by Tessa Radley
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 e
stablished 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.”
Seven
“Y our wife?”
Miranda’s lips parted in astonishment and her pulse picked up. Opposite her, Callum looked almost as startled by his proposal as she. Had he meant to ask? Or was this an impulsive mistake? Her brain worked furiously. Did his proposal have anything to do with his break-up with Petra? Surely it couldn’t. That had happened a week ago.
“Why on earth would you want to marry me?”
The corners of his mouth crinkled up into a heart-stopping smile. “Lots of reasons.”
So he had meant to ask. And at least he wasn’t insulting her intelligence by claiming to love her.
Tilting her head to one side, Miranda studied him. The tantalizing thought of hardheaded Callum in love was impossible to envision. He hadn’t loved Petra—even though she would’ve made him a perfect wife. Especially considering her father was a major shareholder in Ironstone Insurance. Callum and Petra came from the same world. Whereas Callum imagined Miranda’s father to be nothing more than a thief.
And then of course with her flawless oval face, blond hair and pale blue eyes, the other woman was exquisitely beautiful. The children she and Callum would’ve shared would almost certainly have been blue-eyed little angels. Thinking about them caused an unexpected glass splinter of pain to pierce Miranda’s heart.
Callum had admitted he’d intended to marry the beautiful blonde—he’d even bought a ring.
So why was he asking Miranda to marry him? “Name one reason.”
“Your cooking is to die for.”
Even though
mirth bubbled up inside her, she didn’t laugh as he’d clearly meant for her to do. Instead, refusing to be distracted, she gave him her most severe look and said, “This is no laughing matter. Or was your proposal meant as a joke?”
She had to know.
In response his fingertips stroked across the back of her hand, and under his touch she caught fire. Her blood fizzed and a heady excitement seized hold of her. Okay, this definitely wasn’t funny. It felt like he’d branded her as his.
She shook off the ridiculous sensation. Callum Ironstone couldn’t make her his merely with a stroke of his fingers!
“And if I told you that it drives me mad with lust when you don your apron? That I have a yen to seduce you wearing a tall chef’s hat? Would you accuse me of joking then?”
The intensity of his hot gaze told her this was no joke.
A wickedly erotic image flashed through her mind of Callum pinning her up against the counter in his kitchen….
She’d be fully clothed, wearing her frilliest apron and a toque. While Callum stood between her parted legs, naked and virile. His fingers dipping into a pot of rich, dark chocolate mousse then offering them to her. She licked the mousse delicately from his fingertips…he moaned…his blue eyes blazed, promising to pleasure her from head to toe before the night was out….
Good grief. Where had that come from?
A flush seared her face, scorching all the way down her body to her most private places. Her voice cracking, she said, “No one gets turned on by that getup.”
“If you say so.”
His cheekbones stood out under tightly drawn skin. He looked dark and dangerous and unbelievably desirable.
“Sex on its own is never a good reason for marriage,” she told him fiercely, a warning to herself as much as him. The fantasy flash had disturbed her far more than she cared to admit.