Tempted By A Caffarelli. Melanie Milburne
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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?’
Poppy schooled her features into icy hauteur. ‘Do you really think I would’ve slept with you the other night?’
‘Undoubtedly.’
His arrogant confidence irked her into throwing back, ‘I was interested in kissing you again, I will admit that, but that’s as far as I was going to take it. But then, I suppose you assume every woman you kiss is yours for the taking. Obviously, I’m the exception to the rule.’
‘That’s something we could easily test—’ he paused for a heart-stopping beat ‘—if you’re game.’
Poppy didn’t know if he was calling her bluff or not. Either way, she wished she hadn’t been so foolishly reckless in brandishing about a self-confidence she didn’t even possess. He had kissed her twice now and she had practically melted in his arms. What would another kiss do?
Make her fall in love with him?
She pushed her chair back and got to her feet. ‘I’d like to go to bed.’ She gave him a pointed look. ‘Alone.’
‘Wise of you.’ He smiled a fallen angel’s smile.
Poppy felt a shiver go down her spine as she thought of how that mouth had felt against hers, how his hard body had felt. He was sin and temptation wrapped up in one hell of a hot package. She was playing with fire, striking up a conversation with him, let alone anything else. She just didn’t have the defences or the sophistication to deal with someone like him.
‘Goodnight,’ she said as primly as Mother Superior to one of her novices.
‘Goodnight, ma petite.’ He paused for a beat as his gaze held hers in a lock that sent a shudder straight to her core. ‘Sweet dreams.’
POPPY DIDN’T EXPECT to sleep a wink with the wind still howling outside, but somehow the sound of rain drumming on the roof combined with the warm, cosy comfort of the bed in the Blue Room at the manor and the hot chocolate she had consumed was a somniferous cocktail that had her asleep as soon as her head touched down on the fluffy pillow. She woke to sparkling bright sunshine and that fresh, clean, washed smell of the earth that comes after a storm. She stretched her limbs and lazily glanced at the little carriage clock that was sitting on the bedside table.
Ten o’clock!
She threw off the covers and quickly threw her clothes back on. There wasn’t time for a shower; she didn’t have any toiletries with her in any case. She raced downstairs with her hair still awry when she encountered Rafe coming in from outside. The three dogs were at his heels, their tongues hanging out of the sides of their mouths as if they’d just run a marathon.
Rafe looked disgustingly healthy and fit, dressed in stone-coloured chinos and a white shirt, his hair brushed back, his jaw freshly shaven and his eyes clear. It was impossible not to feel a little dishevelled in comparison. Poppy knew her eyes weren’t clear—she’d caught a glimpse of them in the mirror on the way down—and as for her hair... Well, the less said about that the better. She’d tried finger-combing it but it had been like trying to comb a fishing net.
‘Good morning,’ he said with irritating cheerfulness. ‘Did you sleep well?’
‘Why didn’t you wake me?’ Poppy asked, glowering at him. ‘I should’ve been at work two hours ago.’
‘I drove down and spoke to Chloe about what happened,’ he said. ‘She said to take your time. She’s got things sorted at the shop.’
‘I need to get home to shower and change.’ Poppy pushed back her matted hair with an agitated hand. ‘And I need to call someone about getting the roof fixed.’
‘Already sorted.’
Her hand dropped back to her side. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I’ve called a local roofing expert,’ he said. ‘He’s starting on it early next week.’
‘Next week?’ Poppy said. ‘Why not this week? Why not today?’
He gave a loose shrug. ‘Your roof was not the only one damaged by the storm. You’ll have to be patient. Look on the bright side—at least you have somewhere to stay.’
‘I can’t stay here. What will people think?’
His dark eyes glinted. ‘They’ll think I’m being a very charitable neighbour in offering you a bed for as long as you need it.’
Poppy’s eyes narrowed to the size of coin slots. ‘You know darn well what everyone will think. They’ll think it’s your bed you’re offering.’
He gave a disarming smile. ‘You worry too much about what other people think.’
‘I’ll find a hotel.’
He hooked a brow upwards. ‘With three dogs in tow?’
Poppy chewed her lip. ‘Maybe you could mind them for a few days until—’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’ she asked. ‘They’re following you around like disciples anyway.’
‘I don’t want the responsibility of looking after them,’ he said. ‘I sometimes have to travel at a moment’s notice. I don’t mind you being here with them, but I’m not running a boarding kennel. What if the roof takes longer than expected?’
Poppy could see his point. But if she were to find proper boarding kennels that would be another expense she could do without right now. How long before the village got talking about her sharing the manor with Rafe Caffarelli?
How long before the world got to hear of it?
‘How long does the roofing guy say it will take?’ she asked.
‘A week or thereabouts.’
That meant two weeks staying with Rafe at Dalrymple Manor unless she could come up with an alternative. But what alternative accommodation could offer a kitchen the size of the manor? ‘If I can’t find anywhere else, is it OK if I use your kitchen while I’m here?’ she asked. ‘I do a lot of the baking for the tearoom at home.’
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘It’s not as if I’ll be using it.’
Poppy worried her lower lip again. ‘I know you said you’d make your own arrangements about food...’
‘You don’t have to cook for me,’ he said. ‘I won’t be here for much longer in any case. I have other projects to see to.’
Poppy wondered if his other projects were female. She pushed her feelings of disappointment aside. It wasn’t as if he was the man of her dreams or anything.