Tempted By A Caffarelli. Melanie Milburne

where they were wrapped around her wrist were like little fireworks popping off underneath his skin.

      He met her gaze and felt a stallion’s kick of lust strike him in the groin. He smelt her perfume; it was like a draft of some exotic potion that inflamed him with instant longing. He relaxed his grip, but as her fingers left his hold they moved softly across his palm in a trailing movement that made the blood roar through his veins. He felt a surge of lust-driven blood thicken him, heat flowing over his skin like the path of a flame.

      Rafe slid a hand into the thick curtain of her hair, loving the feel of those bouncy curls moving against his skin like dainty, springy, fragrant blossoms of jasmine, each one caressing him, intoxicating him.

      He would allow himself one kiss.

      Just to see if it was as he remembered. Maybe he’d imagined the sparks of electricity shooting up and down his spine as his lips had come in contact with hers. Maybe her mouth would just be another woman’s mouth today. It wouldn’t make his head spin and his desire race like high-octane fuel through his veins.

      He brought his mouth down within reach of the perfect bow of hers, taking his time, letting their breaths mingle.

      ‘What are you doing?’ Her voice was soft and husky, her warm, sweet breath dancing against his lips like a teasing spring breeze.

      ‘What do you think I’m doing?’ But before she could answer, or the controlled and sensible part of him could change his mind, Rafe did it.

       CHAPTER NINE

      POPPY HAD THOUGHT his kiss the other day was electrifying, but this time it was completely off the scale. As soon as his lips settled over hers it was as though fireworks had gone off under her skin. She had never felt such a surge of primal male energy before. It touched on something deep and essential to her as a woman. It was like breaking a secret code that had never been solved until now. Her flesh sang with delight as his mouth explored hers in intimate detail—the way his tongue came in search of hers in a brazenly, commanding gesture that had her belly quivering as soon he made contact.

      She tasted the hot, hard, thrusting heat of him; tasted the hint of ruthlessness in his mouth; felt the chivalry in his touch that could so easily be put aside if the situation warranted it. It was that edgy, dangerous element about him that so totally captivated her. Hadn’t she felt that from the first moment she had met him? He was a man who always got what he wanted. He didn’t let anyone stand in his way.

      His mouth ravished hers, plundering its depths with dips and dives of his masterful tongue against hers. Poppy shivered as she kissed him back, her tongue duelling with his in a heart-racing chase that made her toes curl inside her shoes. His mouth was hot, determined and purposeful, and she clung to him as she kissed him back just as passionately.

      He gave a deep growl of pleasure and cupped her bottom in both of his hands, tugging her against the heated trajectory of his body.

      Poppy slithered against him wantonly; her body aching for the pleasure his body was promising in that erotic embrace. She made a mewling sound beneath his passionate mouth, her arms going up to loop around his neck, to hold him to her.

      For a moment she thought he was going to reach for her breast. She actually felt his hand move up her body, but then suddenly he broke the kiss and put her from him, moving some distance away as if he didn’t trust himself not to reach for her again.

      He scraped a hand through his hair and let out a colourful expletive. ‘Sorry.’ He was breathing heavily. ‘I lost my head there for a moment.’

      ‘Is that such a bad thing?’

      He gave her a grim look. ‘I never lose my head. Ever.’

      ‘Maybe it’s time you did.’

      He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and moved even further away, turning his back on her. ‘This isn’t going to work, Poppy. You know it isn’t. It was a mistake to kiss you. I should’ve known better.’

      Poppy felt herself bristling in affront. ‘I’m not asking you to marry me.’

      He turned and threw her a black look. ‘You’re not my type. Do I have to spell it out any plainer than that?’

      Self-doubt crept up and tapped her on the shoulder, mocking her with its cruel little taunts: you’re unattractive. You’re rubbish at kissing. You’ve got no pulling power, that’s why Oliver and every other date you’ve ever had moved on to the next girl as soon as they could.

      Poppy straightened her spine and swung around to the door. ‘I’ll just get the rest of your dinner for you.’

      ‘Forget about it.’

      ‘It won’t take a minute.’ She turned back to look at him. ‘I just have to dish it up. I won’t stay, if that’s what’s—’

      ‘I’m not hungry.’

      She forced herself to hold his unreadable gaze. ‘Will you be hungry tomorrow night, do you think?’

      His eyes moved away from hers. ‘I’ll make my own arrangements with regards to food in future.’

      ‘Fine.’ She let out a stormy breath. ‘I’ll just get the dogs and be on my way.’

      * * *

      ‘So how did the meal go down last night?’ Chloe asked the next morning. ‘Did you tickle Rafe Caffarelli’s tastebuds?’

      Poppy kept her gaze averted as she went about getting the tearoom ready for business. She had used concealer that morning when she put on some make-up but it hadn’t done much to disguise the stubble rash on her chin. It looked like she’d been scrubbing at her face with a handful of steel wool. ‘There is something terribly defective about that man’s tastebuds,’ she said as she swished back the last of the curtains to let the watery sunshine in.

      ‘But you didn’t make anything sweet for him, did you?’

      ‘No, of course not.’ Had her mouth been too sweet for him? Poppy pushed the thought aside as she crossed the room to get the napkins out of the old pine dresser drawer. ‘He’s just one of those difficult to please customers we get from time to time.’

      Chloe’s gaze narrowed. ‘What happened to your face?’

      ‘Nothing, just a bit of an allergy,’ Poppy said shutting the drawer firmly. ‘I probably leant too close to the honeysuckle or something.’

      ‘Since when have you been allergic to honeysuckle?’ Chloe came over and peered at Poppy’s chin like a scientist examining a ground-breaking discovery in the laboratory. ‘You’ve got beard rash!’

      Poppy jerked her head away. ‘It’s not beard rash.’

      ‘It so is beard rash.’ Chloe grinned at her. ‘He kissed you, didn’t he? What was it like?’

      Poppy pursed her lips and started placing the napkins by each setting. ‘I’d rather not discuss it.’

      ‘Did he want to sleep with you?’ Chloe asked. ‘Is that why you’re all uppity about it? Did he put the hard word on you or something?’

      ‘No, he did not put the hard word on me,’ Poppy said tightly. ‘He told me kissing me was a mistake, or words to that effect.’

      Chloe blinked. ‘A mistake?’

      ‘I’m not his type.’ Poppy leaned over the table near the window to put the last napkin down and straightened. ‘Not that I want to be his type or anything—it’s just there’s a way to let a girl down gently without savaging her self-esteem in the process.’

      Chloe angled her head quizzically. ‘So, let me get this straight: you wanted to sleep with him but he knocked you back?’

      ‘I’m not saying I would’ve slept with him, exactly...’