Tempted By A Caffarelli: Never Say No to a Caffarelli
‘This will probably come as a bit of a surprise to you but I can’t remember the last time I ate in the kitchen,’ Rafe said. Actually he could, but the memory of it was too painful to recall: his pretty mother, just two days before she had died, dressed in a flowery apron with a swipe of flour across one cheek as she’d bent down to offer him a teaspoon of thick, sweet cake batter to taste...
He pushed the vision away and added, ‘It wasn’t the way my brothers and I were brought up. Our grandfather didn’t believe in fraternising with the domestic staff. Not in the kitchen at least.’
‘He doesn’t sound like a very nice person to me,’ Poppy said as she set about laying the table in the kitchen.
Rafe watched as she set two places with the cutlery neatly aligned before turning to find glasses and napkins. She seemed to know her way about the place, but then he recalled she had spent a great deal of her childhood there. ‘Would you like a drink?’ he asked. ‘I have wine, both red and white.’
She looked up from placing napkins on the side plates. ‘Do you have lemonade?’ But before he could answer she said, ‘No, of course you wouldn’t. It’s far too sweet.’
‘I have mineral water or soda water.’
‘That would be lovely.’
Rafe wondered if she was avoiding alcohol in order to keep a clear head. God knew he should take a leaf out of her book. He was having trouble keeping his hands off her as it was. She was dressed in a cotton skirt that emphasised the slimness of her waist. Her three-quarter-length-sleeved sweater skimmed her small perfect breasts lovingly. She wasn’t wearing much make-up—just a hint of shadow, mascara that made her lush lashes look all the more Bambi-like and a light shimmer of lip-gloss on her mouth. She was wearing ballet flats on her feet, making the height ratio between them all the more disparate. Her daintiness made him feel far more aware of his masculinity than any other woman he had ever encountered before.
The trouble was, he was feeling more than a little conflicted about acting on it. Would it be right to seduce Poppy, knowing he was not the man to give her what she was truly looking for?
A vicious war was raging inside his body. Desire wrestled with his conscience like they were two mighty, well-matched gladiators in a ring. His blood ran thick and strong with the need to touch her. Even the way she moved about the kitchen ramped up his desire to fever pitch.
Rafe fetched her drink and poured himself half a glass of red. ‘So, what have you prepared for me?’
‘I have a light starter, as I didn’t want to overload your palate for the main course.’ She put a pear, rocket, walnut and blue-cheese salad in front of him. ‘It’s a nice blend of flavours without being too filling.’
‘It’s delicious,’ Rafe said after taking a few mouthfuls. But it wasn’t the food that was so captivating. He watched as Poppy daintily speared a sliver of pear and popped it in her mouth. He had to drag his gaze away and, reaching for his glass, took a deep sip of his wine to control the rapacious hunger that was raging in him—and that had nothing to do with the desire for food.
‘How did your family make their money?’ she asked after a little silence.
‘My great-grandparents on my father’s side were property kings,’ Rafe said. ‘Farms, villas, hotels, businesses—you name it, they were in on it. They bought low and sold high. My brothers and I do the same.’
‘Do you enjoy what you do?’
Up until spending such a frustrating day, Rafe would have answered an emphatic yes. But somehow today had made him question everything about his plans for the manor—even, to some degree, his plans for his life. ‘Like any career there are good and bad sides to it,’ he said. ‘I love the challenge of finding a rundown property and following it through the various stages as it develops into a luxury hotel. But the hassles with local councils or development authorities can be incredibly tiresome.’
‘Not to mention difficult neighbours.’
He gave her a wry look. ‘I almost sacked my property manager over you.’
She looked aghast. ‘Oh, surely not?’
Rafe twirled the wine in his glass, watching as it swirled against the sides in a blood-red whirlpool of contained energy. ‘I’d seen Dalrymple Manor online and liked the look of it. James thought it would be a good investment. He did all the research and emailed me the photos of inside and I agreed. It had large acreage and the manor itself needed a rapid injection of funds to bring it to its former glory. It ticked all the boxes.’
‘But?’
He met her eyes across the scrubbed and worn centuries-old kitchen table. ‘There was an unexpected five-foot-five obstacle in my way.’
Her cheeks pooled with a light shade of pink, the point of her tongue sneaking out to deposit a layer of moisture across her lips as her eyes slipped out of reach of his. ‘That would be me.’
Rafe felt a smile pull at his mouth. Of all the enemies he’d had to face over the years Poppy Silverton had to be the most delightful.
The most desirable.
‘I think you’re making a very big mistake with the manor,’ she said. ‘It’s not cut out to be a playboy mansion.’
‘Why do you think that’s what I have planned for it?’
She gave him one of her cynical looks. ‘You and your brothers have glamorous starlets coming in and out of your lives as if there are revolving doors on each of your bedrooms. Do they take a numbered ticket, like at one of those dispenser machines at the delicatessen, to see whose turn it is to warm the sheets of your bed?’
Rafe knew he and his brothers had been portrayed as having rather colourful lives. But what was portrayed in the press was just a fraction of the truth. Most of the time they spent working in hotel rooms on their own, trying to meet impossible deadlines, trying to please people who were impossible to please—most notably their grandfather.
Raoul compensated for it by taking life to the extreme. He set physical challenges that would make the average man shrink in cowardice. It was as if he had no fear. He had ice in his veins instead of blood. He didn’t just stare death in the face every time he took on another seemingly insurmountable challenge—he laughed at it, mocked it. ‘Take me down if you dare’ seemed to be his credo.
Remy took risks that were more cerebral than physical, but no less terrifying. He won more than he lost, but Rafe worried that the day might come where fate would step in and make his youngest brother lose in a very big way.
Rafe threw himself into his work with a similar passion, but just lately he had become increasingly restless. He wanted more, but he wasn’t sure what it was he wanted. He had money, more money than his father or grandfather had ever had. Even without the input of his younger brothers, he had built an empire that rivalled some of the most notable in Europe. If he never worked again his investments would see him out. But was it enough? What legacy was he leaving?
Who would he leave his wealth to?
Rafe couldn’t stop thinking of Lord Dalrymple in his stately manor with no one but his housekeeper and her little red-gold-haired, fairy-like granddaughter to keep him company—and the greedy, grasping extended family waiting on the sidelines to get what they could for the place once he had died.
Had they ever visited him? Had they supported him after his wife had so tragically died?
‘I don’t plan to live here myself,’ Rafe said. ‘Once the redevelopment is completed I’ll appoint a manager. I’ll probably only visit once or twice a year after that. I have other projects to see to.’
‘So I suppose Dalrymple Manor will be just another notch on your financial belt,’ she said as she came around to his side of the table to clear his plate, her expression tight with disapproval.
‘Here. Let me help.’ Rafe rose from his chair but as he turned he suddenly found himself a whole lot closer to her than he’d intended.
She took an unsteady step backwards and he instinctively put out a hand to stop her from tripping. The sparks against his fingers where they were wrapped around her wrist were like little fireworks popping off underneath his skin.
He met her gaze and felt a stallion’s kick of lust strike him in the groin. He smelt her perfume; it was like a draft of some exotic potion that inflamed him with instant longing. He relaxed his grip, but as her fingers left his hold they moved softly across his palm in a trailing movement that made the blood roar through his veins. He felt a surge of lust-driven blood thicken him, heat flowing over his skin like the path of a flame.
Rafe slid a hand into the thick curtain of her hair, loving the feel of those bouncy curls moving against his skin like dainty, springy, fragrant blossoms of jasmine, each one caressing him, intoxicating him.
He would allow himself one kiss.
Just to see if it was as he remembered. Maybe he’d imagined the sparks of electricity shooting up and down his spine as his lips had come in contact with hers. Maybe her mouth would just be another woman’s mouth today. It wouldn’t make his head spin and his desire race like high-octane fuel through his veins.
He brought his mouth down within reach of the perfect bow of hers, taking his time, letting their breaths mingle.
‘What are you doing?’ Her voice was soft and husky, her warm, sweet breath dancing against his lips like a teasing spring breeze.
‘What do you think I’m doing?’ But before she could answer, or the controlled and sensible part of him could change his mind, Rafe did it.
CHAPTER NINE
POPPY HAD THOUGHT his kiss the other day was electrifying, but this time it was completely off the scale. As soon as his lips settled over hers it was as though fireworks had gone off under her skin. She had never felt such a surge of primal male energy before. It touched on something deep and essential to her as a woman. It was like breaking a secret code that had never been solved until now. Her flesh sang with delight as his mouth explored hers in intimate detail—the way his tongue came in search of hers in a brazenly, commanding gesture that had her belly quivering as soon he made contact.
She tasted the hot, hard, thrusting heat of him; tasted the hint of ruthlessness in his mouth; felt the chivalry in his touch that could so easily be put aside if the situation warranted it. It was that edgy, dangerous element about him that so totally captivated her. Hadn’t she felt that from the first moment she had met him? He was a man who always got what he wanted. He didn’t let anyone stand in his way.
His mouth ravished hers, plundering its depths with dips and dives of his masterful tongue against hers. Poppy shivered as she kissed him back, her tongue duelling with his in a heart-racing chase that made her toes curl inside her shoes. His mouth was hot, determined and purposeful, and she clung to him as she kissed him back just as passionately.
He gave a deep growl of pleasure and cupped her bottom in both of his hands, tugging her against the heated trajectory of his body.
Poppy slithered against him wantonly; her body aching for the pleasure his body was promising in that erotic embrace. She made a mewling sound beneath his passionate mouth, her arms going up to loop around his neck, to hold him to her.
For a moment she thought he was going to reach for her breast. She actually felt his hand move up her body, but then suddenly he broke the kiss and put her from him, moving some distance away as if he didn’t trust himself not to reach for her again.
He scraped a hand through his hair and let out a colourful expletive. ‘Sorry.’ He was breathing heavily. ‘I lost my head there for a moment.’
‘Is that such a bad thing?’
He gave her a grim look. ‘I never lose my head. Ever.’
‘Maybe it’s time you did.’
He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and moved even further away, turning his back on her. ‘This isn’t going to work, Poppy. You know it isn’t. It was a mistake to kiss you. I should’ve known better.’
Poppy felt herself bristling in affront. ‘I’m not asking you to marry me.’
He turned and threw her a black look. ‘You’re not my type. Do I have to spell it out any plainer than that?’
Self-doubt crept up and tapped her on the shoulder, mocking her with its cruel little taunts: you’re unattractive. You’re rubbish at kissing. You’ve got no pulling power, that’s why Oliver and every other date you’ve ever had moved on to the next girl as soon as they could.
Poppy straightened her spine and swung around to the door. ‘I’ll just get the rest of your dinner for you.’
‘Forget about it.’
‘It won’t take a minute.’ She turned back to look at him. ‘I just have to dish it up. I won’t stay, if that’s what’s—’
‘I’m not hungry.’
She forced herself to hold his unreadable gaze. ‘Will you be hungry tomorrow night, do you think?’
His eyes moved away from hers. ‘I’ll make my own arrangements with regards to food in future.’
‘Fine.’ She let out a stormy breath. ‘I’ll just get the dogs and be on my way.’
* * *
‘So how did the meal go down last night?’ Chloe asked the next morning. ‘Did you tickle Rafe Caffarelli’s tastebuds?’
Poppy kept her gaze averted as she went about getting the tearoom ready for business. She had used concealer that morning when she put on some make-up but it hadn’t done much to disguise the stubble rash on her chin. It looked like she’d been scrubbing at her face with a handful of steel wool. ‘There is something terribly defective about that man’s tastebuds,’ she said as she swished back the last of the curtains to let the watery sunshine in.
‘But you didn’t make anything sweet for him, did you?’
‘No, of course not.’ Had her mouth been too sweet for him? Poppy pushed the thought aside as she crossed the room to get the napkins out of the old pine dresser drawer. ‘He’s just one of those difficult to please customers we get from time to time.’
Chloe’s gaze narrowed. ‘What happened to your face?’
‘Nothing, just a bit of an allergy,’ Poppy said shutting the drawer firmly. ‘I probably leant too close to the honeysuckle or something.’
‘Since when have you been allergic to honeysuckle?’ Chloe came over and peered at Poppy’s chin like a scientist examining a ground-breaking discovery in the laboratory. ‘You’ve got beard rash!’
Poppy jerked her head away. ‘It’s not beard rash.’
‘It so is beard rash.’ Chloe grinned at her. ‘He kissed you, didn’t he? What was it like?’
Poppy pursed her lips and started placing the napkins by each setting. ‘I’d rather not discuss it.’
‘Did he want to sleep with you?’ Chloe asked. ‘Is that why you’re all uppity about it? Did he put the hard word on you or something?’
‘No, he did not put the hard word on me,’ Poppy said tightly. ‘He told me kissing me was a mistake, or words to that effect.’
Chloe blinked. ‘A mistake?’
‘I’m not his type.’ Poppy leaned over the table near the window to put the last napkin down and straightened. ‘Not that I want to be his type or anything—it’s just there’s a way to let a girl down gently without savaging her self-esteem in the process.’
Chloe angled her head quizzically. ‘So, let me get this straight: you wanted to sleep with him but he knocked you back?’
‘I’m not saying I would’ve slept with him, exactly...’
‘But you were tempted.’
‘A little.’
Chloe raised her brows.
‘OK...a lot,’ Poppy said as she exhaled a breath.
‘I expect he’s a very good kisser.’
Poppy’s insides gave a funny little tug and a twist as she thought about Rafe’s determined mouth on hers. ‘The best.’
‘Which you can say from such a position of authority because you’ve kissed...how many men is it now?’
‘Six...no, seven. I forgot about Hugh Lindley in kindergarten, but I guess a peck on the cheek doesn’t count.’
‘That many, huh?’
Poppy let out her breath on another long sigh. ‘I know, I know. I have some serious catching up to do.’
‘Maybe Rafe Caffarelli isn’t the right place to start,’ Chloe said, glancing at Poppy’s chin again with a little frown. ‘You could get yourself really hurt.’
Tell me something I don’t already know. ‘I’m not planning on going anywhere near Rafe Caffarelli,’ Poppy said. ‘He’s made his position clear. I don’t need to be told twice.’
* * *
A couple of days later a deafening clap of thunder woke Rafe up during the middle of the night. The wind whipped around the manor like a dervish. It howled and screamed around the eaves and rafters, making the manor shake and shudder as if it was being rattled like a moneybox.
He went over to close the window the wind had worked loose from its catch just as a flash of lightning rent the sky into jagged pieces. The green-tinged light illuminated the dower house in the distance. His stomach clenched when he saw that one of the branches of the old elm tree had come down over the roof, crushing it like a flimsy cardboard box.
He quickly threw on some clothes and found a weatherproof jacket and a torch. He pressed Poppy’s number—his phone had recorded it when she’d rung about Chutney being missing—but she didn’t answer. He didn’t bother leaving a message. He snatched up his keys and raced out to his car, calling the emergency services on the way.
The wind almost knocked him off his feet. He hunched over and forged through the lashing rain, his mind whirling with sickening images of Poppy trapped under a beam. Which room was her bedroom? He tried to recall the layout of the house. There were three bedrooms, all of them upstairs. Wouldn’t the main one be the one where the elm tree was?
He hammered at the front door once he got there. ‘Poppy? Are you in there? Are you all right?’
There was no power so he couldn’t see anything, other than when the lightning zigzagged or from his torch, which was woefully low on batteries. ‘Poppy? Can you hear me?’
The sound of the dogs yapping inside lifted his spirits, but only just. What if they were all right but Poppy wasn’t? ‘Poppy?’ He roared over the howling gale.
‘I’m up here.’
Rafe looked up and shone the torch at the pale oval of Poppy’s face next to the gaping hole in the roof. Relief flooded him so quickly he couldn’t get his feet to move at first. He felt like his legs were glued to the porch. ‘I’m coming up,’ he called out. ‘Keep away from the beams. Don’t touch any power outlets or wires.’
He picked up a rock, smashed the glass panel beside the front door and reached inside to unlock the lock. He went upstairs, carefully checking for live wires or debris, but it seemed the branch had cut cleanly through the old roof and done little else but let the elements in.
The three little dogs—even Pickles, the unfriendly one—came rushing up to him, whining in agitation and terror. He quickly ushered them out of harm’s way into the bedroom on the other side of the house. ‘Later, guys,’ he said and closed the door before he headed to Poppy’s bedroom.
Poppy was pinned against the wall near the window by the beam that had almost sliced her bed in half. Rafe’s stomach pitched when he thought of how close she had come to being killed. She looked so tiny and frightened, her face chalk-white, her eyes as big as saucers.
‘Are you all right?’ His voice was hoarse from shouting.
‘I—I’m fine...I think.’
‘Don’t move until I check it’s safe,’ he said, shining the torch around.
‘I’m scared.’
‘I know you are, ma petite,’ he said. ‘I’ll get you out.’
‘Are the dogs OK?’
‘They’re fine,’ he said. ‘I locked them in the other bedroom.’
Once he’d established it was safe, he climbed over the fallen beam and grasped Poppy’s ice-cold hands. He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her as she shuddered in reaction. ‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘You’re safe now.’
‘I got up to close the window. If I hadn’t, I would’ve been right where that beam is...’
‘Don’t even think about it,’ Rafe said, stroking her back with soothing movements, trying to ignore the way his body was responding to her. ‘I called the emergency services on my way down. They should be here any minute.’
The sound of a fire engine and an ambulance approaching could only just be heard over the howl of the wind. Rafe stayed with Poppy until the fire crew came up and led them to safety, along with the dogs, who were now safely on their leads so they couldn’t bolt at the sound of thunder.
Once they were outside, Rafe draped his weatherproof coat around Poppy’s shoulders. She was shivering uncontrollably but he had a feeling it was shock rather than cold.
‘You’ll have to spend the rest of the night some place else,’ one of the fire officers said. ‘That roof doesn’t look too safe. Another gust of wind and the whole lot could come down.’
‘I’ll take her home with me,’ Rafe said.
What did you just say? Are you out of your mind? It was too late to take it back, as the fire officer had already given a nod of approval and moved off to talk to one of the other officers.
Poppy glanced up at Rafe with a frown. ‘I can stay with Chloe and her mother. I’ll just give her a call...’ Her face suddenly fell. ‘Except my phone is upstairs by the bed.’
‘It’s two in the morning,’ Rafe said. ‘We’ll sort out more permanent accommodation later.’ You think that’s going to happen once you’ve got her under your roof? ‘Right now you need a hot drink and a warm comfortable bed.’
He led her to his car, got her settled in the passenger seat and put the dogs in the back before taking his place behind the wheel. The voice of his control centre was still nagging at him like an alarm bell that hadn’t been attended to: what are you doing, man? Take her to a hotel.
But somehow he managed to mute it as he turned over the engine and glanced at Poppy sitting beside him. ‘All right?’ he asked.
Her toffee-brown eyes seemed too big for her small white face. ‘I think my phone is crushed under that branch.’
He reached over and gave one of her hands a gentle squeeze. ‘Phones are easy to replace. They’re a dime a dozen.’
She gave him a weak smile. ‘Thank you for rescuing me and the dogs.’
He gave her hand a little pat before returning his to the steering wheel. ‘Don’t mention it.’
* * *
Poppy was still wearing Rafe’s jacket as she sat at the kitchen table half an hour later, her hands cupped around a mug of hot chocolate. There wasn’t a single tea leaf in the manor, not even a tea bag. The dogs were settled in the laundry on a pile of blankets Rafe had found. Pickles had even licked Rafe’s hand instead of snarling at him.
‘Do you need a refill?’ Rafe asked as he came in from giving the dogs a bowl of water.
‘No, this is perfect, thank you,’ Poppy said. ‘I’m starting to feel almost normal again.’
His dark gaze narrowed in focus. ‘What’s that on your chin?’
She put a hand to her face. ‘Oh...nothing. Just a little allergic reaction...’
He took her chin gently between his finger and thumb. Something moved behind his eyes, a softening, loosening look that made her belly turn over. He ever-so-gently passed the pad of his thumb over the reddened area. ‘I’ve got some cream upstairs to put on that.’
Poppy gave him a pert look to disguise her reaction to his closeness. ‘I suppose you have to keep an industrial-size container by your bedside, along with a giant box of condoms.’
The edge of his mouth lifted in a wry smile. ‘I only have three on me. They’re in my wallet.’
‘You surprise me,’ she said. ‘I thought you’d have them strategically placed all around the house.’
His hand fell away from her face, his expression becoming shuttered. ‘The stuff you read about me and my brothers is not always true. We’re not the partying time-wasters we’re made out to be.’
‘Haven’t you heard the expression “no smoke without fire”?’
‘Yes.’ His eyes glinted as they came back to hers. ‘I’ve also heard the one about playing with matches. Do I need to remind you of it?’