Читать книгу Tempted By A Caffarelli - Melanie Milburne - Страница 13

CHAPTER FIVE

CHLOE UNTIED HER apron at five o’clock. ‘I just got a call from my mum. She wants me to pick up some of her asthma medication at the pharmacy on my way home. Do you mind if I leave now?’

Poppy tried to ignore the little flutter of alarm in her belly. She didn’t mind giving Rafe Caffarelli a private lesson in the art of tea drinking, but she hadn’t planned on it being that private. She had banked on Chloe being in the background in case he wanted to have his cake and eat it too, so to speak. ‘No, you go,’ she said, releasing a little breath of resignation. ‘Say hi to your mum from me. Take her some of that double-chocolate slice she likes so much.’

Chloe’s smile was teasing. ‘Will you be all right entertaining the deliciously ruthless, rich and racy Rafe Caffarelli on your little ownsome?’

Poppy put on a confident smile that in no way reflected how she was feeling. ‘Of course.’

The door chime sounded at five-thirty-five. Poppy had been watching the clock ever since Chloe had left. As each minute had crawled by, her heart rate had gone up. She came out of the kitchen as casually as she could even though her stomach was pitching and falling like a paperboat in a jacuzzi.

Rafe stooped as he came in the door. He was dressed a little more formally this time in charcoal-grey trousers and a crisp white shirt teamed with a dark-blue blazer and a silver-grey tie. He had shaved since she had seen him earlier that day. He had showered too, as his hair was still damp and had the groove marks in it from a brush or comb.

‘I’m sorry I’m late.’

Poppy couldn’t read his expression, but she knew one thing for certain—he wasn’t one bit sorry. ‘I’ve set up the table by the window. Take a seat while I put the kettle on.’

‘Can’t I watch?’

She pursed her lips at him. His dark eyes were pools of black ink but there was a hint of amusement lurking there; she was sure of it. ‘I can assure you there’s nothing remotely interesting in watching a kettle come to the boil.’

‘There is if you’re the one boiling it.’

She gave him a schoolmarmish look. ‘Are you flirting with me, Mr Caffarelli?’

‘Call me Rafe.’

‘Rafe...’ Poppy felt like she had crossed an invisible line by calling him by his preferred name.

His eyes held hers in an intimate tether. It felt like another line had been crossed, a far more intimate one. Her gaze went to his mouth, as if pulled there by a powerful magnet. Her lips tingled as she wondered what it would feel like to have his pressed against them. Would he kiss firmly or with seductive softness? She felt a tiny shiver pass over her skin as her thoughts continued on their erotic journey... What would it feel like to have his hands cup her breasts or stroke between her...?

‘Poppy.’

‘Yes?’ Her tongue made a quick darting movement over her lips.

His mouth tilted in a sexy smile. ‘It’s a cute name. It suits you.’

Cute? He didn’t think she was stunningly beautiful or gorgeous, just cute, like a puppy or a kitten. ‘Thank you.’ She gave him a tight, on-off smile. ‘Um...the kitchen’s this way.’

Poppy went through the motion of putting on the kettle but the whole time she was aware of Rafe’s impossibly dark gaze resting on her. She told him how it was important to fill the kettle with fresh cold water each time, and how it was important to warm the teapot before spooning in the leaves—one for each person and one for the pot. ‘Tea always tastes nicer from a china cup,’ she said. ‘Cheap thick, chunky mugs just don’t cut it, I’m afraid.’

He was looking at her with a smile lurking in those coal-black eyes. ‘Fascinating.’

‘Yes, well, I admit I’m a bit old-school about it, but there you go.’ She put a hand-knitted cosy on the teapot and placed it on the tray she had laid out earlier.

‘Let me carry that for you.’

She felt the brush of his fingers against hers as he took the tray. It felt like a charge of electricity shooting to that secret place between her thighs.

Her eyes locked with his for a pulsing moment.

His eyes were so dark she couldn’t see where his pupils began or ended. She could smell the clean, male scent of him—the subtle hint of lemon and lime with an understory of something woody and fresh, like a native pine forest. This close she could see the individual pinpoints of his cleanly shaven jaw. Within a few hours it would be dark and prickly around that sculptured mouth and determined chin. Even now it would rasp if she touched it with the softness of her fingertips...

Poppy curled her fingertips into her palm and shifted her gaze away from his. ‘Right... Well, let’s go and have tea.’

Once the table was set up, Rafe guided her to her seat with a hand at her elbow. Poppy felt another shiver shimmy up her spine at the contact of his skin on hers. She couldn’t recall a time when she had been more acutely aware of a man. Everything about him stirred her senses until she could hardly get her brain to focus on the task at hand.

‘Um...do you take milk?’

‘I don’t know.’ He gave her a wry smile. ‘Should I?’

‘It rather depends on the type of tea,’ Poppy said. ‘I drink English breakfast with milk, but I drink Earl Grey, Darjeeling, Russian Caravan and Jasmine black. But at the end of the day, it’s all a matter of personal taste.’

‘Give it to me straight, just like my coffee.’

She poured him a cup and watched as he took a taste. He wrinkled up his nose and put the cup back down in its saucer.

‘Well?’

‘It’s a bit flavourless.’

‘Flavourless?’

‘Bland.’

‘It’s the highest quality Ceylon tea, for God’s sake,’ Poppy said. ‘What is wrong with your taste buds?’

‘Nothing’s wrong with my taste buds. I just don’t like tea.’

‘How about if you try it with some milk and sugar?’

‘I’ll try the milk but not the sugar.’ He gave her a heart-stopping smile. ‘I’m sweet enough.’

Poppy rolled her eyes. ‘Here.’ She handed him his cup again. ‘Taste it now.’

He went through the same routine, wrinkling up his nose as he took a tentative sip. He put the cup back down again. ‘Doesn’t float my boat, I’m afraid.’

‘You don’t like it?’

‘It’s nondescript.’

‘It’s not nondescript,’ she said. ‘It’s subtle.’

‘It’s just not my cup of tea.’ He flashed her that grin again. ‘Sorry, no pun intended.’

Poppy shook her head at him, trying not to smile. He could be incredibly charming when he put his mind to it. She would have to be careful not to let her guard down. He was the enemy. It wouldn’t do to think of him as anything else. ‘You’re incorrigible.’

‘That’s what my mother used to say.’

There was something almost wistful about his tone. She wondered if he was close to his family. She picked up her own cup and took a sip. ‘Where do your parents live? In France or Italy?’

The light had gone out of his eyes. ‘They don’t.’

‘Pardon?’

‘They don’t live anywhere. They’re dead. They were killed when I was ten.’

‘I’m sorry...’ Poppy bit her lip. Maybe she should have done a little more research on him. The article she had come across had mentioned nothing about his childhood, only about his playboy status, wealth and the latest lover he’d been with.

‘It was a long time ago.’

‘What happened?’

He picked up his teaspoon and began toying with it between his finger and thumb like one would do a pen. ‘They had a high-speed collision with another motorboat on the French Rivera. My mother was killed instantly. My father died in hospital three days later from internal injuries.’

‘I’m so sorry... It must have been a terrible time for you and your brothers.’

A flicker of pain passed through his eyes before he lowered them to look at the spoon he was holding. ‘Yes. It was.’

‘What happened afterwards? I mean...where did you go? Who looked after you and your brothers?’

‘My paternal grandfather took us in.’ He put down the spoon, picked up his teacup and cradled it in his hands.

‘Is he still alive?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you close to him?’

His lip curled but not in a smile. ‘No one is close to my grandfather.’

Poppy could tell he wasn’t keen to reveal too much about his background. But his cryptic comment about his grandfather was rather intriguing. What sort of man was Vittorio Caffarelli? Had he made the lives of the three bereaved boys even more miserable in his handling and rearing of them? ‘What about your grandmother? Was she involved in your upbringing?’

‘No, she died of cancer when my father was a teenager.’

‘What about your maternal grandparents?’

Rafe turned the cup around in its saucer. ‘They died before I was born.’ He picked up the cup and took a sip, grimacing at the taste before he put it back down again. ‘Tell me about your childhood. You said you lost your parents when you were seven. How did they die?’

Poppy looked down at her hands for a moment as she began folding and refolding her napkin. ‘I never met my father. He deserted my mother before I was born. Apparently she wasn’t good enough for him so he married someone else.’

‘So your grandmother raised you?’

She nodded as she met his gaze again. ‘She was wonderful, stepping in to take care of me after my mother died. I had a good childhood, all things considered. Lord Dalrymple was incredibly kind to me. He was a bit of a recluse but he always had time for me.’

‘Were you disappointed he didn’t leave you and your grandmother the manor as well as the dower house when he died?’

Poppy blinked at him in shock. ‘Of course not. Why would we be? We weren’t blood relatives. My gran was just his housekeeper.’

He gave a shrug of one broad shoulder. ‘Your grandmother worked for him a very long time.’

‘She loved working for him. She loved him.’

He arched an eyebrow. ‘Loved him?’

Poppy let out a breath in a little whoosh. ‘I think maybe she did love him a little bit like that. Not that he would ever have noticed. He was living in the past, grieving for his dead wife Clara. But my gran never expected anything from him. She wasn’t like that. It was a total shock to her when he left us the dower house. It was a nice gesture. It meant a lot to her. She’d never owned anything in her life, not even a car. She had grown up dirt poor and relatively uneducated. She’d been a cleaner since she was fifteen. To suddenly find herself the owner of a house was such a dream come true.’

‘It must have been a shock to his family that he left the dower house to his housekeeper and her granddaughter.’

‘Yes, there was a bit of a fuss over the separation of the deeds.’ Poppy looked at him again but his expression was inscrutable. ‘But Lord Dalrymple had made it clear in his will that we were to have it.’

‘And then when she died her share of the house went to you.’

‘Yes.’

There was a loaded silence.

‘It’s just a house, Poppy.’

She threw him a flinty look. ‘It’s not just a house. It’s much more than that.’

‘You can buy a much better place with the money I’m offering you. A place three times the size and with little or no upkeep.’

Poppy resented how he had gone from attentive listener to hard-nosed businessman in a heartbeat. She had been momentarily lulled into thinking he had a softer side underneath that ruthlessly tough exterior.

He was not soft.

He was as hard as steel and she had better not forget it. ‘Why is the dower house such an issue for you? Isn’t the manor enough? You have properties all over the globe. Why are you being so pigheaded and stubborn about a little dower house in a tiny little village in the English countryside?’

His mouth was set in an intractable line. ‘I want that house. It belongs to the estate. It should never have been taken off the deeds.’

Poppy gave him a challenging glare. ‘That house belongs to me. You can’t have it. Get over it.’

His diamond-hard eyes bored like a drill into hers. ‘Don’t mess with me, Poppy. You have no idea how ruthless I can be if I have to.’

She got to her feet with an ear-piercing screech of chair legs against the floorboards. ‘Get out of my shop.’

He gave her an imperious smile. ‘It’s my shop now—remember?’

Fury coursed through her body like a flash of hot fire. She wanted to slap him. She had never felt so tempted to resort to physical violence. She clenched her hands into fists, her body shaking with impotent rage. ‘What are you going to do—charge me an exorbitant rent? Go ahead. Make me pay. I’ll go public with it. I’ll tell everyone you tried to blackmail me to sleep with you. I’ll speak to every newspaper. Don’t think I won’t do it, because I will.’

He laughed, which made her all the more furious. ‘I really like your spirit. No one has ever stood up to me quite like you do. But you’re not going to win this. I always get what I want.’

Poppy glowered at him. ‘Get out.’

His eyes glinted at her goadingly as he leisurely got to his feet. ‘Call the papers. Tell them what you like. They’ll just think you’re another wannabe gold-digger after money and fame. You’ll be the one with mud on your face, not me.’ He took out his wallet. ‘How much do I owe for the tea?’

Poppy gave him a look that would have stripped graffiti off a wall. ‘It’s on the house.’

He held her gaze for a long, throbbing moment. ‘I meant what I said about the rent. I don’t intend to make any changes to the arrangements you made with John Underwood.’

She flashed him another caustic glare. ‘Am I supposed to thank you? Kiss your feet? Prostrate myself before you? Go on, lay one finger on me and see what happens. I dare you— Oomph!’

His hands had grasped her upper arms so quickly she didn’t have time to do much more than snatch a quick breath before his mouth came down on hers.

It was a hard, possessive kiss, a hot fizzing pressure against her lips that made them tingle as if high-voltage electricity was passing directly from his body to hers.

Poppy had intended to fight him, but somehow as soon as his mouth connected with hers her lips softened and became totally pliant, melting beneath the fiery purpose of his. She opened to his command and tasted the full potent heat of him, the bold thrust of his tongue going in search of hers with erotic intent. He explored every corner of her mouth with spine-tingling thoroughness, leaving her breathless and barely able to stand upright.

But, even more mortifying, she gave a soft little whimper of approval just before he broke the connection.

It was of some slight consolation to her that he looked just as shocked as she felt. His eyes were almost black and a frown had appeared between his eyebrows as he dropped his hands from her upper arms and took an unsteady step back from her.

Poppy tried to think of something witty or pithy to say but her mouth was still hanging open in stupefaction.

He inclined his head in a formal nod, his expression now unfathomable. ‘Thank you for the tea lesson. It was very...’ He paused over the choice of a word. ‘Entertaining.’

Poppy let out her breath in a flustered rush once he had gone. She knew the battle was far from over.

It was just beginning.