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.
While Mrs Wakefield gave Lola some lunch, Gypsy paced the floor of the living room. Every nerve in her body was coiled tight, and had been ever since that kiss three nights ago. Since then she’d done everything possible to avoid being alone with Rico—much to his evident and mocking amusement. His steel-grey eyes followed her with heavy-lidded intent whenever they were together—which hadn’t been that often, as he’d been working till late most days, confirming for her that he would fall into a predictable pattern of work. Even that hadn’t induced feelings of recrimination, only something suspiciously like disappointment.
Her motivation had changed from an intense desire to get away from Rico and his autocracy to the treacherous desire for her own self-protection. She was already so vulnerable to him, and now she was even more vulnerable. Because clearly her mind had absolutely no control over her body. And her body wanted Rico so badly that she dreamt of it when she slept and craved it when she was awake.
She hated that she could be so weak, that even knowing Rico was intent on controlling them she could still desire him so badly.
Just then she heard the unmistakable sound of his return, and went to see him standing at the door of the kitchen, taking in the sight of Lola happily chirruping away with Mrs Wakefield, causing a circle of destruction around her highchair. He had a look on his face that made Gypsy’s heart twist, and then he said, sounding suspiciously gruff, ‘Mrs Wakefield, I’d like to introduce you to my daughter—Lola.’
Mrs Wakefield smiled affectionately. ‘Well, I could have told you that the minute I saw her. She’s the image of you.’
As if just becoming aware of Gypsy’s presence Rico turned his head, and all that warmth was gone in a flash. She shivered. He hated her. He really hated her now that he had incontrovertible proof that he was Lola’s father.
He turned back to Mrs Wakefield and asked, ‘Would you mind taking Lola for a walk when you’ve finished here? I have some things to discuss with Gypsy.’
The older woman said yes easily, and Rico looked back to Gypsy and said curtly, ‘My study—now.’
Feeling like rebelliously stamping her foot and saying no, Gypsy took a deep quivery breath and followed his tall, broad figure down the hall and into the study. It was dark and book-lined, with all sorts of modern technology humming silently.
Rico turned and watched Gypsy enter the room, shutting the door behind her. Feeling acutely aware of her effect on him, and not liking it one bit, he sat on the edge of his desk and crossed his arms.
She looked at him with that familiar wary defiance, and a part of him felt the need to soothe, to protect and comfort. She looked incredibly young and innocent—her face clear of make-up, her hair pulled up high into a ponytail of crazy corkscrew curls that he wanted to loosen over her shoulders. But he quickly quashed the impulse.
This was what desire did to you. It clouded the ability to think straight. To see what was real. And what was real was this: Gypsy was not innocent. She might not be mercenary in a monetary sense, although the jury was still out on that, but she was mercenary in a far worse way as far as Rico was concerned. She would have quite happily kept Lola from him—perhaps for ever. And it was clear that she was not going to give him any straight answers. She trusted him about as much as he trusted her—that much he suspected they would agree on.
Bitter, futile anger rose again in acknowledgement of what he’d missed out on, but Rico pushed it down. He had to be cool, controlled. Stake his claim and leave Gypsy in no doubt as to who held the power between them.
He saw her hitch her chin up imperceptibly. ‘You wanted to talk?’
He inclined his head slightly. ‘As I told you earlier, I now have proof that I’m Lola’s father.’
Gypsy crossed her arms across her chest, inadvertently pushing her breasts forward. Rico kept his gaze lifted with an effort, and shifted irritably on the desk.
‘And…?’ Gypsy asked, with all the hauteur of a queen.
Rico bit back a reluctant smile. He had to hand it to her for bravado. No one stood up to him the way she did. And he admired that, even if he didn’t like admitting it.
‘And that means that I am now going to exercise my rights as her father to care for her, provide for her and protect her—as befitting my heir.’
Gypsy’s generous mouth tightened. ‘You can do that all you want. Just let us get on with our lives and we can work out some custody arrangement.’
Rico sneered. ‘You think I am going to allow you to return to that hovel of a flat with my daughter?’ He dismissed the very notion with a slashing hand, making Gypsy flinch slightly. Perversely that made him contrite, and angry for feeling it. ‘I am not interested in custody arrangements. And I am certainly not interested in being forced to stay in the UK so that I can drive into that ghetto twice a month to see my daughter for a few measly hours.’
Gypsy’s arms fell, her hands clenched into fists by her sides. ‘We’ll take you to court. You can’t do this.’
He arched a mocking brow. ‘You’ll take me to court with what? Your leftover tips from the restaurant? Believe me, Gypsy, any court you drag me to will be packed to the rafters with my own people. The best that money can buy. Do you honestly think that any judge will look favourably on a mother who wilfully cut the father of her child out of their lives for no apparent good reason? What judge will deny me my right to have access to Lola when they hear how you took it upon yourself to make her solely yours?’
He saw how she paled in the dim light, how she swayed for a moment, and with a silent curse he nearly got up to steady her. He saw her visibly compose herself. He could almost hear her brain whirring.
He decided to go for the jugular. ‘You have no job. You have no prospects, despite the degree you say you have. To work you’re going to need childcare, better childcare than a pensioner down the road, and to afford childcare you need to work. It’s a catch-22.’
White-lipped, her green eyes huge in her face, Gypsy bit out, ‘So tell me what it is you want.’
Rico relished the moment before speaking. He had Gypsy exactly where he wanted her. ‘What I want is the fifteen months you owe me. You and Lola living with me for fifteen months, so that I don’t miss out on another day of her development.’
This time Gypsy did sway, and Rico got to her just in time to lead her over to a chair and sit her down. In seconds he was back, with brandy in a glass. She waved it away, saying distractedly, ‘Don’t drink…’
He put the glass down, but stood over her and restrained himself from hauling her up and shaking her. She was acting—she had to be. This apparent vulnerability couldn’t be real. And what on earth was wrong with the prospect of fifteen months living in the lap of luxury?
She looked up then, a hopeful light in her eyes. ‘Fifteen months…and then you’ll let us go?’
Rage bubbled inside Rico’s gut. How