Tessa Radley: Millionaire Under The Mistletoe

Although any chance of that had gone up in smoke the moment he’d told her about her father’s life insurance being nonexistent.

“It was the closest job I could find to home.” That meant less spent on transport, less time commuting, which gave more hours to work overtime. “It’s only a short bus ride away,” she said tiredly. “It pays the bills.”

And that was what mattered. Making sure Adrian’s future education was taken care of, repaying Callum and saving enough money to look after Flo. Until she’d repaid Callum she couldn’t even think of opening her own catering business.

He must have heard her sigh because he said gently, “I know your family is short of cash. You should’ve accepted my proposition-who knows, you might have impressed people and gotten a few more catering jobs to ease the hardship.”

Did he have any idea what kind of temptation he’d dangled in front of her? How hard it had been to refuse?

She eyed him warily as he accelerated into the stream of traffic. Yes, he probably did. “Now I believe everything I’ve heard about you.”

“Everything? You shouldn’t believe everything.” She caught a lightning flash of wicked blue eyes before he turned his attention back to the road. “Some rumors are nothing more than wild speculation.”

Ignoring the innuendo underlying the humor, Miranda said hastily, “That you have the ability to home in on what people want and then use it against them?” And now he was doing that to her.

Studying his profile, she took in the straight nose jutting out with masculine arrogance, quickly bypassing his generous mouth. Miranda had no idea how he’d gotten a glimpse into her soul, her deepest desire, but somehow the sneaky bastard had.

If the offer had come from anyone else…

“I’m only asking you to cater a dinner party for me. How can I use that against you?”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way,” she said darkly, thinking of how he’d pressured her poor mother into signing an agreement that Flo wouldn’t have had a hope of understanding. No doubt it cleared the Ironstone family of all liability. Helplessness filled Miranda. How could she fight such a man?

“So why don’t you prove to me that I didn’t waste money putting you through cooking school?”

“Culinary school,” she corrected.

“If you say so.” He slowed as a light turned red. He swiveled his head, and his gaze met hers. “If it makes it easier, think of it this way. You owe it to me.”

“I owe it to you?” The gall of the man. “I owe you nothing.” He owed her . For taking her father away, for ruining her family.

Her anger and confusion trapped her. She wanted him to hurt as much as she hurt, wanted to force him to take responsibility for what he’d done. But not by making her family his pet charity. And the only thing she truly desired he could never give back.

Her father.

In the meantime, all the money Callum had given Flo had to be paid back. And once that had been accomplished, Miranda hoped the guilt of knowing what he’d done killed him.

“If you could, you’d gather what cash you could and hurl it at me right now, wouldn’t you?” That rogue eyebrow quirked up again.

“Maybe,” she said grudgingly, resenting the fact that he could read her so well.

He shook his head. “What a wasted effort.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“It will take you forever.” As the lights changed, he put the car back into gear and pulled away. “You should put away your bitterness and grab this opportunity with both hands. Who knows where it could lead?”

And make a deal with this devil?

But she turned his words over in her mind. She’d already accepted it would take years to save what she owed him. And even if she did, it didn’t look like his conscience would keep him awake every night of his life. Callum Ironstone probably didn’t have a conscience.

So why was she tying herself into knots to pay back money he and his family wouldn’t even miss? Why not take the bloody job?

The money was amazing. It would almost cover the amount Adrian wanted from her. Almost. If she cut corners on the household budget for the next month, she wouldn’t even need to take anything from her savings.

Temptation beckoned. He’d be paying the money to a caterer anyway. This wasn’t charity. It looked perfectly straightforward.

Too perfectly straightforward.

“Why did you offer me the contract?”

“The caterer I usually use is too busy. Christmas.” He gestured to the fairy lights sparkling through the rain. “And I’ve been too busy to hire someone else. Seeing Adrian at work this morning reminded me of you-I knew you’d have the skills. But if you don’t want it, I’ll find someone else.”

She ought to refuse. No good would come out of this association. She even rounded her mouth to say “No.”

Then she thought about Adrian, his frustration as he’d said, “Forget it.” She thought about delving into her hard-earned cash to help his friend out. She needed the cash Callum offered.

Miranda took a deep breath and said, “Okay, I’ll do it.”

And when he smiled, a slow satisfied curve on his lips, Miranda hoped she hadn’t made a terrible mistake.

Callum gazed across the refectory-style table at the woman he’d been fighting to ignore all evening.

Without success. Not only had Miranda cooked a meal that had made his mouth water, she’d carefully supervised the staff she’d hired, popping in and out of the dining room to check on the wine and that everything was running smoothly.

She’d even distracted him from Petra Harris, Gordon’s daughter, something he’d never foreseen. Especially not tonight, of all nights.

Callum told himself it couldn’t be Miranda’s appearance that had him tied up in knots. Instead of a traditional white chef’s jacket and herringbone trousers, she wore a plain black dress, her hair up in a knot and no glitter in sight. By rights she should’ve been eclipsed by every other woman in the room, and she should’ve looked plain and drab.

Yet she didn’t.

The black only served to highlight the creamy perfection of her skin. No jewelry adorned the deliciously smooth line of her throat. And the only gold that glinted in the glow of the discreet uplighters adorning his dining room were the bits of hair that had escaped and framed her face, making her eyes look wider and more mysterious than ever.

Desire leaped within him, quickly followed by disbelief. This couldn’t be happening to him.

He narrowed his eyes. This was the same girl who had once screamed at him like a banshee, accusing him of murdering her father…so why the hell couldn’t he stop looking at her? He had his life-his future-all mapped out. And it didn’t include Miranda Owen.

Forcing his attention back to Gordon Harris’s daughter seated beside him, Callum vowed not to let himself be distracted. Hell, he’d planned to propose to Petra after dinner. In his study. Just the two of them. A quick ten-minute têteà-tête, before announcing it in spectacular fashion to the world-he’d even invited a journalist tonight who covered the society pages. The ring box was in his pocket. Ready. Waiting. It wasn’t only the merger with Gordon’s company he’d planned to reveal tonight…

He gazed at the woman he’d decided would make him a perfect wife.

“The food tonight is out of this world.” Petra smiled at him, revealing sparkling white teeth, and her fingers brushed his.

“I couldn’t agree more.” Callum tried to convince himself that powder-blue eyes were every bit as appealing as the color of melted caramel, and failed dismally. To his consternation, there was no spark of electrical charge from the brush of her fingers, either.