Tessa Radley: Millionaire Under The Mistletoe

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 longtime chef, was glowering at her over the chopping block while Mick, the manager, danced around muttering that she was late-even though Miranda knew she’d walked in the door at five minutes to midday.

The final straw came when Mick cornered her later to say that her commitment was lacking. She’d left early last week, and now she was late and she was to take this as a warning. In these tough times, he expected more.

Gianni gave her a sly grin as she passed him, confirming where the heart of the problem lay. She wished she could reassure him, tell him that she had no ambitions to take over his job. But she knew that would only make him rush to tell Mick about her lack of commitment.

She was screwed.

By the time she got home late that night, Miranda was ill-prepared for the sight of an ostentatious bunch of long-stemmed pink roses that must’ve cost some joker a fortune.

And she suspected she knew who the joker might be.

“An admirer from last night?” Flo arched a finely penciled eyebrow. “I thought you said it was work.”

“Must be a thank-you,” Miranda bit out, ripping off the still-sealed envelope and pocketing it to get it out of her mother’s line of sight.

“So considerate.” Flo touched the blooms with reverent fingers. “They’re beautiful. I watered them. Why don’t you put them in your bedroom?”

And be stuck looking at a reminder of last night’s calamity? No, thanks! Stalking away, Miranda wished she hadn’t said they were a thank-you; now she couldn’t even throw the wretched flowers away.

“Someone rang for you earlier.”

Miranda froze in the doorway, but didn’t turn around. “Who?”

“A man. He had a rough voice. It was strangely familiar,” said Flo slowly.

Miranda stifled an anxious groan. “Did he leave a name?” She prayed not. Her mother didn’t need to know she’d been fraternizing with the Ironstones.

“No. He said he’d catch you on your cell phone.”

Her cell phone had been off while she worked. “Thanks, Mum.”

After setting down the unopened white envelope on the dressing table in her room, Miranda made for the bathroom the three of them shared. After she’d showered the odors of The Golden Goose away, she changed into a flannel nightie and brushed her teeth.

Climbing into bed, she finally picked up her cell phone and switched it on. The message light flashed. She stared at it for long seconds.

No. She had no intention of giving in to curiosity and checking to see if Callum had left her a message. The man had dominated her thoughts far too much already. And she was not about to let him cause her another sleepless night.

Setting the phone on the bed stand, she turned the lamp off, refusing to let herself dwell on the reason why she’d slept so little last night…

Miranda was wakened the following morning by banging on her bedroom door. She’d barely opened her eyes before Adrian barged in.

“Phone.” He held out the handset. “Callum.”

Her heart sank. She wished fervently she hadn’t been too cowardly to check her cell phone the night before. Now she was at a decided disadvantage. “Thanks.”