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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 bottom. 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?’
Rafe settled her in the car before he got behind the wheel. ‘So, three months since your last date?’
‘Chloe had no right to tell you that.’
‘I’m glad she told me. I wouldn’t want to be cutting in on anyone’s territory.’
She sent him a narrow-eyed look. ‘This isn’t a date.’
‘What is it then?’
She clutched her purse tightly on her lap. ‘It’s just a dinner between two...um...’
‘Friends?’
‘Associates.’
Rafe gave a little chuckle of amusement. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t say enemies. I must be improving a little in your estimation.’
‘Not that much.’
‘Come now, Poppy,’ he chided. ‘Let’s not spoil our first date with bickering like children.’
‘It’s not a date!’
Rafe smiled as he pulled into a space outside the restaurant. ‘Sure it’s not.’
* * *
Poppy forced herself to stop scowling as she entered the restaurant with Rafe. She also had to stop herself from shivering in reaction when he put a gentle guiding hand to the small of her back. The electric sensation of his touch burned through the fabric of her dress. The sharp, citrusy scent of him made her nostrils flare. He was dressed in a dark-grey suit but he hadn’t bothered with a tie. His shirt was a pale shade of blue, which brought out the olive tone of his skin. He was simply the most gorgeous man she had ever laid eyes on.
But it wasn’t just his looks. It was the way he carried himself that was equally attractive. He had a commanding presence, an aura of authority that made people stop in their tracks.
The maître d’ was a case in point. Poppy watched as Oliver’s new girlfriend Morgan practically swooned when she came over to greet Rafe. ‘Mr Caffarelli, it’s wonderful to welcome you here,’ she gushed. ‘We’ve saved the very best table for you.’ She cast a cooler look towards Poppy. ‘Hi, Poppy. How’s the teashop going?’
‘Hello, Morgan,’ Poppy said. ‘It’s going just fine. We’ve been flat out just lately. I’ve been run off my feet.’
Morgan gave a tight smile. ‘Come this way.’
Once they were seated at their table and Morgan had left them with menus, Rafe raised his brows at Poppy. ‘Friend or foe?’ he asked.
Poppy picked up the menu with a huffy shrug of one shoulder. ‘I’d rather not talk about it if you don’t mind.’
‘Let me guess.’
‘I’d rather you didn’t.’
He leaned forward and pushed the menu she was using as a screen down with his index finger so he could mesh his gaze with hers. ‘The guy who runs this place...Oliver Kentridge...he and you were an item, what, about three months ago?’
Poppy pressed her lips together without responding.
‘And the Morag girl—’
‘Morgan.’
‘Sorry, Morgan—is the one who lured him away from you, right?’
Poppy let out a breath that sent her stiff shoulders down in a little slump. ‘I don’t think it’s fair to blame Morgan for all of it. Oliver wasn’t getting what he wanted from me so he went to her. If he cared about me he wouldn’t have strayed. Obviously he didn’t care enough.’
A little pleat of a frown pulled the skin together over his eyes. ‘What wasn’t he getting from you?’
Poppy shifted in her seat. This wasn’t exactly the conversation one had in a public restaurant, was it? Not that anyone was sitting nearby, but still... ‘Um...’
‘Sex?’
She looked at his incredulous expression and felt a blush steal over her cheeks. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’
‘You refused to have sex with him?’
Poppy leaned forward and hissed at him, ‘Will you please keep your voice down?’
He leaned forward as well, resting his forearms on the table so his hands were within reach of hers. His gaze was very dark and very focused as it held hers. ‘How long had you been going out?’
‘A couple of months.’
His frown deepened. ‘So what was the problem? You didn’t fancy him or something?’
‘I sort of did.’
‘What does that mean?’
Poppy gave a helpless shrug. ‘I think I wanted it to be more than it actually was... Our relationship, I mean. I was lonely after my gran died. I wanted to be with someone. I’d known Oliver for years. He was one of the guys I’d gone to school with. We had a lot in common, or so I thought. We both moved to London to do hospitality training. When he came back a few months ago we sort of got together.’
‘So why didn’t you sleep with him?’
Somehow one of his hands had found one of hers. Poppy looked down at the way his long, tanned fingers had curled around her lighter-toned ones, creating a circle of intimacy that would make any onlookers automatically assume their relationship was a sexual one. It made an involuntary shiver trickle down her spine. It made a liquid heat pulse between her thighs.
She took a scatty little breath. ‘I wanted to wait a bit...’
‘For what?’
‘To see if the chemistry was right.’
‘Clearly it wasn’t.’
‘No...’
The approach of Morgan with the list of the day’s specials put a pause on the conversation. But, instead of leaning back in his chair, Rafe kept hold of Poppy’s hand across the table. She was conscious of his warm, dry fingers curled around hers in an embrace that had an undercurrent of sensuality to it. She felt the slow stroke of his thumb against the underside of her wrist. It was a mesmerising movement that stirred her blood to fever pitch.
Morgan’s eyes went to their joined hands before she addressed Rafe. ‘Would you care for a pre-dinner drink?’
‘Champagne,’ Rafe said with an easy smile. ‘Bring us your best.’
Morgan’s eyes widened but she maintained her professional stance and nodded.
Poppy looked at him pointedly once Morgan had left. ‘Champagne?’
He gave her a twinkling look that was devastatingly attractive. ‘I finally convinced you to go out on a date with me. I think that’s worth celebrating, don’t you?’
‘You didn’t convince me.’ She gave him a slitted look. ‘You coerced me.’
He brought her hand up to his mouth, holding it against the slight graze of his newly shaven chin, causing a frisson of delight to pass through her entire body from head to toe. ‘You wanted to come. Go on—admit it. You wouldn’t be here now if you didn’t. You would’ve found some excuse or slammed the door in my face when I arrived to pick you up. But no, you were ready and waiting for me.’
Poppy was annoyed with herself for being so predictable. Why hadn’t she slammed the door in his face? ‘I don’t trust you, that’s why. How do I know you’re not going to suddenly change your mind about the rent?’
‘Because that’s not the way I do business.’
‘But a teashop is hardly at the top of your list of must-be-acquired assets,’ she said. ‘It’s nothing like your normal investments.’
‘I’m all for a bit of diversifying.’
Poppy tried to read his expression but he was a master at keeping his cards close to his chest. She knew she was a novelty to him, hence the little quip about diversifying. She was probably the first woman who had ever said no to him. The trouble was she wasn’t sure how much longer she could say no. Even now her eyes kept tracking to his mouth. She had felt his smile against the sensitive skin of her hand and it had set every nerve fizzing. What would it feel like to have that mouth press against hers again? Was that where tonight was heading?
Would he settle for just a kiss this time?
Would she settle for just a kiss?
Expectation, excitement, nervousness and anticipation were a heady mix in her bloodstream.
Would he expect more than a kiss?
There was no denying the chemistry that sizzled between them. It had been there right from the moment he had walked through the door of her tearoom. The problem was, what was she going to do about it?
Morgan came out with their champagne. ‘So, what are we celebrating?’ she asked as she popped the cork.
Rafe gave her another laid-back smile. ‘Nothing special—just dinner between friends.’
Morgan’s expression was sour around the edges as she directed her gaze to Poppy’s. ‘I didn’t realise you moved in such elevated circles. There’s been nothing in the press about you being involved with each other.’
Rafe’s hand tightened warningly as it covered Poppy’s. ‘We’re trying to keep a low profile. We’d appreciate your discretion.’
‘Of course.’ Morgan gave another one of her stiff smiles before she left.
Poppy glowered at him. ‘What the hell are you doing? She’ll phone the nearest journalist and give an exclusive. I bet she’ll even tell them what we ate and drank.’
‘So?’
‘So? How can you be so casual about this? You deliberately gave her the impression we were seeing each other. I’ll be laughed at and mocked in the press. I’m nothing like the women you usually date. Everyone will make horrible comments about me and call me a gold-digger or something equally offensive.’
Just like they had done to her mother.
Poppy had found some of the news clippings in her gran’s things after she had died. It had been devastating to find out a little more of her mother’s back story. How a normal, mostly sensible girl had been lured into a rich man’s world and dropped when she’d ceased to be of interest to him. Poppy was sure that was what had shattered her mother—the public humiliation of being rejected, discarded like a toy that no longer held any appeal. Poppy’s playboy father had denied paternity when her mother had told him she was pregnant, and in those days it hadn’t been as easy to prove or disprove as it was today when you could buy a testing kit online. Her mother had been painted as a social-climbing, gold-digging slut who wanted to land herself a rich husband.
Wouldn’t the same be said about Poppy if she were seen in the press with Rafe Caffarelli?
‘Why are you so worried about what people will think?’ he asked.
Poppy chewed at her lower lip. ‘It’s all right for you. You’re used to it. I bet hardly a day goes by without an article appearing somewhere with you at the centre of it. I hate having my photo taken even when I’m prepared for it. Some unscrupulous photographer will probably catch me off-guard with parsley stuck in my teeth, or without make-up, or dressed in my shabbiest tracksuit or something.’
He was looking at her with a smile tilting the edge of his mouth. ‘I quite liked how you looked in that tracksuit the other night.’
‘It had lint balls all over it.’
‘I think you looked stunning in it.’
