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
