Never Underestimate a Caffarelli (Those Scandalous Caffarellis 2)

‘But your brothers are always there for you, aren’t they? Rafe seemed very concerned about you. He was so insistent I come here. I got the impression Remy was right behind him in that.’

‘Rafe is distracted by his new life of love and his vision of happy-ever-after,’ Raoul said. ‘He wants me all sorted so he can get married and make babies with Poppy. But don’t be fooled by Remy. He might show up occasionally and do and say all the right things but he only does it when it’s convenient to him.’

‘What part of your family’s business does he work in?’

‘Remy does investments and shares, as well as buying and selling businesses,’ he said. ‘He searches for ailing companies, injects funds and puts corporate strategies in place to lift the profile and profit margins, and then he resells them. He got into it in a big way after our grandfather lost one of our major companies a few years ago in a business merger that turned sour. Remy’s made it his life’s mission to turn things around and get justice, or his version of it, anyway.’

‘Do you think he’ll be able to do it?’

Raoul frowned as he reached for his water glass. ‘I’m not sure, to be perfectly honest. Rafe and I worry that it’s going to blow up in his face. Henri Marchand—the man who duped my grandfather—is smart and incredibly devious when it suits him. His daughter Angelique is even smarter. There will be hell to pay and more if those two ever cross paths again. They hate each other’s guts. I can’t think of a person Remy would rather avoid than Angelique.’

‘Why does he hate her so much?’

‘I’m not sure.... Maybe he doesn’t hate her as much as he thinks, but he won’t admit it. If you think I’m stubborn, wait until you meet him.’

‘Obstinacy seems to be a common trait in your family.’

‘Yes, but in my experience it’s the stubbornly determined people who get things done. Setting goals, working towards them, not stopping until you’ve ticked them off the list is the only way to get ahead. What’s that old saying—if you aim for nothing you hit it every single time?’

‘Yes, but not every goal can or should be achieved. It’s good to set goals, but they should be realistic. Not everyone can be a Hollywood superstar or a billionaire entrepreneur no matter how much they hope or dream to be.’

He tilted his mouth at her sardonically. ‘You’re not much of a risk taker, are you, Miss Archer?’

‘I suppose compared to someone like you I must seem very circumspect.’

‘Do you ever push yourself out of your comfort zone?’

Her blue eyes moved away from his. ‘Not if I can help it.’

He studied her for a beat or two. With her long hair framing her heart-shaped face, she looked ethereally beautiful in the golden light of evening. He had never seen someone so completely unadorned look quite so achingly beautiful.

His eyes kept going to the soft, full bow of her mouth. He could still taste the warm wet sweetness of her in his mouth. He could still feel the shy play of her tongue against his.

Desire pulsed and then pounded in his groin.

She looked up and met his gaze as if he had summoned her with his errant thoughts. He saw the flare of female attraction; saw the way her cheeks were stained with a faint hint of pink and the way her soft mouth glistened after she ran her tongue over it to moisten it, as if she were remembering and revisiting the taste and feel of him against her mouth.

Lust

burned hot and strong in his blood. He felt his body swell and thicken beneath the table. He felt the current of attraction tighten the air. He wanted her and yet he couldn’t—wouldn’t—have her. His grandfather’s lifelong penchant for sleeping with the hired help had made Raoul wary of indulging his senses to that degree. He liked his relationships conducted on equal terms. That was why Clarissa Moncrieff had been such perfect wife material. She came from the same wealthy background; there had been no fears of gold-digging motives because she had just as much wealth—if not more—as he did.

The realisation that he couldn’t recall much about the last time—or any time—they had slept together troubled him. He knew he had made sure she’d been satisfied; he had some standards to uphold, after all. Mutual pleasure was the goal in all of his sexual conquests and he always stuck to it, even if some encounters were a little perfunctory in nature.

But the fact that he couldn’t remember what Clarissa’s kiss tasted like or whether she had ever looked at him with spine-tingling longing was a little disturbing if he were to be truly honest with himself. Being ruled by passion had destroyed many a man and he didn’t want to add his name to the list.

Dominique came out with their entrées. She looked rather pleased with herself and exchanged a conspiratorial look with Lily before she set the plates down. ‘Isn’t it a lovely evening? Perfect for dining outdoors. So romantic.’

Raoul raised his brows at Lily once the housekeeper had left. ‘Romantic?’

‘The goal was to get you out of the château for an hour or two. There was nothing whatsoever romantic about it.’

‘Why do I get the feeling my staff are conspiring against me?’

‘They’re not against you at all. They care about you, especially Etienne.’

Raoul looked out past the lake to the fields where his thoroughbreds were grazing. He could see his stableboy in the distance lugging a bale of hay to the feeder. That thin scrap of a kid who had come to him late at night on a Paris back street begging for food had turned into one of his biggest assets. Etienne had been brought up in filth and neglect; he had been distrustful of everyone and had hit out at every attempt to get close to him. It had taken Raoul months to get through the boy’s thick, impenetrable armour. But now the boy ran the stables like a well-oiled machine. He had an affinity with the horses that was second to none. He preferred horses to people, and to some degree Raoul felt exactly the same.

Horses could be flighty or fearless, strong willed or biddable, yet once he had their trust they would do anything for him. It was so satisfying to see a willful, unruly yearling mature into a true champion. He had sold yearlings to racing syndicates from all over the world. He had bred winner after winner, champion after champion. He had been there from the moment his foals had taken their first spindly steps to watching them thunder past the finish line in some of the world’s most prestigious races.