Millionaire Under The Mistletoe

“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

“Your 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.

“I can’t think of a better reason.”

Her breath died abruptly in her throat as he gazed at her with raw, unvarnished hunger.

Callum Ironstone wanted her.

For one wild moment she was tempted to flee. From him-and from her own riotous imaginings. She scanned across the restaurant, checking if the escape route was clear, and except for one waiter balancing a tray on his shoulder, it was.