Millionaire Under The Mistletoe

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