by Tessa Radley
Her anger and confusion trapped her. She wanted him to hurt as much as she hurt, wanted to force him to take responsibility for what he’d done. But not by making her family his pet charity. And the only thing she truly desired he could never give back.
Her father.
In the meantime, all the money Callum had given Flo had to be paid back. And once that had been accomplished, Miranda hoped the guilt of knowing what he’d done killed him.
“If you could, you’d gather what cash you could and hurl it at me right now, wouldn’t you?” That rogue eyebrow quirked up again.
“Maybe,” she said grudgingly, resenting the fact that he could read her so well.
He shook his head. “What a wasted effort.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“It will take you forever.” As the lights changed, he put the car back into gear and pulled away. “You should put away your bitterness and grab this opportunity with both hands. Who knows where it could lead?”
And make a deal with this devil?
But she turned his words over in her mind. She’d already accepted it would take years to save what she owed him. And even if she did, it didn’t look like his conscience would keep him awake every night of his life. Callum Ironstone probably didn’t have a conscience.
So why was she tying herself into knots to pay back money he and his family wouldn’t even miss? Why not take the bloody job?
The money was amazing. It would almost cover the amount Adrian wanted from her. Almost. If she cut corners on the household budget for the next month, she wouldn’t even need to take anything from her savings.
Temptation beckoned. He’d be paying the money to a caterer anyway. This wasn’t charity. It looked perfectly straightforward.
Too perfectly straightforward.
“Why did you offer me the contract?”
“The caterer I usually use is too busy. Christmas.” He gestured to the fairy lights sparkling through the rain. “And I’ve been too busy to hire someone else. Seeing Adrian at work this morning reminded me of you—I knew you’d have the skills. But if you don’t want it, I’ll find someone else.”
She ought to refuse. No good would come out of this association. She even rounded her mouth to say “No.”
Then she thought about Adrian, his frustration as he’d said, “Forget it.” She thought about delving into her hard-earned cash to help his friend out. She needed the cash Callum offered.
Miranda took a deep breath and said, “Okay, I’ll do it.”
And when he smiled, a slow satisfied curve on his lips, Miranda hoped she hadn’t made a terrible mistake.
Callum gazed across the refectory-style table at the woman he’d been fighting to ignore all evening.
Without success. Not only had Miranda cooked a meal that had made his mouth water, she’d carefully supervised the staff she’d hired, popping in and out of the dining room to check on the wine and that everything was running smoothly.
She’d even distracted him from Petra Harris, Gordon’s daughter, something he’d never foreseen. Especially not tonight, of all nights.
Callum told himself it couldn’t be Miranda’s appearance that had him tied up in knots. Instead of a traditional white chef’s jacket and herringbone trousers, she wore a plain black dress, her hair up in a knot and no glitter in sight. By rights she should’ve been eclipsed by every other woman in the room, and she should’ve looked plain and drab.
Yet she didn’t.
The black only served to highlight the creamy perfection of her skin. No jewelry adorned the deliciously smooth line of her throat. And the only gold that glinted in the glow of the discreet uplighters adorning his dining room were the bits of hair that had escaped and framed her face, making her eyes look wider and more mysterious than ever.
Desire leaped within him, quickly followed by disbelief. This couldn’t be happening to him.
He narrowed his eyes. This was the same girl who had once screamed at him like a banshee, accusing him of murdering her father…so why the hell couldn’t he stop looking at her? He had his life—his future—all mapped out. And it didn’t include Miranda Owen.
Forcing his attention back to Gordon Harris’s daughter seated beside him, Callum vowed not to let himself be distracted. Hell, he’d planned to propose to Petra after dinner. In his study. Just the two of them. A quick ten-minute têteà-tête, before announcing it in spectacular fashion to the world—he’d even invited a journalist tonight who covered the society pages. The ring box was in his pocket. Ready. Waiting. It wasn’t only the merger with Gordon’s company he’d planned to reveal tonight….
He gazed at the woman he’d decided would make him a perfect wife.
“The food tonight is out of this world.” Petra smiled at him, revealing sparkling white teeth, and her fingers brushed his.
“I couldn’t agree more.” Callum tried to convince himself that powder-blue eyes were every bit as appealing as the color of melted caramel, and failed dismally. To his consternation, there was no spark of electrical charge from the brush of her fingers, either.
“Would you like crème caramel or strawberry cheesecake?” Miranda asked.
Adrenaline surged through him. He could’ve sworn he’d sensed Miranda’s approach even before she spoke beside him, and every nerve went on red alert as he picked up the subtle scent of vanilla. Her innocent offer of dessert made him instantly desire far more carnal pleasures. Damn, what the hell was happening?
“Strawberry cheesecake for me,” said Petra, giving Miranda an easy smile. “I was just complimenting Callum on the fabulous spread tonight.”
“Thank you.” A flush of pleasure lit Miranda’s cheeks, making her look even more downright sexy. “May I suggest a Sauterne or ice wine to accompany it?”
“Ooh, I’ll have ice wine. Sounds delicious.”
“I’ll bring you a clean glass.” Miranda stretched past Callum to remove Petra’s wineglass. The tension within him twisted higher as she brushed against him. When she reached forward, the black fabric of her dress tightened across the gentle valley of her belly, accentuating the feminine indent of her waist and the rounded curve of her hip. He couldn’t tear his gaze away.
She straightened. “What would you like?”
What would he like?
Thank God she couldn’t read his mind. She’d run a mile. He glanced up and connected with the melting eyes that so entranced him. Prosaically, she repeated the choices.
“Crème caramel, please,” he muttered, his throat suddenly thick as a mental image of himself offering her a spoonful of the rich dessert flashed through his mind. He visualized her pink tongue delicately licking the creamy texture off the spoon, her lashes flicking up. Her eyes, glowing and golden, promising him untold delights and—
“That’s all?”
“All?” he croaked, then realized his eyes were raking her body, so he jerked his attention away.
It wasn’t all; he wanted so much more…
God, this was stupid! And the sparks had been sizzling ever since she had arrived earlier in the evening. He’d found himself hanging around the kitchen—he’d offered her a glass of Merlot to give himself an excuse to watch her—until the arrival of the two women he’d hired to serve his guests had sent him scuttling for his study and a shot of whiskey.
He’d been grateful when his half brothers, Jack and Hunter, had arrived with their dinner partners so that he could escape her thrall. Gordon and Petra had come soon after.
There was nothing special about Miranda. She wasn’t nearly as beautiful as Petra—and she was extremely prickly and difficult—yet she intrigued him.
When last had he experienced anything like this?
Guilt ate at him. He was conscious of the ring he’d chosen lying heavy in his pocket. How the hell was he supposed to propose to Petra when his headspace was full of Miranda?
He glanced around the table, claustrophobia closing in on him. His brother, Fraser, gave him a grin.
This was his coup—he’d organized every last detail. There’d always been healthy competition between him and his brother, Fraser, and his two half brothers. Being the youngest of the four, he’d been last to make it onto the board of the company. But he’d intended to be the first to marry.
Yet now that the time had come to propose to Petra…he couldn’t. Instead he wanted to bolt.
Perhaps this inexplicable crazy lust for Miranda was nothing more than a flight response to his carefully planned siege of Petra.
He drew a gulp of air in relief. Fear. That’s what this was. It wasn’t about Miranda at all—she was simply a convenient excuse.
He gave Petra an uncomfortable smile. “Enjoying yourself?”
Her father leaned forward. “We all are.”
A chorus of agreement followed.
“Such a pity the snowed-up roads prevented your parents from joining us.”
Callum seized on his parents’ absence. How could he announce his engagement without them present? They’d never forgive him. He scanned the faces around the table. Everyone was having a fantastic time—except for him.
Under Petra’s smile, he shifted. He knew Gordon had great expectations for this relationship with Petra. Callum hadn’t slept with her yet, though both he and Petra had known they were headed for the bedroom; he’d wanted the contracts signed…and a ring on her finger first.
He stuck one hand into his jacket pocket.
“Crème caramel,” Miranda announced.
Just her husky tone was enough to make him start at the want that resurged. Taking his hand out of his pocket, he stared at the dessert she’d placed on the starched white-damask tablecloth in front of him. Creamy custard…and caramelized sugar the same rich golden brown as her eyes.
He picked up a spoon.
The dessert was smooth on his tongue. Sweet and silky. With a hint of vanilla. The caramel rich and tangy.
Would Miranda taste as delectable?
Hell! And he was getting hard just thinking about it. Callum shifted uncomfortably and forced himself to focus on the dinner conversation.
In the kitchen, Miranda rested her head against the cool, hand-painted Italian tiles and suppressed the urge to swear violently.
“Are you okay?” Jane, one of the women Callum had hired to help tonight, touched her shoulder lightly.
Miranda straightened. “I’m fine.”
But she wasn’t. Something had happened out there in the dining room—something she didn’t understand. Callum had looked at her, and she had responded like a sunflower greeting the morning sun. And the realization pierced her heart like a shard of ice.
Please, not him.
She hated him.
Miranda reached with a shaky hand for what was left of the glass of red wine Callum had poured her earlier, and drained it. Jane picked up a bottle and silently topped her glass.
“Thanks.” Miranda smiled at the other woman. “Believe it or not, I never drink when I’m working.”
“It’s a good vintage.” Jane helped herself to a wineglass out the cupboard. After filling the glass she lifted it. “Very nice.”
Miranda felt a rush of gratitude. “Thank you.” She took a sip and set the glass down. “I’m okay now. Let’s get on with the coffees.”
By the time she went out into the dining room, she told herself she had her reactions in check. The wine had warmed her, dissolving the icy chill. As she passed the end of the long dining table, an older man asked her for a card and Miranda flushed when she realized she didn’t have any. Something she would remedy tomorrow.
Moving up the table, she was breathlessly aware of Callum’s dark, brooding presence at the head. Given that he looked devilishly good in a black dinner jacket with a pristine white shirt, keeping her resolve was far from easy.
She smiled at the woman sitting beside him who had complimented her cooking, and tried to ignore the way the woman’s fingers brushed Callum’s dinner-jacketed arm when she made a point.
After one searing look from Callum, Miranda averted her gaze, and turned away, making sure to busy herself down at the other end of the table.
This powerful awareness of Callum was a complication she didn’t need.
Thank God dinner was over.
After the planning he’d put into the evening, the end was an anticlimax. Callum could hardly wait to see Petra, her father and his family out the front door. The confusion in Petra’s expectant eyes made him feel like an utter bastard.
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” he said, ushering her off behind her father.
Talk to her? And say what? How in heaven’s name was he supposed to explain something he didn’t even understand himself?
He justified that it could’ve been worse. What if he’d already been engaged to Petra when this urge to chase Miranda like a hound after a bitch in heat had taken hold? It made him go stone-cold.
This second-thoughts stuff must be normal. Wedding-ring fright. But he wouldn’t run away. He’d deal with it the same way he did every other problem he met: head-on. Confront this inconvenient lust, the need to indulge in one last chase. Get Miranda out his system. Then marry Petra exactly as he’d planned.
Simple.
Closing the door behind the last of his guests, Callum went to find Miranda. Anticipation lent lightness to his step. He peered into the library—his favorite haunt—but it was empty. Not that he’d expected to discover her there.
He finally tracked her down in the scullery tucked away at the far end of the kitchen. Miranda was busy stacking the dirty dishes into the drawers of the state-of-the-art dishwasher.
She’d donned an apron, an absurd white bit of cotton with a ruffle along the hem below a bib that barely covered her front. It lent the black dress she wore the naughty severity of a French maid costume.
Callum breathed deeply. “What are you doing?”
She kept her eyes down. “Cleaning up.”
Given the boiling heat that simmered in him, her lack of interest irritated. He marched forward and said more stridently than he intended, “Where’s the help I hired?”
“The help you hired?” She straightened, affront glittering in her eyes. “They have names. Emily and Jane. They’re people. Emily was tired—she’s been up since dawn and she has a long way to go to get home.”
“So where’s the other one?”
One finely arched eyebrow rose. “You mean Jane?”
He nodded impatiently. “Yes, Jane.”
“Her brother picked her up.”
“And even though you’ve been at work preparing food long before they arrived, they left you with all the mess?”
“They cleared most of it.” She gestured to the adjoining kitchen. “And the leftover food has been itemized and frozen. I’m just packing in the coffee cups and dessert dishes, Emily and Jane—” she used their names pointedly “—have already run the dishwasher twice, and unpacked it.”
She strode past him into the kitchen and looked around. “All nice and tidy, see?”
Callum followed and leaned back against the center island. Folding his arms across his chest, he said, “And what about you? Don’t you have to hurry home?”
“Of course.” She stalked across to a row of hooks and picked off her bag and a black woolen coat. Dropping the bag and coat on the center island, she unzipped a side pocket and retrieved her cell phone. “But I’ve been paid an astronomical amount for tonight’s dinner—I’m making sure you get your money’s worth.”
His money’s worth?
The words taunted, especially from a woman wearing such a starkly erotic outfit. With an effort he focused his attention back on her face. “It’s what I always pay.”
Her eyes went round. He could see her thoughts buzzing as she calculated. “And you entertain often?”
“Yes, but it’s work.” As well as being part of the rationale for courting Petra. He needed a wife.
And Petra would be perfect.
He only needed
to propose….
Yet he couldn’t imagine Petra looking so innocently erotic in the black-and-white getup that Miranda was wearing. Or having this effect on him. His erection throbbed painfully behind the concealing fabric of his pants.
Callum shut his eyes.
And opened them to find Miranda staring at him. The silence in the kitchen pounded in his ears. Her mouth was lush, her eyes meltingly seductive. Driven by an urge he couldn’t resist, he took a step forward.
His hands settled on her upper arms, the flesh soft and giving under his fingers. Hoarsely, he asked, “I’ve been wanting to taste you all night. Are you as sweet as the crème caramel?”
Callum gave her a moment to object. Time stopped. She didn’t move. Or say anything. His hands slid around her and he pulled her to him. The warm scent of vanilla enfolded him, so feminine, so seductive.
He took the phone out of her unresisting hand and set it down on the island.
Her lips remained closed as he kissed her, not accepting, but not rejecting him, either.
Callum raised his head, and looked down into her face. There was a startled awareness in her eyes. His mouth slanted as he said, “Not as sweet as I’d expected.”
She started to say something, and in a flash he bent his head and took advantage of her parted lips.
His tongue sank in, and he plundered the warm, private cave. He’d lied. She tasted sweeter than sin. Of rich red wine, spicy cinnamon and seductive woman.
When her tongue swirled around his, Callum gave a moan of satisfaction.
Instantly Miranda’s body softened against his, melting into him. Heat swept over him. His hands pressed into the small of her back, drawing her against the blatant evidence of his arousal.
She didn’t pull away as he’d half expected.
His fingers played with the bow that fastened her apron behind her back and it came loose. “Do you know how sexy this outfit is?” he murmured against her mouth.
“An apron is sexy?”
“Oh, God…yes.”
She laughed, a lilting sound that drove him wild. He put his mouth over hers, tasting the musical notes. Ah, but she was delicious.
