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Rico’s eyes flashed as he turned to face her. ‘You’re both in dire need of new wardrobes. I can provide that.’
‘I’ve already told you,’ Gypsy spat, ‘we don’t need you, or your money. To spend money on clothes this expensive is pure extravagance. There’s enough in there to clothe an entire village of babies, not just one. As it is, Lola’s growing so fast that she’ll have outgrown most of them before she can even wear them.’
Rico’s face tightened, a muscle moving in his jaw, and Gypsy felt like a complete bitch. Because she had the strangest sensation that she’d just hurt him.
‘I will provide for my daughter. That is non-negotiable. And while you are with me, under my roof, you will not go outside the door looking like a bag lady.’
‘God forbid,’ Gypsy muttered caustically, somehow relieved that Rico was retaliating, ‘that we should embarrass the great Rico Christofides.’ She put down the rest of the clothes and held her hands out for Lola, who squirmed to get to Gypsy. ‘It’s time for her dinner now.’
After an interminable moment full of crackling tension Rico finally handed her over, and bit out, ‘I’ll be in my study for the rest of the evening. If you’re so concerned about the excess of clothes, take out what you think she won’t need and I’ll have them sent back.’
And then he walked out, and Gypsy inexplicably felt like a complete heel.
A couple of hours later she sat by Lola’s cot, watching her fight against sleep, her eyes getting heavier and heavier. And Gypsy was still fighting that feeling of guilt. Because Rico was all at once confirming every one of her worst suspicions and yet confounding them at the same time. The image of Lola in his arms earlier was still clear, and she knew she’d been a coward in not acknowledging how it had made her feel—knew too that her knee-jerk reaction to the clothes had come from somewhere that had much more to do with painful memory than the present situation.
In his study at the same moment, Rico looked impossibly grim as he picked up his phone. When someone answered, he bit out tersely, ‘Gypsy Butler. I want you to find out everything you can about her. Money is no object.’
When he put the phone down Rico took another gulp of whisky from the bulbous glass and passed a weary hand over his face. Women caused not a ripple in his life: they were there, they were willing, and he always chose the most beautiful and experienced. Until that night, when everything he’d thought he knew had blown up in his face…
No woman, ever, had made him want to simultaneously throttle her and kiss her. His mouth curled up in a feral smile. Kissing Gypsy certainly would help assuage the near-constant ache in his groin, but he could well imagine the resistance she would undoubtedly put up. She tensed whenever he came near her, but he could see the signs of attraction. It hummed between them like a current of electricity.
Domination of this woman was rapidly becoming his life’s obsession, and sensual domination over her rebellious nature was going to be sweet indeed. For the first time since he could remember work was taking a back seat in his life. Going shopping was something he hadn’t indulged in in a long time. It had reminded him uncomfortably of the night when he’d met Gypsy in the club, and he had ducked into an all-night pharmacy to get protection, like an out-of-control teenager.
He’d felt uncomfortably exposed when she’d pointed out his impulsive gesture to spoil his daughter. How could he explain to Gypsy that he wanted the chance to lavish everything on Lola that he’d been denied up till now? He’d felt exposed and weak; no one had made him feel like that in a long time and he didn’t welcome it.
Perhaps when he’d had Gypsy again he would be able to see clearly how best to slot her into his life. She had to want something, despite her apparent moralistic outrage at his wealth; she’d made a big song and dance earlier, insisting on paying for everything—Rico couldn’t remember the last time a woman had insisted on paying for anything—but once he knew what it was Gypsy wanted, what her weakness was, he would manipulate her to his ends. The most important thing for now was to ensure that he bound both Gypsy and Lola to him as tightly as he could. They weren’t going anywhere for the foreseeable future.
The following evening Gypsy fumed and seethed. She paced along the huge window in the living room and glared at the view. The apartment was quiet. Mrs Wakefield had gone home and Lola was asleep.
When they’d woken that morning Gypsy had found a note from Rico.
I’ll be at the office all day. Call me if you need anything.
He’d listed a number. Gypsy had breathed a sigh of relief, but had momentarily felt an uncomfortable spiking of something suspiciously like disappointment.
It had been later, when she’d been in the hallway, putting the last of the bags full of new clothes she’d decided she and Lola didn’t need—which was most of them—that she’d noticed the tabloid newspapers.
Mrs Wakefield had confided to her that they were her weakness, and that Rico got them delivered each day for her. Something had caught her eye, and she’d opened the top one out to see a grainy picture of Rico, herself and Lola in the park the day before.
Rico had Lola in his arms, and Gypsy stood to one side smiling. She couldn’t even remember that she had been smiling, and it felt like a treachery to see it now. The headline screamed out: Tycoon Rico’s secret family!
In horror, Gypsy had thrown the paper down. With anger boiling upwards she’d tried to call him, but hadn’t been able to get past the clipped secretary who’d said officiously, ‘I’m terribly sorry but Mr Christofides cannot be disturbed at the moment if it’s not urgent. I’ll pass on a message?’
Gypsy had bitten out, ‘Tell Mr Christofides that his secret family would like to talk to him.’
He’d planned it—she knew he must have planned it. To make sure that it was out there in the public domain that he had a child. So that they wouldn’t be able to make a move without being followed.
Sure enough, when Gypsy had rung down to the doorman he’d sounded bewildered and confirmed that, yes, there suddenly seemed to be hundreds of photographers outside the door. To think that she had been surprised by Rico’s apparent willingness to spend time with them.
The apartment door opened at that moment and Gypsy turned round, hands clenched into fists at her sides. With her heart thumping she waited, and watched as Rico’s powerful frame appeared in the doorway. He was tugging at his tie and looked tired. She quashed the concern.
‘Thank you for calling me back today.’ Sarcasm dripped from her voice.
; His eyes burned a dark grey, no expression on his face. ‘I got the message.’
Gypsy was starting to shake at his non-response. ‘Do you know that if I hadn’t seen the tabloids and had gone out with Lola we would have been ambushed by the hundreds of photographers outside? As it was we couldn’t leave all day, and to keep a toddler cooped up in an apartment—even one as large as this—is not a pleasurable experience.’
