Tempted By A Caffarelli: Never Say No to a Caffarelli. Melanie Milburne
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or both of them might not be able to step back. Hadn’t she felt that simmering tension from the very first moment he had walked into her tearoom? She had never experienced anything like it before. It was a rhythm in her body that only he was able to set going. For all these years she had been waiting for the right man to unlock her senses. She had wanted to find someone who could make her heart race; someone who could make her skin sing with longing; someone who could make her sizzle with a desire so unstoppable it would totally consume her. Hadn’t his potently hot kiss given her a taste of what he was capable of doing to her?
She wasn’t without an understanding of the workings of her body. She had explored it and had been rather fascinated by how it reacted to stimulation. But she thought of sex as being like sightseeing—it was far more pleasurable to see the spectacular sights with someone else rather than all on your own.
He had said he wasn’t going to act on his desire for her. Did he mean just for tonight, or never? She had seen the way his eyes had been drawn to her mouth time and time again, as if he was remembering how it felt beneath his own. Was he going just to ignore the pull of attraction that pulsed between them? He might have the strength of will to do it, but Poppy wasn’t so sure she could. At least, not for much longer.
* * *
Chloe was agog when she came bursting through the door of the tearoom the next morning. ‘Have you seen the paper?’ She thrust a tabloid in front of Poppy. ‘Everyone’s saying you’re Rafe Caffarelli’s new love interest. That was fast work! I thought you didn’t even like him. What the hell happened last night? Did you sleep with him?’
Poppy snatched the paper out of Chloe’s hands. ‘Of course I didn’t sleep with him. I didn’t even kiss him. We had dinner, that’s all.’
She looked down at the society section Chloe had opened. There was a photo of them sitting at the table last night. Rafe’s hand was covering hers and their gazes were locked as if in a deeply intimate conversation.
‘So?’ Chloe prompted.
Poppy closed the paper and handed it back to her. ‘So nothing.’
‘Nothing?’
‘Zilch.’
Chloe’s brow was knitted. ‘Not even a kiss?’
‘Nope.’
‘A peck on the cheek?’
‘No.’
Chloe pursed her lips in thought. ‘Did you have an argument with him or something?’
‘No. In fact I agreed to provide meals for him while he’s here.’
‘Gosh, he must have really laid on the charm. I thought you would rather see him starve.’
‘Yes, well, it was either agree to it or let Oliver do it.’ Poppy tied her apron around her waist. ‘Do you know Oliver had my passionfruit crème brûlée on the menu last night?’
‘Did Rafe order it?’
‘No, he doesn’t have a sweet tooth.’
Chloe looked at her musingly. ‘People’s tastes can change.’
Poppy gave a little secret smile as she headed to the kitchen. ‘We’ll see.’
* * *
Rafe looked at the preliminary plans he’d drawn up but something wasn’t sitting well with him. He couldn’t put his finger on it. Normally he was so clear-cut on this stuff. He bought a property with development potential and sketched out plans to present to his design team to fine tune.
But this time something wasn’t quite right.
The doorbell rang and he got up wearily from his chair. He’d lost track of time. He’d been sitting for hours going nowhere fast. He scraped a hand through his hair to put it in some semblance of order and opened the door.
‘I have your dinner.’ Poppy was standing on the doorstep with her three little dogs at her feet like miniature bodyguards. She was holding a tray in her hands from which delicious savoury smells were emanating.
Rafe had never seen a more beautiful sight, and it had nothing to do with the fact that he was starving. ‘It smells divine,’ he said. ‘But it looks like you’ve got enough here to feed a football team.’
‘I wasn’t sure how big your appetite was.’ Her cheeks immediately turned a deep shade of pink.
‘Why don’t you join me?’ He pushed the door open a bit wider with his shoulder as he took the tray from her. ‘You’d be doing me a favour. I’ve been having one of those incredibly frustrating unproductive days. I could do with some company other than my own.’
She hesitated on the doorstep. ‘I wouldn’t want to intrude.’ She glanced at the dogs at her feet. ‘And I’ve got the guys with me.’
Rafe put the tray on the hall table as Chutney had already rushed up to greet him, wriggling his little body in glee. Relish was whining in delight in case he got overlooked. But Pickles, with his cute overshot jaw that looked like a drawer that hadn’t been closed properly, was eyeing him with that same beady look. However, Rafe thought he saw his stumpy tail wag just the once as he bent down to administer pats and scratches to the other two. ‘The guys are more than welcome.’ He finally straightened and met her gaze once he had closed the door. ‘I guess you saw the paper? I think it was only in the one.’
She bit down on her lip and then released it. Rafe felt a punch of lust slam him in the groin. Her mouth was so full and ripe, so incredibly sweet. He had dreamt of those lips. It had kept him awake thinking how much he wanted to feel them on his again.
‘Yes...’ she said. ‘But can’t we make them retract it or something?’
He picked up the tray and carried it through to the kitchen. ‘No point. They’d just make something else up. I ignore it mostly. They’ll soon find someone else to target. Our “affair” will be tomorrow’s fish-and-chips wrapper.’
‘But I don’t want people thinking I’m...you know...sleeping with you, when I’m not.’
He smiled down at her lopsidedly. ‘Ironic, don’t you think?’
Her big brown eyes looked up at him with a twinkle of amusement. ‘Very.’
How was he going to resist her?
‘Where would you like me to dish up dinner?’ she asked, suddenly turning brisk and housekeeper-efficient. ‘Lord Dalrymple used to take most of his meals in the morning room but I can set up here in the kitchen, or the formal dining room if you’d prefer.’
‘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.’