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

Gypsy all but shuddered and shook her head eagerly. ‘No.’

A questioning gleam lit his eyes for a second, but then it was gone, and he led the way until they were back in the car and driving away. Rico was already opening his bow-tie with a grimace, and the top button of his shirt. Gypsy was transfixed by his hand, those long fingers…

Suddenly his hand stopped moving, and with a panicky feeling in her gut Gypsy met speculative grey ones. He quirked a small smile. ‘If you keep looking at me like that I’m going to do something about it. I meant what I said in London. I want you, and I intend to have you, Gypsy. On my bed, underneath me…’

Her face flaming now, Gypsy hissed, ‘Stop that right now.’

He shrugged. ‘It’s going to happen, Gypsy. We might not trust each other, or even like each other very much, but that’s beside the point. I won’t force you, though. You’ll admit you want me too before we sleep together. I’m prepared to wait…for now. But I’ll warn you I’m not a patient man.’

Gypsy tried to look away but couldn’t. She felt hot inside at his obvious intent, and extremely susceptible having witnessed Rico at that charity event—having seen his clear distaste for the whole scene and his obvious determination to beat the cynics at their own game.

Right now she felt very confused, because the man she’d just seen working a jaded crowd to his advantage was someone she very possibly wanted to like her. Feeling very shaky inside, she mustered up a futile and rebellious, ‘Don’t hold your breath…’

THREE days later they were sitting on Rico’s plane again, winging their way back to Europe—to Greece. Rico was immersed in work at the back of the plane, and Gypsy had Lola curled sleepily on her lap, exhausted after exciting days getting to know her new cousins. She was already worshipping the ground that Beatriz walked on, and doting on Luis as if he were her own brother.

Gypsy had met Rico’s mother—a small dark woman with the saddest eyes she’d ever seen. It had been clear that no familial love existed between the brothers and her, despite Isobel’s valiant efforts to include her in everything. She hadn’t even looked all that surprised or overjoyed at being presented with a brand-new granddaughter.

But, more than that, Gypsy couldn’t get over how, in the space of the last three days, her impression of Rico had changed so much.

After witnessing his distaste at another society charity function the night after the first outing, she’d ascertained that, while he wanted to contribute something, he had as much cynicism for the monied elite as she did. Even more disconcerting had been his reaction to seeing her hair straightened again. He’d growled at her in the car. ‘I don’t want to see your hair like that again. In future leave it alone.’

His words had had a seismic effect on her after years of having it drummed into her by her father that she looked like an unkempt mess, not fit for polite society. Feeling more and more uncomfortable at clinging on to her prejudices, the following day Gypsy had asked Isobel if she could use the computer in the house study, and she had done what she should have done as soon as she’d found out she was pregnant. She’d run a Google search for Rico.

She’d read as much as she could, with a sinking heart and a sick feeling her belly. Far from her father’s assessment of Rico—which she realised now must have come out of petty jealousy—Rico Christofides was universally lauded as one of the cleanest entrepreneurs in the world. He played harshly and ruthlessly, yes, but always fairly.

Her father’s name was even mentioned in a couple of articles, citing instances when he’d tried—stupidly, by all accounts—to take over some of Rico’s interests. Rico had merely swatted him back like an inconsequential fly. No wonder her father had hated him so much; he hadn’t been able to beat him. And he’d been humiliated in the process.

Gypsy had even seen that while they’d been in London Rico had been involved in extremely delicate negotiations to save an electronics plant on the verge of collapse in northern England. If it had gone under it would have pushed an already economically challenged area over the edge. But Rico had managed to pull it back from the brink, and not only that but also to create more jobs in the process…

She’d felt even sicker, because those were the negotiations she’d taunted him about that day in the penthouse, when they’d been stuck inside thanks to the paparazzi.

She heard movement beside her, and looked over to see Rico take a seat on the other side of the cabin. Treacherous flames of desire and illicit excitement feathered through Gypsy’s veins. He put his head back now and closed his eyes. Gypsy felt a lurch in her chest at seeing faint dark circles under his eyes. And when she recalled how gently he’d held Luis the day before at the christening she felt something even scarier.

Suddenly his head snapped back down. Those eyes opened and looked straight at her. Heat flooded her face when she recalled how she’d woken only that morning to find Rico on one arm, staring at her with a wicked gleam in his eye, his broad and powerful chest bare.

She’d watched, instantly awake and breathless, as he’d taken the pillow from the centre of the bed and thrown it to the other side of the room. Suddenly filled with nebulous emotions, acutely aware of how much she’d misjudged him, she’d entreated huskily, ‘ No , Rico,’ terrified he’d see her vulnerability.

But he’d just come closer and closed the gap between them. His skin had been hot and silky as he’d trapped her under one arm, bicep bulging. ‘ Yes , Rico. I find that my patience is running very thin.’

Every nerve-point in Gypsy’s body had come alive, treacherously telling of her inability to deny this desire. His head had lowered and his mouth had slanted over hers, stifling anything else she might say. After a futile moment of trying not to react to his kiss, to his proximity, Gypsy’s mouth had opened and Rico had plundered ruthlessly, tongue stabbing deep, making Gypsy’s back arch.

Her hands had instinctively clung to his arms, fingers digging into hard muscle. Before she’d known how he did it, the buttons of her pyjama top were undone and he was spreading the sides apart to bare her breasts to his gaze. The hardening rosy tips had tingled as he’d brushed a hand over one, and then the other.

Gypsy’s breath had come fast and shallow, and when he’d lowered his head and mouth to suck one tip deep she’d all but bucked off the bed, so sensitised it had hurt.

Just as his hand had been travelling down to the waistband of her pants, a mewl had come from Lola in the other room.

They’d both stopped, waiting, and it had come again—stronger. Louder. She’d woken up. With a veritable turmoil of tangled emotions and frustrated desires in her belly Gypsy had pushed Rico away and got up, hastily buttoning her top again. Reluctantly she’d looked back to the bed, to see Rico lying there, arms behind his head, the sheet just managing to hide the extent of his arousal, chest broad and awe inspiring, gleaming dark olive with a smattering of masculine hair.

He’d smiled wickedly and drawled, ‘Next time we won’t have a convenient interruption. I can promise you that…’

Gypsy had fled.

Now, as Rico’s far too assessing eyes looked at her, she burned all over. She wasn’t sure if it was her imagination, but she thought she’d caught him looking at her periodically over the last couple of days with a speculative gleam. He just arched a brow now, and asked laconically, ‘So, did you find anything interesting on the internet?’