Never Underestimate a Caffarelli Page 5

  He let out a frustrated breath and clicked off the website he’d been reading. He felt restless and on edge. He couldn’t help thinking of his future yawning out before him like a wide, deep, echoing canyon. Long, lonely nights sitting in front of the computer, or drinking his way to the bottom of the bottle, waiting for someone to fetch and carry for him.

  He knew he was better off than most. He knew it intellectually, but on an emotional level he couldn’t accept it—wasn’t ready to accept it. He wasn’t even close to accepting it. He didn’t want to spend his life looking up at people, watching them get on with their lives while his was stuck on pause. He was used to every head turning when he walked into a room. He and his brothers had been blessed with the good looks, height and build of their Caffarelli forefathers. He wasn’t any more vain than Rafe or Remy were but he knew no one would look at him the same way while he was sitting in this damn chair.

  He thought back to Clarissa’s visit at the hospital. She had barely been able to meet his gaze, yet only days before she had been lying in his arms, her limbs entangled with his.

  Now his limbs were as good as useless.

  He punched his thigh, as if that would make the nerves inside wake up and take notice. He punched and punched until the heel of his hand was sore, but it made no difference. He raked his throbbing hand through the messy tangle of his hair, vaguely registering that he needed a haircut.

  Emotions he had locked down centuries ago rumbled like the tremor of a mighty earthquake inside him. He hadn’t cried since he was kid. Not in public; oh, no, not even in front of his brothers, especially Rafe, who had so stalwartly, so unflinchingly modelled courage, strength and stoicism from the moment they had found out they had been orphaned. He still remembered standing shoulder to shoulder with Rafe at their parents’ funeral. He had been determined not to cry. And he hadn’t. Remy had been sobbing out of bewilderment and Rafe had gathered him close. He had offered Raoul his other arm but he had shrugged it off.

  Raoul had waited until he was alone to vent his feelings. He always went to ground when he had to deal with things. He didn’t need people around, offering their useless platitudes and pitying looks.

  But now he had Miss Lily Archer inside his bunker.

  He pushed back from his desk and motored his chair to the door, but just as he was coming out of it he saw Lily coming up the corridor. She had her head down and her arms folded across her middle as if she was keeping herself tightly contained. She must have heard the faint whirr of his chair for she suddenly looked up and stopped in her tracks, her cheeks pooling with a faint blush of colour.

  ‘I—I thought you’d gone to bed.’

  ‘Not yet,’ Raoul said. ‘I refuse to lie down before eleven o’clock and even that’s far too early for me.’

  Her blush deepened a fraction but the tone of her voice was starchy and disapproving. ‘I’m sure it is.’

  ‘Are you a night owl, Miss Archer?’

  ‘No.’

  Her answer was so quick and so definitive. Every moment he spent with her piqued his interest a little bit more. What was going on behind the bottomless lake of those dark blue eyes? What was it with her stiff, school-marm formality? He couldn’t help imagining her without that layer of dowdy, shapeless clothes. She was on the slim side, but even so he could see the jut of her small but shapely breasts beneath that sack of a dress.

  What would she look like in a swimsuit?

  What would she look like naked?

  ‘Would you care to join me in a nightcap?’ he asked.

  She looked like he had just asked her to drink from a poisoned chalice. ‘No.’

  Raoul raised his brows. ‘Surely one little tipple won’t corrupt you?’

  She compressed her lips until they were almost white. ‘I told you before, Monsieur Caffarelli, I don’t drink.’

  ‘You can call me Raoul. You don’t have to be so formal with me.’ He gave her an indolent half smile. ‘It’s not as if it’s me paying your wages.’

  Her eyes moved away from his. ‘I like to keep professional boundaries in place when I’m dealing with clients.’

  ‘So you don’t ever get on a first-name basis?’

  She huddled into herself again. She reminded him of a porcupine folding in on itself to keep away predators. ‘Sometimes, but not always.’

  ‘So, how can I get you to relax the boundaries enough to call me by my first name?’

  Her eyes were as chilly as a Scottish tarn as they met his. ‘You can’t.’

  Raoul felt the thrum of his blood as she laid down the challenge. There was nothing a Caffarelli male loved more than a challenge—a seemingly impossible obstacle to overcome. They thrived on it. It was like air—as essential to them as oxygen. It was a part of their DNA.

  He remembered the pep talk Rafe had given him and Remy when things had turned ugly after their grandfather had jeopardised the family fortune with an unwise deal with a business rival a few years ago.

  Goal.

  Focus.

  Win.

  It was the Caffarelli credo.

  Raoul looked at her tightly composed features. She didn’t like him and she didn’t like being here. It was only about the money. This next week could be far more entertaining than he had first realised. He would rattle her cage some more and enjoy every single minute of doing it. ‘Good night, Miss Archer.’

  Her cheeks were still rosy but her eyes hardened as she raised her chin. ‘Goodnight, Monsieur Caffarelli.’

  He watched as she walked on past with brisk steps that ate up the corridor like a hungry chomping mouth. The door of her bedroom closed with a snap and the sound echoed for a moment in the ringing silence.

  Raoul frowned as he wheeled back into his study. It was a new experience to have a bedroom door closed on him.

  He decided he didn’t like it.

  * * *

  Lily came down for an early breakfast the next morning to find Dominique talking to a man in his late twenties over coffee and hot, buttery croissants.

  ‘Ah, Mademoiselle Archer, this is Monsieur Raoul’s carer, Sebastien,’ the housekeeper said. ‘Or should I say, ex-carer?’

  Sebastien rolled his eyes as he put his coffee cup down on the counter. ‘I’ve been fired as of this morning. Monsieur Caffarelli has decided he no longer needs my help.’

  ‘Oh...’

  ‘I probably should warn you, he’s in a spectacularly foul temper,’ Sebastien said. ‘I don’t think he slept at all last night.’

  ‘He’s not very happy about me being here,’ Lily said.

  ‘Yes, so I gathered.’ He gave her a sizing-up look to see if she was up to the task of dealing with such a difficult client as Raoul. ‘His bark is worse than his bite, although I have to say his bark can be very savage at times.’

  ‘I have no intention of allowing Monsieur Caffarelli to harangue or intimidate me,’ Lily said.

  ‘Good for you,’ Sebastien said and, nodding briefly at the housekeeper in farewell, picked up his keys and left.

  Dominique wiped away some crumbs from the counter top. ‘Monsieur Raoul is not by nature a bad-tempered man.’ She stopped wiping to look at Lily. ‘You have no need to be afraid of him. He would never hurt anyone.’

  ‘I’m not afraid of him,’ Lily said. Well, maybe a bit.

  The housekeeper’s gaze held hers for a moment longer than necessary. ‘He is in his study doing his emails. Will you take him his coffee for me? It will save my aching feet one more trip down that corridor.’

  ‘Of course.’

  The door of the study was closed and Lily stood outside it for a moment, listening to the sounds coming from inside. She heard the click of a mouse and then a vicious swear word in English. She waited another beat before raising her knuckles to knock on the door.


  ‘Yes?’ The word was sharply delivered, like a short but vicious bark.

  Lily took a steadying breath. ‘I have your coffee, Monsieur Caffarelli. Dominique asked me to bring it to you.’

  ‘Then bring it in, for God’s sake.’

  She opened the door to find him sitting behind a desk that was almost as large as her bathroom back at home. He was dressed in gym gear, but it didn’t take away from his air of authority and command. If anything he looked even more intimidating. His shoulders looked even broader in a close-fitting T-shirt. The stark whiteness of the T-shirt against the tan of his olive skin was another reminder of his love of the outdoors prior to the accident. She saw the carved contours of his pectoral muscles. His strong arms were liberally sprinkled with dark coarse hair that trailed right down over the backs of his hands and to his fingers.

  Something shifted in her belly as she thought of those tanned hands touching her smoother, paler ones...

  ‘Don’t hover,’ he snapped at her.

  Lily set her mouth as she stiffly approached his desk. ‘Your coffee.’ She placed it before him. ‘Sir.’

  His eyes warred with hers for a tense moment. ‘Sir?’

  She gave him an arch look. ‘You don’t like being called sir?’

  ‘You’re not one of the servants.’

  ‘No,’ Lily said. ‘I’m a human being, just like you.’

  ‘You’re nothing like me, Miss Archer.’ A flash of irritation fired in his gaze. ‘Apart from the obvious male and female thing, you’re not currently confined to a wheelchair.’

  ‘Perhaps not, but I am confined to this château to work with you for the next month,’ she returned.

  ‘A week, Miss Archer,’ he said flatly.

  ‘A week, then.’

  A tight silence crackled the air.

  Lily glanced at his untouched coffee. ‘Is that all you’re having for breakfast?’

  He gave her a don’t-mess-with-me-look. ‘I’m not hungry.’

  ‘Your body needs proper fuel. You can’t ask your body to improve if you don’t give it what it needs.’

  His eyes glinted dangerously. ‘What does your body need, Miss Archer?’

  Lily felt the slow burn of his gaze as it lazily traversed the length of her body, a hot, melting sensation pooling deep in her core. His eyes lingered for a moment on her mouth, as if he was wondering how it would taste and feel beneath his own. She felt a strong urge to moisten her lips but somehow refrained from doing so. ‘It’s not my body that is the issue here. It is yours.’

  ‘My body...’ He gave a little grunt. ‘I don’t even recognise it when I see it in the mirror.’

  ‘Muscle wastage is common after injury,’ Lily said. ‘We can work on that.’

  His hazel eyes roved over her once more. ‘Are you going to work with me in the gym wearing that dress?’

  She felt her cheeks heat up again. ‘No, I have a tracksuit upstairs.’

  The sardonic gleam in his eyes was deeply unsettling. ‘What do you wear in the pool?’

  ‘Um...a bathing suit.’

  Those wicked eyes glinted again. ‘Maybe I’ll change my mind about the water work. Who knows what delightful surprises will be in store for me?’

  Lily pressed her lips together for a moment. ‘I’m going to speak to Dominique about making you a protein shake. If you won’t eat breakfast, then at least you can drink it.’

  He held her gaze in that assessing way of his. ‘Are you usually this bossy with your clients?’

  ‘Only the childish ones.’

  His brows lifted a fraction. ‘You have a smart mouth, Miss Archer.’

  Lily held her ground even though his green-flecked eyes were boring into hers. ‘I speak as I find.’

  ‘Tell me something...’ He paused as his gaze continued to hold hers. ‘Has that quick tongue of yours ever got you into trouble?’

  She kept her spine straight and her shoulders neatly aligned. ‘Not lately.’

  A beat of silence passed.

  ‘It won’t work, you know.’

  She looked at him blankly. ‘Excuse me?’

  His mouth curled up at one corner in a cynical manner. ‘I can almost hear the cogs of that clever little brain of yours clicking over. You think if you’re unpardonably rude to me it will make me send you packing before the week’s trial is up. You want to take the money and run, don’t you, Miss Archer?’

  Lily wondered if he could read minds or if he was just much more cynical than she had realised. ‘I don’t believe in taking money I haven’t earned. And, as for being unpardonably rude, I think you’ve already got the headmaster’s prize for that.’

  A satirical smile tilted his mouth. ‘You’re a spirited little thing under that demure façade, aren’t you?’

  She threw him a haughty look. ‘I expect the only spirits you’re used to seeing in the vacuous women you surround yourself with are the ones you pour into a glass.’

  For a moment Lily thought she had gone too far. She saw his eyes harden and his jaw tighten. But then he suddenly threw back his head and laughed. It was a nice sound, rich, deep and melodic. It made the fine hairs on the back of her neck lift up and do a little jiggle. It made something that was tightly knotted in the pit of her stomach work its way loose.

  Careful, the new girl reminded her. Watch your step. Keep your guard up.

  Lily turned briskly for the door. ‘I’ll go and see about that protein shake.’

  ‘Miss Archer?’

  She turned and faced him. ‘Yes?’

  He held her gaze for what seemed to her an interminable pause. But, whatever he had planned to say, he left unsaid. His lingering smile gradually faded until it completely disappeared from his mouth and his frown returned. ‘Close the door on the way out.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE GYM WAS in a sunny room on the eastern side of the house. It was well-equipped, with every modern piece of equipment an exercise junkie could wish for. Lily trailed her hand over the state-of-the-art treadmill. She wondered if Raoul would ever use it again as it was intended to be used. He didn’t look like the sort of person who would ever be satisfied to walk at a sedate pace. Those long, strong legs were made for hard physical exercise. She had caught a glimpse of his muscular thighs when she had run into him in the corridor last night. If he didn’t—or couldn’t—do specific exercises to maintain or increase strength, he would lose that impressive definition.

  The change to his life was unimaginable. For a man who had chased adventure and women simultaneously, he was going to find any sort of restriction difficult to manage.

  Lily thought yet again of his ex-fiancée. What type of woman was Clarissa that she could just walk away from him when he was struck down? It seemed so shallow and selfish. Raoul said he hadn’t been in love with her, but Lily wondered if that was a way of dismissing or disguising the hurt he felt. How could he not feel some measure of hurt? It was like being kicked when you were already down.

  She had seen many relationships flounder as a result of a person’s injury. It wasn’t just the injuries that changed people; it was the experience of confronting their own mortality. A period of reassessment nearly always occurred after a traumatic event. Relationships were either severed or secured, lifetime patterns were changed or adjusted, careers were either abandoned or taken in a new direction. It was a very unsettling time for the patient as well as their loved ones.

  Was that why Raoul had locked himself away in his secluded château—so he could reflect on what had happened to him?

  He was a complex man, deeply layered, with a keen intelligence to match those strong, observant eyes. It would test her sorely to spend the whole month with him. She couldn’t help feeling he was toying with her, allowing her a week to prove herself, keeping her on tenterho
oks, all the while luring her into his invisible web.

  Lily turned when she heard the sound of his chair coming through the door. ‘You have an impressive set of equipment,’ she said without thinking.

  His hazel eyes glinted. ‘Yes, so I’ve been told many, many times.’

  She felt her blush travel to the roots of her hair. ‘Um...we should probably get started...’ She hastily summoned her clinical professional self but she had never felt more flustered. Was he doing it on purpose, playing his double-entendre game so she would blush like a schoolgirl? All she seemed to do was blush around him. It was mortifying.

  ‘Do you want me in or out of the chair?’

  ‘Maybe we could have you sit on the weight bench,’ Lily said. ‘We can do some light weights and resistance work.’ She swallowed tightly as he motored to the bench. ‘Do you need help getting out of your—?’

  ‘No.’

  Relief flooded her momentarily. She’d been psyching herself up to touch him. She had lain awake the night before wondering what it would feel like to have those hard muscles under her hands.

  She watched as he lifted himself out of the chair close to the weight bench. The muscles in his left arm contracted as he balanced himself. She could see the struggle playing out on his face. His mouth was set in a tight line, his forehead creased in fierce concentration as if he was willing every damaged nerve inside his body to respond. He finally sat down on the weight bench and visibly winced as he dragged his legs in front of his body.

  ‘Are you in any pain?’ Lily asked.

  ‘I can handle it.’

  ‘You don’t have to be a martyr. Taking properly prescribed pain relief is not a crime.’

  His hard gaze collided with hers. ‘Can we quit it with the pharmacy lesson and get on with this?’

  Lily let out a breath and held out a light dumbbell. ‘Thirty reps, in three lots of ten.’

  He gave the weight a scornful look as if it was nothing more than a dust bunny. ‘Are you serious?’