Never Say No to a Caffarelli

by MELANIE MILBURNE

  ‘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 h
er 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.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘I THINK YOU’RE being very pig-headed about this,’ Chloe said a couple of days later. ‘I keep thinking of that poor man starving up there at the manor.’

  Poppy snorted. ‘He’s probably got a bevy of blonde bombshells to peel his grapes for him. Anyway, what’s wrong with a microwave dinner every now and again?’

  ‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this,’ Chloe said. ‘You—the cooking-from-scratch queen of the kitchen.’

  Poppy couldn’t stop a reluctant smile from forming. ‘I’m not averse to the odd bit of convenience food. I had baked beans on toast last night.’

  Chloe covered her ears. ‘Don’t use such filthy language in my hearing.’

  The chime on the door sounded and Poppy’s heart gave a little stumble. ‘You get that. I’ve got to get the cookies out of the oven.’

  Chloe snatched the oven mitts out of Poppy’s grasp. ‘He’s not here to see me, more’s the pity.’

  ‘How do you know it’s him?’

  Chloe gave her a knowing look. ‘Because you don’t blush like a rose when anyone else opens that door.’

  ‘It’s only because I dislike him so much.’

  ‘Yeah, and I hate chocolate.’

  Poppy threw her shoulders back and walked briskly out into the tearoom. ‘Good morning, Mr Caffarelli. Your usual?’

  ‘I’m not here for coffee.’

  She gave him a pert look. ‘Tea?’

  An enigmatic smile played at the edges of his mouth while her mouth tingled in memory of his hot, hard kiss. ‘Are you free for dinner tonight?’ he asked.

  Poppy drew in a tight little breath as she put her hands on her hips. The hide of him! Where on earth did he get access to so much arrogance and confidence? Was it coded in his DNA? ‘You don’t give up easily, do you?’

  ‘It’s not in my nature.’

  Chloe popped her head around the door. ‘She’d love to go out to dinner. She’s not busy. She hasn’t been out on a date with anyone for more than three months.’

  Poppy swung back and threw Chloe a livid glare. ‘Do you mind?’

  ‘What harm will it do to have a meal with him?’ Chloe said. ‘You know you want to.’

  ‘I do not want to!’

  ‘She does want to,’ Chloe said with authority to Rafe. ‘It will do her good. She needs to get out more.’

  ‘I swear to God I’m going to—’

  ‘So it’s a date,’ Rafe said. ‘I’ll pick you up at seven. I thought we could go to that new restaurant in the next village everyone is talking about.’

  ‘I’m not go—’

  ‘What should she wear?’ Chloe said before Poppy could finish spluttering her protest.

  ‘Surprise me.’ He gave them both a smile and walked back out the door.

  ‘You’re fired,’ Poppy said, flashing Chloe another deadly glare.

  ‘You don’t mean that,’ Chloe said. ‘Anyway, what could be more perfect than going to Oliver’s restaurant with the seriously rich, staggeringly handsome Rafe Caffarelli as your date? How cool a payback is that? I wish I could be a fly on the wall when that two-timing pig sees you walking in on Rafe’s arm. It’s a perfect way to show him you’re over him.’

  ‘I didn’t have to get over him in the first place,’ Poppy said, folding her arms across her chest.

  ‘Sure you didn’t.’ Chloe gave her another knowing look. ‘You cried your heart out for a week. And you ate a whole cheesecake.’

  ‘Half a cheesecake.’ Poppy scowled at her. ‘And I only cried because I really wanted to have someone in my life...someone to belong to. Ever since Gran died, I feel like I don’t belong to anyone any more.’

  Chloe gave her a big squishy hug. ‘You belong to this village, Poppy. Everyone loves you. We’re your family now.’

  * * *

  Poppy chewed at her lip as she walked back to the kitchen. Maybe Chloe was right—it would be a good way to demonstrate to Oliver she had moved on.

  But Rafe Caffarelli?

  He was crafty and clever. Everything he did was with a specific purpose in mind. She knew he wanted her house, but what if it wasn’t just the house he had set his mind to possess?

  Especially after that explosive kiss...

  She refused to think about that kiss. She had tried to block it from her mind. Every time she thought of it she cringed at how willing she had been, almost desperate, practically hanging off him like a limpet, before he’d put her from him.

  She couldn’t make him out. He had bought her shop, yet he hadn’t raised the rent and had told her he wasn’t going to. Could she trust him not to suddenly change his mind? Was he trying to charm her by stealth?

  He could hardly be in doubt of her attraction to him now. She tried her best to hide it but he was so damnably attractive! His casually tousled hair and the dark stubble on his jaw would have looked dishevelled or scruffy on someone else. On him it looked sexy and it made her fingers twitch to reach up and thread through those dark, silky strands or to stroke that chiselled plane of his jaw.

  And his mouth... She gulped as she thought of the contours of his lips, how they were so finely sculptured and yet so utterly masculine; how he had tasted; so warm and yet so fresh. Would he kiss her again? Was that why he was taking her out to dinner? Would she have the strength of will to resist him?

  Of course.

  She’d been caught off-guard before. He had taken advantage of her momentary lapse of concentration. She would be better prepared this time. He could dazzle her with whatever strength of charm he liked.

  She was back in control.

  * * *

  Rafe pulled up at the dower house just at seven. There was a cacophony of mad barking from inside the house as he raised his hand to the knocker. He heard Poppy shushing the dogs with limited success and then she opened the door.

  ‘You look...’ He was momentarily lost for words. ‘Amazing.’

  She was wearing a slim black cocktail dress that was simple but elegant, highlighting her trim figure without in any way exploiting it. The subtle sexiness was heart-stopping. Rafe swore his heart actually did miss a beat. She had her hair up in one of those artful twists that looked both casual and elegant at the same time. She had a simple string of pearls around her graceful neck and matching earrings, that he suspected weren’t terribly expensive, but with her creamy skin as a backdrop they looked as if they had just come out of a bank vault. Her make-up was light and yet it highlighted every one of her girl-next-door features: the high cheekbones, the cinnamon-brown eyes and the perfect bow of her mouth, which had a fine layer of shimmery gloss on it.

  He still couldn’t get his mind to stop revisiting that kiss. It was on permanent replay in his head. He couldn’t remember a time when a kiss had affected him so much. He had kissed dozens, probably hundreds of women. But something about Poppy Silverton’s sweet mouth melting into his had sent an arrow of longing deep inside him that had nagged at him like a toothache ever since.

  He wanted her. Badly.

  ‘I’ll just get my wrap and purse.’ She ushered the little mutts back with a shooing gesture and bent to pick up her belongings from the hall table.

  Rafe’s gaze travelled the length of her legs, from her thin ankles encased in sexy high heels to the neat curve of her botto
m. One of the little dogs—the one with a patch of black over one eye, like a pirate—growled at him warningly.

  ‘Down, boy,’ Poppy said.

  ‘Are you talking to me or the dog?’ Rafe asked.

  A delicate blush bloomed over her cheeks as she put her wrap around her shoulders. ‘Pickles is a little shy of strangers. But once he gets to know you he’ll be all over you like a rash.’

  ‘I can hardly wait.’

  Her blush deepened a fraction. ‘So...you like dogs?’

  ‘I love dogs.’ Rafe bent down and scratched behind Chutney’s ears. Relish came over and pushed his mate out of the way to get in on the action, but Pickles was maintaining his beady-eyed stand-off, eyeing Rafe with the sort of suspicion a protective father might cast upon a suitor who had come to collect his teenage daughter for her first date.

  ‘Do you have a dog at home?’ Poppy asked.

  Rafe straightened. ‘No, I travel too much. It wouldn’t be fair to leave it with household staff.’

  ‘Where do you base yourself? Italy or France?’

  ‘I have a villa in Umbria and one in Lyon. A have apartments in Rome and Paris I use for business trips. Our family owns a few villas in other locations around the globe. I won’t bore you with listing them.’

  She gave him a look. ‘Which do you love the most?’

  Rafe had loved the smallish but comfortable villa just outside Rome he and his brothers had grown up in before their parents were killed. Conscious of the extreme wealth she was marrying into, his mother had insisted on a more normal upbringing for her boys, reducing household staff to a minimum and even doing a lot of the cooking herself.

  But his grandfather had sold the villa after Rafe’s parents had been killed. He hadn’t consulted Rafe or his brothers about it. It had been delivered to them as a fait accompli. It had been devastating to lose not just their parents but their home as well. It was as if everything they had held most secure had disappeared. As a result Rafe tried not to get too attached to people or places or things. His brothers were exactly the same.

  ‘I don’t have a favourite,’ he said. ‘They each serve their purpose.’ He held the door open. ‘Shall we go?’