The Italian's Future Bride

He continued to stare as the curls bounced back into place again. Shoulder-length straight now finished in a sexy blonde bubbly riot almost level with her pointed chin.

‘They suit you,’ he murmured.

‘No, they don’t,’ she denied. ‘But I was born with them, so…’ She added a shrug, then stuck her hands into her jeans pockets and finally managed to drag her eyes away from him.

Raffaelle frowned as he watched the defensive body language.

‘Is there any of that coffee going spare?’ she asked.

‘Sure,’ he answered. ‘In the kitchen. I will go and get it—’

‘No.’ She jerked into movement. ‘Let me.’

She’d disappeared before he could stop her, fleeing like a scared fluffy blonde rabbit. It made him grimace—a lot of things made him grimace, like the tension she’d taken with her—the knowledge of what they’d done the night before. And the lack of awareness in her own natural beauty, for which he placed the blame firmly at her glamorous half-sister’s feet.

Draining his coffee cup, he made the decision to follow her. Now the morning ice was almost broken he had no intention of letting it freeze over again.

She was standing by the coffee machine, watching it fill a cup.

‘Here,’ he said, striding over to offer his empty cup. ‘I like it black.’ He moved away from her before she had a chance to react to him. ‘What do you like for breakfast—a fresh croissant? Cereal? Toast?’ he listed lightly. ‘There is some fresh orange juice in the fridge if you—’

‘I don’t want anything,’ she cut in. ‘Th-thank you,’ she added. ‘Just a caffeine shot then I will have to be going…’

‘Going…’ He turned slowly to look at her.

‘Yes,’ She was clearly refusing to look at him, staring down at her watch instead. ‘I have a train to catch back to Devon and half the morning has gone already.’

‘We’ve been over this,’ Raffaelle reminded her. ‘You are staying right here with me.’

‘Yes, I know that.’ She nodded, setting the blonde curls bouncing as she concentrated on the job of swapping her filled cup for his empty one beneath the stream of coffee from the machine. ‘But I need to get some clothes if…’

‘I will buy you any clothes you will need.’

Rachel stiffened. ‘No, you will not! I have clothes back in Devon—and don’t youdare make such a derisory offer like that again!’

‘It was not derisory,’ he denied. ‘I was being practical.’

‘Well, I’m trying to be practical too, and I can’t just drop everything as if I don’t have another life. I need a couple of days to—organise things with the farm.’

‘You mean you actually run the farm yourself?’

More derision? Rachel stared at him but only saw honest disbelief in his face. ‘Efficiently,’ she stated coolly.

‘So who is looking after it while you are here?’

‘A—neighbour.’ She frowned as she said that, wondering why she had put her relationship with Jack in such odd terms. ‘But he has his own place to run, so I…’

Something altered in his demeanour, though Rachel wasn’t sure exactly what it was.

‘Use your phone to make your arrangements, as I have had to do,’ he said coolly.

‘God, you’re so insufferable,’ she gasped. ‘It’s all right for you. You’re High-flyer. You can order people about by phone, but I can’t.’

Ignoring the high-flyer quip, Raffaelle walked towards her. ‘You think?’

‘I know.’ Rachel nodded backing into the corner of the kitchen units as he approached, then feeling well and truly trapped by the time he towered over her. ‘I’ve seen the way it works with Leo. W-when he needs something done he just throws his weight around by telephone.’

‘But you need to be hands-on to water your organic lettuce,’ he mocked.