Kitabı oku: «Millionaire Under the Mistletoe / His High-Stakes Holiday Seduction»

Millionaire Under The Mistletoe

By

Tessa Radley

And

His High-Stakes Holiday Seduction

By

Emilie Rose

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Millionaire Under The Mistletoe

By

Tessa Radley

Callum gazed at the woman he’d been fighting to ignore all evening. Without success.

In a plain black dress, her hair up in a knot and no glitter in sight, Miranda should’ve looked plain and drab.

She didn’t.

The black only served to highlight the creamy perfection of her skin. No jewelry adorned the delicious smooth line of her throat.

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.

About the Author

TESSA RADLEY loves traveling, reading and watching the world around her. As a teen Tessa wanted to be an intrepid foreign correspondent. But after completing a Bachelor of Arts and marrying her sweetheart she became fascinated by law and ended up studying further and practising as an attorney in a city practice.

A six-month break traveling through Australia with her family re-awoke the yen to write. And life as a writer suits her perfectly: traveling and reading count as research and as for analyzing the world…well, she can think ‘what if’ all day long. When she’s not reading, traveling or thinking about writing she’s spending time with her husband, her two sons—or her zany and wonderful friends. You can contact Tessa through her website, www.tessaradley.com

For my beloved Sophie—

The world has lost an angel

I will remember your love forever

Dear Reader,

Romance readers have a power that never fails to move me.

A dear friend of mine would catch the bus to work and home. To pass the time she read romances on the bus. Short romances that fit easily in her purse. It didn’t take long to discover other romance readers. Soon several women were sharing the names of favorite authors and swapping books. A bus book-reading club had been born.

One woman changed her bus after mistakenly catching an earlier bus one morning and discovered the group. Another was barely literate but wanted to read the books that her newfound friends were chatting about. Friendships were forged between women who would otherwise have remained strangers, sharing a daily commute and nothing else. Instead their lives were enriched by the joy of friendship…and the love in stories they discovered together.

Have a wonderful Christmas.

Tessa Radley

Chapter One

Callum halted at the threshold, his attention riveted on the woman pacing in front of the reception desk. The slanting rays from a lofty skylight caught her hair and turned it into a nimbus of glowing gold.

He took a step forward.

“Callum Ironstone demanded my presence here at three o’clock.” She cocked her wrist and glanced at a serviceable watch. “It’s already ten past. How much longer does he intend to keep me cooling my heels?” Her husky voice held an edge of impatience.

Callum stilled as her words penetrated. This was Miranda Owen?

Not possible.

His gaze tracked up from slender ankles encased in sheer black hose along the sleek lines of the narrow black, hip-hugging skirt. A black polo-neck sweater emphasized the indent of her waist and a saffron-colored coat hung over her arm.

Callum stared.

Digging deep into his memories produced an image of a plump teenager, more at home in a baggy sweatshirt, jeans and muddied yellow Wellingtons. The sunlit locks held no resemblance to the long, untidy ponytail. No doubt the braces were gone, too.

He cleared his throat.

She spun around. Wide caramel-brown eyes met his. His stomach tightened as he took in the lambent hostility.

One thing hadn’t changed. Miranda Owen still blamed him for her father’s death.

Callum didn’t let the knowledge show as he crossed the marble tiles, toasty from the state-of-the-art underfloor heating system. “Miranda, thank you for coming in.”

“Callum.”

That one snapped-out word hinted at long-held resentments.

He stretched out a hand. For a moment he thought she was going to refuse to take it. Then with a small sigh she relented.

Her fingers were strong, her grip firm, yet her skin was soft against his. Before he could come to terms with the interesting dichotomy of her touch, she pulled away.

“Why did you want to see me?”

A woman who got straight to the point—he liked that. Callum shook himself free of the bemusement that this grown-up Miranda evoked. “Let’s talk in my office. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

A picture flickered across his mind of a three-year-younger Miranda spooning several teaspoons of sugar into a cup of hot chocolate at her father’s funeral.

“No, thanks.” Her reply was clipped.

He glanced across to the receptionist. “Bring Ms. Owen a hot chocolate and I’ll have coffee. Bring some extra sugar,” he tacked on before placing his hand under Miranda’s elbow and steering her along the corridor and into his spacious office.

“I’m not a child.” She slanted him a look from beneath ridiculously long lashes, and a frisson of awareness startled Callum. “And I no longer drink chocolate.”

“I can see you’re not a child,” Callum drawled, giving her a slow, sweeping perusal. “You’ve changed.”

“You haven’t.” Miranda broke free of his hold and stepped away.

Still truculent. The heat of desire receded. “Maybe I’m mistaken,” he mused. “I’d gotten the notion you’d grown up.”

Chagrin filled her face. “I’m sorry.”

Callum doubted she regretted her lack of courtesy. Yet when her gaze met his again, he read apprehension in the wide eyes. What was she frightened about? Even as he watched, she straightened her spine and the moment of vulnerability vanished.

He waved to the two boxy leather sofas facing each other under an immense wooden bookshelf packed with books. A tall Christmas tree covered with red bows and silver balls reminded Callum that it was the season of reconciliation. But Miranda’s frozen face warned him that reconciliation was the last thing on her mind. And how could he blame her? Feeling carefully for words, he said, “Look, let’s start over.”

Ignoring him, Miranda passed the cozy seating arrangement heading for a round walnut conference table beside a wall of glass, where she slung her coat and black bag over the closest of the four chairs in a militant fashion.

Okay, so she was going to play this tough, all business. Callum gave a mental shrug and seated himself opposite her. “I asked you to come in because I have a proposition for you.”

“A proposition?” Confusion clouded her features. “For me?”

He rocked his chair back. “You’re a chef, right?” Hell, he knew she was—he’d paid for every cent of her exclusive training. Though he’d been surprised to learn she’d used her qualifications to gain employment at a popular pub chain rather than some fashionable, upmarket café or boutique hotel. Before she could question how he knew she was a chef, he added, “Adrian told me you work at one of The Golden Goose outlets.”

He’d stopped to inquire how young Adrian was getting along as a temporary driver for the company. The young man had been grateful for the vacation job and had revealed that Miranda dreamed of one day starting her own catering business. That had given Callum the perfect solution…a way to wipe Miranda Owen from his conscience forever. He gave her his most charming grin.

“Yes,” she said guardedly.

She certainly wasn’t blowing him away with an effusive response. Tipping his chair back to earth, he leaned forward and planted his elbows on the conference table. “Here’s the deal. I plan to invite the outgoing chairman of a company Ironstone Insurance has recently taken over to a private dinner party at my home on Saturday night.”

“He’ll come?”

“Oh, yes. Gordon’s staying on as a shareholder and I want to introduce him to the other directors. It’s a celebration.”

The melting brown eyes hardened. “I suppose that makes sense. Your brothers will want to get on side with a significant shareholder.”

Callum stopped smiling. The merger had been his initiative—a successful one that would give Ironstone Insurance a strategic advantage over their competitors for years to come. And Gordon Harris had been even hungrier for the merger than the Ironstone family. Gordon wanted to retire, to take it easy. But Miranda’s words stopped Callum from confessing that there was another, more celebratory reason for the dinner. That would only lead to a dig about protecting his assets.

Two fine lines furrowed her brow. “When you say Saturday…do you mean this week?” At his nod the lines deepened. “That doesn’t leave much time.”

He’d intended to railroad her into agreeing…and not leave any time for second thoughts.

“You don’t think you can do it?” he challenged.

Angry fire kindled in the caramel eyes. “How many people?”

Hiding a grin of triumph, Callum rose to his feet and retrieved a manila folder from the polished expanse of his desk. Returning to the conference table, he dropped the file in front of her. “The details are all in there.”

If he could start Miranda on the road to success, introduce her to some people, perhaps he’d be able to forget the hatred a pair of eighteen-year-old eyes had once held…

Or at least that had been the plan.

But having met Miranda again, he had a suspicion it wasn’t going to be nearly that simple.

Standing behind her, all too conscious of the subtle fragrance of warm vanilla she exuded, Callum watched her elegant fingers flip the file open to the first page of the agreement his PA had prepared. Her shoulders stiffened as she read the figure he proposed to pay for a one-night job.

Satisfaction swept through him. She wouldn’t refuse. His offer was too good. Helping Miranda get started in a business that must presently be nothing more than an impossible dream would be the perfect way to excise the disturbing memory of the wild accusations she’d flung at him.

You killed my father.

Of course he knew he hadn’t, didn’t he? Thomas Owen had killed himself once he realized there would be a trial—where he would almost certainly be found guilty on the overwhelming evidence against him. The courts showed no mercy against employees who stole from their employers. Thomas Owen would have known he was facing prison.

Yet Thomas’s suicide had shaken Callum more than he cared to admit, leaving him haunted by a long shadow of guilt.

A legacy that he was determined to shake.

The black-and-white print on the paper in front of her blurred. Miranda was no longer aware of the maple-wood furniture, or Callum’s spacious office. Instead she experienced again the hot ball of misery that had burned constantly in her chest from the moment her father’s PA had called with the news of her father’s arrest.

Impossible.

But her father’s assistant had insisted it was true: the police had been, and had taken her father away. Miranda needed to get hold of her mother urgently. Callum Ironstone would be issuing a press statement soon.

At barely eighteen, Miranda’s first sighting of Callum Ironstone on television had swung rapidly from interest in the handsome devil with dark hair, a sensual mouth and eyes that held a mesmerizing intensity, to hatred when she’d heard what he had to say. The press statement had been brief but damning.

All of it lies. By the time it came to an end, Miranda was numb with disbelief.

There had been a mistake. Yet Callum Ironstone clearly didn’t believe that. Rage had set in. Her father was not a thief.

Her father was granted bail, and emerged from the courthouse pale, shaken, but determined to clear his name. He had done nothing to justify the indignity the Ironstones had heaped upon him after two decades loyal service. Miranda had been confident it would all be sorted out.

But what followed had been traumatic. And, in the end, Thomas Owen simply gave up. Miranda could still remember the set, serious face of the policewoman who’d knocked on the door to break the news that her father was dead.

Then came the funeral. Miranda’s hands grew clammy and nerves fluttered in her stomach at the memory of the last terrible occasion she’d seen Callum Ironstone—it still made her cringe. Devastated by her father’s death, her white-hot hatred boiling over, she’d confronted him in the stone-walled forecourt of the church.

The men beside him moved to cut her off. But she barged past them. Standing in front of Callum, she inspected him with angry eyes. “How could you take a good man’s life and destroy it?” she’d challenged.

His jaw had set, and his face had grown harder than the marble tombstones in the churchyard. “He stole money from me.”

“So you decided to teach him a lesson and humiliate him?”

A flush seared his carved cheekbones.

A man who resembled Callum—a brother perhaps—stepped forward. “Wait a minute, young lady—”

She brushed him aside, focusing all her emotion on Callum. “You killed him. You know that?” Tears of rage and pain spilled onto her cheeks. “He worked for you for twenty years, you gave him a gold watch, yet you never gave him a chance?”

Her father had been given no opportunity to avow his innocence. Callum had relentlessly pushed the police to the conclusion he’d wanted.

“You’re overwrought,” he said dismissively.

That made the ball of anger swell inside her. “And what’s going to happen to my mother, my brother?” Me? “Now that you’ve destroyed our family?”

Callum gave her a stony stare. He raised a dark, devilish eyebrow and asked sardonically, “Finished?”

She hadn’t been. Not by a long shot. But before she could vent any more he’d cut her off, snapping “Grow up” in a supercilious, condescending way that made her feel childishly inadequate.

Callum’s words had been unkindly prophetic. She’d had to grow up, and quickly. Much as Miranda loved her mother, she knew Flo could never be practical. Overnight Miranda had become the adult in the home. There’d been no choice.

And now that same man was trying offer her money. A bribe?

“No.”

Miranda felt Callum Ironstone start as she spoke. The sensitive skin of her nape prickled. A moment later a pair of bright blue eyes glared down at her. She’d never noticed their color before.

“What do you mean ‘No’?”

Closing the folder with a snap, Miranda slammed it down against the glossy wood. “I mean I have no intention of accepting your blood money.”

“Blood money?” he said softly, dangerously, and his gaze narrowed to an intimidating glitter.

She refused to be cowed. “Yes, blood money for what you did to my father.”

“Your father stole from Ironstone Insurance.”

Miranda shook her head. “You got the wrong man.”

“Give me strength.” Callum made a sharp, impatient sound. “You’re not a child anymore.”

“Stop it!” She put her hands over her ears.

Blue eyes bored into hers.

Feeling foolish, like the immature child he’d accused her of being almost three years ago, she uncovered her ears and dropped her hands out of his line of sight into her lap and curled them into fists.

With hard-won composure, Miranda said, “I’m sure being wealthy beyond belief means you’ve gotten used to throwing money around to make all your problems go away. But not this time. I won’t take a cent.”

His jaw had hardened. A shiver closely allied to fear feathered down her spine as he bit out, “Don’t you think it’s rather late for fine principles?”

Miranda stared at him blankly. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve conveniently forgotten?”

“Forgotten what?”

His lips compressed into an impatient line. “Taking money from me.”

“That’s a lie—I’ve never taken a cent from you.”

She’d die of starvation before she did that. He’d caused her family so much grief.

After the funeral, the house where Miranda had grown up with its apple orchard and paddocks had, by necessity, been sold along with her horse Troubadour and Adrian’s expensive racing bicycles. Her mother had never gotten used to the cramped terrace house in a rundown street south of the Thames that the three of them had moved into. Even with Adrian away during the term at the exclusive boarding school Flo had refused to countenance him leaving, space was tight.

Thankfully the lump sum Ironstone Insurance had paid out after her father’s death had been invested wisely, the interest paying for Adrian’s and Miranda’s education as well as a modest retainer to support her mother, though it left Flo only a shadow of the lifestyle she’d once taken for granted.

Yet as Miranda’s gaze remained locked with Callum’s, a deep sense of foreboding closed around her heart.

“So where did the funds for Greenacres come from?” he asked, naming the exclusive culinary school she’d attended. He held up two fingers. “Two years. And your brother’s schooling at St. Martin’s…”

No, please God.

It had been a shock to discover her parents’ precarious financial position after her father’s death. But at least her father had kept his life insurance up-to-date.

Voice trembling, she said, “My father’s life insurance policy paid f—”

“Your father’s suicide voided the policy.”

“No!” She realized she was shaking her head wildly. “That can’t be true.”

Yet even as she denied it, her brain worked furiously. What he said sounded perfectly logical. From the stories her father had told about repudiated claims she knew about fine print. So why had the company paid out the policy after his death when they’d fired her father…had publicly branded him a criminal? And why had she never questioned the settlement?

Because she’d trusted her father not to do anything that would leave her…them…so horribly exposed. Surely he would never have killed himself, cutting them off from the last lifeline available to them?

But he had.

Why had he killed himself, and abandoned them when there’d been so much to live for? It wasn’t as if he’d been guilty. Yet Thomas Owen had left his family vulnerable. And this man, a man she detested, had bailed them out.

Why?

She must have said it out loud. Because Callum shifted from one foot to the other and discomfort flashed in his eyes. Her gaze sharpened. He thought she’d been asking why he’d supported them…and that made him uncomfortable. The next why? popped into her head: what did Callum have to feel guilty about?

The answer hit her like a bolt of lightning, filling her with icy shock. Had it been a payoff? So they wouldn’t sue Ironstone Insurance? No. Her mother would never have accepted that.

Or would she have? Miranda wavered. Things had been pretty dire after her father’s death. Had her mother been tempted?

“You can’t have paid for everything.” Please, please, let it not be so.

Something like pity softened his gaze. “Do you want to see the invoices?”

Trepidation made her mouth go dry. “And the allowance my mother receives every month?” She paused. But she had to ask…had to know. “Are you paying that, too?”

His eyes told her yes.

It was too much. Miranda’s stomach started to churn again. The sick feeling that had unsettled her earlier swept over her like a tidal wave.

She turned her head away and stared out the sheetglass window over the cloud-shrouded city where the light was rapidly waning. Miranda shivered. How much had Callum paid? How much did her family owe the man responsible for her father’s death? And how was she ever going to pay it back?

Just trying to figure how much money was involved made her feel all weak inside. Jerkily, she staggered to her feet and yanked her coat on, hugging its warmth around her. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she faced him, her head held high. “I don’t want this job—I don’t want anything from you. And you can stop the allowance to my mother from today—she doesn’t want your money, either.”

She stumbled across his office. The expanse of carpet stretched forever and the door seemed a long way away.

As she grasped the doorknob, he spoke from behind her. “If I were you, I’d check that your mother feels the same way you do—you may be in for a surprise.”

Chapter Two

Outside the towering glass world of Ironstone Insurance darkness had fallen. Huddled in her coat, Miranda hurried toward the bus stop. Not even the festivity of the Christmas lights twinkling through the winter gloom could lift her spirits.

A chill wind swirled around her legs as Callum’s words reverberated though her head. If I were you, I’d check that your mother feels the same way you do—you may be in for a surprise.

Her mother couldn’t have possibly known…wouldn’t have hidden this from her.

Homeward-bound traffic rushed past, and Miranda fumbled in her bag for her cell phone before punching the call button with an icy, shaking finger. “Mum?”

“Hello, darling.” Flo sounded cheerfully vague. “I’m home from my tea with Sorrel. What are we having for dinner?”

The mundane thought disoriented Miranda for an instant. Dinner? Who cared? She gathered her scattered thoughts together.

“I just saw Callum Ironstone. He says Dad’s insurance never paid out and that Callum paid for my studies and Adrian’s schooling himself.” Reaching the deserted bus stop, Miranda halted and held her breath as she waited for her mother’s denial.

Instead, an ominous silence. Her mother had known.

“Mum?”

Nothing.

“Flo—” Miranda resorted to her mother’s name as she’d been doing more and more recently “—please tell me it’s a lie.” Unable to stand still, she took a few unsettled steps out of the shelter and paced restlessly along the sidewalk. Miranda closed her eyes, willing her mother to deny it.

“Darling…”

As her mother’s breathy voice trailed away, Miranda knew Callum had told her the truth. There had never been a life insurance payout. Her gloved hands tightened round the phone and despair set in. The same evil little wind whirled around her ears, and she shivered. Opening her eyes, she glimpsed her bus trundling past the stop.

“Wait,” she called, running after it.

“What did you say, darling?” Flo sounded alarmed over the open line.

“I just missed my bus.” Miranda slowed to a standstill. Her next bus wasn’t due for half an hour and she would be freezing by the time she got home. She wanted to howl to the dark sky. Or burst into tears. But what would that help? The phone pressed against her ear, Miranda backed up and sagged tiredly against the bus shelter, staring bleakly into the shadows.

“Darling, the Ironstones owed it to us.”

“I don’t want money from them.” Especially not from him. “I want them to take responsibility for what they did to Dad.” To us.

“This is their way of taking responsibility, by paying us money.”

But it was Callum who had paid.

The chilling thought that had occurred to her in Callum’s office resurfaced. Sucking the cold, damp air into her lungs, she plunged on. “Mum, was it supposed to be a payoff from the company so that we—and Dad’s estate—wouldn’t sue?”

“Darling, no!”

The tension that had tightened her stomach into knots eased a little. “So you didn’t sign any settlement agreement?”

“There was a document,” her mother admitted, “but it wasn’t anything important.”

“Are you sure?” Miranda prompted urgently.

“Only that I’d use the money for your and Adrian’s education…and for housekeeping.”

“That’s all?”

“And there was a little something for me each month, too,” Flo added reluctantly.

“Perhaps I should look at that agreement,” said Miranda darkly.

“Oh, darling, I don’t even know where it is anymore. It’s nothing important. Let it go. The Ironstones took responsibility for what happened.”

“Not the Ironstones. Callum Ironstone.”

It had become important to make that distinction. And Miranda wished she had seen that missing agreement. She strongly suspected that Callum had rushed to the grieving widow with a contract that precluded legal action—against him, his family and their company.

And no doubt the cash had been the price of his guilty conscience. Money had freed him from what he’d done.

It made her see red.

But how could she make Flo understand she wanted Callum Ironstone to sweat blood? And his brothers, too. And his father, who’d been chairman at the time Miranda’s father had been framed.

But more than anything it was Callum she wanted to see suffer—because he’d been her father’s boss. It had been Callum who’d made the decision that had ruined her father’s life. He had summarily dismissed Thomas Owen, an employee with twenty years’ service to Ironstone Insurance, had him arrested, charged with a crime he hadn’t committed, and then had publicly humiliated a humble, gentle man.

“Darling, Adrian says he needs a word with you.”

Her mother’s voice brought her back to the dark London street. Miranda shivered again. A second later her brother’s voice came over the line.

“Mir?”

He sounded so young. He was the reason she’d set foot in Callum Ironstone’s moneyed world today. It seemed an age since her only worry had been about what Adrian might have done. In less than an hour, Callum had turned her world upside down.

How was she ever going to find the money to pay back Callum?

“What is it?” she asked dully. The long day on her feet in The Golden Goose topped by the meeting with Callum had sapped her strength. All she craved was a warm home and a hot meal that she hadn’t had to cook. And someone to hold her, to tell her that everything would be okay.

None of that would happen. She’d been cutting the heating to a minimum to save money, so the terrace house would be barely warm, and there would be no hot meal unless she cooked it herself.

Adrian interrupted her musing. “Listen, sis, I need you to lend me some money. Can you draw it out on your way home?”

“More money?” Only last night she’d given him fifty pounds for a night out with his friends. At least he was due to be paid on Friday. It galled her that she was actually grateful for the job he had with Ironstone Insurance, but she needed that money back. Desperately. “How much do you need this time?”

“Uh…”

A sharp edge of unease knifed her at his hesitation. Her voice rising, she asked, “How much?”

The amount made her breath catch. “Good grief, Adrian, I don’t have that kind of money.” Even the monthly housekeeping fund was almost empty. “What have you done?”

“Nothing, I promise you. Nothing major. I’m just helping—”

“You haven’t been gambling again?”

A couple of months back Adrian had developed an addiction to blackjack, and had started frequenting casinos. His talk of developing a system that couldn’t lose had struck terror into Miranda. Now images of bull-necked debt collectors threatening to break her baby brother’s fingers crowded her mind. “You promised not to go back there.” A promise he’d resented, but she’d insisted on it before she’d agreed to pay off his debts. “Are you in danger?”

“No!” He gave a half laugh. “I haven’t been gambling. Honestly, you should hear yourself, sis—you’re worse than Mum.”

Flo was too soft on him. That was part of the reason he’d gotten so close to trouble. Miranda knew it was time he grew up.

“I can’t just keep giving you handouts, Adrian. You still owe me the money I lent you last ni—”

“I know, I know. You’re the best sister in the world.”

Miranda hesitated. “So what’s this money for?”

“Oh, don’t nag, sis. It’s to help someone in trouble,” he said cagily.

What had happened to being the best sister in the world? “Hardly nagging, given the amount you want. Can’t this person find someone else to help them?”

“I’ve promised.” Adrian sounded impatient. “It’s going to be hard to back out now.”

“You should’ve thought of that before you pledged my money.”

Then wished she’d bitten her tongue when he said, “Just forget it, okay. I’ll find someone else to help me—maybe I can get an advance against my pay.”

And place her further in Callum’s debt? Over her dead body! Miranda contemplated the amount in her savings account. Every cent she’d squirreled away for the past fourteen months. The extra jobs. The overtime. All painfully accumulated to allow her a few months of breathing space when she finally handed in her notice at The Golden Goose and started her own catering business.

It was a pittance compared to the overwhelming amount she needed to repay Callum. Her dream was already history.

She suppressed a sigh.

But at least Adrian wasn’t gambling. He wasn’t in trouble. Despite her fears, she hadn’t been called in to Ironstone’s because he’d done anything stupid. And now he’d promised to help a friend. Weren’t those precisely the kind of values she’d tried to instill in him?

The time had come to start trusting his judgment; otherwise he’d never grow up.

But, oh, boy, it was hard.

“Let me see what I can do.”

A pause. Then, “Thanks, sis.”

“But it will be a loan, Adrian,” she cautioned. This wasn’t going the way of all the other sums she’d “lent” her brother. “Your friend needs to understand that. When will I get it back?”

“Soon,” he replied, with a worrying vagueness that reminded her uncomfortably of Flo. “He’ll get paid—probably at the end of the next fortnight.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” Hitting the end-call button with unaccustomed ferocity, Miranda noticed that it had started to drizzle. She shivered in the gloom. Her dream had just received a death knell, so why bother about a bit of rain?

Headlights cut through the drizzle, tires hissing as a sleek car veered toward the curb. Miranda turned away, not in the mood for unwelcome harassment.

A window lowered. “Jump in.”

Callum!

Miranda hunched her shoulders and ignored him.

A door slammed, and a moment later an arm landed across her shoulders, surrounding her with warmth and comfort. Miranda was tempted to lean into his broad chest and draw the strength she could. She squared her shoulders. This was Callum Ironstone. Her enemy.

“I’m parked illegally. Let’s go before I get ticketed.”

She shrugged him off. “I’ll wait for my bus, thanks.”

He glanced up at the electronic information board above the bus shelter. “Looks like a long wait. Or would you rather freeze on principle?”

She hated that he managed to make her sound like a petulant child. Reluctantly Miranda allowed him to take her elbow—ignoring the sudden prickles of sensation—and steer her to his car, a ghost-gray Daimler. Opening the door for her, he stood back while she clambered in.

A delicious frisson rippled down her spine as the warm interior embraced her. Turning her head away as if in rejection of the seductive comfort Callum’s wealth offered, Miranda stared blindly out the side window as he settled in the driver’s seat beside her.

“Where to?”

The weight of Callum’s gaze settled on Miranda.

“Home.”

“Not The Golden Goose?”

“I’ve finished for the day.” No point revealing what a tussle she’d had getting time off.

Instead of starting the car, he said, “I’d have thought you’d have used your qualifications to land something better than a job at a place like that.”

She shrugged and stared through the windshield at traffic that had slowed to a crawl as the drizzle turned to rain. No point defending The Golden Goose. Not when what he said was true and she couldn’t wait to escape.

Although any chance of that had gone up in smoke the moment he’d told her about her father’s life insurance being nonexistent.

“It was the closest job I could find to home.” That meant less spent on transport, less time commuting, which gave more hours to work overtime. “It’s only a short bus ride away,” she said tiredly. “It pays the bills.”

And that was what mattered. Making sure Adrian’s future education was taken care of, repaying Callum and saving enough money to look after Flo. Until she’d repaid Callum she couldn’t even think of opening her own catering business.

He must have heard her sigh because he said gently, “I know your family is short of cash. You should’ve accepted my proposition—who knows, you might have impressed people and gotten a few more catering jobs to ease the hardship.”

Did he have any idea what kind of temptation he’d dangled in front of her? How hard it had been to refuse?

She eyed him warily as he accelerated into the stream of traffic. Yes, he probably did. “Now I believe everything I’ve heard about you.”

“Everything? You shouldn’t believe everything.” She caught a lightning flash of wicked blue eyes before he turned his attention back to the road. “Some rumors are nothing more than wild speculation.”

Ignoring the innuendo underlying the humor, Miranda said hastily, “That you have the ability to home in on what people want and then use it against them?” And now he was doing that to her.

Studying his profile, she took in the straight nose jutting out with masculine arrogance, quickly bypassing his generous mouth. Miranda had no idea how he’d gotten a glimpse into her soul, her deepest desire, but somehow the sneaky bastard had.

If the offer had come from anyone else…

“I’m only asking you to cater a dinner party for me. How can I use that against you?”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way,” she said darkly, thinking of how he’d pressured her poor mother into signing an agreement that Flo wouldn’t have had a hope of understanding. No doubt it cleared the Ironstone family of all liability. Helplessness filled Miranda. How could she fight such a man?

“So why don’t you prove to me that I didn’t waste money putting you through cooking school?”

“Culinary school,” she corrected.

“If you say so.” He slowed as a light turned red. He swiveled his head, and his gaze met hers. “If it makes it easier, think of it this way. You owe it to me.”

“I owe it to you?” The gall of the man. “I owe you nothing.” He owed her. For taking her father away, for ruining her family.

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 tête-à-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.