Has this Caffarelli finally met his match?

Millionaire playboy Raoul Caffarelli has always lived life in the fast lane. But when an accident confines him to a wheelchair—and to the care of a woman whose beauty taunts him—he’s consumed with rage and frustration.

Used to difficult patients, physical therapist Lily Archer won’t be cowed by Raoul’s arrogance or distracted by his Adonis-like physique. Carrying her own scars from the past, Lily has vowed never to relinquish her power to a man again.

Both underestimate the power of the shared passion between them. Their physical scars may heal, but some wounds run much deeper.…

Raoul held her gaze for longer than she felt comfortable with. He seemed to be seeing right through her façade.

It terrified her.

‘You’re scared,’ Raoul pointed out wryly.

Lily raised her chin. ‘Not of you.’

His gaze held hers in that quietly assessing way that unsettled her so much.

‘I’m very glad to hear it. How could we ever work together if you’re frightened of me?’

She blinked at him. ‘You want to work with me?’

‘Yes.’

‘But I don’t understand …’

‘I quite like the idea of getting to know you, Lily Archer. I suspect no one else has achieved that before.’

She gave him a guarded look. ‘I suppose you see me as yet another challenge to overcome?’

‘No.’ His eyes glanced briefly at her mouth before coming back to mesh with hers. ‘I see you as a temptation I should resist.’

Her brows lifted. ‘Should?’

‘Can’t,’ he said, and before she could move even an inch out of his way he covered her mouth with his.

THOSE SCANDALOUS CAFFARELLIS

Rich. Ruthless. Irresistible.

Brothers Rafe, Raoul and Remy are better known as the Three Rs:

1. Rich—

Italy’s most brilliant billionaires.

2. Ruthless—

they’ll do anything to protect their place at the top.

3. Irresistible—

their business prowess is rivalled only by their reputation in the bedroom.

(Just ask any glittering socialite they’ve ever met!)

Last month you read Rafe’s story in: NEVER SAY NO TO A CAFFARELLI September 2013

This month read Raoul’s story in: NEVER UNDERESTIMATE A CAFFARELLI October 2013

Next month read Remy’s story in: NEVER GAMBLE WITH A CAFFARELLI November 2013

Never Underestimate a Caffarelli

Melanie Milburne

www.millsandboon.co.uk

From as soon as MELANIE MILBURNE could pick up a pen she knew she wanted to write. It was when she picked up her first Harlequin Mills and Boon at seventeen that she realised she wanted to write romance. After being distracted for a few years by meeting and marrying her own handsome hero, surgeon husband Steve, and having two boys, plus completing a Masters of Education and becoming a nationally ranked athlete (masters swimming), she decided to write. Five submissions later she sold her first book and is now a multi-published bestselling, award-winning USA TODAY author. In 2008 she won the Australian Romance Readers’ Association most popular category/series romance, and in 2011 she won the prestigious Romance Writers of Australia R*BY award.

Melanie loves to hear from her readers via her website, www.melaniemilburne.com.au, or on Facebook: www.facebook.com/pages/Melanie-Milburne/351594482609

Recent titles by the same author:

NEVER SAY NO TO A CAFFARELLI

(Those Scandalous Caffarellis) HIS FINAL BARGAIN UNCOVERING THE SILVERI SECRET SURRENDERING ALL BUT HER HEART

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Sharon Kendrick,

a Harlequin Mills & Boon sister and a dear friend. xxx

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

EXCERPT

CHAPTER ONE

‘BUT I NEVER work with male clients,’ Lily said to her boss at the south London physical therapies rehabilitation clinic. ‘You know that.’

‘I know but this is such an amazing opportunity,’ Valerie said. ‘Raoul Caffarelli is from serious money. This four-week live-in post in Normandy will be worth a year’s work to you. I can’t send anyone else. Anyway, his brother absolutely insisted on you.’

Lily frowned. ‘His brother?’

Valerie gave her eyes a little roll. ‘Yes, well, apparently Raoul isn’t too keen on working with anyone just now. He’s become a bit reclusive since coming out of hospital. His older brother Rafe read about your work with Sheikh Kaseem Al-Balawi’s daughter. He wants you to help his brother. He’s willing to pay you very handsomely. I got the impression from him when he called that you could just about name your price.’

Lily chewed at her lower lip. The money was certainly attractive, especially given her mother’s desperate circumstances right now, after yet another failed relationship had drained her bank account dry. But a live-in post with a man—even one currently confined to a wheelchair—was the stuff of her nightmares.

She hadn’t been anywhere near a man in five years.

‘I’m not doing it,’ Lily said, turning to put another patient’s file away. ‘It’s out of the question. You’ll have to find someone else.’

‘I don’t think saying no is a going to be an option,’ Valerie said. ‘The Caffarelli brothers are known for their ruthless determination. Rafe wants Raoul to be his best man at his wedding in September. He believes you’re the best person to get his brother back on his feet.’

Lily closed the drawer, turned and looked at her boss. ‘What does he think I am, a miracle worker? His brother might never get back on his feet, let alone in a matter of weeks.’

‘I know, but the least you could do is agree to work with him to see if it’s possible,’ Valerie said. ‘It’s a dream job—all expenses paid while you get to stay in a centuries-old château in rural Normandy. Do it, Lily. You’ll be doing me a huge favour. It will really lift the profile of the clinic. This is exactly what we need right now to build on the work you did with the Sheikh’s daughter. We’ll be known as the holistic clinic for the rich and famous. Everyone will want to come here.’

Lily swallowed a tight knot of panic in her throat. Her heart was thumping such a rapid and jerky tattoo it felt as if she had just run up a skyscraper’s flight of stairs. Her skin was clammy and her head felt as tight as if a vice were pressing against her temples. She tried to think of an escape route but each time she thought of one it was immediately roadblocked by her need to help her mother and her loyalty to her employer.

Could she do it?

‘I’ll need to see Mr Caffarelli’s scans and reports from his doctors. I might not be able to do much at all for him. It would be wrong to give him or his brother false hope.’

Valerie clicked the mouse at her computer. ‘I have the scans and reports here. Rafe emailed them to me. I’ll forward them to you.’

Lily looked at the reports a short time later in her office. Raoul Caffarelli had a spinal injury from a water-skiing accident. He had also sustained a badly broken right arm, although that was apparently healing. He had some feeling in his legs, but he was unable to stand upright without aid, and at this point in time he could not walk. The neurosurgical opinion was that he would be unlikely to regain full use of his legs, although they expected some minor improvement in his current mobility. But Lily had read similar reports before and tried not to let them influence her when dealing with a client.

Some spinal injuries could be devastatingly permanent, others relatively minor, and then there was everything in between. So much depended on the type of injury as well as a client’s attitude and general state of health.

Lily liked to use a mix of therapies—the traditional things such as structured exercise, strength-training and massage, and some which were considered a little more on the alternative side, such as aromatherapy, dietary supplements and visualisation techniques.

The Sheikh’s daughter, Halimah Al-Balawi, was one of her star clients. The young woman had been told by three neurosurgeons that she would never walk again. Lily had worked with her for three months; the improvement had been painstakingly slow at first, but finally Halimah had taken her first steps with the aid of parallel bars and she had continued to improve until she was able to walk unaided.

Lily sat back in her chair and chewed at a ragged end on her pinkie nail. For anyone else it would be a dream job to take on a man as rich and famous as Raoul Caffarelli. To spend a month in the lap of luxury working closely with a man every single woman on the planet would give ten years of her life to have one day or night with, let alone thirty-one of them. They would grab the opportunity with both hands and relish every minute of it.

But for her it would be a form of torture.

Her stomach recoiled at the thought of putting her hands on a hard male body. Working with a client as a physical therapist meant physical contact—close physical contact. Hands on flesh. Hands on muscles and tendons, stroking and massaging... Touching.

Her mobile rang from where it was sitting on her desk. She saw her mother’s face come up on the screen and pressed the answer button. ‘Hi, Mum. Are you OK?’

‘Darling, I hate to bother you when you’re at work, but the bank’s been on the phone to me again. They’re going to foreclose on the house if I don’t come up with the last three months’ mortgage payments. I tried to explain that it was Martin who siphoned off my account but they wouldn’t listen.’

Lily felt her blood boil at how her mother had been scammed by a man she had met through an online dating service. Never a great judge of character at the best of times—although she was hardly one to talk, given what had happened to her on the night of her twenty-first birthday—her mother had foolishly trusted her new partner and was now paying heavily for it. That lowlife pond-scum had hacked into her mother’s accounts and stolen her life savings.

Was fate twisting Lily’s arm? How could she knock back this job when her mother was in such desperate need of financial support? Her mother had stalwartly stood by her during her lowest point. Those terrible dark days after her twenty-first birthday had almost sent her to the edge of sanity. But her mother had stood by her, putting her own life on hold to help Lily come out of that black hole of despair and self-loathing. Didn’t she owe this to her mother?

It was only for a month.

Four weeks.

Thirty-one days.

It would feel like a lifetime.

‘It’s all right, Mum.’ She took a scratchy little breath. ‘I’m taking on a new client. It’ll mean I’ll be away in France for the whole of August but I’ll ask them to pay me up-front. That will sort out the bank. You’re not going to lose the house. Not if I can help it.’

* * *

Raoul scowled at his brother. ‘I thought I told you I want to be left alone.’

Rafe blew out a breath of frustration. ‘You can’t spend the rest of your life holed up here like a recluse. What is wrong with you? Can’t you see this is your best chance—maybe your only chance—of a recovery?’

Raoul wheeled his chair with his one good arm so he didn’t have to face his brother. He knew Rafe meant well but the thought of having some young Englishwoman fussing over him with her snake-oil remedies was anathema to him right now. ‘The best doctors in Italy said this is as good as it’s going to get. I don’t need to have this Archer woman wasting my time and your money pretending it’s going to be otherwise.’

‘Look, I know you’re still smarting about Clarissa breaking off your engagement, but you can’t hold it against all women just because she—’

‘This has nothing to do with Clarissa,’ Raoul snapped as he wheeled back round.

Rafe gave him a look that spoke volumes. ‘You weren’t even in love with her. You just thought she ticked all the boxes. The accident showed you her true colours. The way I see it—and Poppy says the same—you had a very lucky escape.’

Raoul’s left hand gripped the chair so tightly he thought his knuckles were going to explode through his skin. ‘You think I’ve been lucky? Look at me, Rafe. I’m stuck in this chair! I can’t even dress myself. Don’t insult me by saying I’m lucky.’

Rafe rubbed a hand over the top of his head. ‘Sorry. Bad choice of words.’ He dropped his hand back by his side. ‘Will you at least meet her? Give her a trial run for a week or even a couple of days? If it doesn’t work out then you can call it quits. You’ll be the one in control of whether she stays or goes.’

Raoul wheeled back over to the window to look at the view over the fields where some of his most prized thoroughbreds were grazing. He couldn’t even go out to them and stroke their velvet noses. He couldn’t walk over the soft springy grass. He was trapped in this chair, trapped in his own body, in the body that for the last thirty-four years had defined him as a person—as a man. The doctors had told him he was luckier than most; he still had feeling in his legs and full bladder and bowel function. He supposedly still had sexual function, but what woman would want him now?

Hadn’t Clarissa made that starkly clear?

He wanted his body back. He wanted his life back.

Who was to say this Archer woman was the miracle worker Rafe suggested? She could be the biggest charlatan out there. He didn’t want to be taken for a ride, to be given false hopes only to have them dashed in the end. He was slowly coming to terms with his situation. He needed this time at the château to get his head around how life was going to be from now on. He wasn’t ready to face the world just yet. The thought of the paparazzi tailing him to get the best pity shot made him sick to his stomach.

He just wanted to be left alone.

‘One month, Raoul,’ Rafe said into the silence. ‘Please. Just give it a try.’

Raoul knew both of his brothers were worried about him. Remy, his younger brother, had been there the day before, doing his best to jolly him along like a male version of Pollyanna. His grandfather, Vittorio, had been less supportive, but Raoul had come to expect that from him. Vittorio was not the sort of man to offer sympathy or support. His speciality was to blame and to castigate.

‘I’d like a week or two to think about it.’

There was a loaded silence.

Raoul turned his chair around again, suspicion crawling up his damaged spine like sticky spider’s legs as he met his brother’s sheepish dark brown gaze. ‘You haven’t.’

‘She’s waiting in the morning room,’ Rafe said.

Raoul let out a string of colourful obscenities in French, Italian and English. Rage raced through his body like a fast-acting poison. He had never felt so powerless, so damned impotent, in his life. What did his brother think he was, a little child who couldn’t make a sensible decision?

This was his sanctuary.

No one came here unless he invited them.

‘Cool it,’ Rafe said in an undertone. ‘She’ll hear you.’

‘I don’t care if she hears me! What the hell are you playing at?’

‘I’m trying to help you, since you don’t seem to want to help yourself,’ Rafe said. ‘I can’t stand seeing you like this. Sitting around brooding, snapping everyone’s head off if they so much as glance at you. You won’t even go outside, for pity’s sake. It’s as if you’ve given up. You can’t give up. You have to work through this.’

Raoul glared at his brother. ‘I’ll go outside when I can get out there under my own power. You had no right to bring that woman here without my permission. This is my house. Get her out of it.’

‘She’s staying,’ Rafe said. ‘I paid her up-front and I can’t get a refund. It was part of her stipulation in accepting the post.’

Raoul flicked his eyes upwards in derision. ‘Doesn’t that tell you what sort of woman she is? For God’s sake, Rafe, I thought you of all people would’ve had more sense. This is just a money grab. You wait and see—she’ll walk out after a couple of days over something I said or did and do a happy dance all the way to the bank.’

‘Miss Archer comes on very good recommendation,’ Rafe said. ‘She’s highly trained and very experienced.’

Raoul gave a scoffing grunt. ‘I just bet she is.’

‘I’m going to leave you to get acquainted with her. I need to get back to Poppy; we have a wedding to organise. I want you there, Raoul, chair or no chair. Do you understand?’

Raoul let out a hiss. ‘I’m not going to sit up there in front of everybody like some sort of freak show. Get Remy to be your best man.’

‘You know what Remy is like. He’ll fail to show up because something far more interesting has come across his radar. I want you to do it, and so does Poppy, and I don’t want her disappointed.’ Rafe moved to the door, holding it open as he added, ‘I’ll call you in a couple of weeks to see how you’re doing. Ciao.’

* * *

Lily gripped her handbag on her lap with fingers that were ice cold in spite of the summer temperature. She’d heard shouting, and although she wasn’t fluent in French or Italian she understood enough to know Raoul Caffarelli was not happy about her being here. Which was ironic, since she wasn’t all that happy about being here, either. But with the money safely in her mother’s mortgage account at least one worry had been shelved.

But her biggest worry lay ahead.

Being left alone in this huge old château with a man she had never met before was like something out of a horror movie. Her pulse was racing and her heart was hammering. She could feel the stickiness of perspiration between her shoulder blades and on her palms. The floor of her stomach was crawling with prickly feet of panic and she had to press her knees together to stop them from knocking against each other.

The morning-room door opened and Rafe Caffarelli came in with a grim look on his face. ‘He’s in the library. Try not to be put off by his surly attitude. Hopefully he’ll improve a little on acquaintance. He’s just frustrated and angry about his situation.’

Lily rose to her feet, still clutching her handbag like a shield. ‘It’s fine...’ She moistened her paper-dry mouth. ‘It must be very difficult for him....’

‘It’s a nightmare, for him and for me. I don’t know how to reach him. He’s locked everyone out.’ He rubbed a hand over his face in a weary manner. ‘He refuses to cooperate. I’ve never seen him like this. I knew he could be stubborn, but this is taking it to a whole new level.’

‘It’s still early days,’ Lily said. ‘Some people take months to accept what’s happened to them. Others never accept it.’

‘I want him at my wedding,’ Rafe said with an implacable look. ‘I don’t care if we have to drag him or push him there kicking and screaming. I want him there.’

‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Lily said. ‘But I can’t make any promises.’

‘The housekeeper, Dominique, will assist you with anything you need,’ he said. ‘She will show you to your suite once you meet Raoul. There’s a young guy called Sebastien who comes in each morning to help my brother shower and dress. Have you any questions?’

Hundreds, but they could wait. ‘No, I think I’ve got it all under control.’

He gave her a brief nod and held the door open for her. ‘I’ll show you the way to the library but I think it’s best if I leave you to it.’ He twisted his mouth ruefully and added, ‘I’m not my brother’s favourite person right now.’

* * *

The library was on the same floor in the centuries-old château, but the sombre dark setting was in sharp contrast to the bright morning room where the sunlight had streamed in through a bank of windows that overlooked the rolling, verdant fields of the Normandy countryside. The library had only one window that let in limited light, and there were three walls of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that dominated the room, as well as a large leather-topped desk and an old-world globe positioned beside it. The smell of parchment and paper, leather and furniture polish gave Lily a sense of stepping back in time.

But her gaze was immediately drawn like a magnet to the silent figure seated in a wheelchair behind the desk. Raoul Caffarelli had the same breath-snatching good looks of his older brother, with glossy black hair, olive-toned skin and a rather stubborn, uncompromising-looking jaw. But his eyes were a green-flecked hazel instead of dark brown, and right now they were glittering at her in blistering anger.

‘You’ll forgive me for not rising.’ His tone was clipped and unfriendly, his expression stony.

‘I... Of course.’

‘Unless you are hard of hearing or a complete and utter fool, you must realise by now I don’t want you here.’

She lifted her chin, determined not to show him how intimidated she felt. ‘I’m neither hard of hearing nor a fool.’

He measured her with his gaze for a long, pulsing moment. Lily could see his French-Italian heritage in his features and in his bearing. There was a hint of the proud aristocrat in him; it was there in the broad set of his shoulders and the way he held himself in spite of being confined to a chair. He was taller than average—she estimated two or three inches over six feet—and was obviously a man who had been intensely physically active prior to his accident. She could see the well-formed muscles of his chest and arms through the fine cotton of the shirt he was wearing. His right arm was still in a plaster cast but his hands looked strong and capable. His face was cleanly shaven but the shadow of regrowth was evident, suggesting potent male hormones. His nose was a little more Roman than his brother’s, and there were lines about his mouth that gave him a slightly drawn look, as if he had lost weight recently. His mouth was set in an intractable line, flattened by his mood and temper, and she wondered what it would look like if he smiled.

Lily pulled back from her thoughts with a little start. She was not here to make him smile. She was here to see if she could make him walk, and the sooner she got on with the job, the sooner she could leave.

‘I suppose my brother has given you all the gory details of my condition?’ he said, still pinning her with that intimidating gaze.

‘I’ve seen your scans and read the doctors’ and physiotherapists’ reports.’

A dark brow lifted above his left eye, almost accusingly. ‘And?’

She rolled her lips together to moisten them, trying to ignore the annoying jackhammer beat of her heart. ‘I think it’s worth trying some of my methods. I’ve had some success with clients with similar injuries to yours.’

‘So, what are some of your methods?’ His top lip curled mockingly. ‘Waving incense around? Chanting mantras? Reading auras? Laying on of hands?’

Lily felt a little spurt of anger shoot through her blood. She was used to people rubbishing her holistic approach but somehow his sarcastic tone got under her skin. But he would be laughing on the other side of his face if she got him back on his feet. The challenge to do so was suddenly rather more attractive than it had been before. ‘I use a combination of traditional therapies and some complementary ones. It depends.’

‘On what?’

‘On the client. I take into consideration their diet and lifestyle, their sleeping habits, their mental state and—’

‘Let me guess—you read their tarot cards or give them a zodiac reading.’

Lily pursed her mouth to stop herself from issuing a stinging riposte. He was quite possibly the rudest man she’d ever met. Arrogant, too, but she supposed that came from his privileged background. He was a spoilt, over-indulged playboy who had been handed everything on a silver platter. His surly, ‘poor me’ attitude was just typical of someone who’d never had to work for anything in his life. He had it so good compared to some of her clients. At least he had the money to set himself up. He had people to wait on him, to take care of him. He had a family who refused to give up on him. Didn’t he realise that while he was in his luxury château feeling sorry for himself, there were people out in the world who were homeless or starving with no one to care what happened to them from one day to the next?

‘I’m a Taurus, in case you’re wondering,’ he said.

She gave him an arch look. ‘That explains the bull-headedness.’

‘I can be very stubborn.’ He gave her another measuring look. ‘But I suspect you can, too.’

‘I like to call it persistence,’ Lily said. ‘I don’t believe in giving up on something until I’ve put in a decent effort.’

He drummed the fingers of his left hand on the armrest of his wheelchair, an almost absentminded movement that seemed overly loud in the silence.

Lily felt the slow, assessing sweep of his gaze again. Was he comparing her to all the women he had dated? If so, he would find her sadly lacking. She didn’t dress to impress. She didn’t wear make-up as a rule and she wore plain Jane clothes that hid her figure and her past.

‘I’m not sure what to do with you.’ He glared at her darkly. ‘It’s not like I can physically throw you out.’

Lily sent him a warning in her gaze. ‘I can assure you, Monsieur Caffarelli, I would put up a spectacular fight if you laid even a single finger on me.’

One of his brows went up in an arc. ‘Well, well, well; the seemingly demure Miss Archer has a sting in her tail. Scorpio?’

She ground her teeth. ‘Virgo.’

‘Detailed. Nit-picking. Pedantic.’

‘I prefer to think of it as thorough.’

A ghost of a smile tilted the edge of his mouth. It totally transformed his features and Lily had to remind herself to breathe.

But the half smile was gone almost as soon as it had appeared. His expression darkened again and his gaze singed hers. ‘I’ve had weeks of physical therapy, Miss Archer, and none of it has worked, as you can see. I can’t see how you could succeed where others more qualified than you have failed.’

‘It’s still early days,’ Lily said. ‘The body can take months, if not years, to recover from trauma.’

Cynicism made his eyes glitter. ‘You’re not offering your services for years, though, are you, Miss Archer? My prediction is you’ll last one or two days, three at the most, and then you’ll be off with a nice fat little wad of cash in your bank account. I’ve met your type before—you exploit people who are desperate. You’ve got nothing to offer me and we both know it.’

‘On the contrary, I think I can help you,’ Lily said. ‘You’re at a critical stage in your recovery. You should be supervised while exercising—’

‘Supervised?’ He barked the word at her. ‘I’m not a child who needs supervising while playing on the monkey bars.’

‘I didn’t say that. I just meant that you have to—’

‘I will do it my way,’ he said with indomitable force. ‘I don’t want your help. I didn’t ask for it. And I didn’t pay for it. I know what I have to do and I’m doing it, and I prefer to do it alone. Do us both a favour and catch the next flight back to London.’

Lily stared him down even though it took an enormous effort to hold that diamond-hard gaze. His anger was coming off him in waves that sent crackles of electricity through the air. She could even feel her skin tightening all over her body, as if those invisible currents were flowing over and through her. She could even feel her blood heating; it was pounding through her veins as if she had taken a shot of adrenalin. ‘You do realise if I leave now your brother will lose a considerable amount of money? There’s a no-refund clause in my contract.’

His mouth thinned in disdain. ‘Let him lose it. It’s no skin off my nose.’

Lily was shocked. Was he really prepared to forfeit an amount most people didn’t even earn in a year? And it wasn’t even his money. His assumption she would take the money and go made her all the more determined to stay. Her conscience wouldn’t allow her to take the money for nothing. He would think she was an unscrupulous gold digger and, given how high profile the Caffarelli name was, it would quite possibly tarnish the reputation of the clinic if word got out that she’d left without doing a day’s work.

Besides, she was a little intrigued by his resistance to rehabilitation. Didn’t he want to improve his mobility, or had he simply given up? Some clients found it very hard to adjust to the smallest of limitations put on them, while others coped remarkably well in spite of far worse injuries.

He was in good physical health, which was always a bonus in hoping for a positive outcome in rehabilitation, but his state of mind suggested he had not yet come to terms with what had happened to him. He reminded her of an alpha wolf who had secluded himself away to lick his wounds while no one was watching.

But then, hadn’t she done the very same thing five years ago?

Lily held his steely gaze. ‘I have no way of getting to the airport now that your brother has left.’

‘Then I’ll get one of the stableboys to drive you.’

‘I’m not leaving.’

A muscle worked in his jaw. ‘I don’t want you here.’

‘You’ve made that more than obvious,’ Lily said huffily. ‘I didn’t expect a red carpet to be rolled out or anything, but the least you could’ve done is be civil. Or does being filthy rich mean you can act like a total jerk and get away with it?’

His gaze warred with hers for a throbbing moment. ‘My brother had no right to bring you here without my permission.’

‘So you take it out on me?’ Lily tossed back. ‘How is that fair? I’ve travelled for hours and hours, I’m tired and hungry, and as soon as I set foot in the place I get my head bitten off by a boorish man who has a massive chip on his shoulder because he can’t do some of the things he used to do. At least you’ve got a roof over your head and a family who love you, not to mention loads and loads of money.’ She put a hand over her heart theatrically. ‘Oh, how my heart bleeds for you.’

His eyes were glacial as they hit hers. ‘I want you out of here by lunchtime tomorrow. Do you understand?’

Lily felt strangely exhilarated by their verbal sparring. The atmosphere was electric, the tension palpable. ‘Your loss, my gain. Well, I suppose it’s your brother’s loss, really, but still. Easy come, easy go, as they say.’

He gave her a glowering look before he turned to press an intercom button on his desk and spoke in French to his housekeeper. A fine shiver lifted the hairs on the back of Lily’s neck as she listened to the deep timbre of his voice in that most musical of languages. She wondered what his voice would sound like when he wasn’t angry. She wondered what his laugh sounded like. He was such a compelling man to look at, so dark and intense, bristling with barely suppressed emotion.

‘Dominique will show you to a guest suite,’ he said. ‘I will arrange to have you driven to the airport first thing tomorrow.’

The housekeeper appeared at the door of the library and escorted Lily to a guest suite on the third floor of the château along a long wide corridor that was lined with priceless works of art and marble statues that seemed to follow her progress with their eyes.

‘Monsieur Raoul’s suite is that one there.’ Dominique pointed to a double-door suite as they walked past. ‘He is not a good sleeper so I did not like to put you too close to him.’ She gave Lily a pained look. ‘He wasn’t like that before the accident. I blame that fiancée of his.’

Lily stopped in her tracks and frowned. ‘I didn’t realise he was engaged.’

Dominique gave her a cynical look. ‘He’s not. She broke it off while he was in hospital.’

‘Oh, but that’s awful!’

The housekeeper gave a Gallic sniff of disdain. ‘I didn’t like her from the moment I met her. But then, I haven’t liked any of his mistresses. His brother’s fiancée is another story. Poppy Silverton is the nicest young woman you’ll ever meet. She’s the best thing that ever happened to Monsieur Rafe. I just hope Monsieur Raoul meets someone like her.’

No wonder he was so bitter and angry, Lily thought. How heartless of his ex-fiancée to end their relationship in such a way. It was such a cruel thing to do. Surely she hadn’t truly loved him? How could she? Loving someone meant being there for them in the good times and the bad. How could his fiancée live with the fact she’d abandoned him when he was at his lowest point? It explained so much about his attitude. It was no wonder he was so prickly and unfriendly. He was hurting in the worst possible way.

Lily followed the housekeeper into the suite that was decorated in a classical French style. The queen-sized bed was made up in snowy white linen with a fine gold trim that matched the gilt-edged paintwork of the suite. An antique dressing table with a tapestry-covered stool was positioned in front of an ornately framed mirror; there was a chest of drawers on cabriole legs and a discreetly hidden built-in wardrobe lined another wall. The heavily festooned windows overlooked the formal gardens of the estate where neatly clipped hedges, sun-drenched paved terraces and a large bubbling fountain were situated.

‘I hope you’ll be comfortable,’ Dominique said. ‘Dinner will be served at eight. I’m not sure if Monsieur Raoul will join you. He’s not very sociable these days. He spends most of his time in his study or in his room.’

‘How does Monsieur Raoul get up and down the stairs?’ Lily asked. ‘I didn’t see a stair climber on the staircase.’

‘There is a proper lift on the ground floor that goes to all four levels,’ Dominique said. ‘Monsieur Raoul had it installed a few months ago when his grandfather came for a visit after he had a stroke. Not that he got a word of thanks for his effort, mind you. Vittorio Caffarelli is not the nicest person to have around. He spoke to me as if I was the dust under his feet. I had to bite my tongue the whole time he was here.’

Lily was starting to suspect there was a lot more to the Caffarelli dynasty than she had first realised. She had read a bit online about the family—how they had made their wealth in property and a variety of timely and rather clever investments; how Raoul’s parents had been killed in a speedboat accident on the French Riviera when he and his brothers were young. The three boys had been raised by their grandfather but had spent most of their school years at boarding school in England.

Raoul had been born to wealth but brought up with tragedy. And now he had yet another blow to deal with. Not that she had read anything of his injuries in the press, which made her wonder what sort of power the Caffarellis had at their fingertips. But how long would it be before some unscrupulous journalist came hunting for a story? It was certainly a juicy one: a rich man rejected by his fiancée after a freak accident that left him in a wheelchair.

In spite of her dislike of the man, Lily couldn’t help feeling Raoul had been badly treated. Rejection was always hard, but to be cast aside because of injury went against everything she believed in.

What sort of money would be exchanged for a photograph of him now? Was that why he didn’t want anyone he didn’t know here at the château?

‘It is a pity you aren’t staying the month,’ Dominique said. ‘Even without the physical therapy you offer, I think the company would have been good for Monsieur Raoul. He spends too much time on his own.’

Lily found it ironic that she wanted to stay when only days ago she had been hunting for excuses not to come. ‘I can’t force him to let me stay. It’s his call. If he wants to work with me, then I’ll be happy to do it. But he seemed pretty adamant he wanted me out of here.’

‘He might change his mind, oui?’ Dominique said. ‘You took him by surprise. Perhaps he will have a change of heart overnight.’

Lily walked over to the windows when the housekeeper had left and looked at the view over the estate. It was certainly a picturesque setting with its beautiful gardens and lush, seemingly unending fields beyond.

But the brooding man downstairs, who so resented her being here, reminded her that in any paradise there was always the potential for trouble and temptation.

CHAPTER TWO

RAOUL HAD PLANNED on eating alone in his room or not eating at all, but the thought of spending an hour or two with Lily Archer proved to be the greater temptation. He told himself it was because he wanted to keep an eye on her. Who knew what she might be up to when his back was turned? She might be pilfering the silver or stashing away some of his priceless objects while no one was looking—or, even worse, she might be an undercover journalist planted inside the château to get the prize shot of him.

He was still furiously angry with his brother for bringing her here. He’d planned to spend some time out of the public eye, working on his recovery as best he could. What could she offer that hadn’t already been offered by his specialists and doctors? He wanted to be alone to get his head around the possibility that he might never fully recover. He didn’t want people fussing around him. He needed time to process what had happened and how he was going to move forward.

Her understated beauty didn’t fool him for a moment. That was probably all part of her artifice—to trick people into trusting her. Her nondescript clothing had hung off her slim figure as if she was trying to disguise it, and her brown hair had been tied back severely from her make-up-free face.

It was her eyes that had intrigued him, however. They were the most startling shade of blue, dark like slate, and veiled, as if she were hiding something. Eyes were supposed to be the windows to the soul, but he had a feeling Miss Lily Archer’s soul was not for public display.

He heaved himself into his electronic chair even though it annoyed the hell out of him to have to use it. It made him feel even more disabled, hearing that whirring sound as he drove it. He couldn’t wait to get this wretched plaster cast off his right arm. At least then he’d be able to keep his upper body in shape by wheeling himself around in the manual chair.

He caught a glimpse of himself in one of the large mirrors as he drove down the corridor towards the lift. It was like looking at someone else. It looked like someone had hijacked him and put him in someone else’s body.

A dagger-like pain seized him in the chest. What if this was the best he would ever be? He couldn’t bear the thought of spending the rest of his life stuck in this chair, having people look down at him—or, even worse, flicking their gaze away as if the sight of his broken body repulsed them.

He wasn’t going to give in to this.

He would get well.

He would move heaven and earth to get back on his feet and he would do it like he did everything else: on his own.

Raoul was on his second glass of wine when Lily Archer came in. She was dressed in a long-sleeved beige dress that was a size too big and did nothing to flatter her colouring. Her face was free of make-up, although she had put on a bit of lip gloss, and perhaps a bit of mascara as her dark lashes seemed more noticeable than they had earlier in the darker lighting of the library. Her hair was tied back, but in the brighter light from the chandelier overhead he could see it was healthy and shiny with natural-looking highlights in between the ash-brown strands.

‘Would you like a drink?’ He held up the bottle of wine he was steadily working his way through.

She inhaled a sharp little breath and shook her head. ‘I don’t drink alcohol. I’ll just have water... Thank you.’

‘A teetotaller?’ Raoul knew he sounded mocking but he was beyond caring.

She pressed her rather generous lips together as she took her seat to the left of his. Even the way she flicked her napkin across her lap communicated her irritation with him. Why hadn’t he noticed how lush her mouth was before? Was the lighting that bad in the library? Nor had he noticed how regally high her cheekbones were or the way her neck was swan-like and her pretty little nose up-tilted. She had prominent brows and deep-set eyes that gave her a mysterious, untouchable air. Her skin was clear and unlined with no hint of tan, as if she spent most of her time indoors, out of the sun.

She gave him a school-marmish look. ‘I don’t need alcohol to have a good time.’

‘So, how do you have a good time, Miss Archer?’

‘I read. I go to movies. I spend time with my friends.’

‘Do you have a boyfriend?’

Her face flinched. She covered it quickly, however, adopting a composed façade that would have fooled most people—but then, he liked to think he was not most people. ‘No.’ Her one-word answer was definitive, like a punctuation mark. Book closed. End of subject.

Raoul picked up his wine glass and took a sip, holding it in his mouth for a moment before he swallowed. ‘What’s wrong with the men of England that a young woman like you is left on the shelf?’

She lowered her gaze and started fiddling with the stem of her empty wine glass. ‘I’m not interested in a relationship just now.’

‘Yes, well, I’m with you on that.’ He lifted his glass to his mouth and emptied it.

She brought her gaze back to his. Her expression had lost some of its reserve and was now sympathetic. It struck him as being genuine; although he could have been mistaken, given he’d drunk almost half a bottle of wine. ‘I’m sorry about your engagement,’ she said. ‘It must have been devastating to have it ended like that when you were feeling at your most vulnerable.’

Raoul wondered what online blog or forum she’d been lurking on, or whether Rafe or Dominique had told her the details of his failed relationship with Clarissa. He would be lying to say he wasn’t upset at having been dumped. He had always been the one to begin and end his relationships. He liked to be the one in control of his life because—like his brothers—having control was an essential part of being a Caffarelli. You didn’t let others rule or lord it over you. You took charge and you kept in charge.

No matter who or what stood in your way.

He picked up the wine bottle and recklessly refilled his glass. ‘I wasn’t in love with her.’

Her pale, smooth brow crinkled in a frown. ‘Then why on earth did you ask her to marry you?’

He put down the bottle and looked at her shocked expression. Was she a romantic at heart behind that prim, nun-like façade? He gave a shrug and picked up his glass again. ‘I wanted to settle down. I thought it was time.’

She looked at him as if he was speaking gibberish. ‘But marriage is meant to be for life. You’re meant to love the person and want to be with them to the exclusion of all others.’

Raoul gave another careless shrug. ‘In the circles I move in, it’s more important to marry the person who will best fit into your lifestyle.’

‘So love doesn’t come into it?’

‘If you’re lucky—like my brother Rafe, for instance. But it’s not mandatory.’

‘That’s preposterous!’ She sat back in her chair with an exhalation of disgust. ‘How could you possibly think of marrying someone you didn’t love?’

He met her gaze with his. ‘How many people do you know who have married whilst madly in love and yet went on to divorce in bitter hatred a few years later? The way I see it, love doesn’t always last. It’s better to choose someone you have something in common with. Clarissa was beautiful to look at, she came from a similar background, she was relatively easy company to be in and she was good in bed. What more could I have wanted?’

She rolled her eyes and reached for her water glass. ‘I can see now why she ended your engagement. Your attitude is appalling. Love is the only reason anyone should get married. If you love someone you will do anything to support them—to be with them through thick and thin. No woman—or man, for that matter—should marry for anything less.’

‘So you’re a romantic at heart, Miss Archer.’ He twirled the contents of his wine glass. ‘You’d get on well with my brother’s new fiancée, Poppy.’

‘She sounds like a lovely person.’

‘She is. Rafe’s very lucky to have found her.’

The look she gave him was pointed. ‘But from what you said just a moment ago you don’t think their love will last.’

‘I said love doesn’t always last. I think in their case it will. For one thing, his wealth means nothing to her. She loves him for who he is, not for what he has. She is indeed a rare find. But, apart from her, I have yet to meet a woman who doesn’t have dollar signs in her eyes.’

She visibly bristled. ‘Not all women are gold diggers.’

Raoul nailed her with his gaze. ‘Why did you ask for your payment up-front with a no-refund clause?’

She looked momentarily discomfited. ‘I—I had an urgent financial matter to see to.’

‘Are you a big spender, Miss Archer?’ He gave her outfit a cursory glance. ‘You don’t appear to be, on current appearances.’

Her mouth tightened a fraction and her creamy cheeks developed two spreading circles of colour. ‘I’m sorry if my lowly apparel offends your sensibilities, but I’m not a slave to fashion. I have other far more important priorities.’

‘I thought all women liked to make the most of their assets.’

She gave him an icy look. ‘Are you really so shallow that you judge a woman on what she is wearing rather than who she is on the inside?’

Raoul couldn’t help wondering what she looked like underneath those dreadful clothes. He was used to women who shamelessly flaunted their bodies in front of him, wearing the minimum of clothes and the maximum of cosmetics to draw his attention. But Miss Lily Archer, with her dowdy outfits, scrubbed clean face and dark blue secretive eyes intrigued him in a way no woman had ever done before. She held herself in a tightly contained way, as if she was frightened of drawing unnecessary attention to herself.

Maybe you shouldn’t have been so hasty to send her packing.

Raoul quickly nudged the thought aside. ‘I try not to judge on appearances alone, but it’s all part of the package, isn’t it? How people present themselves—their body language, how they act, how they speak. As humans we have evolved to decode hundreds of those subtle signs in order to work out whether to trust someone or not.’

She began to chew at her lower lip with her small white teeth. It struck Raoul how incredibly young it made her look. It was hard to gauge her age but he assumed she was in her mid-twenties, although right now she looked about sixteen.

Dominique came in with their entrées at that point. ‘Can I pour you some wine, Miss Archer?’ she asked, glancing at Lily’s empty glass.

‘Miss Archer is a teetotaller,’ Raoul said. ‘I haven’t been able to tempt her so far.’

Dominique’s black button eyes gave a little twinkle as she placed the soup in front of him. ‘Perhaps Mademoiselle Archer is immune to temptation, Monsieur Raoul.’

He moved his lips in a semblance of a smile. ‘We’ll see.’

The housekeeper left the room and Raoul studied Lily’s almost fierce expression. A frown was pulling at her smooth forehead and her mouth was set in a tight line, as if she was trying to stop herself from saying something she might later regret. Her slim shoulders were tense and her right hand was gripping her water glass so firmly he could see the bulge of each of her knuckles straining against her pale skin.

‘Relax, Miss Archer. I’m not about to debauch you with liquor and licentiousness. I couldn’t do so even if I wanted to, in my present condition.’

She raised her gaze to his, her cheeks still bright with colour. ‘Do you usually drink so much?’

He felt the back of his neck prickle with defensiveness. ‘I enjoy wine with my meals. I do not consider myself a drunk.’

‘Alcohol numbs the senses and affects coordination and judgement.’ She sounded like she was reading from a drug-and-alcohol education pamphlet. ‘You’d be best to avoid it, or at least limit it, while you’re recuperating.’

Raoul put his glass down with a little thwack. ‘I’m not “recuperating”, Miss Archer. This is what I’m left with because some brainless idiot driving a jet ski didn’t watch where he was going.’

‘Have you spoken to someone about how you feel about the accident?’

His defensiveness turned into outright nastiness. ‘I don’t need to lie down on some outrageously expensive psychologist’s sofa and tell them what I feel about being mowed down like a ninepin. I feel royally pissed off, or has that somehow escaped your attention?’

Her slim throat moved up and down in a tight little swallow but her eyes remained steady on his. ‘It’s understandable that you’re angry, but you’d be better off channelling that anger into trying to regain your mobility.’

Raoul saw red. It was like a mist in front of his eyes. He felt his rage pounding in his ears like thunder. What had the last few weeks been about other than trying to regain his mobility? What right did she have to suggest he was somehow blocking his recovery by holding on to his anger at being struck down the way he had been? Letting go of his anger wasn’t suddenly going to springboard him out of this chair and back into his previous life.

The life he’d had before was over.

Finished.

Kaput.

‘Do you have any idea of what it’s like to be totally dependent on other people?’ he asked.

‘Of course I do. I work with disabled people all the time.’

He slammed his fist on the table so hard the glasses almost toppled over. ‘Do not call me disabled.’

She flinched and paled. ‘I—I’m sorry...’

Raoul felt like the biggest jerk in the world but he wasn’t ready to admit it or to apologise for it. He was furious with Rafe for putting him in this invidious position. She was clearly only doing it for the money. It was ludicrous to think she would succeed where others had failed. She was a fraud, a charlatan who exploited the vulnerable and desperate, and he couldn’t wait to expose her for what she was.

‘Why did you take on this job?’

The tip of her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. ‘Your brother requested me. He’d heard about my success with another client. My manager at the clinic encouraged me to take the post and the money was...um...very good.’

‘I got the impression from my brother that he had to work rather hard to convince you to come here.’

Her gaze moved away from his as she picked up her spoon. ‘I don’t usually work with male clients.’

Raoul felt a pique of interest. ‘Why is that?’

She scooped up a portion of the soup but didn’t manage to bring any of it to her mouth. ‘I find them...’ She seemed to be searching for the right word. ‘Difficult to work with.’

‘Uncooperative, you mean?’

She moistened her mouth again. ‘It’s hard for anyone to suffer a major injury—male, female, child or adult. I find that generally women and girls are more willing to accept help and to work within their limitations.’

Raoul watched her for a moment or two, the way she toyed with her food and kept her eyes averted from his. Her cheeks still had two tiny spots of colour high on her cheekbones. Her teeth kept coming back to savage her bottom lip and there was a little pleat of a frown between those incredibly blue eyes. His gaze went to her hands—they were small and slim-fingered and her nails had been bitten down almost to the quick.

‘You don’t seem to be enjoying that soup. Would you like me to ask Dominique to get you something else?’

She met his gaze and gave him a tremulous smile but it was so fleeting it made him long to see it again and for longer. ‘No, it’s fine.... I’m just not very hungry. It’s been a very long day.’

Raoul felt a faint twinge of remorse. He certainly hadn’t laid on the Caffarelli charm he and his brothers were famous for. What if he allowed her to stay for a week to see if there was anything she could do for him? It wasn’t as if he had anything better to do right now. At least it would be a distraction from the humdrum pattern his once vibrantly active life had been whittled down to. What did he have to lose? If she was a fraud, he would expose her. If she had something to offer, it would be win-win.

‘I have a hypothetical question for you. If I agreed to have you here for the next month, what would you do with me?’

A light pink blush stole over her cheeks. ‘Your brother told me you have a gym here. I’d work on some structured exercises to start with. We’d start slowly and gradually build up. It would depend on what you could do. It’s tricky, given you’ve got a broken arm, but I’m sure I could work around that.’

‘What else?’

‘I’d like to have a look at your diet.’

‘I eat a balanced diet.’

She glanced at his almost empty wine glass, her mouth set in a reproving line. ‘Yes, well, there’s always room for improvement. Do you take any supplements?’

‘Vitamins, you mean?’

‘Yes. Things like fish oil, glucosamine, vitamin D—that sort of thing. Studies have shown they help in the repair of muscles and tissues and can even halt the progress of osteoarthritic change in your joints.’

He gave a bark of scorn. ‘For God’s sake, Miss Archer, I’m not arthritic. I’m only thirty-four years old.’

Her small chin came up. ‘Preventative health measures are worth considering no matter what your age.’

Raoul pinned her with his gaze. ‘How old are you?’

Her frown came back but even deeper this time and she seemed to hesitate over her reply. ‘I’m...I’m...twenty-six.’

‘You looked like you had to think about it for a moment.’

She gave a tight movement of her lips that didn’t even come close to being a smile. ‘I’m not keen on keeping a record on birthdays. What woman is?’

‘You’re very young to be worrying about that,’ Raoul said. ‘Once you’re over thirty, or even forty, it might be more of an issue, but you’re still a baby.’

She looked down at the soup in her bowl, that same little frown pulling at her forehead. ‘My father died on my birthday when I was seven years old. It’s not a day I’m used to celebrating.’

Raoul thought of the tragic death of his parents so close to his own birthday. Rafe had been ten; he had been eight, just about to turn nine, and Remy only seven. His parents’ funeral had been on Raoul’s birthday. It had been the worst birthday present anyone could imagine—to follow those flower-covered coffins into the cathedral, to feel that collective grief pressing down on him, to hear those mournful tunes as the choir sang.

To this day he hated having flowers in the house and he could not bear the sound of choral music.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘What about your mother? Is she still alive?’

‘Yes. She lives in Norfolk. I see her whenever I can.’

‘You live in London, yes?’

She nodded. ‘In a flat in Mayfair but, before you get all excited about the posh address, let me tell you it’s got creaking pipes and neighbours who think nothing of having loud parties that go on until four or five in the morning.’

‘Do you live alone?’

Her eyes flickered with something before she disguised it behind the screen of her lowered lashes. ‘Yes.’

Dominique came in to clear their plates, ready for the next course. She looked at Lily’s barely touched soup and frowned. ‘You are not hungry, mademoiselle? Would you like something else? I should have asked. Was the soup not to your liking?’

‘No, please, it was lovely,’ Lily said. ‘I’m a bit jet-lagged, that’s all. I suspect it’s affected my appetite.’

‘I have some lovely coq au vin for the main course,’ Dominique said. ‘It is Monsieur Raoul’s favourite. Perhaps that will whet your lagging appetite, oui?’

‘I’m sure it will,’ Lily said with a smile.

Raoul felt a spark of male interest when he saw Lily’s smile. She had beautiful white teeth, straight and even, and her smile had reached her eyes, making them come alive in a way they had not done previously. He felt a stirring in his groin, the first he had felt since his accident. He tried to ignore it but when she brought her gaze back to his he felt like a bolt of lightning had zapped him. She was stunningly beautiful when she wasn’t holding herself so rigidly. Her brief smile had totally transformed her rather serious demeanour. Why did she take such pains to hide her assets behind such drab clothing and that dour expression?

‘I hope I haven’t offended her,’ Lily said once Dominique had left.

‘She’s not easily offended,’ Raoul said with a hint of wryness. ‘If she were, she would have resigned the day I returned here after my accident. I wasn’t the best person to be around. I’m still not.’

‘It takes a lot of adjusting to accept limitations that have been imposed on us,’ she said. ‘You want your old life back, the one where everything was under your control. But that’s not always possible.’

Raoul picked up his wine glass again but he didn’t take a sip. It was more to have something to do with his hands, which increasingly felt compelled to reach across the table and touch one of hers. He wondered if her skin felt as soft as it looked. Her mouth fascinated him. It had looked so soft and plump when she’d smiled, yet now she held it so tightly. She gave off an aura of containment, of rigid self-control.

He gave himself a stern mental shake.

He was reading her aura?

‘That sounds like the voice of experience,’ he said. ‘Have you been injured in the past?’

Her expression closed like curtains coming down on a stage. ‘I didn’t come here to talk about me. I came here to help you.’

‘Against my will.’

She gave him a challenging look that put a defiant spark in her gaze. ‘I’m leaving first thing in the morning, as you requested.’

Raoul didn’t want her to leave, or at least not yet. Besides, his brother had paid a king’s ransom for her services. The no-refund clause she’d insisted on irritated him. She would be home free if he let her pack up and leave before she had even started.

No, he would make her stay and make her work damn hard for the money.

He gave her an equally challenging look. ‘What if I told you I’d changed my mind?’

‘Have you?’

‘I’m prepared to give you a week’s trial. After that, I’ll reassess.’

Her expression was wary. ‘Are you sure?’

‘When do we start?’

She reached across the table and snatched his wine glass away. ‘Right now.’

Raoul tightened his jaw. He knew he was using alcohol as a crutch. Normally he was appalled by such behaviour in others, but he didn’t take kindly to being treated like a child who didn’t know how to practise self-restraint. ‘It helps me sleep.’

‘Alcohol disrupts sleep patterns. Anyway, Dominique told me you were a bad sleeper.’

‘I wasn’t before.’

‘Do you have nightmares?’

‘No.’ He could tell she didn’t believe him, but there was no way he was going to tell her about the horrifying images that kept him awake at night. The pain he had felt on the impact would stay with him for life. The fear that he would drown before anyone got to him had stayed with him and made him break out in a cold sweat every time he thought of it. He couldn’t bear the thought of being submerged in water now, yet he’d used to swim daily.

‘I have a list of supplements I’d like you to take,’ she said. ‘And I want to introduce some aquatic exercises.’

Raoul held up his plastered right arm. ‘Hello? This isn’t waterproof. Swimming is out of the question.’

‘Not swimming, per se. Walking in water.’

He gave a disdainful laugh. ‘I can’t even walk on land, let alone in water. You’ve got the wrong guy. The one you’re looking for died two thousand-odd years ago and had a swag of miracles under his belt.’

She gave him a withering look. ‘You can wear a plastic bag over the cast. It will help your core stability switch on again to be moving in the water.’

Raoul glared at her furiously. ‘I want my life switched on again! I don’t give a damn about anything else.’

She pressed her lips together as if she were dealing with a recalcitrant child and needed to summon up some extra patience. ‘I realise this is difficult for you—’

‘You’re damn right it’s difficult for me,’ he threw back. ‘I can’t even get down to the stables to see my horses. I can’t even dress or shave myself without help.’

‘How long before the plaster comes off?’

‘Two weeks.’

‘You’ll find it much easier once it’s off. Once your arm is strong enough, you’ll be able to do some assisted walking on parallel bars. That’s what I did with my last client. Within twelve weeks she was able to walk without holding on at all.’

Raoul didn’t want to wait for twelve weeks. He didn’t want to wait for twelve days. He wanted to be back on his feet now. He didn’t want to turn his house into a rehabilitation facility with bars and rails and ramps everywhere. He wanted to be able to live a normal life, the life he’d had before, the life where he was in the driving seat, not being driven or pushed around by others. The grief and despair of what he had lost gnawed at him like a vicious toothache. How would he ever be happy with these limitations that had been forced on him?

He could not be happy.

He would never be happy, not like this.

How could he be?

Dominique came in with their main course. ‘Would you like me to cut the chicken into smaller pieces for you, Monsieur Raoul?’ she asked as she set his plate in front of him.

‘No, I would not,’ Raoul said curtly. ‘I’m not a bloody child.’

Lily gave him a reproachful look once Dominique had left the room. ‘You’re giving a very convincing impression of one, and a very spoilt one at that. She was only trying to help. There was no need to bark at her like that.’

‘I don’t like being fussed over.’ Raoul glowered at her. ‘I refuse to be treated like an invalid.’

‘It’s always much harder for people with control issues to accept their limitations.’

He let out a derisive grunt of laughter. ‘You think I’m a control freak? How did you come to that conclusion? Was my aura giving me away?’

‘You’re a classic control freak. That’s why you’re so angry and bitter. You’re not in control any more. Your body won’t let you do the things you want it to do. It’s galling for you to have to ask anyone for help, so you don’t ask. I bet you’d rather go hungry than have that meat cut up for you.’

Raoul curled his lip. ‘Quite the little psychologist, aren’t you, Miss Archer?’

She pursed her mouth for a moment before she responded. ‘You have a strong personality. You’re used to being in charge of your life. It doesn’t take a psychology degree to work that out.’

He gave her a mocking look. ‘Well, how about I read your aura, since we’re playing amateur psychologist?’

Her expression tightened. ‘Go right ahead.’

‘You don’t like drawing attention to yourself. You hide behind shapeless clothes. You lack confidence. Shall I go on?’

‘Is it a crime to be an introvert?’

‘No,’ Raoul said. ‘But I’m intrigued as to why a young woman as beautiful as you works so hard to downplay it.’

She looked flustered by his compliment. ‘I—I don’t consider myself to be beautiful.’

‘You don’t like compliments, do you, Miss Archer?’

She brought her chin up. ‘Not unless I believe them to be genuine.’

Raoul continued to hold her gaze, watching as she fought against the desire to break the connection. Her eyes were dark blue pools, layered with secrets. What was it about her that so captivated him? Was it that air of mystery? That element of unknowable, untouchable reserve? She was so different from the women in his social circles—not just in looks and manner of dress but in her guardedness. She reminded him of a shy fawn, always keeping a watch out for danger—tense, alert, focused. He would enjoy the challenge of peeling back the layers of that carefully constructed façade.

‘What time would you like to start in the morning?’ he asked.

‘Is nine OK? It will be hard work, but hopefully you’ll find it beneficial.’

‘I certainly hope so. Otherwise my brother is going to be without a best man.’

She frowned at him. ‘You mean you won’t go to the wedding at all if you’re not walking by then?’

‘I’m not going to ruin all the photos by being stuck in a chair. If I can’t walk, then I’m not going.’

‘But you can’t not go to your brother’s wedding.’ Her frown deepened. ‘It’s the most important day of his life. You should be there, chair or no chair.’

Raoul set his jaw. He was not going to make a spectacle of himself on his brother’s wedding day. The wedding would be large and the press would be there in droves. He could just imagine the attention he would receive. He could already see the caption on the photograph: the poor crippled brother. His stomach churned at the thought of it. ‘Your job, Miss Archer, is to get me out of this chair. You have one week to convince me you can do it.’

She moistened her lips with another little sweep of her tongue. ‘I’m not sure if I can or not. It’s hard to put a time frame on the healing process. It could take months or it might not happen at all...’

‘That is not an option,’ Raoul said. ‘You’ve supposedly worked a miracle before. Let’s see you if you can do it again.’

CHAPTER THREE

LILY DID HER best with the meal Dominique set before her but the intensely penetrating gaze of Raoul Caffarelli did no favours to her already meagre appetite. He made her feel threatened, but strangely it wasn’t in a physical way. He had a way of looking at her as if he was quietly making a study of her, peeling back the layers she had taken such great pains to stitch into place. Those layers were the only things holding her together. She could not bear the thought of him unravelling her, uncovering her shame for the world to see.

She tugged her sleeves down over her scarred arms beneath the table. The multiple fine white lines were not as noticeable as they once had been but she still liked to keep them covered. She hated the looks she got, the questioning lift of eyebrows and the judgemental comments such as, ‘how could you deliberately cut yourself?’.

But the external scars were nothing to what she kept hidden on the inside.

Lily hated thinking of herself as a victim. She liked to think of herself as a survivor, but there were days when the nightmare of her twenty-first birthday came back to her in sharp stabs of memory that pierced the carapace she had constructed around herself. Sometimes it felt as if her soul was still bleeding, drop by drop, until one day there would be nothing left...

She looked up from fiddling with her sleeves to find Raoul’s hazel gaze on her. She had lost track of time; how long had he been looking at her like that? ‘Sorry... Did you say something?’

‘No.’

‘Oh...I thought you did.’

‘You looked like you were miles away,’ he said.

She tried to keep her features blank. ‘Did I?’

‘Are you a dreamer, Miss Archer?’

Lily would have laughed if she could remember how to do it. She had long ago given up dreaming for things that could never be hers. She was more or less resigned to the bitter reality that she could not turn back the clock and make a better choice this time around. ‘No.’

He continued to hold her gaze, watching...watching. She forced herself to keep still, to not fidget or shift in her seat. But the tension was making her neck and shoulders ache and she could feel a headache starting at the back of her eyes. If she wasn’t careful it would turn into a migraine and she would be even more vulnerable than she was now.

Lily put her napkin on the table. ‘Will you excuse me?’ She pushed back her chair. ‘I need to use the bathroom.’

He gave a formal nod without once disconnecting his gaze from hers. ‘Be my guest.’

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