he wasn’t the man responsible for her father’s death.
“I only did what you employed me to do,” she said stiffly as he set his glass down on the white marble floor beside her. She ducked her head, determined not to reveal her impossible thoughts, and carried on stacking empty glasses into their crates, using the occasional ting of crystal as a warning bell to keep herself from falling under his thrall.
“No, you did far more than expected. The Christmas crackers were a success, and so were the edible Christmas tree decorations.”
His voice came closer and she spoke quickly, desperate to keep him at bay. “I thought your guests might like something to take home.”
“Madge Murray was raving about the chocolate angels.”
“Yes, I gave her extras.” She raised her shoulders and let them fall with what she hoped looked like a careless shrug. “My mother taught me how to make them when I was a little girl.” Flo had always had the ability to bake fairy-tale items; it was the ordinary things like lunch and dinner that were beyond her.
At the brush of Callum’s fingers under her chin, her head came up in a hurry. He pinned her under his ferociously bright gaze. As the Christmas lights flickered overhead, she imagined the glitter in his eyes revealed emotion. But the words he spoke negated that fancy.
“Her husband is one of our most important customers.”
The hope she’d glimpsed died. Of course, for Callum everything was always about work. Never about emotion. Or fairy tales. He was ready to marry for corporate convenience. Unlike her, he would never believe in love…or Christmas wishes. She tried not to let her disappointment show—and hated herself for wishing it had all been about so much more, and that the emotion she’d imagined she’d glimpsed had been real.
She drew away. “I’m glad you’re pleased.”
“Very pleased.”
“Good.” She got to her feet. “Now I’d better get these glasses to the collection point. The company I hired them from will be here soon to fetch them.”
Callum stared at the woman with frustration. He wasn’t interested in the damn dirty glasses. Why couldn’t she be one of those kittenish women who batted her eyelids and cooed her thanks? How he would revel being on the receiving end of her gratitude…
He took in the creamy skin, the soft, lush mouth and desire spiked through him.
Dark. Driving. Relentless.
Callum gave himself a mental shake. Not going to happen. Not tonight. Not ever. So he’d better get over this…this fascination she held for him.
Even Fraser had noticed.
Hell.
Would he ever be able to get that night she’d spent in his bed out his head? Or stop thinking about how to get her back there and make love to her all over again?
He must be crazy.
Especially as she was making it clear as the crystal she was packing away that she had no intention of even dating him. All night she’d been running from him, apprehension in her eyes. And how could he blame her? He’d been reduced to using his company functions as a way to spend time with her.
Once the festive season was over it would be some time before he could set up catering engagements for her without arousing her suspicion. He would have no excuse to see her, not unless he took to frequenting The Golden Goose.
He grimaced. That would be desperate measures indeed.
“What’s wrong?”
He straightened at the sound of Miranda’s voice. “Wrong?”
“You’re frowning.”
“I’ve no reason to frown—it’s been a very successful evening.”
“Good.”
He told himself he’d find another way to keep in touch with her. “Oh, earlier I wanted to tell you that I spoke to your brother.”
A subtle tension shimmered through her. If he hadn’t been so aware of every nuance and change in her expressive eyes, he probably wouldn’t even have noticed.
“After I flew in from New York I gave him the application forms for the two Ironstone Insurance scholarships and told him that I’d nominate him.” His nomination would carry a lot of weight with the deciding committee, but she didn’t need to know that. It would only make her believe he was merely giving charity in another guise.
Yet for once, instead of objecting, the tension seemed to drain out of her. “If Adrian could get a scholarship to university—or even a job for next year—it would be such a relief.” Her lashes fluttered down. “Thank you.”
It must strangle her to have to thank him for anything. He reached out and touched her arm, intending to tell her that she owed him no thanks—that it was the least he could do.
And froze.
Here was the opportunity he’d been looking for. So perfect—and he’d almost missed it. He could use her brother as a way to keep in touch—arrange meetings with her to talk about him.
All to get into Miranda’s pants again, he scoffed at himself.
Was this what he had been reduced to? Miranda’s brother was almost a man and Callum had always tried to treat him like an adult. If Adrian found out Callum was meeting Miranda to discuss him, the bond he’d been working so hard to forge with the youth would be broken.
But right now he couldn’t care about that.
Unless he offered Adrian a permanent position at Ironstone Insurance or called in a favor to make sure her brother was offered a university scholarship, there would be no more reason to see Miranda.
No excuse to lure her into his bed…
He let the thumb resting on her arm stroke along the fabric of her dress sleeve and heard her breath catch.
Not totally unaffected then.
He couldn’t help remembering how soft her naked skin had been against his, how sweet she’d tasted. His gaze rested on her mouth.
So passionate.
This craving for her confounded him. He’d been right to break it off with Petra—he couldn’t marry any woman while he felt like this. And despite Miranda’s determined indifference, he suspected she wanted him every bit as badly. The passion she’d revealed the night they’d made love couldn’t be feigned.
If only her father’s death didn’t stand between them.
“Miranda, about your father…”
The lights flashed and he read anger in her eyes. “You should never have—”
“I had no choice.”
“There’s always a choice,” she said.
She was right. He’d been determined to prove how tough he was, how merciless. The corporate tycoon. It was something he’d have to live with all his life.
“You’re right.”
“Thank you.”
For a long moment he thought she was going to say more.
But instead she said with forced cheerfulness, “Christmas will soon be here. I’ll just have to wish that everything will come right for Adrian in the coming year.”
He blinked. “You think Christmas wishes work?”
She tipped her head up and stared at the tree above them. “I think one can dream…and wish…and hope.”
Miranda was a romantic. For a moment he wished for her sheer, blind optimism. Unable to help himself, he asked, “What do you look forward to most at Christmas?”
“I