there’s a park near here where Lola can play for a bit. We’ll have to stay out of the apartment anyway, as people are coming in to child-proof it.’

Surprise washed through Gypsy at the speed with which Rico was adapting his world to accommodate Lola—and also, she had to admit, the fact that he wasn’t already gone to work, having left behind an impersonal note, or indeed no note. On the contrary, he was taking a day off. She couldn’t remember one instance when her own father, or her vacuous stepmother, had taken a day off for her. Not even on school sports days. Not even on the day when she’d come to her father’s home to move in. His cold housekeeper had brought her to a room and told her to stay there until dinnertime.

Feeling unaccountably threatened, and vulnerable from the memory, Gypsy said churlishly, ‘Afraid that if you turn your back we’ll be gone?’

Rico’s eyes flashed, but he took a lazy sip of coffee and drawled, ‘Let’s just say that trust is certainly an issue.’

She couldn’t say anything in response. She didn’t want to let him know how much he was surprising her. ‘We’ll be ready after I’ve washed and changed Lola.’

Rico put down his coffee cup then, and for a second Gypsy could have sworn that something intensely vulnerable flashed across his face. But it was gone before she could be sure.