Millionaire Under the Mistletoe / His High-Stakes Holiday Seduction: Millionaire Under the Mistletoe / His High-Stakes Holiday Seduction

“What happened to good morning?” Callum sounded delighted.

She squinted at her bedside clock. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Although now that I think about it, you didn’t greet me yesterday, either. Maybe you’re not a morning person.”

He had that right. But nor did she want any reminder about waking in his bed yesterday morning. “What do you want?”

“Now there’s a leading question.” He’d lowered his voice to a husky drawl and at once a rush of heat filled Miranda. Oh, heavens! She couldn’t let herself respond to Callum with such unfettered sensual delight.

She tamped it down. “Oh, please, it’s too early in the morning for sexual innuendo.”

He laughed. “Definitely not a morning person. I apologize for calling so early.” That must be a first. “I’m flying out to New York this afternoon,” Callum continued more briskly, “and my schedule this morning is hellish.”

Miranda suppressed the urge to cheer at the thought of Callum over three thousand miles away—it would give her time to recover from the turmoil that sleeping with him had caused her.

He was still talking rapidly. “I’ve got tickets for Les Misérables on Saturday night. Do you want to go? We can have dinner afterward.”

“You called me to invite me on a date?” she said, blank dismay settling over her.

The silence stretched. Then he said, “I suppose you could call it that.”

What else did one call a show and dinner followed by whatever else he had in mind? Shivers prickled as vivid images of what he might be planning assailed her.

The last thing she needed was an affair with Callum Ironstone. She already despised herself enough for allowing him to seduce her—although to be fair she’d been more than willing. If she hadn’t had those glasses of red wine…if he hadn’t been so damn tempting…if he hadn’t kissed her and turned her legs to jelly.

Oh, God, she couldn’t believe she was letting herself relive it all. Callum had taken her to bed the same night he’d proposed to another woman. Because of him her father was dead. How could she have let him touch her? Seeing him again would be a betrayal of her very soul.

“No, I can’t come.”

“Another evening then?”

“No.” She hung up.

The phone rang again. She glared at it. Then picked it up before Adrian—or Flo—could.

“Did you get the message I left on your cell phone last night?”

“No,” she said guardedly, eyeing the phone that winked a message on the bedside table. “But whatever you said wouldn’t have changed my answer.”

“You believe I only slept with you because Petra rejected me.”

That was only the tip of the iceberg. She was furious with herself for sleeping with him at all. Furious with him for making it so easy. “Yes? So what?”

“I never asked Petra to marry me,” he said.

“You didn’t?”

“That’s the message I left for you yesterday.”

“Oh.” She fell silent. Why had he told her this? She wouldn’t allow it to be important. Yet her pulse quickened. Miranda drew a steadying breath, aware that she had to tread carefully.

“It doesn’t make any difference, Callum.” She couldn’t afford to alienate him. He’d given Adrian a vacation job, which might lead to a permanent placement next year. If she annoyed Callum, he might fire Adrian. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea for me to date you.”

She heard him whisper “Liar” just as she hurriedly severed the connection.

This time he didn’t ring back. But before she could set foot out of bed, Adrian slipped into her room.

“What did Callum want?”

She wasn’t telling him that his boss, her nemesis, had asked her on a date. “Nothing to do with you.”

Adrian looked sick. “Sis, please be nice to him.”

Adrian’s anxiety reinforced her own worry that if she annoyed Callum he’d take it out on her brother. But there was a limit to how far she’d go—and Adrian had to know that.

“Be nice?” She loaded the meaning. “What are you asking me to do here, Adrian?”

“I mean be polite.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Nothing more. I don’t want to lose this opportunity to get a good reference.”

She hated the idea that Adrian thought she’d jeopardize his work. Was that how bitter she’d become?

Miranda crossed her fingers under the bedclothes. “I did some catering for Callum. We were talking about that.”

His expression cleared. “That’s great. So you’ll be doing more work for him?”

“I didn’t say that,” she said hastily.

“I told him you were a good chef—that you were wasted at The Golden Goose.”

“The Goose is convenient.” Miranda fixed her brother with a narrow stare. Adrian must have told Callum about her dream to run her own catering business. At least that meant her fear that Callum had been able to read her like an open book had been…relatively baseless. “What else did you tell him?”

Her brother spread his hands. “Nothing. I swear.”

She studied him as she swung her legs out of bed. “Okay, I believe you. Now scoot—I want to get dressed.”

But he lingered. “Uh…when will you give me that money?”

“I’ll go to the bank today.”

“Sis…” He hesitated, then said in a rush, “Can you add another couple hundred quid?”

She paused in front of the wardrobe. “More money? When you still haven’t repaid me the fifty pounds I lent you last week?”

He all but ran out of her room. “We can talk about it when you’re dressed,” he said over his shoulder.

Adrian had made breakfast by the time she got to the kitchen. Miranda drew out one of the pine chairs that Flo had sewed yellow-and-white-checked gingham covers for and stared suspiciously at the spread on the table. Scrambled eggs. Bacon. Mushrooms. Toast. Marmalade. Her favorites. “Is this a bribe?”

“No.” But he looked sufficiently guilty for her to frown at him. “I took Mum her food on a tray.”

“So now it’s just you and me.” Miranda sighed as she sat down. “Okay, explain to me why I should pay another cent to sort out your friend’s problems. Hasn’t he got family of his own?”

Adrian turned a dull red that clashed with his freckles. “It’s not for a friend. It’s for me.”

“A new pair of shoes?” she asked snippily. “You know I’m saving. Can’t this wait?”

“No.” He looked down at his plate for long seconds. When he looked up, Miranda was shocked at the desperation in his expression. “I’m in trouble.”

All her worst fears crowded in. “Tell me.”

“Last Monday night—”

“When you went out with your friends?”

He nodded. “I borrowed a car from work, but I crashed it—hit a concrete pillar in a basement parking lot as we were leaving a club.”

Horror filled her. “Everyone was okay?” The pounding of her heart slowed at his nod, and relief seeped through her, turning her limbs weak. No one had been hurt…or worse. “Were you drunk?”

“No.” He looked shaken. “I never drink and drive.”

She relaxed enough to fork a mouthful of food into her mouth. “So get the car fixed.”

“I’ve already had it repaired—and borrowed money from my friends to pay for it. But the amount was more than the original quote—that’s why I need more money. And they’re pressing me to repay them.”

I don’t have any more money. Not for this. Miranda bit back her wail of despair, as the extent of his deceit struck her. “You lied to me.”

“I didn’t want you to know.” Even his neck was red now. “I’m sorry.”

She restrained herself from asking what else he’d held back from her, and pondered on the fix he was in. “Wait, you shouldn’t be paying—the car belongs to Ironstone. It will be insured. Just fill out an incident report and let Ironstone handle the claim.”

“I can’t.” He looked utterly wretched. “I wasn’t supposed to have the car out after work hours. There might be criminal charges for theft if anyone at Ironstone finds out.”

“Theft?” She stared at him in alarm.

“Yes, for taking the car without the owner’s consent.” He suddenly looked very young, reminding her that he’d only recently finished school and was little more than a schoolboy. “I’m really sorry, sis.”

Miranda knew exactly how Callum would react if he found out—and being sorry wouldn’t help. He’d have Adrian arrested, and prosecute him to the full extent of the law. Look what he’d done to their father.

She couldn’t let that happen again.

“I’ll get you the money today.” She thought with regret about the fantasy of her own catering business, then dismissed it. Adrian was more important.

But maybe if she explained it all to Callum he might understand. There was a chance. Today was her day off, and Callum had said he was flying out this afternoon.

If she hurried she could see him before he left.

“It won’t happen again.” Adrian’s promise got her attention.

“Better not,” she growled. “Now eat your breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry.” He pushed back his chair and picked up the plate, crossing to the sink. “I’m going to work.”

This time Miranda arrived at the Ironstone Insurance building without the benefit of being expected, and the receptionist wasn’t nearly as friendly.

“Mr. Ironstone is busy,” she said.

“I only need five minutes.” Miranda had to speak to Callum before he left for New York. Had to make him see that Adrian was a good boy, that he’d made a mistake in taking the car—and that all the damage would be paid for.

Because the alternative was unthinkable. Prison. She couldn’t let this ruin her brother’s life. Miranda shuddered as memories plagued her. Her father had been arrested…and then he’d been dead. So final. It wasn’t going to happen to Adrian.

“Mr. Ironstone is not available.”

“I know, Callum’s going to New York—he told me. I presume he’s in that meeting,” she tacked on, trying to sound as though she was privy to his every plan.

The receptionist shot an indecisive look in the direction of a closed door leading off the reception area before turning her attention back and giving Miranda a curious look.

Just then the door cracked open. “Biddy, can you make four copies of this report, please?”

The receptionist came round the counter, and Miranda saw her chance. “Callum,” she called out.

He looked up, and his eyes crinkled into a smile. “Miranda, what are you doing here?”

“I have to talk to you. In private,” she added urgently as she glanced past him into the occupied boardroom.

“I’ll be with you in a minute.” He rapidly made excuses to his board members and ushered her along the corridor into his office.

“You’ve changed your mind?” he asked, closing the door. His eyes were warmer than she’d ever imagined the color blue could be.

Changed her mind? She blinked at him as she settled into the soft sofa beneath the bookshelves. Oh, the date! He thought she was here because she’d decided to accept?

“No—”

Help. He was moving closer, seating himself beside her. The heat that she’d sworn she would not allow herself to feel swamped her anew. His fingers closed on her upper arms. For a moment she was so incredibly tempted just to give in, to let him kiss her. But she couldn’t.

“Uh…I wanted to talk about…”

He bent his head. That smiling mouth held her entranced. In a second it would land on hers.

“No!” She ducked away to the far end of the sofa. “You can’t kiss me. You’re going to marry Petra.” She gabbled the first thing that came into her head.

He blinked. “I am?”

“You bought her a ring.” He must’ve spent a fortune on it. That meant he had to be serious.

The powerful surge of adrenaline ebbed, and her brains unscrambled. Petra’s father was an important figure in his life now that Gordon Harris held so much stock in Ironstone. That’s why men like Callum married.

Not for love. Or even desire.

But for cold, sound financial reasons.

And Petra would accept with alacrity. Callum was a catch. An Ironstone. Not everyone held the view of him Miranda did.

In her mind she replayed that disaster on Saturday night when she’d ended up sprawled over his kitchen counter, and later in his bed. All evening she’d been conscious of his gaze following her, setting her body aflame. Even while he’d listened to Petra, talked to her father, been ribbed by his brothers…the whole time he’d been watching her.

All his brothers had been there. To meet Gordon, he’d told her here in this very office. A celebration.

Celebration…

Of what? She’d thought he’d been referring to the merger. Had it been something else entirely?

“Those two guests you told me couldn’t make it because of the snowstorm up north. They were your parents, weren’t they?”

“Well…yes.”

Her suspicions crystallized into certainty. “You were going to announce your engagement.”

The utter silence told Miranda she was right.

“But you didn’t announce it…because you didn’t get around to proposing to her,” she said, following her line of thought through to the natural conclusion. “And you slept with me instead.” Miranda tilted her head. “Have you broken up with her?”

He stretched. “Miranda—”

Callum hadn’t broken off whatever relationship he had going with Petra. For some reason he’d simply decided he wanted her.

“Miranda, wait—”

He was despicable. She shifted farther into the corner of the couch. “Yes or no?”

He shook his head.

The phone on the highly polished desk rang twice before stopping abruptly. Callum glared across at it, then back to her. “The meeting is ready to continue. I have to go.” But he didn’t rise. “If you change your mind, call me.”

“I won’t,” she stated with absolute conviction. “And don’t invite me out again. Call Petra—she’s still the woman you plan to marry.”

There was no doubt in her mind that Petra would accept him.

Poor thing.

“If you say so.” His eyes cooled further. “So why did you come?” His hard mouth bore no trace of a smile.

She hesitated, aware of the chasm that yawned between them, much wider than the distance that separated them on the sofa. Adrian had asked her to be nice. This didn’t look like a man who would give her—or Adrian—the benefit of the doubt.

But she had to try. “How’s Adrian getting—” She broke off.

“Adrian? Getting along?” His gaze narrowed. “He’s doing very well. That’s why you came to see me? Because of your brother?”

The warmth he’d greeted her with had vanished. The smiling eyes had been replaced with blue chips of ice.

She backtracked hastily. “No, no, I just asked.” Now he must think her a total mother hen. Forcing a conciliatory smile, she said, “I’m pleased he’s getting on well.”

Callum rose to his feet. “I’ve been intending to suggest that he apply for one of the scholarships that Ironstone offers.” His cold gaze swept her. “And before you leap to any nasty conclusions, this is an opportunity offered to any school-leavers who work for us to go to university. I don’t even administer it.”

She’d done it now. She’d made him mad. And if she breathed a word about the car Adrian had crashed, her brother would not only lose his vacation job and the chance of a permanent position, he’d also lose all chance of a scholarship—and it would be her fault.

To placate him, she said, “It would be the answer to my prayers.” And it was true. The thought of Adrian studying toward a career. Having a chance of a successful future…

Except it would come from the Ironstone family. But she could live with that. She certainly wouldn’t stand in Adrian’s way.

Yet before she could say anything further, Callum continued, “So if you didn’t come to accept my invitation and you didn’t come see me about your brother, why are you here?”

Help. She sucked in a deep breath. There was only one thing left to say—sure, it meant she’d have to eat crow, but she could do that.

“I wanted to thank you for giving me the chance to cater for you.” Her stomach heaved. “I’ve already had a call as a result. Look.” She dug into her bag and pulled out a few of the business cards she’d had printed up yesterday. “One of your dinner guests on Saturday asked for a card. I didn’t have any. So I’ve had some printed up. What do you think?” She couldn’t restrain the lilt of pride in her voice as she passed him a card.

He studied it. “Not bad. Do you have any more?”

“Why?”

“I might be able to hand them to prospective clients.” He shot her a quick glance. “In fact, can you cater a Christmas cocktail party?” Callum rattled off a sum per head. “In the boardroom here? This Friday?”

Embarrassment squirmed through her. “That wasn’t a hint. I didn’t mean for you to give me more—”

“The caterer we booked has fallen ill. Do you want the job? Or do I get Biddy to find someone else?”

Miranda considered Adrian’s predicament. Their tight finances. “Perhaps,” she said cautiously.

A rap on the door had Callum stepping away from her. “Yes or no?” He parodied her question from earlier, and Miranda flushed.

Biddy popped her head around the doorjamb. “The copies are done, and everyone’s finished their coffee—they’re waiting for you.”

He moved toward the door. “So what will it be?”

Ignoring the receptionist’s curious glance, Miranda blew out the breath she’d been holding. “Yes.”

Chapter Five

The boardroom was packed.

Everywhere Callum looked people held cocktail glasses, while they talked and laughed. Waitresses in long, red sequined dresses wearing Santa hats with fur trim offered around trays of snacks. And behind the hum of conversation he could hear the festive notes of “Ding Dong Merrily on High.”

He should’ve been pleased. Ecstatic, in fact. Yet all he could do was glare in increasing frustration at the woman who’d pulled it all off.

Miranda had chosen to wear fishnets.

Callum really hadn’t needed his brother, Fraser, to point that out to him. She wore black. A snug dress that, unlike the V-neck of last week’s dress, had a high collar suited to a nun and should’ve looked seriously sedate. He couldn’t take his eyes off her as she busied herself around the buffet table piled with mince pies and pots of whipped cream, repositioning the posies of poinsettias tied with gold bows and lit up with red candles.

Did the fishnets, too, end at the tops of her thighs?

A bolt of raw lust stabbed him at the memory of stroking the soft skin of her inner thigh. Had she worn them deliberately to drive him out of his mind?

As for that damn frilly white apron that tied with the great white bow behind her back, begging him to yank it loose…

Ah, hell.

“Back off,” Callum growled as he caught Fraser smiling at Miranda for the second time in less than five minutes.

“I’m pulling rank,” Fraser murmured. “I’m older. Go away.”

Callum forced his attention from the woman who had him tied up in mental knots. “Forget it,” he told his brother grimly. “That doesn’t work anymore.”

“You’re warning me off!” Fraser’s grin widened as he searched Callum’s face. “I thought you were already attached.” Turning his head, Fraser scanned the room. “Although I haven’t seen the princess here tonight.”

“Petra doesn’t like it when you call her Princess,” he said pompously, and spoiled the effect by slicing his brother a dirty look.

“Does your lack of answer mean she was supposed to be here?”

“No.”

Callum shuddered at the memory of the disastrous call he’d made from New York. He should have ended it with Petra a week ago. It hadn’t been fair to keep Petra on a string, not while this hunger for Miranda ate at him like acid. Petra hadn’t said much, but he knew he’d hurt her. It’s not you, it’s me—he’d even used that old corny line. You deserve better. She did—he should’ve waited to break it off with her in person.

So he’d organized a string of pearls to be delivered to her, more to assuage his guilt than to offer consolation. And he was grateful Petra wasn’t here tonight—although he’d noted Gordon’s appearance with some relief.

Callum knew he probably had Petra to thank for that. The woman had style.

So why the hell couldn’t it be Petra he craved with this deep and desperate desire?

“She’s got more sense than I credited her with if she dumped you.” Fraser sounded almost satisfied.

Narrowing his gaze, Callum studied his brother’s mocking smile. He didn’t correct his brother’s mistaken belief that it was Petra who’d done the ditching. Instead he said with brotherly candor, “I don’t think she likes you much. Kind of like Miranda—who hates my guts.”

“Miranda?” Fraser’s suddenly blank expression gave nothing away. “Wasn’t Thomas Owen’s daughter named Miranda?”

Without meaning to, Callum glanced toward the woman who’d been tormenting his nights. “Yes.”

Fraser followed his gaze. “That same Miranda?”

This time Callum’s “Yes” was terse.

Knowing his brother was examining him with keen interest made Callum feel uncomfortably exposed. The silence stretched long enough to become pointed. Finally Fraser said gently, “Ouch.”

Exactly. “Just stay away from her.”

“And if I don’t?” Fraser asked. “Then what, little brother? You’ll beat me to pulp?”

Blood rushed through his ears. “Don’t…try…it.” He bit the words out with aggressive intent.

Fraser hooted in disbelief. “You would.”

The sound of his sibling’s laughter caused Callum to ask grimly, “What’s so damn funny?”

“If you don’t know, I’m not telling.” Fraser was already off to where their half brothers, Jack and Hunter, huddled with a major stakeholder. Still smirking, he threw over his shoulder, “You always did like to do things the hard way, Callum.”

You always did like to do things the hard way. Fraser’s words still rang in Callum’s ears as he fought his way through the crush of people that seemed to have grown larger and louder over the past hour, heading to where Miranda and two waitresses were replenishing platters of savories on the temporary bar.

She shot him a wary look as he approached.

He supposed it was foolish to have hoped for a little gratitude after all the trouble he’d taken to ensure she could do the catering tonight. Biddy had been far from pleased at having to call the catering company that had already been booked—he’d had to pay them in full for the late cancellation.

Of course Miranda didn’t know that. He’d told her the caterer had been forced to renege for reasons of illness…Nor did she know he’d broken up with Petra. He had no intention of telling her either. Miranda already had more power over him than he liked.

Talk about a tangled web.

As far as doing things the hard way, this fierce attraction to Miranda topped all. Callum wasn’t even sure his motives were pure any longer. What had begun as a sop to his conscience had somehow gotten out of control since meeting the all-grown-up Miranda. He didn’t know what had hit him. All he knew was that he wanted to take her back to his bed…sate himself with her.

Hell, why should she be grateful? Given her conviction that he’d caused her father’s death it wasn’t surprising she couldn’t bear the sight of him. Callum didn’t like the niggle of discomfort that ate at his stomach—the same sensation that often gnawed in the middle of the night. If he hadn’t pushed so hard to have Thomas Owen arrested, the man might still be alive today.

And Miranda and Adrian would still have a father.

As he cut through the throng, he smiled and nodded to business acquaintances but didn’t pause until he reached Miranda, busy setting out serviettes and fresh bowls of olives amid a crowd at the bar.

“Need any help?”

Miranda’s eyelashes fluttered down, blocking her eyes from his view. White serviettes printed with gold snowflakes fanned out under the touch of her deft fingers, and he had to strain his ears to hear her response.