Millionaire Under the Mistletoe

by Tessa Radley

  A lull fell over the big house. Anna, Petra and Lindsey were helping Miranda tidy up, and his brothers had gone out to the stables to feed and rug up the horses, because Old Jim had gone home to spend the day with his even more elderly mother.

  So Callum made his way to the kitchen to find Miranda. There had been worry in her eyes earlier—he wanted to check that she was okay. And he wanted to make sure that putting her into close proximity with Petra hadn’t made her too uncomfortable. She clearly didn’t like the deceit—despite his explanation that by his dating another woman, Gordon would forget all thoughts of a match between him and Petra.

  Or at least that’s what he told himself right up until the moment he reached the kitchen and halted in the doorway.

  She’d pulled a long double-breasted white chef’s jacket on over the red touch-me dress. He supposed he should be grateful that she wasn’t wearing the sexy apron he’d given her…

  Seeing her rubbing down the black granite bench tops and steel-fronted appliances reminded him of the night in his town house and involuntarily his body hardened.

  Even wearing that jacket, she was the sexiest woman he’d ever known.

  He stuck his hands in his trouser pockets and glanced around. There was no sign of Petra—or his brothers’ girlfriends—so he sauntered forward. “Hey, Cinderella, looks like the elves have been busy.”

  “You’re mixing Christmas with fairy tales.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  She thought for a moment. “Nothing.”

  “Where are Petra, Lindsey and Anna?” he asked.

  “Probably in the bath by now—where all good princesses should be.” She smiled at him—and a blast of heat spread through him to settle low in his belly, building mercilessly on the arousal he already felt. “I think they’re both a bit shell-shocked by how tired you can get just from standing on your feet all day. I’m used to it,” she added quickly.

  “Come and sit with me—I might even rub your poor abused feet.” He shot her a smoldering look from under heavy eyelids and watched with satisfaction as she colored.

  Freeing his hands from his pockets, Callum led an unusually pliant Miranda into the sitting room, where flames licked at the logs in the grate and the lights of the Christmas tree twinkled.

  He paused to fill up two glasses with tawny port and crossed to where she’d sunk down on the squashy couch with her feet tucked under her, the folds of the dress draped around her.

  She looked so right here in his family home. His family liked her, he could tell. By the way Fraser teased her. By the way his mother had almost burst into tears when Miranda had given her the brandy snaps.

  She fitted in.

  He’d almost forgotten the deception of her accompanying him as a “fake” date. It felt so real.

  When he’d decided weeks ago to help her attain her dream—and more financial independence—it had been so he could salve his conscience. He hadn’t expected the hunger that ate him every time he looked at her. He hadn’t expected to like her. And he certainly hadn’t expected his family to be so charmed by her.

  When had his connection to her started to become so…emotional?

  “What is it?” Miranda had taken a sip of the sweet port, but now she examined him standing in front of her, his legs apart, and male enough to make her forget all about the rich, nutty flavor of the liqueur that had delighted her only seconds earlier.

  Callum wore a strange, bemused expression. The intensity in his eyes unfurled a restlessness deep within her.

  He shook his head and laughed. “I think I’m going crazy.”

  “You? Crazy?” She raised an eyebrow. “Never.”

  But he didn’t laugh as she’d intended. Instead he stared at her until she shifted under that intimidating gaze.

  “What is it that makes me forget about everything else when you’re around?”

  “Now it’s my fault you’re going crazy?” She tried to laugh again, but found that her voice had dried up. His admission made her toes curl.

  “Maybe not.” He crossed to a wall unit, where he pulled a drawer open and extracted a box. “You said once that your only weakness is dark chocolate.”

  Her gaze lingered on Callum’s broad shoulders and trailed down to the long legs clad in dark trousers. Chocolate was no longer her only weakness….

  “I couldn’t eat another thing,” she protested as he came toward her brandishing a bar of Lindt.

  “Indulge me.” He tore the wrapper off. “Have you ever tasted dark chocolate and port together?”

  Wordlessly, she shook her head.

  “Then you haven’t lived.”

  His voice was deep and throaty, and Miranda’s pulse went through the roof.

  “Open your mouth.”

  She never considered not obeying. Her lips parted. He placed a morsel on her tongue and the chocolate melted in her mouth. It tasted sublime.

  “Now the port.”

  He held the glass for her, and Miranda set her lips to the rim. Their eyes locked. He tipped the glass ever so slightly. The liquid mingled in her mouth with the rich sweet and flavor exploded on her tongue.

  Callum set the glass down, and when he leaned forward to stroke her hair back from her face with gentle hands, her heart dropped.

  “It’s been way too long since I’ve kissed you, Miranda.”

  The moment had finally arrived. He’d brushed her lips too briefly yesterday morning during their walk, leaving her hungering for more. All day yesterday and today she’d waited, tension winding up within her.

  Which made her feel even worse about not telling him about Adrian. He’d done so much to help her family, and all they’d been was Trouble with a capital T.

  “You’re not going to stop me this time, are you?”

  Was she so obvious? Tongue-tied, she shook her head.

  “Good,” he purred.

  His lips were firm on hers. He pulled her up against him and she became aware of the power of his body under the cotton shirt. His arms were strong around her.

  He was all man.

  She parted her lips and he devoured her. All hungry male. He gave a groan that turned her weak. She wanted him.

  “That’s how to taste dark chocolate.” He brushed a kiss over her lips. “But if we continue this, someone might walk in on us.” His laugh was breathless. “My brothers only went to feed the horses. One of them could return any second.”

  She ran her fingertips over his jaw, pausing to rest them against the soft pad of his lower lip. His eyes ignited with passion and he sucked a finger into his mouth, his tongue swirling around it.

  Her breathing quickened.

  Removing her hand, he took her mouth, plundering it, filling every crevice with his tongue. He tasted of port, chocolate and aroused male, and when he’d finished, he lifted his head and she gazed into eyes heavy with desire.

  “I don’t want to wait anymore.” His voice was hoarse. “Come up to my room with me.”

  Unable to speak, she nodded.

  Callum shoved his bedroom door shut with his foot, and—holding Miranda’s gaze—locked the door.

  Her pupils darkened, consuming the caramel gold of her irises, and causing his body to shudder and harden in anticipation.

  He shrugged his tie off, crossed the room, and dropped the tie across the railing of his huge four-poster bed.

  Miranda followed more slowly.

  He waited for her, unbuttoning his shirt. She stopped at the bottom of the bed, her eyes huge.

  The edges of his shirt fell open. He reached for her and brought her close. Letting his fingers caress her nape, he speared them into the silken mass of hair and tilted her head back. Scanning her features, he saw no sign of resistance.

  He had her. Alone. At last.

  With a sigh of relief he unbuttoned the double row of buttons and pushed the chef’s jacket from her shoulders. His shirt, trousers, underpants and her sinful dress all followed, then he tumbled back onto the bed, ta
king her with him. She landed sprawled, all soft skin and tousled curls against his nakedness.

  A moan of satisfaction shook him. “Kiss me, Miranda.”

  She obliged, and her hair caressed him, tresses scented with the vanilla that teased his dreams. He played his hands over her shoulders, along her back, and his fingers encountered her bra strap. He undid the clasp. She lifted her torso, and as the halter-neck bra fell away she wriggled free.

  Callum gasped.

  Her breasts hung above him. Full, ripe curves that tempted him to touch…to taste.

  He reached out reverently and caressed the berry nubs with gentle fingers. She arched sharply, and a keening sound broke from her throat. Seeking to taste her, he closed his mouth around the dark tip and sucked it. It hardened further, and he knew she was as desperate for him as he for her.

  Keeping his mouth on her breast, he slid a hand down over the swell of her stomach and dipped between her legs—and found her moist and ready.

  Before he could take the next step, her legs wrapped around his hips and she pushed herself upright, breaking the contact of his mouth on her.

  Miranda rubbed herself along the rigid length of his erection. Callum nearly came apart. Only a brief bit of satin separated them from the final sweet connection they both sought. Impatiently he pushed the thin thong of her panties aside and, the delicate barrier gone, she sank down on him.

  Pure ecstasy.

  He growled in delight. Miranda moved above him and heat consumed him in a bright white flash. Clasping his hands over her hips, he fought to control the pace. But when she bent forward and outlined his mouth with her tongue, laving his lips, Callum moaned, his resolve crumbling. Then she sealed the caress with a kiss. And all the while he drove fiercely, desperately upward into her.

  Callum shuddered, his body full of tension. She fell forward, boneless, breathless, on top of his chest, her hair silky against his cheeks, her fragrance embracing him.

  And the heat exploded around them, tumbling them into the hot vortex of desire.

  Eleven

  C allum woke to a sense of supreme satisfaction.

  Miranda lay curled up beside him under the covers, one hand resting on his bare chest, spreading warmth through him. It felt so right. Her hand belonged there, against his skin. Over his heart. He wanted to wake every morning to her touch, to the softness of her body tucked against his, her golden hair tousled around her face.

  She was his.

  The strength of emotion that surged through him awed him. Reaching out, he brushed a silky curl away from her cheek. She stirred.

  Her eyes opened, and in the pale morning light that spilled through his bedroom window Callum saw something warm and wonderful in their golden-brown depths. Then alarm took over, chasing the glow out and filling her eyes with shadows.

  She was about to withdraw from him. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—allow that to happen. Not after last night.

  “Don’t move,” he demanded.

  She blinked up at him. “Why?”

  “Because I want to look at you.”

  Miranda gave a breathy laugh and shifted away, leaving a cold space in the bed beside him.

  “You’re making me feel uncomfortable.”

  “Don’t feel uncomfortable.” He rolled closer and cupped his hand under her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You better get used to it. I’ll never tire of looking at you.”

  Something flickered in the caramel eyes that melted his heart. “Oh, yes, you will.”

  He shook his head. “No, I won’t.” Not ever. But he wasn’t ready to confess that yet. Instead he let his fingertips caress the soft skin of her cheek. “What we had last night…I want more.”

  Yet he couldn’t put the unfamiliar emotions and desires that churned inside him into words. All he knew was that he wanted to savor this…thing…that bound them together. Driven by an impulse, he leaned forward and pressed his lips fiercely against hers, determined to make her acknowledge the power of his need.

  Last night’s wild heat returned in a rush. Swirling through him, racing through his bloodstream, quickening the passion that had ignited at the first touch of his lips to hers. Her lips parted, his tongue plundered the warm depths of her mouth.

  And words became unnecessary.

  It was the sound of the dogs barking, a shout from Hunter and the lilt of feminine laughter outside that brought Callum abruptly back to his senses. He stared down at the woman who had made him forget everything. His family. His work. He caught sight of the clock on the bed stand. Even the time.

  He gave a husky laugh. “My God, I was ready to take you again.”

  She was breathing quickly, and her eyes had gone dark with desire. The covers had shifted, revealing a pale, creamy shoulder and the slope of one breast. Want surged through him, and he hauled in a ragged breath.

  “We better get up.” With heavy reluctance he sat up and shrugged the bedclothes off. “Breakfast will be ready—and I don’t want anyone coming searching for us.” He wanted to keep the intimate joy he’d found with Miranda a secret from the world.

  “No, we don’t want that.”

  Miranda moved away, and this time he let her. Her cheeks were stained a rosy pink from the kiss they’d shared, and she took care to keep her nakedness covered. “Your mother told me she was old-fashioned, and didn’t approve of us sharing rooms. I feel like I’ve abused her trust.”

  There was a strange expression in her eyes.

  Callum resisted the impulse to pull her back into his arms, tumble her against the rumpled sheets and possess her with the desire that burned so hotly within him. Instead he said, “I wouldn’t worry too much about that. My mother will be only too pleased that I’ve found someone.”

  Uncertainty glimmered in her eyes. “I don’t want to deceive your mother—your family—any further.”

  “I wouldn’t ask that of you.”

  Her shoulders stiffened, and her eyes grew wary. “So what are you asking?”

  Callum hesitated. Hell, what was he asking? For a moment fear closed around him. He shook it away. This was no time to get cold feet. But he tempered what he meant to say. “I want to make this fake relationship real.”

  He thought he glimpsed joy in the gold-brown eyes. Too quickly it was gone. For a moment he thought she was going to object. Then she smiled. “I’d like that, too.”

  An overwhelming relief settled over him. Miranda hadn’t refused outright as he’d half expected. She had said yes.

  And he had no intention of letting her escape.

  Miranda floated downstairs after a quick stop at her room to pull on something more suitable than the red halter-neck dress she’d been wearing last night. She was unable to suppress the silly smile that curved her lips, all too conscious of the man padding down the stairs beside her, his fingers loosely linked with hers.

  No doubt she was heading for heartbreak, falling for Callum. It was stupid. Totally insane. Yet she couldn’t help herself.

  And she would allow herself no regrets.

  This was her last chance to seize a slice of happiness for herself. It wouldn’t last. But she would enjoy it while it did. Because it would be over too soon—she knew that. As surely as she knew that Callum Ironstone would not fall in love with someone like her. He would find someone with the class and the social connections he needed. Not an embezzler’s daughter living under the fog of her father’s notoriety.

  They entered the dining room, and her gaze settled on Petra. Someone like Petra Harris.

  The blonde glanced across at them.

  Miranda read the bruised hurt in Petra’s pale eyes as she took in their interlinked fingers. For Petra it had never been about business interests. The woman really had loved Callum, she realized. Then her gaze shifted to the man seated beside Petra at the breakfast table. She took in Gordon Harris’s tight lips. For Petra’s father it had been about business. And he looked none too pleased.

  Hunter greeted them first. “We started w
ithout you. Mother decided you two must’ve gone for a walk again and lost track of time.”

  Miranda felt herself grow red. Thankfully Pauline wasn’t in the dining room, and she didn’t have to answer any polite questions about how their walk had gone. She didn’t dare look at Callum as he held a chair out for her before sliding into the empty seat at her side.

  “I promised to take Lindsey down to the craft fair in the village.” Jack rose to his feet.

  “Can we go, too?” Anna turned to Hunter. “Please?”

  Hunter rolled his eyes. “What have you got me into?” he demanded of his brother as he pushed his chair back.

  Within minutes the dining room had emptied. Only the Harrises—and Fraser—remained.

  “Gordon wants to schedule some time with you this morning, Callum,” Fraser told his brother as he, too, got to his feet.

  “We can talk after breakfast,” replied Callum, lifting a pot of aromatic coffee. After Petra had refused the offer of a cup, he said, “Coffee, Miranda? Or would you prefer tea?”

  Or me?

  Miranda could’ve sworn the invitation was in his wickedly glinting eyes. “Coffee,” she said huskily, all too conscious of the effect he had on her as he filled first her cup then his.

  Gordon’s mouth was suddenly grim. “After breakfast will do. I was starting to think you might be otherwise occupied.” He glanced meaningfully at Miranda.

  Callum stilled, then carefully set the coffeepot down.

  Petra put a hand on her father’s arm. “Daddy—”

  “No, Petra.” Gordon shook his daughter’s hand off. He turned in his seat. “Callum, I had hoped the relationship between our families would be more than business. I had hoped…” He paused.

  “Daddy, please.”

  Petra looked mortified. A shaft of pity for the other woman pierced Miranda. Wasn’t it enough that she was hurting already? Did her father have to humiliate her, too?

  She shot Callum a pleading look. Couldn’t he do anything to stop this? His arm came across the back of her chair, and his hand rested possessively on her shoulders. “Gordon, I think—”