‘Where are you thinking of going?’
‘Paris.’
Poppy’s heart swelled in hope. The city of love...
‘I have a meeting there early next week,’ he said. ‘But afterwards I thought we could spend a few days doing touristy things. By the time we get back, your house should be fixed.’
Did that mean their affair would be over when they got back? Was this his way of indulging his desire for her without letting her take too permanent a place in his life?
As far as she knew he had never lived with a lover before. But then, strictly speaking, she wasn’t living with him. He had offered her a roof over her head until hers was repaired. He wasn’t going to make the manor his home. It was a profit-making exercise, a money-spinner that held no sentimental value to him at all.
Poppy rolled her lips together uncertainly. Could she do it? Could she step outside of her normal, rather mundane life and spend a few days in his exotic world of untold riches and privilege? ‘I’d have to check with Chloe first.’
‘Let me know tonight.’ He brushed her mouth with a brief kiss. ‘I’ve got to dash. There’s a landscaper coming to see me this morning about the gardens. I want to sketch out a few more plans before he gets here.’
Poppy frowned. ‘What sort of plans do you have in mind?’
‘I want to get rid of the wild garden,’ he said. ‘It’s too rambling and chaotic. I want more structure and formality. It will better suit the overall feel for the hotel I have in mind.’
‘But the wild garden is one of the most beautiful features of Dalrymple Manor,’ she said. ‘How can you possibly think of changing it?’
He gave her the sort of look a parent gives to a child who hasn’t quite grasped right from wrong. ‘How can you possibly think of leaving it the way it is? It’s full of weeds and nondescript plants.’
‘Those weeds and nondescript plants have been there for hundreds of years,’ she said. ‘You can’t just waltz in and rip them all out.’
‘I can and I will,’ he said with a challenging glint of determination in his gaze. ‘It’s called possession and progress.’
Poppy clenched her jaw and her hands. ‘It’s called desecration and bad taste.’
His mouth tilted. ‘You think I’ve got bad taste?’
‘You have appalling taste.’
He arched a brow. ‘In women?’
She gave her head a little toss. ‘I definitely think you could lift your standards a bit. That last mistress you had was clearly after money and notoriety. It was pretty obvious she didn’t like you as a person; she just liked your money.’
He gave an indifferent shrug. ‘She was just another woman who came along.’
‘Just like me?’
His gaze held hers for a beat. ‘I’ve not made any promises to you, Poppy.’
‘No,’ she said, flashing him a defiant look. ‘And I’m not making any to you.’
He took that on board with a half-smile that didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Let me know what you decide about Paris. I’ll get my secretary to make the arrangements.’
Poppy let out a jagged breath once he had left. Would she be making the biggest mistake of her life by going with him to Paris? Or would it be an even bigger one to deny herself a precious few days with him before he called an end to their affair?
* * *
Rafe tried to give the landscaper his full attention but his mind kept drifting back to Poppy. She had looked so gorgeously tousled this morning after spending the night in his arms. He had watched her sleep for a couple of hours after they had made love. She had curled up against him like a little cat, her soft skin warm and sensual against his.
His stomach gave a little free fall every time he thought of how tender she was after his possession. When he’d disposed of the first condom, he had seen a smear of blood on it. He hadn’t thought he wou
ld be so moved by the experience of sharing her first time with her. He had thought himself far too modern and progressive to consider a woman’s virginity as some sort of prize to gloat over. But the intimacy he had shared with Poppy had made him realise how mundane and predictable his sex life had become over the years. His encounters were little more than physical transactions of mutual pleasure. There was no sentiment attached, no feeling that life would never be the same if that person were never to return to his bed...
‘And over here we could do a fountain or water feature.’ The landscape designer pointed to the middle of the wild garden. ‘We could pave it with sandstone.’