impulse was to come up with some plausible excuse—even just ask her why she seemed to be determined to pretend she didn’t know him—but a greater overriding impulse was urging him to stay. Even if there was a child in the picture.
He could only make out the fact that her daughter was quite small, so therefore she must have had her since she’d been with him. And even though Rico knew he had no right to feel a surge of anger at that, he did.
Even just watching her pull off that damned unflattering hat and coat had scrambled his brain and made him almost forget the presence of the child. The quick movement of her small hands had reminded him of how they’d felt on him, stroking along the most sensitive part of his anatomy until he’d had to beg her to stop…He frowned. Why was she so intent on denying she knew him? And that night? Even if he had left the way he had, he knew it had been as cataclysmic for her too. The shocked look of awe on her face just after she’d exploded around him had told him that.
With no false pride he knew he was a good lover, but what he’d experienced that night with Gypsy had gone beyond anything he’d ever known before. Or since. It had shaken him out of his complacency. Was that why he needed to see her again? To recapture that moment? To see if it had been his imagination or something…more? He balked at that. He never wanted anything more with any woman. But that night with Gypsy had touched him on a level that had left him feeling an ache of dissatisfaction, and it had only grown since then, pervading everything around him and tainting the few liaisons he’d had with women in the interim.
He knew seeing her last night had thrown the fact that he’d been trying to recapture that fleeting transcendence he’d experienced with her into sharp relief. With that thought reverberating through his mind he heard Gypsy re-enter the room. He turned to face her and took the coffee she held out. She was avoiding his eyes.
Gypsy escaped Rico’s gaze and occupied herself by going to peek in at Lola who, to her relief, was still sleeping peacefully, her cheeks pink and her rosebud mouth in a little moue. Long black lashes rested against plump baby cheeks. Gypsy’s heart swelled, as it did every time she looked at her daughter, and at that moment she felt an overwhelming surge of guilt at knowing she was denying Lola’s father knowledge of her when he stood only feet away.
She quashed it down, telling herself that she was doing it for good reasons, and straightened up, crossing her arms defensively over her chest. To her surprise she saw that Rico Christofides had taken a saucepan from the kitchen and was placing it in the corner of the room where, to her dismay, she saw that he’d spotted a leak.
As he straightened up again she said, more caustically than she’d intended, ‘Look, what is it you want from me?’ The rogue thought that he could be there because after seeing her again he’d been overcome with lust set her mind spinning, before she realised how unlikely that had to be.
Rico Christofides calmly sat down on the two-seater sofa and indicated for Gypsy to sit down too. With a barely disguised huff, which was really more fear than impatience, she took the chair opposite the sofa. He took a lazy sip of coffee before putting the cup down on the chipped table.
‘I’d like to know why you seem to be so determined to pretend we’ve never met, when in fact we’re intimately acquainted.’
Gypsy blushed to the roots of her hair at the way he said intimately. Tightly, she answered, knowing it was futile to keep pretending otherwise. ‘I am well aware of the fact that we’ve met before, but I’ve no desire to become reacquainted.’
He regarded her for an uncomfortably long moment and then said, ‘You may not believe this, but I regretted leaving you the way I did that morning.’
A spasm of emotion made Gypsy clamp her lips together. She didn’t doubt this was just a smooth move—he most likely hadn’t given her a second thought. Perhaps he’d seen her last night and assumed she might be as easy to seduce again. ‘Well, I don’t. And you’re forgetting that you left your kindly informative note.’
His face tightened. ‘Contrary to what you might have thought after that night, I’m not in the habit of picking women up in clubs and booking into the nearest hotel for a night of anonymous sex.’
Gypsy burned inside, but shrugged nonchalantly. ‘Look, what do I know or care? It’s not something I gave much thought to.’
He sent a pointed look towards Lola’s pram, and said ascerbically, ‘Clearly I can see that perhaps one-night stands are a habit for you.’
Gypsy gasped in affront and sat up straight, hands clenched on her lap, ‘How dare you? I’d never had a one-night stand in my life before I met you.’
He arched a brow. ‘And yet,’ he drawled easily, ‘you were remarkably eager to throw yourself into the experience that night, Gypsy Butler.’
Gypsy’s heart stopped. He knew her full name—of course he did; he’d found her. He’d be able to track her down no matter where she went now. They must have given it to him at the restaurant.
He asked now, ‘So, that really is your name?’
Gypsy nodded, wanting him gone more than ever now, not liking the way he was making her feel so trapped, and said distractedly, ‘My mother had an obsession with Gypsy Rose Lee, hence the name.’ She left out the fact that for a good portion of her life she hadn’t been called by her birth name at all. As far as she was concerned that part of her life had ended when her father had died.
Forcing her mind away from those memories she said, harshly but quietly, mindful of Lola, ‘Look, what is it you want? I’m busy.’
He cast her a scathing glance. ‘Busy trying to get away from me, for some reason.’ His eyes narrowed on her, and she felt like a tiny piece of prey in front of a predator, with no escape in sight. ‘And at high cost—especially when I happen to know that your disappearing act last night lost you your job…’
Gypsy held in a gasp but said shakily, ‘How do you know that?’
His shoulder moved minutely, ‘The waiters were remarkably indiscreet and loud.’ Taking her by surprise, Rico Christofides asked then, as if it had just occurred to him, ‘Where is your child’s father?’
Sitting in front of me, she thought hysterically, and schooled her features, hitching up her chin in an unconscious gesture of defiance. ‘We’re alone.’
‘You have no other family?’
Gypsy shook her head, and tried to ignore the feeling of vulnerability his words provoked. Rico Christofides was grim. ‘Which proves my point, don’t you think? You slept with me and at least one other man soon after—for I can’t imagine that you had left a small baby in the care of a stranger while you were with me that night.’
Gypsy shook her head, aghast at the thought of leaving Lola like that while she went off to spend the night with someone. ‘Of course I didn’t. I would never have done something like that.’
Rico Christofides looked almost smug. She’d proved his point for him, albeit erroneously, because of course she hadn’t slept with anyone else since him. With panic galvanising her movements, making them jerky, Gypsy stood up with clenched fists at her sides. ‘Look, Mr Christofides, you’re really not welcome here. I’d like you to leave.’
It was only at his sharply drawn together brows and the way his head snapped up
