Tempted By A Caffarelli: Never Say No to a Caffarelli

Raoul lifted a shoulder in a non-committal shrug. ‘It was sad...you know?’

Rafe did know. He had been having the same thoughts. His grandfather spent most of his time alone with just a band of people he employed to take care of the villa and his needs. It was a sterile life. There was no love or mutual enjoyment. His grandfather went from meal to meal with no real social contact, no real affection or connection. He got what he paid for: obsequious and obedient service.

‘He’s brought it on himself,’ he said with the rational part of his brain. ‘He’s pushed everyone who cared about him aside. Now he has to make do with the people who will only do it for the money.’

Raoul put down the paperweight and slid off the boardroom table with a little frown. ‘Do you ever think about it...about life? About what it’s all about?’

Rafe hid behind his usual shop-front of humour. ‘Of course I do. It’s about making money and making love. It’s what us Caffarellis do best.’

‘We make money and have sex, Rafe. Love has nothing to do with it.’

‘So?’

Raoul looked him in the eye. ‘Do you ever wonder if the woman who is with you is with you because of who you are or because of what’s in your bank account?’

Rafe felt an eerie shiver move over the back of his neck at the chilling familiarity of those words. Hadn’t Poppy asked him the very same thing the first day she met him? ‘Come on, man. What’s going on?’ he asked. ‘Last time I looked, you were out there partying like the best of them. What’s changed?’

‘Nothing. But I’ve been thinking about Clarissa, the girl I’ve been dating recently.’

‘You’re not serious about her?’ Rafe gave his brother an incredulous look. ‘I admit she’s attractive but surely you can do better than that?’

‘It solves the gold-digger problem, though, doesn’t it?’ Raoul said. ‘Clarissa wouldn’t be marrying me for my money because her old man has plenty of his own and she’s his only heir.’

Rafe picked up his briefcase again. ‘One beer, OK? After that I have to get going.’

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

POPPY WAS IN the smaller of the two sitting rooms, wiping copious tears from her eyes as the credits rolled on one of her favourite classic romance movies, when Rafe suddenly appeared in the doorway.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, frowning as he came towards her. ‘Why are you crying? Has something happened?’

Poppy sprang off the sofa guiltily. She stuffed her sodden tissue up the sleeve of her pink teddy-bear pyjamas and wished she didn’t have a red nose and red eyes to match her cheeks, not to mention her hair. ‘It’s just a movie. I always cry even though I’ve watched it about a gazillion times.’

He bent down and picked up the DVD case. ‘An Affair to Remember... I don’t think I’ve seen that one. What’s it about?’

‘It’s about a spoilt, rich playboy who meets this girl on a cruise...’ Poppy felt her blush deepen. ‘Never mind. You wouldn’t like it. It was made decades ago. I bet you only like movies with lots of car chases and heaps of CGI and over-the-top action.’

He put the case down again, his expression unreadable. ‘I didn’t think you’d still be up. It’s almost one in the morning.’

‘I had to bake some extra things for one of my customers,’ Poppy said. ‘She’s having some guests over for a dinner party tomorrow. I made the desserts for her.’

‘That’s sounds like a good little money-spinner for you.’

Poppy averted her gaze as she popped the DVD back in its case and clicked it shut. ‘I wasn’t expecting you back tonight. I thought you’d make the most of the nightlife in London while you were there.’

‘After my meeting I had a quiet beer with my middle brother, Raoul.’

‘So, no hot date or shallow pick-up?’

‘No.’

‘You must be losing your touch.’

His look was unreadable. ‘That’s what my brother said.’

There was a little silence.

‘You do charge people for cooking those extras, don’t you?’ he asked.

Poppy blew out a little breath. ‘I always say I’m going to...’

‘But you’re trying to run a business, for God’s sake,’ he said. ‘Your goal is to make a profit. That should be your focus, not trying to be everyone’s best friend.’

‘I know, I know. Do you think I haven’t been told this a hundred times?’

‘Do you want me to help you?’ he asked. ‘I can have a look over your books. I can see where the leaky holes are and put the necessary plugs in place. You won’t have to lose any sleep or friends over it.’

She looked up at him gratefully. ‘Would you do that?’

He gave her a slow smile that made her legs go weak. ‘I’d be glad to.’

Another little silence fell between them.

Poppy hugged her elbows with her crossed over arms. ‘It’s been funny being here tonight—funny weird, not funny hilarious.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I spent so much of my childhood here, right in this room. Lord Dalrymple let Gran and me use it. He said it was because the television reception was better here than at the dower house, but I think he liked having us around in the background.’ She gave a little sigh. ‘This is the first time I’ve been in here since Gran died.’

He came over and placed his hands gently on the tops of her shoulders. ‘I should’ve realised it might be tough coming back here. I should have postponed my meeting and stayed with you.’

Poppy looked up into his deep, dark eyes. He was standing very close; close enough to smell the citrus base of his aftershave and the hint of late-in-the-day male sweat that was equally intoxicating. ‘I don’t need babysitting.’

A corner of his mouth lifted in a wry smile. ‘So says the pint-sized girl who’s wearing pink teddy-bear pyjamas, and hippopotamus slippers on her feet.’ One of his hands moved from her shoulder to cup the nape of her neck. ‘Which should be enough to stop me doing this.’

She swallowed. ‘Doing...what?’

His mouth came down towards hers. ‘I think you know what.’

‘I thought you said you didn’t want to...?’

He pressed a soft-as-air kiss to her lips. It barely touched her but it set every nerve longing for more. ‘I want to,’ he said in a rough, sexy tone. ‘I want to very much. I’ve thought of nothing but you the whole time I was in London. How you taste, how you smell, how you feel.’

Poppy’s breath hitched on something sharp in her chest as his mouth came back down to hers. The kiss was longer this time and deeper. She felt the first brush-stroke of his tongue against her mouth and her spine liquefied. She opened to him on a little whimper of approval, her hands winding up around his neck, her body pressing closer to the hard warmth of his.

His tongue played with hers, cajoling it into a dance that was brazenly erotic. He moulded her to him, his hands pressing against her bottom to hold her against his aroused body. He felt so thick and strong pulsing there against her neediness. The empty, achy feeling inside her was almost unbearable, especially when the answer to it was so temptingly close.