Tempted By A Caffarelli: Never Say No to a Caffarelli

‘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.

CHAPTER FIVE (#u1ab9e895-62cb-5648-9281-8abc9e3d533f)

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.’