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.’