His mouth tilted wryly. ‘Your honour is safe, Poppy. I’m not going to have my wicked way with you tonight.’
‘That’s very reassuring.’ It was downright disappointing, but to admit that to him would be rather perverse of her.
He captured one of her loose corkscrew curls and wound it round his finger, his eyes holding hers in an intimate lock that made the base of her spine tingle like sherbet sprinkled in a glass of soda water. ‘I had it all planned. I was going to wine and dine you, flatter you with compliments and then bring you back here and have wild, bed-wrecking sex with you.’
Poppy swallowed a gulp. ‘Y-you were?’
He unwound her hair and tucked it neatly behind her left ear as if she was about seven years old. ‘You’re a nice girl, Poppy Silverton. But here’s the thing... I don’t mess with nice girls.’
Mess with me! Mess with me! ‘So...what changed your mind?’
‘I’ve had more lovers than you’ve cooked hot dinners,’ he said. ‘I don’t even remember most of their names.’
‘I bet they don’t forget yours in a hurry.’
He gave a rather Gallic shrug, as if to say that was just the way things were. ‘I’m not what you’re looking for. It would be wrong to give you the wrong impression or mislead you into thinking any alliance between us could turn into something more permanent.’
‘You’re surprisingly honourable for a playboy.’
He brushed the underside of her chin with his index finger in a barely touching movement that set every nerve alight with longing. ‘Bonsoir, ma petite.’
Poppy snatched in a scratchy little breath as she watched him walk down the path to his car. She’d been expecting another kiss. Her anticipation of it had been building from the moment they had left the restaurant. Actually, it had been building from the moment he had picked her up that evening and looked at her as if she had just stepped off a Paris catwalk. She wanted to feel that firm, cynical mouth pressed against hers again. She had been staring at his mouth all evening, wondering when he was going to do it. Maybe she should have taken matters into her own hands. What would have been wrong with a quick peck on the lips to thank him for a lovely night out?
It wouldn’t have been a quick peck, that was why.
Once his mouth connected with hers another explosion would be detonated, and this time one or both of them might not be able to step back. Hadn’t she felt that simmering tension from the very first moment he had walked into her tearoom? She had never experienced anything like it before. It was a rhythm in her body that only he was able to set going. For all these years she had been waiting for the right man to unlock her senses. She had wanted to find someone who could make her heart race; someone who could make her skin sing with longing; someone who could make her sizzle with a desire so unstoppable it would totally consume her. Hadn’t his potently hot kiss given her a taste of what he was capa
ble of doing to her?
She wasn’t without an understanding of the workings of her body. She had explored it and had been rather fascinated by how it reacted to stimulation. But she thought of sex as being like sightseeing—it was far more pleasurable to see the spectacular sights with someone else rather than all on your own.
He had said he wasn’t going to act on his desire for her. Did he mean just for tonight, or never? She had seen the way his eyes had been drawn to her mouth time and time again, as if he was remembering how it felt beneath his own. Was he going just to ignore the pull of attraction that pulsed between them? He might have the strength of will to do it, but Poppy wasn’t so sure she could. At least, not for much longer.
* * *
Chloe was agog when she came bursting through the door of the tearoom the next morning. ‘Have you seen the paper?’ She thrust a tabloid in front of Poppy. ‘Everyone’s saying you’re Rafe Caffarelli’s new love interest. That was fast work! I thought you didn’t even like him. What the hell happened last night? Did you sleep with him?’
Poppy snatched the paper out of Chloe’s hands. ‘Of course I didn’t sleep with him. I didn’t even kiss him. We had dinner, that’s all.’
She looked down at the society section Chloe had opened. There was a photo of them sitting at the table last night. Rafe’s hand was covering hers and their gazes were locked as if in a deeply intimate conversation.
‘So?’ Chloe prompted.
Poppy closed the paper and handed it back to her. ‘So nothing.’
‘Nothing?’
‘Zilch.’
Chloe’s brow was knitted. ‘Not even a kiss?’
‘Nope.’
‘A peck on the cheek?’
‘No.’
Chloe pursed her lips in thought. ‘Did you have an argument with him or something?’