Never Say No to a Caffarelli

‘Do you enjoy what you do?’

Up until spending such a frustrating day, Rafe would have answered an emphatic yes. But somehow today had made him question everything about his plans for the manor—even, to some degree, his plans for his life. ‘Like any career there are good and bad sides to it,’ he said. ‘I love the challenge of finding a rundown property and following it through the various stages as it develops into a luxury hotel. But the hassles with local councils or development authorities can be incredibly tiresome.’

‘Not to mention difficult neighbours.’

He gave her a wry look. ‘I almost sacked my property manager over you.’

She looked aghast. ‘Oh, surely not?’

Rafe twirled the wine in his glass, watching as it swirled against the sides in a blood-red whirlpool of contained energy. ‘I’d seen Dalrymple Manor online and liked the look of it. James thought it would be a good investment. He did all the research and emailed me the photos of inside and I agreed. It had large acreage and the manor itself needed a rapid injection of funds to bring it to its former glory. It ticked all the boxes.’

‘But?’

He met her eyes across the scrubbed and worn centuries-old kitchen table. ‘There was an unexpected five-foot-five obstacle in my way.’

Her cheeks pooled with a light shade of pink, the point of her tongue sneaking out to deposit a layer of moisture across her lips as her eyes slipped out of reach of his. ‘That would be me.’

Rafe felt a smile pull at his mouth. Of all the enemies he’d had to face over the years Poppy Silverton had to be the most delightful.

The most desirable.

‘I think you’re making a very big mistake with the manor,’ she said. ‘It’s not cut out to be a playboy mansion.’

‘Why do you think that’s what I have planned for it?’

She gave him one of her cynical looks. ‘You and your brothers have glamorous starlets coming in and out of your lives as if there are revolving doors on each of your bedrooms. Do they take a numbered ticket, like at one of those dispenser machines at the delicatessen, to see whose turn it is to warm the sheets of your bed?’

Rafe knew he and his brothers had been portrayed as having rather colourful lives. But what was portrayed in the press was just a fraction of the truth. Most of the time they spent working in hotel rooms on their own, trying to meet impossible deadlines, trying to please people who were impossible to please—most notably their grandfather.

Raoul compensated for it by taking life to the extreme. He set physical challenges that would make the average man shrink in cowardice. It was as if he had no fear. He had ice in his veins instead of blood. He didn’t just stare death in the face every time he took on another seemingly insurmountable challenge—he laughed at it, mocked it. ‘Take me down if you dare’ seemed to be his credo.

Remy took risks that were more cerebral than physical, but no less terrifying. He won more than he lost, but Rafe worried that the day might come where fate would step in and make his youngest brother lose in a very big way.

Rafe threw himself into his work with a similar passion, but just lately he had become increasingly restless. He wanted more, but he wasn’t sure what it was he wanted. He had money, more money than his father or grandfather had ever had. Even without the input of his younger brothers, he had built an empire that rivalled some of the most notable in Europe. If he never worked again his investments would see him out. But was it enough? What legacy was he leaving?

Who would he leave his wealth to?

Rafe couldn’t stop thinking of Lord Dalrymple in his stately manor with no one but his housekeeper and her little red-gold-haired, fairy-like granddaughter to keep him company—and the greedy, grasping extended family waiting on the sidelines to get what they could for the place once he had died.

Had they ever visited him? Had they supported him after his wife had so tragically died?

‘I don’t plan to live here myself,’ Rafe said. ‘Once the redevelopment is completed I’ll appoint a manager. I’ll probably only visit once or twice a year after that. I have other projects to see to.’

‘So I suppose Dalrymple Manor will be just another notch on your financial belt,’ she said as she came around to his side of the table to clear his plate, her expression tight with disapproval.

‘Here. Let me help.’ Rafe rose from his chair but as he turned he suddenly found himself a whole lot closer to her than he’d intended.