Millionaire Under The Mistletoe

Six

Miranda didn’t appreciate the way Callum was messing with her head. That feather-of-a-kiss-that-had-hardly-been-a-kiss had shaken her.

Badly.

And even a busy weekend at The Golden Goose failed to give her respite to regain her composure. All because the man in question turned up at the Goose on Saturday and ordered lunch.

Miranda had known about Callum’s arrival in minutes. Kitty, the youngest, prettiest and flightiest of the waitresses, had rushed into the kitchen to share that the most gorgeous guy she’d seen in her life had just walked in.

“Tall, dark and with periwinkle-blue eyes,” she gushed. “He looks like a movie star.”

“In the Goose?” But despite her skepticism Miranda’s heart stopped in horror. She steadied herself. That description could apply to thousands of men. Well, maybe not thousands. But it didn’t mean…

Yet she hadn’t been able to resist taking a peek-just to make sure.

Only to discover it was Callum.

He sat alone at a small round table to the side of the gas fireplace. In the middle of the day the fire flickered, but the flames still gave off much-needed warmth. Callum’s dark head was bent over the menu, but he looked up almost as though he’d sensed her stare.

She drew quickly out of sight, hissing at her stupidity under her breath.

While Mick muttered about chefs who had too little work, Miranda hurried to rescue a batch of brandy snaps from the oven before they burnt to crisp and, after rolling them deftly around the handle of a wooden spoon, set about piping whipped cream flavored with Grand Marnier into the now-crisp tubes.

What did Callum want? Why was he here?

Her hands shook as she squeezed the piping bag and cream oozed everywhere. Which made her want to kill him!

“He wants steak.” Kitty bounced into the kitchen. “Rare. No sauce. And battered onion rings. A real, live carnivore.”

The two other girls giggled. “I’ll take him some water,” one said.

“Maybe he wants extra onions.” And the second followed her out for a closer inspection.

Miranda stopped herself from rolling her eyes. For the next thirty minutes she was aware of the giggles as the waitresses vied to serve him, and it irritated her beyond belief.

The final insult came when Kitty delivered his request to convey his thanks in person to the dessert chef.

All too conscious of Gianni glowering, Miranda allowed herself to be dragged out into the limelight, noting Callum’s lack of surprise when she appeared.

Of course he’d known she was here.

Resisting the urge to drop a facetious curtsy, she smiled sweetly. “I’m so pleased you enjoyed your meal.”

His gaze rested on her lips, causing them to tingle, before lifting to study her. “What are you doing for Christmas this year?”

Miranda gave a small sigh. “What I always do-spend it with my family.”

For a moment she thought he was going to ask her something, but he only said, “My mother has a passion for brandy snaps, and these are quite the best I’ve ever eaten.”

His sincerity took her aback. He was looking at her like he wanted to devour her. Miranda couldn’t have spoken if she’d tried.

“She would love these.”

“I’ll let you have the recipe,” she croaked at last.

Tipping his head to one side, he considered her. “I’d rather you made them for her.”

Miranda thought about it, her heart quickening. What did he mean? That he wanted her to meet his mother? Then common sense kicked in. Unlikely. “But she doesn’t live in London. The biscuit would go soggy. They should be eaten fresh.”

He was shaking his head. “It was a dumb idea.”

“What was?” she asked, puzzled, wondering what she’d missed.

“Coming here!” He gave her a lopsided smile. “But next time Mother is in town, I will hold you to that offer.”

His smile widened, holding no edge or hint of seduction, and for the first time Miranda got a glimpse of the man his family saw.

And it was a different person from the man she’d grown to loathe. This man she could like. Yet she was no closer to knowing why he’d come today. And she’d turned down his offer to go to Les Misérables with him tonight-and maybe get to know him better. There was no point wondering if Petra was enjoying herself. Thay way lay the path to heartache. She’d sensibly refuse his invitation. The man was an enigma-she would never understand him.

The rest of the weekend was an anticlimax with Gianni stamping and snorting like a bull and glaring balefully across the kitchen at Miranda. One of the girls must have told him what Callum had said, and he hadn’t liked it.

Thankfully, when Miranda finally got home late in the rainy cold of Sunday night there were no flowers to welcome her and remind her of her disturbing nemesis that she couldn’t seem to keep out of her life.

With Adrian still out, the little terrace house seemed empty. Entering the dining room, Miranda saw Flo hurriedly sliding a window envelope under a file.

“Another bill?” she asked, picking up her pace as she crossed to where her mother sat at the table. “I thought I’d paid everything.”

“No, no, don’t you worry about this, darling.”

The vagueness in her mother’s tone sharpened Miranda’s interest. “Let me see-I might have paid it already.”

“This is mine.”

“Yours?” She looked at her mother in surprise.

Flo normally gave all her bills to Miranda to pay-she was hopeless at organizing her finances. Though it tended to require the conjuring up of money from nowhere-often hard-worked overtime-to meet them.

Miranda felt sick. “Please, not more overdue bills that I don’t know about.”

Snagging up the corner of the file, Miranda caught sight of the name of an exclusive department store on the bill under the envelope. “Hemingway’s?”

Guilt glinted in Flo’s dark eyes. “I needed a new coat.”

Miranda pulled out the piece of paper and then blanched. “What was it? Mink?”

“Don’t be silly, darling.” Her mother whipped the bill out from between her nerveless fingers. “There were also a few fripperies for my winter wardrobe. Your father wouldn’t have wanted to see me dressed in rags.”

“Dad isn’t here anymore-and we don’t have his income.” She spied another bill from the same store, dated the previous month. “Pans? You told me your friend Sorrell gave those to you.”

Her mother flushed, an ugly stain on her pale skin. “I’ll deal with the bills, Miranda.”

“How?”

Putting her hands on her hips, Miranda considered her mother. Apart from the allowance Callum paid her mother-the amount Miranda had been led to believe came from the carefully invested residue of her father’s estate-Flo had no income.

“I’ll make arrangements, darling. Don’t worry about it. I’m not useless.”

Arrangements? Dread curled in Miranda’s stomach. “What kind of arrangements?”

“I’ll call up Hemingway’s and have them grant me an indulgence-they’ve done it before.”

“Done it before?” asked Miranda, trying to make sense of why the store would grant her mother an extension on her accounts.

“Yes-last time they even gave me a bigger credit limit.”

Miranda stared at her vague, sweet mother with mounting horror. “Increased your credit limit when you aren’t paying your bills? Why would they do that?”

Flo looked abashed. “Because of Callum, of course.”

“Because of Callum?” She must sound like the village idiot the way she kept repeating her mother. “What does Callum Ironstone have to do with your accounts?”

“He originally settled all our accounts after your father died. It was part of our agreement,” Flo said defensively. “Everyone knows who the Ironstones are. Things were so difficult at the time-don’t you remember? He used to pay the accounts I sent him until you took over.”

Her mother fluttered her hands like a delicate butterfly but Miranda refused to be diverted. “I don’t remember. It must have been in that agreement you never showed me,” she said grimly. “Are you telling me you’ve extended your credit on the basis of Callum’s name?” It was too horrible to contemplate.

“Well, it’s not costing him anything,” Flo said defiantly.

“But it will if you don’t pay. I can’t believe these stores have let the balances run on for so long.”

“I call them regularly-I’m hardly some debtor they think is about to abscond. They know Callum will look after me.”

This was getting worse and worse. Miranda snatched the account back, and studied it, before looking back at her mother in despair. “The interest is running at a prohibitive rate.”

“I don’t think all the stores charge such high rates, darling.”

All the stores? “There are more?” Miranda stared at her mother, aghast.

So much for her stubborn determination never to be beholden to Callum again. There was no money to pay these accounts. Callum would be contacted by the stores eventually to be told that her mother was shopping on his credit.

Unless of course Hemingway’s decided to institute legal action to recover the debt.

The shame of it.

“Oh, dear Lord, Mum. What have you done?”

It was the following afternoon-her day off-and after a spending the day walking aimlessly around the city, her brain in turmoil, Miranda finally decided to take action about her mother’s revelation.

Even if Callum had paid off her parents’ accounts after her father’s death, he could hardly have intended her mother to continue using his name to lever credit. The time had come to see him and lay all the dead cats on his boardroom table, she decided with mordant humor. Adrian and Flo would have to put up with whatever repercussions followed.

She could no longer continue deceiving him.

Miranda paused at Trafalgar Square. Years ago Flo had sometimes brought her and Adrian here to feed the pigeons, and each Christmas, they’d come to admire the lights and Christmas tree. The pigeons had long since been discouraged, but the Christmas tree still stood. And the fountain Adrian had almost fallen into one icy winter’s day.

So when her cell phone rang and she heard Callum’s distinctive voice, Miranda was hardly surprised. She sank down on a bench near the fountain. To her annoyance her “Hi” was more than a little breathless.

“Been making any brandy snaps lately?”

His lighthearted comment made her want to cry. That teasing humor wouldn’t last once he heard what her mother had been up to. “Not enough.”

That reminded her that she needed to organize some overtime. There were Flo’s accounts to pay. On the spur of the moment she said rashly, “I don’t suppose you have more work for me?”

The pause echoed in her ears.

She shut her eyes. Stupid. She opened them and gazed blindly at the tall tree decorated with vertical rows of light on the other side of the fountain. “I mean real work. I don’t want a donation.”

“I know you don’t. I was thinking.”

She tried not to notice how low his voice was…how sexy…or how it sent shivers down her spine.

“Maybe we could meet and talk about people I know who might be able to give you work,” he said.

It wouldn’t be a date. And little as she wanted to be in his debt, what harm was there in using his social network to further her own ends? It wasn’t as if she was taking money from him.

And she would use the opportunity to tell him what Flo had done. Maybe even what Adrian had done-if the meeting went smoothly enough.

“That would be great.” The world seemed bright and shiny-no longer dull and gray. “I’d like that.”

“Then I’ll pick you up on Friday-we’ll have dinner.”

Friday night? That sounded suspiciously like a date. But she knew that this time she wouldn’t refuse.

Callum was rather pleased with himself.

Not only had he managed to secure a date with Miranda-although he rather doubted she’d view the evening in the same light-he’d also gotten glowing feedback about the Christmas cocktail party Miranda had catered for him. Apart from the fact that everyone had enjoyed it, saying it was streets ahead of any similar event they’d attended, Hunter told him there’d been a promise of a new corporate deal from Tom Murray, and a businessman Callum had been courting for a long time had made an appointment to talk about having all his plants insured with Ironstone Insurance. He’d even heard that Miranda had catered a small dinner party for Hunter, though she’d said nothing about that.

All in all Callum had the feeling that his plans were finally working out.

When he picked her up on Friday evening, she was ready for him, auguring well for the night. He liked punctuality in a woman.

No black dress this time-he didn’t know whether to be sorry or relieved. Instead she wore a pair of fitted narrow-legged black pants, high boots and a skirted coat with a wide belt that covered her curves. No matter. He had every intention of taking her somewhere warm, so by the end of the evening she would be wearing far fewer clothes if it all went to plan.

Seated opposite her at a table in the alcove of the bay window in one of his favorite restaurants, Callum smiled in satisfaction as he took in the sensual sheen of the gray satin blouse she wore. So far so good. He watched as she studied the menu, that endearing frown furrowing her brow. When she snapped the menu shut, she caught him staring. Callum raised his champagne flute and took a quick sip.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You do things with so much concentration-it takes your whole being.” He set the glass down on the white linen cloth.

Miranda looked down and fiddled with her fork. She looked embarrassed as she said, “Some people say I’m too single-minded.”

“Nothing wrong with that.”

“You think?” She abandoned the fork, and her gaze locked with his. “I’ve been told it’s unfeminine.”

He chuckled. “There’s not an unfeminine bone in your body.” His gaze traced the dark brows, the gentle curve of her cheek and settled on her lush mouth. Her tongue came out and moistened her bottom lip. Callum quickly raised his eyes. She was staring at him, her dark eyes wide and a little shocked.

There was no doubt that he must’ve revealed some of the insatiable hunger she roused in him.

To play down the moment, he couldn’t resist asking, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No reason.” She flushed and glanced away, picking up her serviette and spreading it out before laying it on her lap. The heat that smoldered whenever he was near her ignited.

Miranda was every bit as aware of him as he was of her. He wished she would give in to the inevitable. Couldn’t she see they were destined to be lovers?

Then she looked up. “For some reason this feels like a date.” She pointed at the tall crystal flutes and the arrangement of white roses on the table. “I told you I didn’t want to date you.” But a slight smile softened her words.

A waiter arrived and lit the squat white candle with a taper, before taking their orders.

Once he’d topped their glasses and collected the menus he departed, Callum took up the conversation where they’d left off. “It’s not a date-it’s a business meeting.”

He fought back a grin at her expression of disbelief.

She snorted. “You bring business colleagues here on a Friday night?”

He raised his hands in a gesture of innocence. “I’ve been known to invite business associates on a Saturday night for dinner-I’m a busy man.”

“I accept you’d bring your brothers here. But what about Gordon? Or Tom Murray? Tom must love the champagne, huh?” She raised her glass in a mock salute.

This time he couldn’t help the grin that spread over his face. “We do celebrate business ventures sometimes.”

Miranda set her glass down. “And mergers?”

Quietly he said, “I told Petra our relationship was over.”

The mood changed. All lighthearted banter stilled. A sizzling tension filled the space between them.

“You broke up with her?” Dismay darkened the caramel eyes to a shade of chocolate. “I never wanted that.”

“Over a week ago.”

An unreadable expression flashed across her face. “Over a week ago?” she asked. “And you said nothing?”

“It had nothing to do with you,” he lied.

It had everything to do with Miranda. He’d been very content with the notion of settling down with Petra until Miranda came along and stirred up his libido, leaving him hungering for so much more. They were so good together. Yet she stubbornly refused to acknowledge that…he could pretend, too, if that’s what he wanted.

Callum leaned forward. “This is a meeting. And don’t let the champagne bother you-it’s tax deductible.”

“Tax deductible?” Miranda scoffed, but the annoyance had ebbed and, to his relief, amusement lurked behind the shadows in her eyes.

He was winning. Time to cut the ground from under her feet while he was still ahead. “Let’s get to work, and see how I can help you with your business. I hear you catered very successfully for Hunter last week.”

Her features grew animated. “Oh, yes, I’ve been meaning to thank you for the referral.”

“It was nothing.” With a wave of his hand, he dismissed it. “Hunter was impressed.”

“One of his guests called earlier today and asked me for a quote for a New Year’s Eve party.”

“Word of mouth. The best way to get known.”

“It’s an enormous relief. If I can make this work…” She fell silent.

He waited.

Finally she gave a soft sigh. “Things have been…tense at The Golden Goose. I’m not sure how much longer I’ll have a job. With the economic climate there has been talk of retrenchments.”

It surprised him that she’d chosen to confide in him. Normally she worked so hard to keep him at arm’s length. “You won’t be affected.”

She nibbled her lip. “I wish I could be so certain.”

Callum got the sense she didn’t share personal fears easily. “What makes you think that? You’re overqualified for that place, you’re diligent.” He leaned back. “And you cook like a dream.”

She gave him a quick smile. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. I’ve stayed at the Goose because of the convenience-it’s close to home. But I’m the junior chef-and the other chef makes life hard.”

“I get it. You’re young. You’re good at what you do. And you probably don’t earn what he does. I’m not surprised you threaten him.”

Spreading her hands, she said, “Maybe you’re right. I’ve wondered if it’s that. But it doesn’t help that whenever there are accidents in the kitchen, Gianni always manages to blame me-even if I was somewhere else. Not to mention the times he tells Mick I’m late when I arrive bang on time.”

“You don’t need to put up with it. You could get a much better job if you wanted. In a place like this.” He gestured to the fine white linen and sparkling silverware on their table, then waved his arm to encompass the rest of the restaurant with its elegant high ceilings, bay windows and alcoves, and the ivory curtains draped in swags.

“Can I? There’s a cloud over my father. People remember scandals like embezzlement. They worry about the fruit not falling far from the tree.” There was no bitterness in her voice.

“You’d have references.”

“Really?” She raised an eyebrow. “What kind of a reference would I get?” Her expression was skeptical. “Gianni and the boss are friends-they even flat together.”

Callum resisted the impulse to tell her that he would supply a reference to any restaurant she chose. He suspected she’d rather do things her own way. “Then focus on the catering business that Adrian says you’ve always dreamed of. You’ve already made a start. Have you got a business plan?”

She nodded.

“I’ll look at it if you want.” He drew an envelope from his pocket. “Here’s a list of names with contact numbers of executives I know who would be more than happy to give you work. Go the whole way.”

Hesitantly she took the list from him, unfolding it to glance through the names. From her expression he knew that she’d recognized several of them as movers and shakers in the city.

“I’ve already contacted most of them to let them know you’ll be calling them.”

“It’s not that easy,” she protested. “I’d planned to ease in gradually, but times are hard. Even established businesses are failing, and I have responsibilities.”

Despite her confident façade, Miranda was afraid. Something inside him cracked a little. “The last name is an accountant who’ll be able to steer you through the pitfalls of running a small business-she’s an old friend of our family.”

There was an expression in her eyes he couldn’t read. Was she thinking of her family? Her father? Was she blaming him for how her father’s death had landed her in this position?

Again that smothering sense of guilt closed in on him. She shouldn’t have borne it all alone.

He’d tried to help-to ease the family’s precarious financial position and give Miranda and her brother some sort of education. And now he was determined to help her get her catering business off the ground. But nothing could bring her father back.

He reached out and closed his hand over hers. “Let me help you.”

She jerked away, clearly recoiling from the idea…from him.

He gave her a moment, then said, “You blame me for killing your father, so why is it so hard to let me sponsor you?”

“And make it easy for you? Throw money at the problem and your conscience is clean?” Her eyes sparkled with what he hoped was anger and not tears. “I don’t think so.”

He couldn’t bear tears.

“My conscience will never be clear,” he confessed.

She blinked frantically, then her shoulders slumped. “I wish Dad were here. Lately I’ve been wishing for that a lot.”

Her raw admission caused an ache to splinter deep in his chest. He again tightened his hand around hers. She started, but didn’t withdraw this time.

“I’m sorry, Miranda-more than you’ll ever know.”

Her eyes were full of anguished shadows. “Thank you. I needed to hear that.”

He glanced at the list. “Call those names. You’re going to be a success. And don’t think what I’m doing for you is unique. I often give someone a break. And that’s what we do with our company scholarships, too. Adrian’s got a real chance to get one of those. He’s hardworking and smart. No reason why he shouldn’t.”

Her eyelids lowered, veiling her gaze. “I appreciate your nominating Adrian. Now that he’s finished school, he’s going to have to think hard about his future.”

“He’s a big boy now. He has to make his own choices.”

Her lashes fluttered up and she gave him a rapid, indecipherable glance, then sighed. “You’re probably right. But I’ve been so used to looking out for him. Which brings me to something else I have to discuss with you tonight.”

“What’s that?”

“Flo.”

“Your mother?”

She nodded. “She’s been running up accounts all over the city. And the stores are letting her do it because they think you’re guaranteeing her expenditure. You need to write to them so it can stop.”

His fingers played with hers. “I can afford it.”

She shook her head. “No. I’ll never be able to repay you.”

“I don’t expect you to.”

“Then I’d lose my self-respect. Please, Callum, let them know. I don’t want to be further in your debt. It’s going to be hard enough paying you back as it is.”

“You don’t have to pay me back.”

“Of course I do.” Cent by backbreaking cent.

A frown darkened his expression. “That’s not what I ever intended.”

“I know.”

“So why don’t you forget about it?”

She’d thought she could. But how could they ever move into any kind of relationship-even an uneasy friendship-if she owed him money? She’d forever feel indebted to him, some kind of charity case. She needed to be able to face him as an equal. The news that he’d broken up with Petra had caused her heart to leap. For a brief moment she’d entertained a wild hope of more than friendship…then she’d doused it.

She freed her hand from his. “I can’t.”

Originally it had been her hatred of Callum that had had her refusing his help. She’d wanted him to feel responsible-guilty even. But then she’d discovered he’d already spent so much she hadn’t known about-on her, on her family-because he really had felt guilty about her father. And clearly still did. It didn’t sit well with her that for almost three years she’d cursed him, hated him, wished that lightning would strike him.

Besides, if she accepted his money, Callum might view her in the same way that he must see her mother-pretty, but fundamentally a parasite.

“There’s an easy way around all this,” he said.

Nothing was ever easy. She gave him a suspicious look. “What?”

“We make a good team.”

Miranda snorted. “Where did you get that idea from?”

“The Christmas cocktail function was a huge success. People loved it. And it’s given me the opening to secure opportunities I’ve been trying to tie up for a long time.” He drew her hand back into his. “I need a hostess.”

It was part of the reason marrying Petra would’ve been so convenient. But he’d never desired Petra with this raw, physical ache.

“I was hardly a hostess. I just made the food,” she said dismissively.

He tipped his head to one side and considered her for a long moment. What was it about this woman that drew him? Even when he wasn’t with her, all he could think about was her. She was starting to consume him. “No, you did so much more than that. It was the little touches that made the evening memorable.” Even his PR officer had commented on the unique feel of the party.

He massaged her fingers and they went stiff beneath his. “You’re asking me to hostess your functions?”

“More than that.”

Suspicion glistened in her eyes at his throaty statement. “You’re asking me to be your mistress?”

“No!” Even he wasn’t fool enough to think she would accept such a preposterous proposition. But, God, he was tempted to ask. To have her in his bed, fulfilling his every desire…

Perhaps there was another option.

“So what do you want?”

Miranda had never been one to back away. So it was to be expected that she’d get to the crux of the matter. What did he want?

He lifted her rigid fingers to his mouth and placed a soft kiss on each fingertip, watching her eyes grow wide with shock.

“I suppose,” he said slowly, “I’m asking you to be my wife.”