Millionaire Under The Mistletoe

She should run. Now.

If she stayed it might be too late to free herself from the power of his attraction. Callum posed a risk that she’d never anticipated.

Yet an overwhelming desire for an answer to the question she’d posed kept her in the chair, even as his hands caressed hers with slow deliberation.

He couldn’t be offering marriage to get her into his bed-he’d already done that. There had to be more to it than this incomprehensible desire that leaped between them. And he’d already made it clear, love had nothing to do with it.

Questions buzzed around inside her head, multiplying into further questions. But before she could utter them, he bent his head closer to hers. In the candlelight she could see all the way into the bright blue eyes, to the black flecks that lurked like hazardous rocks in a deceptively calm stretch of sea.

“I think we could make a fantastic team.”

“You and me? A team?” Was the man insane?

“Shh.” He laid his index finger against his lips. “Hear me out.”

Miranda found herself following that finger and staring at the beauty of the full lower lip that softened his strong features and gave an unexpected sensuality to the arrogantly handsome face.

His hand dropped back to rest on the tablecloth beside hers, and to her consternation Miranda was acutely aware of the inch of distance separating their fingers.

She hadn’t wanted him reducing her to a quivering mass just by the stroke of his fingers, had she?

“You have a gift-one that complements my strengths,” he was saying. “With your skills-”

“A gift? You mean cooking?” She jerked her head back in disbelief. “So you really do want to marry me for my cooking?”

“It’s more than that. You have an ability to make people feel not only nourished, but also cherished on a level I cannot reach.”

Warmth filled her at the unexpected compliment. Yet she realized it was true. She’d always cared for those close to her-her family were sure of her love. Nourish. Cherish. He’d articulated something that she’d only ever been dimly aware of in the back of her consciousness. “Thank you. That’s a nice thing to say.”

He shook his head. “Not nice. Absolutely true. And it’s a talent I can use.”

The warmth fizzled out.

“You would be able to take care of a side of my life I don’t have time to deal with.”

Of course. Everything was always about what he could use. What he could turn to profit. He must’ve been born with a calculator for a heart.

Miranda raised her glass and took a careful sip. Despite the rush of bubbles to the surface, the champagne tasted flat. A reflection of her state of mind, no doubt. She set the glass down. “You want to marry me so I can sort your business entertaining.”

He didn’t deny it.

What had she expected? Callum was running one hundred percent true to type.

“Gee, you must be patting yourself on the back for the wise investment you made paying for my culinary training.”

His mouth compressed into a tight line. “Don’t be so cynical. You’d be far more than a chef. You’d be my wife, for God’s sake. You’d run my life.”

“Mrs. Callum Ironstone. A useful wife with no identity of her own.” The idea chilled her. There would be no room for nourishing or cherishing in such a life. “And what about love and romance and all the reasons people usually get married?” What about all her dreams and hopes?

Flags of color scorched his cheekbones and his eyes sparked. “I have every intention of sleeping with Mrs. Ironstone,” he said between clenched teeth. “This won’t be some platonic marriage. We’ve already proved we’re a very good fit.”

Fit? It made her sound like a damn suit that he could shed when she’d outworn her use.

After a quick glance around revealed no one was looking their way, she lowered her voice and said, “I spoke of love, Callum. Not sex.”

An unreadable expression flitted over his face. “Love is an emotional complication neither of us need.”

“Speak for yourself. I don’t see love as an emotional complication.”

He gave her a superior smile. “Of course it is. Look at you-just talking about love is getting you wound up. Sex will allow you to relax, unwind.” His fingertips crossed the inch of tablecloth that had become no-man’s land to play along the tender skin of her inner wrist, and Miranda quivered in reaction as tingles exploded up her arm. He paused, exploring the fine lilac lines of her pulse, and the smile became reckless. “But if romance is so important to you…I can take care of that.”

Despite her madly racing pulse, Miranda went down fighting. “Your idea of romance is roses and hot sex.”

His hands, damn them, cradled hers with a tenderness that she knew meant nothing.

“What’s wrong with that?” He truly did look puzzled. “It would be far better to keep our relationship straightforward. We both know we set each other on fire in bed-I’ve never experienced anything like it,” he admitted with a raw honesty she had no choice but to believe. “That’s why I had to end it with Petra.”

He leaned closer across the table. She could smell the crisp, clean scent of him-so male with a hint of bergamot and musk underpinning it.

It would be so easy to give in-it would solve all her problems.

She wouldn’t have to worry about Gianni or Mick at work. Or her family. All her financial worries would become a thing of the past in an instant. Callum would take care of everything. She’d be able to resign from The Golden Goose and she’d simply present him with Flo’s debts to settle. His wealth would mean Adrian’s and Flo’s debts wouldn’t make a dent.

Dent…

Help! He still didn’t know about Adrian’s accident, and she suspected Callum wouldn’t be quite so sanguine about her keeping him in the dark. Yet Adrian had asked her not to tell Callum. How could she betray her brother?

Oh, this was dreadful.

A wave of shame swept her that she’d even considered accepting his proposal for such superficial reasons. She’d be using him. Marrying him for his wealth.

Hadn’t he admitted that he intended to use her, too? But that was no reason to stoop to his level. When she married, it would be because she loved a man so much she didn’t want to live without him.

Miranda stopped herself from sighing aloud. It was better this way. They didn’t even share the same life views. And she wasn’t likely to change him.

She shook her hands free from his. “I can’t marry you.”

“You can’t?” He looked utterly surprised.

He’d expected her to say yes? But Miranda found that she had no urge to laugh at the stunned expression in his eyes. Instead a curious hollowness settled in the space beneath her heart. “I want more, Callum.” Much more.

“I see.”

But she doubted he did. And it was too hard to explain.

Putting her elbows on the table, she dropped her face into the cup of her hands, feeling utterly wretched.

The touch of a finger under her chin caused her to lift her head. It was only the pad of his index finger yet she was aware of his touch through her whole body.

When she met his eyes, she could read little there. But then he was hardly the kind of man a woman could read like a glossy gossip rag. And that enigmatic quality was part of what drew her to him again and again even though she knew it was downright self-destructive.

“Look, I really do need your help.”

“What help?” she asked with more than a little suspicion. After all, he was an Ironstone.

“Our family always spends Christmas at Fairwinds.”

At the height of her hatred for Callum, she’d pored over Country Life images of Fairwinds, the Ironstones’ country retreat set on Lake Windermere’s bank in the Lake District. A long tree-lined lane cutting through a grassy park, a forecourt edged with neatly clipped box hedging, and a flight of stone stairs leading