cracked her eyes open and caught a glimpse of the dark mahogany bedhead. Beyond, pale winter-morning light spilled through sash windows into the bedroom. His bedroom.
Soon he’d waken. The idea of him finding her naked in his bed filled her with horror. Taking a deep breath, she inched her leg toward the edge of the bed. He stirred. Miranda froze.
After long, dragging seconds she slowly relaxed. He hadn’t woken. Shifting her weight to the edge of the mattress, she was conscious of her heartbeat drumming loudly in her chest.
An arm slid over her, and a large male hand closed familiarly over the top of her breast. Miranda forced herself to keep absolutely still.
Oh, help!
What to do now?
Her first impulse to push that possessive hand away and leap out of his bed receded as the strong male fingers stilled.
Affront mixed with adrenaline. He’d gone back to sleep!
Eyes darting to and fro, Miranda formulated a plan. Her dress and knickers lay in a pile on the floor. Her shoes were nowhere in sight—probably scattered across the kitchen floor. She shuddered at the memories that evoked.
How could she have done such things with this man?
She blocked it all out and turned her mind back to what dominated her now: escape.
If she rolled out of bed, she could scoop up her clothes and make a run for it. With luck she’d be out the bedroom door before he’d wake and realize she’d gone. Downstairs she’d grab her shoes, her coat and her bag—which should be on the bench top where she’d left it the evening before. An image of the contents—emergency condoms, lipstick, hairbrush, wallet, cell phone—scattered over the countertop flashed through her mind and she groaned silently.
Cell phone, she thought. Her breath caught. Her mother!
She never stayed out all night. Flo would be worried sick, had probably left a dozen anxious messages.
But at least she’d be able to come out of this disastrous encounter knowing she couldn’t be pregnant—or worse. Although right now that seemed small compensation for last night’s stupidity.
Miranda hauled in a shallow breath and readied herself to flee.
“So you’re still alive?” Provocative fingers explored the rise of her hip. “For a moment I thought you’d given up breathing—that you might require a little mouth-tomouth resuscitation.”
Callum’s lazy confidence cast despair into Miranda. He’d probably been awake from the start. There’d never been any chance of a hasty getaway. Bastard.
She curled into a tight ball, refusing to acknowledge him.
“Come now.” He tightened his hold, rolling her over onto her back. Wide-awake blue eyes stared down into 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