‘You miss her, don’t you?’
Rafe swung back to glower at her. ‘You might want to have another look at your job description. As far I as recall, it says nothing about you making comments on my private life.’
‘You’re a good boss, Rafe, and you’re a good man,’ Margaret said. ‘What you’ve done for Armand, your accountant in Paris, is proof of that.’
‘That was Poppy’s idea, not mine.’ He thrust his hands in his pockets, still scowling. ‘I was going to send him to rot in prison.’
‘No, you weren’t,’ Margaret said. ‘You’d have found a way to help him. Just like you help lots of people. Like that foundation you set up for kids who’ve lost their parents. Funny how the press like to report on who you’re sleeping with but they never report on all the good things you do.’
Rafe turned back to the window. He couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping with anyone but Poppy. His need for her was an ache that had settled around his heart like a set of ten-kilogram dumb-bells. Every breath he took felt painful. It wasn’t just the sex he missed, which was ironic, because that in itself was way out of character for him.
It was her smile he missed, the way her gorg
eous brown eyes lit up whenever she saw him. The way her touch soothed the wound of loneliness inside him that he had not even realised he’d possessed until she had eased it. The way she gave herself to him with such complete trust.
But he had destroyed the things he loved most about her. She didn’t look at him like that any more. She didn’t want to touch him. She didn’t trust him.
Could he win back her trust? Could he make her smile at him? Could he make her eyes sparkle with delight when he walked into the room?
‘Do you want me to send Miss Silverton some jewellery?’ Margaret asked. ‘Rubies, sapphires or maybe pearls? They’d look rather nice with her colouring, don’t you think?’
Rafe turned and faced her. ‘No, I’ll do it myself.’
Margaret’s pencilled brows rose above the frame of her tortoiseshell glasses. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely.’
Rafe had never been surer of anything in his life. It was like a stone curtain had lifted in his brain. ‘Cancel all of my appointments,’ he said. ‘I’m heading out of town.’
‘Do you need me to book a hotel for you?’
‘No, I’m going to stay at the manor.’
‘But I thought you were going to sell it.’ She swung around in her chair to look at him as he reached for his jacket. ‘You told me to contact the agent about putting it back on the market.’
‘Sell it? Are you crazy?’ He snatched up his keys off the desk. ‘I’m going to live there.’
* * *
Poppy was emptying the display cabinet at the end of the day when the doorbell chimed. A shiver rose over her skin and her heart started to gallop. She slowly turned around and her breath caught in her throat. Rafe was standing there, looking as gorgeous as ever, if a little tired. There were shadows beneath his eyes and his face looked a little drawn, as if he’d lost weight.
She put on her business face, but it hurt to keep it there. He looked so worn out. She had to control the impulse to reach out to him and give him a hug. ‘Would you like a coffee?’
‘Actually, what I’d really like is a cup of tea.’
She blinked. ‘Tea?’
He gave her a wry smile. ‘The hospital coffee was awful. It was even worse at the rehab centre. I had to resort to tea; I got used to it after a while. Now I can’t get through the day without a cup or two.’
‘I never thought I’d see the day,’ Poppy said with forced lightness. ‘I don’t suppose you’d like a piece of cake?’
‘Do you have any butter cake?’
She blinked again. ‘Butter cake?’
‘Preferably raw.’
Her eyes almost popped. ‘Raw?’