Tempted By A Caffarelli

Her gaze narrowed. ‘I find it hard to see why it could be of any interest to you if I am or if I’m not.’

‘Au contraire,’ he said. ‘I find it immensely interesting.’

Her cheeks flared with colour but her eyes were glittering with spirited defiance. ‘Would you like more coffee, Mr Caffarelli, or shall I get your bill?’

Rafe held that sparkling toffee-brown gaze and felt his blood heat up another notch. He could smell her light fragrance. He was close enough to touch her. He felt the tension in her body; it was pulsing just below the surface. She was doing everything she could to hide it but he was aware of it all the same. Hate and lust were swirling in the air like a powerful, heady aroma. ‘You don’t like me very much, do you?’

Her mouth tightened primly. ‘My job is to serve you coffee, not become your best friend.’

He gave her a lazy half-smile. ‘Haven’t you heard that saying, “keep your friends close, but your enemies closer”?’

Her eyes flashed at him as she pointedly handed him the bill for his coffee. ‘Haven’t you heard the saying, “there’s no such thing as a free lunch”?’

Rafe chuckled as he took out his wallet, peeled off a tenner and placed it on the table beside her. ‘Until we meet again, Miss Silverton. Ciao.’

* * *

Poppy was about to go to bed when she noticed Chutney was missing. The three dogs had been out in the garden while she had a bath, but when she called them back in only Pickles and Relish appeared. ‘Chutney?’ she called out from the back door. ‘Chutney? Here boy. Come and get a treat.’

There was no sign of him in the garden. He seemed to have completely vanished. It was hard not to worry after what had happened to Pickles. Poppy had found him injured after finding a gap in the hedge leading to the field in front of Dalrymple Manor. It had been so harrowing to find him lying in the long grass, whimpering in pain.

Her heart began to stammer. Chutney had a tendency to wander, especially if he got the scent of a rabbit. Even though she had got the gap in the hedge fixed, she suspected there were other places he could have squeezed through, being so much smaller than the other two dogs. What if he had got out on the road? Although there wasn’t much traffic along this particular lane, it only took one speeding car to do the damage.

Poppy looked at the manor in the distance. Raffaele Caffarelli’s top-notch sports car was parked out the front. There were lights on downstairs, which meant he must be still awake.

She glanced at the business card on the kitchen table. Should she call him to see if he had seen any sign of Chutney? The three dogs were used to walking up to the manor. Before Lord Dalrymple had died she had taken them up every day to visit, and she had only stopped walking them in the grounds of the manor once the ‘sold’ sign had gone up.

She picked up the business card and ran her index finger over his name. She took a little uneven breath, reached for her phone and quickly typed in the number before she changed her mind. He answered on the third ring.

‘Rafe Caffarelli.’

Poppy felt the base of her spine shiver at the sound of the deep burr of his voice. ‘Um...it’s Poppy Silverton here.’

‘I’ve been expecting you to call.’

‘I’m not calling about the dinner thing. I wondered if you’d seen a little dog up at the manor.’

‘What sort of dog?’

‘He’s a cavoodle.’

‘A what?’

Poppy rolled her eyes at his tone. ‘He’s a cross between a miniature poodle and a King Charles cavalier. He’s called Chutney.’

‘You named your dog after a condiment?’

She pursed her mouth in irritation. ‘Have you seen him or not?’

‘No.’

‘Fine,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry to bother you so late. Goodni—’

‘I’ll have a look around outside. Would he have wandered into the maze, do you think? I haven’t figured it out yet so you might have to come and rescue me from the minotaur if I get stuck.’

‘I’m sure you’re quite adept at getting yourself out of complicated situations.’

He gave a little chuckle. ‘You’ve been reading up on me, haven’t you?’

‘If you find Chutney, please call me.’

‘I’ll do even better than that. I’ll deliver him to your door.’

‘I wouldn’t want to put you to any bother.’

‘Will he come to a stranger?’

‘He’s a shameless glutton,’ Poppy said. ‘He’ll do anything for food.’

Her spine shivered again as he gave another deep chuckle. ‘I know the type.’

* * *

The doorbell rang a few minutes later. Poppy had only just come back inside after doing another round of the garden. She shushed Pickles and Relish, who were bouncing up and down on their back legs like string puppets being controlled by a hyperactive puppeteer. ‘Down, Pickles; you too, Relish. Sit. I said sit.’ She opened the door to find Rafe standing there with Chutney under one arm. ‘Oh, you found him! Where was he?’

He handed the dog to her. ‘He was sitting at the back of the manor near the kitchen door.’

Poppy put Chutney on the floor where his two friends immediately besieged him with frenzied licks and whimpers of delight, as if he’d been away for a month instead of an hour. She straightened to face Rafe. ‘I’m sorry about that. I think he still misses Lord Dalrymple. We used to go up to visit him every day.’

‘I noticed he seemed quite at home.’

‘Yes, well, I made a habit of wandering past with the dogs to check the place wasn’t vandalised while it was vacant,’ Poppy said. ‘I’m not going up there now, of course.’

His eyes glinted knowingly. ‘Of course.’

She straightened her shoulders. ‘Thank you for returning him. You didn’t have to. I would have come to collect him. All you had to do was call me.’

‘Have you thought about my dinner proposal?’

Poppy felt that funny little shiver again as his dark eyes held hers. She wasn’t exactly dressed for visitors. She was wearing the oldest, shabbiest tracksuit she possessed and a pair of scruffy old trainers that had holes over her big toes where Pickles had chewed them. Her hair was tied up with a ribbon and her face bare of make-up. It made her feel at a distinct disadvantage. It made her feel about ten years old. Why, oh why hadn’t she changed into something a little less unsophisticated? ‘Um, I think you should ask someone else,’ she said.

‘I want you.’

Heat flowed into her cheeks as that coal-black gaze smouldered against hers. ‘I’m not available.’ To her chagrin her voice sounded throaty and husky...sexy, even.

‘You know you want to say yes. I can see it in your eyes.’

Poppy glowered at him. ‘I can see why you fly everywhere by private jet—you’d need all the extra cabin space for your ego.’

A smile lurked around the corners of his mouth. ‘You’re a stubborn little thing, aren’t you?’

‘I did warn you.’

‘Likewise.’ His black-as-pitch gaze held hers with a glint of implacable determination. ‘When I want something, I don’t give up until I have it.’

‘Thank you for bringing Chutney home,’ she said holding the door open for him. ‘Don’t let me keep you.’

Those dark-as-night eyes lowered to her mouth for a moment before returning to mesh with her gaze. ‘Aren’t you going to do the neighbourly thing and invite me in for a nightcap since I so gallantly returned your dog?’

Poppy knew it would appear churlish of her to refuse him entry. But wouldn’t inviting him in so late at night send him the message she actually wanted his company?

Of course she didn’t want his company. She had plenty of company. She had her three little dogs, didn’t she? ‘I’m kind of busy right now.’

‘I’m house-trained, if that’s what’s worrying you.’ His hint of a smile was devastatingly attractive. ‘I won’t cock my leg on the furniture or try and bury bones in the backyard.’

‘I’m not in the habit of inviting men I barely know into my house late at night.’

Was that a glimmer of respect she saw in his eyes? ‘Are you worried about what the neighbours will think?’ he asked.

‘You’re the only neighbour for miles,’ she pointed out.

A more serious note entered his voice and was reflected in his gaze as it held hers. ‘You’re quite safe with me, Miss Silverton. I might have a reputation but I have the utmost respect for women and always have.’

‘How reassuring.’

‘You don’t believe me.’

‘Some of the comments your ex-mistress posted online about you were rather derogatory,’ Poppy said.

‘It’s not my best character reference, that’s for sure. But she was unhappy about being made redundant, so to speak. I’ll get my secretary to send her a parting gift to soften the blow. It was remiss of me not to think of it earlier. I bet once Zandra gets several thousand pounds’ worth of rubies or sapphires she’ll take the comments down.’

Poppy arched her brow at him. ‘Why not diamonds?’

‘I never give diamonds.’

‘Why not? It’s not as if you can’t afford them.’

‘Diamonds are for ever,’ he said. ‘When I find the right girl to give them to, I’ll buy them, but not before.’

Poppy gave him a sceptical look. ‘So you’re actually planning to give up your partying and playboy lifestyle at some point?’

His shrug was noncommittal. ‘It’s not on my immediate agenda.’

She couldn’t keep the derision from her tone or from the angle of her chin. ‘Too busy out there sowing your wild oats?’

His eyes glinted as they held hers. ‘There are a few fresh fields I have yet to plough. After that, who knows? Don’t they say reformed rakes make the best husbands?’

‘What sort of wife will you require?’ Poppy asked. ‘A plaster saint with a blue-blooded background similar to your own?’

A sparkle of playfulness entered his gaze. ‘Are you thinking of auditioning for the post?’

She pulled her chin back in against her throat. ‘You must be joking. You’re the very last person I would ever think of marrying.’

He gave her a mock bow before he turned to leave. ‘The feeling is mutual, Miss Silverton. Bonsoir.’

CHAPTER FOUR

‘I JUST RAN into Mr Compton on my way to work,’ Chloe said the following morning. ‘He said Rafe Caffarelli came in again yesterday.’

‘He just had coffee.’ Poppy turned to put the cream she had just whipped back in the fridge. ‘Quite frankly, I don’t know why he bothers. What’s the point of going to a tearoom if you don’t drink tea and you don’t eat cake?’

‘Mr Compton also told me Rafe asked you to provide evening meals for him up at the manor.’ Chloe picked up her apron and began to tie it around her waist. ‘That’s exciting. The way to a man’s heart and all that. What are you going to cook for him?’

‘I’m not cooking for him.’

Chloe blinked. ‘Are you crazy? He’s going to pay you, isn’t he?’

Poppy set her mouth stubbornly. ‘That’s not the point.’

‘I’ll cook for him, then,’ Chloe said. ‘I’ll do three meals a day and morning and afternoon tea. I’ll even give him breakfast in bed. God, I’m having a hot flush just thinking about it. I bet he’s amazing between the sheets. He looks like he pumps some serious iron. I bet he could go all night.’

Poppy gave her a withering look. ‘There is more to a man than how he looks. What about intellect and morals? What about personal values?’

Chloe grinned at her. ‘You fancy him like rotten, don’t you? Go on—admit it. And I reckon he fancies you. Mr Compton reckons so too. Why else would he come in for coffee two days in a row?’

Poppy stalked over to put the cupcakes on the glass cake-stand. ‘Raffaele Caffarelli has had more lovers than you and I have had hot dinners. He thinks that just because he wants something or someone he can have it. His sense of entitlement is beyond arrogant. It’s deplorable.’

Chloe’s eyes began to twinkle. ‘You really are all fired up over him, aren’t you? This can’t just be about your house. Why do you dislike him so much?’

Poppy carried the cake-stand out to the tearoom. ‘I’d rather not talk about it.’

Chloe followed close behind. ‘Mr Compton said Rafe’s going to turn Dalrymple Manor into a luxury hotel and spa. It could be really good for the village if he does. There’d be heaps of jobs for the locals, and we might even get a bit of extra business as a result.’

Poppy plonked the cake-stand down and turned to glare her. ‘For the last four-hundred-and-seventy-five years, the manor has been a family home. Generations of the Dalrymple family have been born and have died there. Turning it into a plush hotel will totally destroy its character and desecrate its history.’

‘I expect Rafe Caffarelli will do a very tasteful conversion,’ Chloe put in. ‘I checked out some of his other developments online. He’s big on keeping things in context architecturally. He draws up most of the preliminary plans himself.’

Poppy was still on her soapbox and wasn’t stepping down any time soon. The thought of the paparazzi hiding in the hedges in her beloved village to get their prized shot of hedonistic celebrities partying up at the manor was sickening. ‘Lord Dalrymple will be spinning in his grave if this preposterous project goes ahead. What was his cousin thinking of, selling to a developer? Why couldn’t they have sold to a private family instead? Another family could bring life and vibrancy to the place instead of filthy rich people wining and dining and partying at all hours.’

‘You really love that old place, don’t you?’

Poppy blew out a long breath. ‘I know it sounds ridiculously sentimental but I think Dalrymple Manor needs a family to make it come alive again. It’s spent the last sixty years grieving. You can feel the sadness when you walk in there. It’s almost palpable. The stairs creak with it, sometimes even the foundations groan with it.’

Chloe’s eyes rounded. ‘Are you saying it’s haunted?’

‘I used to think so when I was a kid, but no, it’s just a sad old place that needs to be filled with love and laughter and family again.’

‘Maybe Rafe Caffarelli will settle down there with one of his lovers,’ Chloe suggested.

‘I can’t see that happening,’ Poppy said with an expression of disdain. ‘He doesn’t keep a lover more than a month or two. Playboys like him don’t settle down, they just change partners.’

Chloe gave her a speculative look. ‘So I take it I’m not the only one who’s done a little online searching on the illustrious Rafe Caffarelli?’

Poppy went back to the kitchen with her head at a haughty height. ‘I’m not the least bit interested in what that man does or who he does it with. I have much better things to do with my time.’

* * *

Just before lunch Mr Underwood, Poppy’s landlord, came in to the tearoom. He usually came in on a Friday afternoon for a cup of tea and a slice of the cake of the day. Poppy desperately hoped this Tuesday visit wasn’t a business one. She had a list of expenses to see to on the dower house. The place needed painting inside and out, and the garden needed urgent attention. There was an elm tree close to her bedroom that needed lopping as it was keeping her awake at night with its branches scratching at the window. Even a modest rise in rent at the shop would just about cripple her financially now.

‘Your usual, Mr Underwood?’ she said with a bright and hopeful smile.

‘Er, can I have a word, Poppy?’ John Underwood asked.

‘Sure.’ Poppy’s smile tightened on her face. Please don’t ask for more rent.

‘I thought I should let you know I’ve been made an offer on the building,’ John said. ‘It’s a good one, the best I’ve had, so I’m going to take it.’

She frowned. ‘But I didn’t realise you were even thinking of selling.’

‘I’ve been toying with the idea for a while. Jean wants to travel a bit more. We’ve got three young grandchildren in the States now and we want to spend a bit more time with them. I’m selling this building and another investment property I have in Shropshire.’

Poppy felt suspicion move up her spine like a file of sugar ants. ‘Who made the offer?’

‘I’m not at liberty to say,’ he said. ‘The buyer insisted on total confidentiality until all the paperwork is done.’

She pursed her lips as the rage simmered inside her. ‘I just bet he did.’

John looked uncomfortable. ‘I didn’t want to do the wrong thing by you, Poppy. You and Chloe are the best tenants I’ve had. But at the end of the day this is a business decision. It’s not personal.’

Oh yes it is, Poppy thought sourly. ‘We’ve still got another year on the lease. That won’t change, will it?’

‘Not unless the new owner wants to redevelop.’

‘Did he say what he intended to do with it?’

‘No, he just seemed really keen to acquire this particular building. He said he instantly fell in love with its old-world charm.’

‘Ruthless’ didn’t even come close to describing Rafe Caffarelli, Poppy thought. He was clever and calculating, much more than she had realised. But she wasn’t going down without a fight. There was no way she was going to let him have things all his own way. Did he really think he could twist her arm? Blackmail her into his bed by charging her an outrageously high rent? What sort of woman did he think she was? ‘Will the new owner expect a rise in rent, do you think?’

‘You’d have to discuss that with him.’

She gave him an ironic look. ‘How can I if he wants to remain anonymous?’

‘I expect the rent will be handled through an agency,’ John said. ‘Anyway, I just thought I should let you know I’ve sold. I’m not one for keeping secrets but he seemed to think it was necessary.’

Poppy ground her teeth behind her tight smile. ‘I’m sure he has his reasons.’

She stalked out to the kitchen once John Underwood had left. ‘Grrrh! I’m going to punch him on the nose. I’m going to scratch his eyes out. I’m going to give him a black eye. I’m going to kick him in the you-know-where.’

Chloe blinked in confusion. ‘But I thought you liked Mr Underwood. What’s he done—put up the rent or something?’

‘Not Mr Underwood,’ Poppy said through clenched teeth. ‘Rafe Caffarelli. He’s bought the shop. I know it’s him, even though Mr Underwood didn’t actually say so. It’s supposed to be a secret. And I know why—Rafe Caffarelli wants to blackmail me into his bed.’

Chloe’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. ‘Hey, have I missed something somewhere? Back up a little bit. Did you say he wants to sleep with you? Did he actually say that out loud?’

‘Not in as many words, but I can see it in his eyes every time he looks at me.’ Poppy clenched her hands into fists. ‘I won’t do it.’

‘I’ll do it,’ Chloe said. ‘What are you thinking, Poppy? He’s gorgeous. He’s rich. He’s everything a woman could want in a man.’

Poppy set her mouth. ‘Not this woman.’

‘You’re mad,’ Chloe said. ‘What would it hurt to have a little fling with him? He would probably give you heaps and heaps of ridiculously expensive jewellery at the end of it. You could sell them and retire.’

Poppy threw her a look of reproach. ‘I had no idea you were so shallow.’

Chloe shrugged. ‘Not shallow, just pragmatic. Think about it. When are you going to get the chance to move in his sort of circles? It’d be worth it just for the publicity. It’d really put the tearoom on the map.’

‘I am not going to sleep with Rafe Caffarelli in order to bring more customers in the door.’ Poppy folded her arms tightly across her chest. ‘I have far more self-respect than that.’

‘You’re stuck in the dark ages,’ Chloe said. ‘Who waits for Mr Right these days? Most girls lose their virginity before they leave school. You’re twenty-five for God’s sake. Think of all the sex you’re going to have to have to catch up.’

‘I don’t think about sex.’ Well, not until recently.

‘That’s because you don’t know what you’re missing. It’s not wrong to have sex before you get married. Not in this day and age.’

‘I’m not necessarily waiting until I get married,’ Poppy said. ‘I’m waiting until I feel sure it’s really what I want, and that the man is right for me.’

‘It’s because of what happened to your mum, isn’t it?’ Chloe said. ‘It’s made you gun-shy.’

‘Maybe a bit,’ Poppy confessed. ‘OK, more than a bit. It ruined her life to be cast aside like that. She never got over it. She was truly heartbroken. She loved my father and he treated her like a silly little toy he had grown tired of. And it didn’t just wreck her life, it ruined my gran’s life because she got landed with a little kid to bring up.’

‘Your gran loved bringing you up.’

Poppy let out a sigh. ‘But my mother died so young and she didn’t get to do all the things she wanted to do. I don’t want that to happen to me. I want to have control over my future.’

‘There are some things in life that you just can’t control.’

‘I know, but I’m going to focus on the ones I can.’ Poppy untied her apron and tossed it on the nearest chair. ‘Starting right now.’

* * *

Rafe was working on some preliminary 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.