Tempted By A Caffarelli. Melanie Milburne
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sketches in the makeshift study he’d set up at the manor when he heard a car rumble up the driveway. He knew who it was without looking through the window. Only someone with an axe to grind would slam their car door, stomp across the gravel, to put their finger on the doorbell and leave it there. He smiled as the tinny sound assaulted his eardrums. How boring had his life been before meeting Poppy Silverton?
This was the most fun he’d had in years.
‘We have to stop meeting like this,’ he said as he opened the door. ‘People will talk.’
Her toffee-brown eyes were slitted, her hands were fisted and her slim body was rigid. ‘You...you calculating, low-life swine.’
He raised a brow at her. ‘It’s nice to see you too.’
She vibrated on the spot like a battery-operated tin soldier. ‘I can’t believe how ruthless you are. You bought my shop!’
‘So? I’m a property developer. I buy property.’
Her pretty little mouth was white-tipped with fury. ‘I know what you’re doing but it won’t work.’
Rafe leaned casually against the doorjamb. ‘What is it you think I’m doing?’
‘You’re going to blackmail me.’ She glowered at him darkly. ‘You must know I can barely afford the rent as it is. But it won’t work. I won’t prostitute myself to someone like you.’
He tapped his index finger against his lips for a moment. ‘Mmm, I can see I have some work to do to improve the impression you have of me. What makes you think I’m going to raise the rent?’
She looked at him warily. ‘You mean...you’re not?’
He shook his head.
‘But why did you buy the shop?’
‘I like it.’
She narrowed her eyes again. ‘You...like it?’
‘It’s unique.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I like the idea of a traditional tearoom. It’s classy. It makes a nice change from the somewhat impersonal and boring coffee chains.’
A little pleat of scepticism appeared between her eyes. ‘You don’t even drink tea.’
‘That’s true, but maybe I haven’t tasted the perfect cup. A cheap, dusty tea bag jiggled in a Styrofoam cup is probably nothing like the real deal. Maybe you could educate me in the art of drinking proper, high-quality leaf tea.’
She was still looking at him in suspicion. ‘Why do I get the feeling you’re not really talking about tea?’
Rafe gave her a lazy smile. ‘What else could I be talking about?’
Her cheeks went a deep shade of rose and her soft mouth flattened primly. ‘If you want to taste proper tea, then come to the tearoom four o’clock this afternoon.’
He held her gaze in a smouldering little lockdown. ‘I’d prefer a private lesson. I don’t want to be distracted by other customers. It might ruin the experience for me.’
She gave him a flinty ‘I know what you’re up to’ look. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Come at five-thirty. I’ll put the closed sign on the door.’
‘It’s a date.’
Rafe watched as she turned on her heel and stomped back to her car. He gave her a wave as she drove away but she didn’t return it. With a toss of that fiery head, she put her car into gear and rattled off down the drive, leaving a billowing cloud of dust in her wake.
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