by Tessa Radley
He said something she couldn’t hear.
“What?” She tipped her head back and the top of her head brushed his chin.
“Your hair smells of vanilla and cinnamon,” he said into her ear. “It’s a heady fragrance.”
The heat of his breath in the whorls of her ear caused tingles to ripple along her spine. Her awareness of him, never long absent, rocketed up.
“Just ordinary shampoo,” she said, tilting her head so she could see his face.
“There’s nothing ordinary about you,” he said.
The moment stretched. Tension built within her as their eyes held. Her breathing quickened.
She forced herself to look away.
No.
She didn’t want this.
Not now. Not with Callum.
Even though it felt so right. Even though she’d accepted he wasn’t to blame for her father’s suicide, there was too much history between them. An affair with him would only bring unhappiness—especially once he found out that while he’d always been brutally truthful, she’d been less honest.
She shivered, and a wave of ever-present loneliness swamped her.
Callum wrapped his arms around her from behind and pulled her to rest against the length of his body. “I’ll keep you warm.”
She let herself sag into the safe refuge of his arms. It felt strangely like coming home.
A dangerous dream.
The band was playing “Silent Night.” All around, Miranda was aware of couples, young and old, of families, and the joy of Christmas Eve surrounding them.
She wanted that joy. That love. It came to her in a moment of clarity that she’d been a fool to turn down Callum’s proposal.
If she’d agreed to marry him, it all would have been hers—companionship, great sex and a life with a man who did his best to consider her and solve all her problems.
“Tomorrow morning, I’ll take you for a walk in the snow. There won’t be time for a ride, but the horses will be out in the field in the morning and you can meet them.”
How could she have been so dense?
While she’d been intent on hating him, fighting him, she’d been falling in love with Callum. How she wished…
Then reality kicked in. Callum would never love her. He might desire her with fierce passion, but that wasn’t love. He’d told her point-blank he didn’t want the emotional complications love entailed.
Her Christmas wish would never come true.
It was early and the rest of the household still slept when Callum pulled the front door open and stood back for Miranda to pass.
She halted just ahead of him and he heard her gasp as she took in the bright beauty of the morning sunlight on the pristine blanket of fresh-fallen snow.
“This is the gift you said you wanted,” he murmured behind her.
“It’s so beautiful—so peaceful—it makes my heart hurt.” Her voice was husky. “What a perfect start to Christmas Day.”
He knew what she meant.
She stepped forward and the sun caught her hair, turning it to gold. Callum followed and her scent stayed with him. Vanilla. And a hint of honey this morning.
“Old Jim will already have put the horses out in the paddock.” He led her through the silent, snow-encrusted garden, their Wellingtons crunching on the snow that covered the cobbled pathways.
Mojo and Moxie padded up behind them, looking expectant. Callum eyed the dogs. “You can come but you need to behave. No running off.” Opening the gate set in an archway in the stone garden wall, he paused for a moment to let Miranda take in the vista before them.
“Wow.” She sounded awed.
“Come on.” He snagged her gloved hand in his. “Let me show you.”
They entered a lane lined with post-and-rail fencing and leafless trees, their boughs forming ghostly shapes that fragmented the stark landscape.
“It feels like we’re the only people in the whole world.”
He glanced down at her. “Maybe we are.”
With a hint of bravado that had been missing since he’d produced the proof of her father’s confession, she said, “You and me? That could be interesting.”
“Very,” he said drily and watched as color washed her cheeks.
She tried to wiggle her fingers free but he tightened his hold. “There are the horses,” he said to distract her.
Followed by the pair of Labradors, they headed for a five-barred gate set in the fence. A rugged-up chestnut came toward them, whickering in greeting, followed by a big bay.
The chestnut nuzzled delicately at Miranda’s gloves and she laughed. “This one’s gorgeous. What are their names?”
The melancholy that had hung over her yesterday had lifted. Her skin was bright and clear, and a slight flush lay on her cheeks. God, but this woman was gorgeous. His chest squeezed tight.
“The chestnut is Red, the bay Cavalier,” he said hastily, before she caught him fawning. “The gray mare at the back is Lady Anne. She’s shy. It may take her a while to come forward.”
“Oh, I feel so bad—I’ve got nothing for them.”
Callum drew a plastic bag from his coat pocket. “Luckily, I came prepared.” He passed her a carrot. Miranda pulled off her glove and tucked it under her other arm. Holding her hand out palm up, she offered the carrot to Red. The chestnut lipped it up.
Cavalier bumped Callum’s elbow and he fed the bay a piece, too.
“Here comes Lady Anne,” he warned. The gray had edged up on the far side of Miranda.
Miranda stretched her arm out and Lady Anne took the offered morsel. Red’s ears went back and the gray mare skittered out of reach with her carrot.
“Not nice, Red,” said Miranda reprovingly.
Too soon the carrots were gone.
“I enjoyed that,” said Miranda.
Her eyes glowed and Callum’s throat grew tight. “At a quieter time, you must come again. We’ll go for a ride.” The words were out before he could stop them.
She looked as surprised by his impulsive offer as he was.
“That would be nice. Thank you.”
She hadn’t refused. Callum gave her a broad smile. It gave him a chance to see her again in the New Year, without having to rely on their connection through Adrian. Before she could put her glove back on, Callum snatched her hand. A sizzle of electricity seared him.
“Your fingers are cold.”
“Freezing,” she said cheerfully.
“I’ll warm them.” He held her hand between his and gave them a rub, all too conscious of her long fingers dwarfed between his but strong from molding dough. The short, square nails had been painted with clear varnish. Leaning forward, he brushed a kiss over her lips.
They both froze, then broke apart.
Miranda pushed her hair back and Callum stared at her. What was happening? What was her power over him? It was as if he was in the presence of something he’d never felt before—and that he hadn’t seen coming.
Ten
T he rest of Christmas Day passed in a rush of laughter and joy. Miranda barely had any time alone with Callum, which only reinforced that her decision—not to ruin the day by dwelling on her problems with Flo and Adrian—had been the right one.
After breakfast the family gathered in the living room to open presents beside the Christmas tree. Miranda was astonished to find she was expected to join the family.
Everyone had brought small gifts for each other. CDs of favorite bands. Books. Aromatherapy lotions. Each carefully chosen. Callum gave her a lacy white apron that made her blush and everyone else giggle, and Miranda was relieved that she’d thought to bring a CD as a gift for him. Thankfully no one had any idea of the significance of his choice.
Her own gift to the family of a selection of small pots of herbs for the kitchen and a huge tin of mouthwatering iced biscuits cut into snowflake shapes was met with cries of delight.
As soon as that was over, Miranda belatedly called Flo and Adrian to wish them a merry Christmas,
keeping the conversation deliberately upbeat, then headed for the kitchen. After a hectic, busy morning spent preparing the turkey for the family’s Christmas feast that night and the more time-consuming dishes that would be eaten the next day, Miranda whipped up a light lunch of roasted pumpkin soup with pesto and sour cream stirred through, served with freshly baked rolls on the side. It caused oohs of delight. And Miranda flushed with pleasure when Callum’s father commented, “You picked a winner, Callum.” Her gaze met Callum’s then skittered away under the heat and intensity she read there.
Don’t make more of it, she warned herself. She was only here because Callum had wanted a date to provide a distraction from Petra’s presence tomorrow.
That afternoon she focused on their Christmas dinner, and preparing what could be done in advance for Pauline’s party the next day. Although with the help she’d had from Callum’s mother as well as Lindsey and Anna, Miranda was starting to feel like a fraud. Even Callum and his brothers wandered in through the course of the afternoon to give a hand, the kitchen ending up full of action and much hilarity. It had been incredibly fun.
The hardest part had been keeping a straight face when Pauline looked around in bewilderment at all the food and demanded, “Who’s going to eat all of this? It’s far too much.”
“Have no fear, Mother,” Fraser said. “We’re growing men—there won’t be a crumb left.”
Miranda caught Callum suppressing a grin, and Hunter immediately marched his mother out on the pretext of needing her advice about how to best dry the Italian loafers he’d saturated the previous night.
“You shouldn’t have worn them to the carols, Hunter,” they heard Pauline say as she followed him out the kitchen, completely diverted.
“You’re fortunate to have such a wonderful family,” Miranda murmured to Callum.
“I know.”
It wasn’t only Callum who held Miranda enthralled…she was dangerously close to falling in love with his family.
And that she couldn’t afford.
His mother’s utter, unfeigned surprise the next day when the first of her birthday guests arrived made the whole loving deception worthwhile, Callum decided as he exchanged looks of satisfaction with his brothers.
“How did I not get the smallest whiff of this?” Pauline asked as cars crowded the forecourt in front of the house.
“It was supposed to be a secret,” said Callum.
“Though Dad nearly let the cat out of the bag five minutes after we arrived on Thursday,” said Fraser with a mock glare at his father.
“Never could keep a secret, your father.” Pauline gave her husband a fond smile, and Callum looked away to give them a private moment.
“I managed to keep it in all of yesterday,” said Robin, and everyone laughed.
But when Petra arrived with her father, tension filled the air as Callum stepped closer to Miranda. Petra gave Miranda a quick glance, and aside from the hurt in her eyes, showed little reaction.
But Callum was aware of Miranda shifting away from him, distancing herself. She didn’t like the deception he’d asked her to perform, Callum realized.
It grew even more sticky when Callum discovered that Gordon and Petra had been invited to stay with the family for the balance of the weekend and wouldn’t be leaving with the other guests.
“Trouble?” Fraser asked a little while later with a meaningful look in Petra’s direction.
Callum resisted the urge to snap at his brother. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
“Good. Because despite the fact that Petra had the sense to dump you, Gordon remains important to our business.”
“You invited them to stay?” Callum stared at his brother in disbelief.
“Yes.” Fraser narrowed his gaze. “It shouldn’t be a problem, should it?”
Callum sincerely hoped it wouldn’t become one—but he had already detected Gordon’s coolness toward Miranda.
When all the guests had arrived, everyone assembled in the large formal dining for a buffet-style birthday lunch. Callum stopped dead at the sight of Miranda. She’d changed into a red dress that clung softly to her curves. Everything about the dress shrieked touch me! He swallowed. How the hell was he supposed to resist such an invitation? In desperation he forced himself to focus on the spread she’d prepared. Miranda had surpassed herself. An ice sculpture dominated the centre of the table and she’d carried the winter wonderland theme through in the snowflake decorations suspended around the room, with masses of tall, white tapered candles lit to give an impression of glittering Christmas tree lights.
After lunch Pauline opened her gifts, and with every card she read out, her eyes grew increasingly dewy. Callum was surprised to see Miranda hand his mother a box lightly wrapped in tissue paper.
“Happy birthday,” Miranda said.
His mother pulled off the wrapping to reveal a half dozen brandy snaps filled with cream, and a finger lick at the end of one had her whimpering with delight.
It stunned Callum that Miranda had taken the care to make the sweet he’d told her his mother loved. But her consideration warmed his heart. For an instant he was guiltily conscious of the fact that she should be spending Christmas with her own mother and brother—not his.
As the afternoon passed, Miranda was supremely aware of Callum’s every move whenever they were together, and she grew increasingly uncomfortable with the number of times his fingers would brush hers, or his hand would settle on her waist, the fine, soft jersey fabric of her dress failing to present any substantial barrier to the warmth of his touch. She knew he was making certain that Gordon harbored no hopes of a reconciliation between his daughter and Callum. But she disliked the deceit and the flare of pain in Petra’s eyes. And on top of that, it troubled her deeply that she was deceiving Callum. He still had no idea of the damage Adrian had done to an Ironstone car…and more significantly that she hadn’t disclosed it to him.
Yet how could she? She couldn’t have gone against Adrian’s wishes. And ultimately it was Adrian’s problem. How would he ever learn to take responsibility for his life if she fixed all his problems for him? Look what a mess Flo made simply because she expected everyone to leap around and fix things for her. Her father treating Flo as a china doll had only worsened the problem.
But now Christmas was over. Adrian’s worry about being locked up over the holiday with little chance of bail was no longer valid. And every time her gaze connected with Callum’s, Miranda wished she hadn’t agreed to keep quiet until she returned to London. As much as she hadn’t wanted to raise something controversial on Christmas Day or his mother’s birthday, she now needed Callum to be in the picture.
Then maybe they could finally advance their strained relationship. But would he still even want to be friends when he found out she’d deceived him?
Tea had been served in delicate china cups. Miranda sneaked out to take a five-minute break in the downstairs study and decided she would call Adrian. Maybe he would agree to let her tell Callum the truth—presuming she got the opportunity.
Adrian answered his mobile on first ring. “What’s up, sis?”
She told him, and when he spoke again the breezy note had vanished. “No,” he said adamantly. “I’ll tell him when I’m ready.”
“On Monday when I get back, you said,” she reminded him.
“Maybe.”
He was trying to wriggle off the hook. Her brother must be truly scared of the consequences.
“It’s not going to get easier—and if you leave it too long, I’ll tell him myself.”
“I know that.” Adrian sounded so despondent she felt like an absolute witch. Then he said, “I’ve been getting threatening calls. I’ve managed to put them off because I told them you were away.”
“It doesn’t make any difference whether I’m there or not. I’ve told you—they’re not getting my money. Absolutely not.” She breathed deeply. “Look, Callum will give you a break.”
Adrian’s sin wasn’t anything like wh
at their father had done. They couldn’t use that as a yardstick for judging Callum’s likely reaction. “I’m sure Callum will understand.” Miranda hoped that he would live up to her brave claim.
Adrian muttered something she was grateful she couldn’t make out, and then hung up.
Well, she’d handled that just beautifully!
“Why the frown?”
She started at the sound of Callum’s voice and discovered he was standing in front of her. Had he overheard her conversation? She hoped not.
She forced a smile. “Nothing much.”
“You were on the phone. Trouble? Is it your mother again?”
At least Callum hadn’t homed in on Adrian. “A little.”
“She takes advantage of you.” Callum held her gaze.
“And you,” she said.
“And me,” he conceded. “We’re not doing her any favors. By always fixing her problems, we’ve allowed her to become totally irresponsible.”
Miranda had reached that conclusion herself, but it still stung to hear it from Callum. It took sheer willpower to stop herself from defending Flo.
“I suppose I should butt out,” he said when she didn’t answer.
“No, you’re quite right. I need to stand up to her.”
There was sympathy in his eyes. “It won’t be easy.”
That was an understatement. Flo was going to rail against it, Miranda suspected. “No, it won’t be easy. And I don’t want to hurt her feelings.”
“Sometimes one has to be cruel to be kind,” said Callum.
And Miranda suspected he was thinking not of Flo—but Petra.
After seeing the last of the guests off, Callum and his brothers trooped back into the house with his parents. Gordon had gone up to his room already.
His mother had been thrilled by the unexpected party and was still looking overwhelmed. “I should check on—”
“The kitchen is fine,” his father said firmly. “There are four women taking care of it, and one is a trained chef.”
“Then I suppose we can go to bed, then.”
Callum pecked his mother good-night on the cheek, and wasn’t surprised when his father quickly followed her up the stairs. He had a feeling his father was going to reap the benefits of the celebration.
