Millionaire Under the Mistletoe / His High-Stakes Holiday Seduction
After one searing look from Callum, Miranda averted her gaze, and turned away, making sure to busy herself down at the other end of the table.
This powerful awareness of Callum was a complication she didn’t need.
Thank God dinner was over.
After the planning he’d put into the evening, the end was an anticlimax. Callum could hardly wait to see Petra, her father and his family out the front door. The confusion in Petra’s expectant eyes made him feel like an utter bastard.
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” he said, ushering her off behind her father.
Talk to her? And say what? How in heaven’s name was he supposed to explain something he didn’t even understand himself?
He justified that it could’ve been worse. What if he’d already been engaged to Petra when this urge to chase Miranda like a hound after a bitch in heat had taken hold? It made him go stone-cold.
This second-thoughts stuff must be normal. Wedding-ring fright. But he wouldn’t run away. He’d deal with it the same way he did every other problem he met: head-on. Confront this inconvenient lust, the need to indulge in one last chase. Get Miranda out his system. Then marry Petra exactly as he’d planned.
Simple.
Closing the door behind the last of his guests, Callum went to find Miranda. Anticipation lent lightness to his step. He peered into the library—his favorite haunt—but it was empty. Not that he’d expected to discover her there.
He finally tracked her down in the scullery tucked away at the far end of the kitchen. Miranda was busy stacking the dirty dishes into the drawers of the state-of-the-art dishwasher.
She’d donned an apron, an absurd white bit of cotton with a ruffle along the hem below a bib that barely covered her front. It lent the black dress she wore the naughty severity of a French maid costume.
Callum breathed deeply. “What are you doing?”
She kept her eyes down. “Cleaning up.”
Given the boiling heat that simmered in him, her lack of interest irritated. He marched forward and said more stridently than he intended, “Where’s the help I hired?”
“The help you hired?” She straightened, affront glittering in her eyes. “They have names. Emily and Jane. They’re people. Emily was tired—she’s been up since dawn and she has a long way to go to get home.”
“So where’s the other one?”
One finely arched eyebrow rose. “You mean Jane?”
He nodded impatiently. “Yes, Jane.”
“Her brother picked her up.”
“And even though you’ve been at work preparing food long before they arrived, they left you with all the mess?”
“They cleared most of it.” She gestured to the adjoining kitchen. “And the leftover food has been itemized and frozen. I’m just packing in the coffee cups and dessert dishes, Emily and Jane—” she used their names pointedly “—have already run the dishwasher twice, and unpacked it.”
She strode past him into the kitchen and looked around. “All nice and tidy, see?”
Callum followed and leaned back against the center island. Folding his arms across his chest, he said, “And what about you? Don’t you have to hurry home?”
“Of course.” She stalked across to a row of hooks and picked off her bag and a black woolen coat. Dropping the bag and coat on the center island, she unzipped a side pocket and retrieved her cell phone. “But I’ve been paid an astronomical amount for tonight’s dinner—I’m making sure you get your money’s worth.”
His money’s worth?
The words taunted, especially from a woman wearing such a starkly erotic outfit. With an effort he focused his attention back on her face. “It’s what I always pay.”
Her eyes went round. He could see her thoughts buzzing as she calculated. “And you entertain often?”
“Yes, but it’s work.” As well as being part of the rationale for courting Petra. He needed a wife.
And Petra would be perfect.
He only needed to propose…
Yet he couldn’t imagine Petra looking so innocently erotic in the black-and-white getup that Miranda was wearing. Or having this effect on him. His erection throbbed painfully behind the concealing fabric of his pants.
Callum shut his eyes.
And opened them to find Miranda staring at him. The silence in the kitchen pounded in his ears. Her mouth was lush, her eyes meltingly seductive. Driven by an urge he couldn’t resist, he took a step forward.
His hands settled on her upper arms, the flesh soft and giving under his fingers. Hoarsely, he asked, “I’ve been wanting to taste you all night. Are you as sweet as the crème caramel?”
Callum gave her a moment to object. Time stopped. She didn’t move. Or say anything. His hands slid around her and he pulled her to him. The warm scent of vanilla enfolded him, so feminine, so seductive.
He took the phone out of her unresisting hand and set it down on the island.
Her lips remained closed as he kissed her, not accepting, but not rejecting him, either.
Callum raised his head, and looked down into her face. There was a startled awareness in her eyes. His mouth slanted as he said, “Not as sweet as I’d expected.”
She started to say something, and in a flash he bent his head and took advantage of her parted lips.
His tongue sank in, and he plundered the warm, private cave. He’d lied. She tasted sweeter than sin. Of rich red wine, spicy cinnamon and seductive woman.
When her tongue swirled around his, Callum gave a moan of satisfaction.
Instantly Miranda’s body softened against his, melting into him. Heat swept over him. His hands pressed into the small of her back, drawing her against the blatant evidence of his arousal.
She didn’t pull away as he’d half expected.
His fingers played with the bow that fastened her apron behind her back and it came loose. “Do you know how sexy this outfit is?” he murmured against her mouth.
“An apron is sexy?”
“Oh, God…yes.”
She laughed, a lilting sound that drove him wild. He put his mouth over hers, tasting the musical notes. Ah, but she was delicious.
Her hands came up between them and pushed against his chest. “I shouldn’t be doing this.”
Callum let her back away. “Why not?”
“Because.”
He started to smile. “Because why?”
“You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”
His smile faded and he tensed, bracing himself for the accusations, ready to argue that actions had consequences, that wrongdoing couldn’t escape unpunished, that she had to let it go.
Her eyes warred with his. “I don’t like you.”
Relief surged through him. They weren’t about to discuss the circumstances of her father’s death while desire raged through him and blood pounded in his head. He wanted her back in his arms. It was insane. “Liking me has nothing to do with this.”
He whirled Miranda round and pinned her against the island, his thigh between hers. Miranda gasped at the pressure against a sensitive area, her fingers digging into his upper arms.
This time Callum gave no quarter, kissing her until they were both breathless. By the time he’d finished, she was clinging to him.
“You love that, don’t you?” Some demon within him demanded a concession from her.
But she remained mute, her eyes sparkling with defiance, her cheeks flushed with high wild color.
He hoisted her up onto the silver countertop, ignoring her squawk of protest. One of her pumps clattered to the tiled floor.
“My shoe.”
“Never mind your shoe.” He stepped between her parted thighs, forcing her dress’s hemline higher, and bending his head he placed open-mouthed kisses against the too-tempting smooth skin of her neck.
Her head lolled back, granting him unrestricted access. Lower down his hands ran along her nylon-clad thighs, he ruched her dress up farther, and when she didn’t stop him, Callum moved in for the kill.
Stroking her thigh, his fingers encountered a lacy stocking edge…then soft, satiny bare skin. He groaned as he realized she wasn’t wearing panty hose.
“Grief, woman, you know how to fuel a man’s fantasies,” he growled close to her ear as he caressed the tender flesh of her inner thigh.
Miranda only moaned, her hands knotting in his shirt.
Callum was past coherent thought. He stripped off first his dinner jacket, then ripping the snaps of his dinner shirt apart, let it fall on the stainless steel slab behind her.
“Oh.”
The sound of wonder that escaped her as she gazed boldly at his bare chest made him feel like a god. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her mouth with slow, deliberate intent, outlining the shape with the tip of his tongue. Miranda responded with hunger, and what had started out as a leisurely kiss erupted into no-holdsbarred ardor.
Callum ran his hands under the loosened apron, over breasts and stomach still covered by her dress, down along her legs. He paused to caress the hollows behind her stockinged knees, then retraced the path to where the nylons ended.
After hesitating only a moment, he let his fingers drift higher until he encountered silky panties. His fingertips slid under the edge and slipped into her moist heat.
She arched against his hand. His fingers delved deeper. Her hips rocked invitingly. He buried his head in the valley between her breasts and tongued the soft hollow. Her fingers dug into his hair and pulled him closer. A roaring hunger surged through him.
This could only end one way.
With his free hand, Callum reached for his belt and zipper.
“So sweet.”
He shoved down his trousers and briefs with impatient hands, then eased her closer, her thighs splayed around his hips.
The stainless steel was shockingly cold and hard. “You must be freezing.”
She shook her head, arched back…and shivered. “Wait.”
He stilled at her command. Disappointment, hot and sharp as a blade, twisted in his gut. Slowly, with aching regret, he withdrew his hand from her warmth. “Why are you stopping?”
Bewilderment made him raise his head. It changed when he saw the foil package that lay in the palm of her hand, her open bag upended on the bench. God. He hadn’t even thought about a condom. But she’d had the presence of mind to protect them both.
He took it, tore it open and sheathed himself. “Are you sure, Miranda?”
She nodded, and her arms reached for him.
Euphoria filled him. Callum grabbed his shirt, bunched it up in a fist, and wedged it gently in behind her to pad her from the counter edge.
Then, unable to restrain himself another second, he positioned himself and pushed forward into the woman who’d been driving him wild all night.
Chapter Three
Miranda opened her eyes, caught one glimpse of the naked male torso she was snuggled up to, and a wave of mortification crashed over her.
Callum.
Oh, no! What had she done?
She lay rigid, not daring to breathe. Thankfully the man she’d fallen so foolishly into bed with last night was still asleep. Miranda suppressed a groan. And after that impulsive coupling up against the kitchen counter, she’d let him carry her upstairs—and make love to her all over again.
Let him? If anything she’d been a willing, totally wanton participant. It made her feel sick with guilt.
She cracked her eyes open and caught a glimpse of the dark mahogany bedhead. Beyond, pale winter-morning light spilled through sash windows into the bedroom. His bedroom.
Soon he’d waken. The idea of him finding her naked in his bed filled her with horror. Taking a deep breath, she inched her leg toward the edge of the bed. He stirred. Miranda froze.
After long, dragging seconds she slowly relaxed. He hadn’t woken. Shifting her weight to the edge of the mattress, she was conscious of her heartbeat drumming loudly in her chest.
An arm slid over her, and a large male hand closed familiarly over the top of her breast. Miranda forced herself to keep absolutely still.
Oh, help!
What to do now?
Her first impulse to push that possessive hand away and leap out of his bed receded as the strong male fingers stilled.
Affront mixed with adrenaline. He’d gone back to sleep!
Eyes darting to and fro, Miranda formulated a plan. Her dress and knickers lay in a pile on the floor. Her shoes were nowhere in sight—probably scattered across the kitchen floor. She shuddered at the memories that evoked.
How could she have done such things with this man?
She blocked it all out and turned her mind back to what dominated her now: escape.
If she rolled out of bed, she could scoop up her clothes and make a run for it. With luck she’d be out the bedroom door before he’d wake and realize she’d gone. Downstairs she’d grab her shoes, her coat and her bag—which should be on the bench top where she’d left it the evening before. An image of the contents—emergency condoms, lipstick, hairbrush, wallet, cell phone—scattered over the countertop flashed through her mind and she groaned silently.
Cell phone, she thought. Her breath caught. Her mother!
She never stayed out all night. Flo would be worried sick, had probably left a dozen anxious messages.
But at least she’d be able to come out of this disastrous encounter knowing she couldn’t be pregnant—or worse. Although right now that seemed small compensation for last night’s stupidity.
Miranda hauled in a shallow breath and readied herself to flee.
“So you’re still alive?” Provocative fingers explored the rise of her hip. “For a moment I thought you’d given up breathing—that you might require a little mouth-tomouth resuscitation.”
Callum’s lazy confidence cast despair into Miranda. He’d probably been awake from the start. There’d never been any chance of a hasty getaway. Bastard.
She curled into a tight ball, refusing to acknowledge him.
“Come now.” He tightened his hold, rolling her over onto her back. Wide-awake blue eyes stared down into hers. “It was better than that—in fact it was bloody fantastic…for both of us.” Satisfaction oozed from that throaty growl.
Miranda careened between wishing she could actually expire from humiliation and a fierce urge to murder the naked man beside her.
Conceited ape!
Well, there was only one way to get out of this situation—and that was with what little dignity she could muster.
She sat up, making sure she took a large swath of the sheet with her to keep her breasts covered and tossed her hair back. “Don’t flatter yourself. It wasn’t that good.”
His eyes ignited with laughter. “You’ve forgotten so soon? My sweet, you were begging.”
A flush of heat stained her cheeks, then spread across her entire body. Damn. She couldn’t deny it. But he was despicable.
Since when had she ever harbored any illusions about Callum Ironstone? She constrained herself to a look of disdainful dislike.
Under the sheet his hand came to life, playing knowingly over her all-too-responsive flesh as it edged onto the swell of her breast.
“Stop it.” Her arm lashed out, knocking the offending hand away, and with horror she realized the sheet had fallen, too.
“Nice.” His eyes turned molten. His hand came up and he stroked the underside of her breasts. “Delectable, in fact.” Her nipples had peaked at his touch and now ached with piercing tingles of desire.
Delectable? A fresh wave of heat flooded her. Followed quickly by anger.
How could she have responded with such lack of inhibition to this man?
“Get out of my way.” She leaped from the bed, and, taking time only to snag up her clothes, she bolted for the en suite where she locked the door and started to dress with frantic haste.
After pulling on jeans, Callum galloped down the stairs and got into the kitchen just in time to see Miranda shoveling her things off the countertop into her bag.
From behind her, his eyes lingered on the strands of gold that glowed like dancing sunbeams in the morning light and he resisted the urge to pull her into his arms, kiss her and tousle the waves into a more bedded look. Somehow he didn’t think she’d appreciate passion right now.
She pushed a hairbrush into her bag with a hasty movement.
He took a step toward her unable to resist the impulse to say, “At least be honest and admit you loved every moment of last night.”
She started at the sound of his voice. Her head jerked around and he saw her eyes held the look of a trapped deer. “I only did it because I owe you. Remember?”
His mind blanked out. “Because you owe me?”
“Money.” She backed up but rubbed her forefinger and thumb together with bravado, her expression defiant. “For putting me through culinary school.”
“Last night was payback?”
“Uh-huh.” She nodded and her hair bobbed around her face.
“You slept with me because you felt indebted?” Outrage swamped Callum. No woman had ever slept with him to prostitute herself. What had been an amazing experience suddenly felt sordid. Annoyed, he said, “I paid a fortune. One night wouldn’t begin to cover my outlay.”
Her shoulders stiffened. Instead of replying, Miranda turned her back on him and gathered the last few of her scattered belongings together before dropping them into her bag. She zipped it shut with a decisive movement.
She was leaving, Callum realized.
The rigid line of her back spelt out her intention to put as much distance between them as she could. She shoved his jacket aside with unnecessary force.
“Hey, that’s my favorite Armani.”
His attempt to lighten the mood fell flat. The jacket slithered over the edge and, despite her grab for it, fell to the ground.
“Sorry.” She bent to pick it up and Callum heard his car keys jingle as they slid from the pocket. “What’s this?”
Her eyes, shockingly close, were on the same level as his as he knelt, too. For a moment he felt as if he’d been sucked into her soft, melting center.
“What’s what?” he asked huskily, unable to tear his gaze away.
“This…”
He glanced down at the dark blue velvet ring box lying in the palm of her hand.
Crap.
“It’s a jeweler’s box.” She stated the obvious before he could reply. Already her fingers were working the catch.
Alarm electrified him. “No. Don’t.”
Too late.
For long seconds Miranda stared at the diamond solitaire ring inside. Then she raised eyes full of questions. “You planned to ask me to marry you?”
Callum had the disoriented sense that he’d just been catapulted into an alien world. He couldn’t think. Hell, he couldn’t breathe—his lungs were empty.
“Why?” Her eyes held a luminosity that twisted his gut into knots.
“Uh…” He gulped in air.
“Because you slept with me?” A puzzled frown furrowed her brow as she lifted the ring from the bed of velvet and caressed it with her fingertips. “No. That’s not right. You had the ring before you slept with me. So…”
This was not going as he’d planned. He could see her thinking, coming to the Lord knew what conclusion.
Ah, hell. “Not you,” he muttered.
“What?” Her full attention zeroed in on him again.
“I wasn’t going to propose to you.”
An indecipherable expression flashed across her face. “Then who?”
He saw the moment she put it together. Her eyes went dark and blank. “Petra.”
He nodded slowly, uneasy at the way Miranda was looking at him.
“You asked Petra to marry you last night.” She dropped the ring back into the box and the lid snapped shut, the sound loud in the early morning silence. Then she stood up and he heard the box skip across the stainless steel bench.
He flinched. Miranda thought—
“Hang on,” he said urgently, leaping to his feet.
But she ignored him. Swinging on her heel, she marched across the kitchen, her heels tap-tapping a furious tattoo on the matte wooden floor.
“Hey, you don’t understand.” He reached out to restrain her as she stomped past.
She turned her head and gave him a contemptuous glare. His hand fell away.
“Oh, I understand too well. You asked the daughter of a new major shareholder to marry you. She had the sense to refuse, so you slept with the hired help—” she spat out the last two words “—in a fit of pique.” She punctuated her conclusion by marching to the door into the house and slamming it behind her.
A click followed.
Callum skidded after her, only to find she’d locked the door from the hall side. By the time he’d rushed out the back door, through the mews, and around to the front of the row of town houses, Miranda was gone.
The beastly two-timing jerk.
Miranda was still fuming when she arrived at The Golden Goose shortly before noon on Sunday. Fortunately Flo had accepted her arrival home in the clothes she’d gone out in last night with no questions, glossing over Miranda’s stuttered excuse about working late.
Her mother’s skirting the issue hadn’t soothed her as much as it should’ve. Nor did it help that Gianni, the longtime chef, was glowering at her over the chopping block while Mick, the manager, danced around muttering that she was late—even though Miranda knew she’d walked in the door at five minutes to midday.
The final straw came when Mick cornered her later to say that her commitment was lacking. She’d left early last week, and now she was late and she was to take this as a warning. In these tough times, he expected more.
Gianni gave her a sly grin as she passed him, confirming where the heart of the problem lay. She wished she could reassure him, tell him that she had no ambitions to take over his job. But she knew that would only make him rush to tell Mick about her lack of commitment.
She was screwed.
By the time she got home late that night, Miranda was ill-prepared for the sight of an ostentatious bunch of long-stemmed pink roses that must’ve cost some joker a fortune.
And she suspected she knew who the joker might be.
“An admirer from last night?” Flo arched a finely penciled eyebrow. “I thought you said it was work.”
“Must be a thank-you,” Miranda bit out, ripping off the still-sealed envelope and pocketing it to get it out of her mother’s line of sight.
“So considerate.” Flo touched the blooms with reverent fingers. “They’re beautiful. I watered them. Why don’t you put them in your bedroom?”
And be stuck looking at a reminder of last night’s calamity? No, thanks! Stalking away, Miranda wished she hadn’t said they were a thank-you; now she couldn’t even throw the wretched flowers away.
“Someone rang for you earlier.”
Miranda froze in the doorway, but didn’t turn around. “Who?”
“A man. He had a rough voice. It was strangely familiar,” said Flo slowly.
Miranda stifled an anxious groan. “Did he leave a name?” She prayed not. Her mother didn’t need to know she’d been fraternizing with the Ironstones.
“No. He said he’d catch you on your cell phone.”
Her cell phone had been off while she worked. “Thanks, Mum.”
After setting down the unopened white envelope on the dressing table in her room, Miranda made for the bathroom the three of them shared. After she’d showered the odors of The Golden Goose away, she changed into a flannel nightie and brushed her teeth.
Climbing into bed, she finally picked up her cell phone and switched it on. The message light flashed. She stared at it for long seconds.
No. She had no intention of giving in to curiosity and checking to see if Callum had left her a message. The man had dominated her thoughts far too much already. And she was not about to let him cause her another sleepless night.
Setting the phone on the bed stand, she turned the lamp off, refusing to let herself dwell on the reason why she’d slept so little last night…