Millionaire Under the Mistletoe / His High-Stakes Holiday Seduction. Emilie Rose
last thing she needed was an affair with Callum Ironstone. She already despised herself enough for allowing him to seduce her—although to be fair she’d been more than willing. If she hadn’t had those glasses of red wine…if he hadn’t been so damn tempting…if he hadn’t kissed her and turned her legs to jelly.
Oh, God, she couldn’t believe she was letting herself relive it all. Callum had taken her to bed the same night he’d proposed to another woman. Because of him her father was dead. How could she have let him touch her? Seeing him again would be a betrayal of her very soul.
“No, I can’t come.”
“Another evening then?”
“No.” She hung up.
The phone rang again. She glared at it. Then picked it up before Adrian—or Flo—could.
“Did you get the message I left on your cell phone last night?”
“No,” she said guardedly, eyeing the phone that winked a message on the bedside table. “But whatever you said wouldn’t have changed my answer.”
“You believe I only slept with you because Petra rejected me.”
That was only the tip of the iceberg. She was furious with herself for sleeping with him at all. Furious with him for making it so easy. “Yes? So what?”
“I never asked Petra to marry me,” he said.
“You didn’t?”
“That’s the message I left for you yesterday.”
“Oh.” She fell silent. Why had he told her this? She wouldn’t allow it to be important. Yet her pulse quickened. Miranda drew a steadying breath, aware that she had to tread carefully.
“It doesn’t make any difference, Callum.” She couldn’t afford to alienate him. He’d given Adrian a vacation job, which might lead to a permanent placement next year. If she annoyed Callum, he might fire Adrian. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea for me to date you.”
She heard him whisper “Liar” just as she hurriedly severed the connection.
This time he didn’t ring back. But before she could set foot out of bed, Adrian slipped into her room.
“What did Callum want?”
She wasn’t telling him that his boss, her nemesis, had asked her on a date. “Nothing to do with you.”
Adrian looked sick. “Sis, please be nice to him.”
Adrian’s anxiety reinforced her own worry that if she annoyed Callum he’d take it out on her brother. But there was a limit to how far she’d go—and Adrian had to know that.
“Be nice?” She loaded the meaning. “What are you asking me to do here, Adrian?”
“I mean be polite.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Nothing more. I don’t want to lose this opportunity to get a good reference.”
She hated the idea that Adrian thought she’d jeopardize his work. Was that how bitter she’d become?
Miranda crossed her fingers under the bedclothes. “I did some catering for Callum. We were talking about that.”
His expression cleared. “That’s great. So you’ll be doing more work for him?”
“I didn’t say that,” she said hastily.
“I told him you were a good chef—that you were wasted at The Golden Goose.”
“The Goose is convenient.” Miranda fixed her brother with a narrow stare. Adrian must have told Callum about her dream to run her own catering business. At least that meant her fear that Callum had been able to read her like an open book had been…relatively baseless. “What else did you tell him?”
Her brother spread his hands. “Nothing. I swear.”
She studied him as she swung her legs out of bed. “Okay, I believe you. Now scoot—I want to get dressed.”
But he lingered. “Uh…when will you give me that money?”
“I’ll go to the bank today.”
“Sis…” He hesitated, then said in a rush, “Can you add another couple hundred quid?”
She paused in front of the wardrobe. “More money? When you still haven’t repaid me the fifty pounds I lent you last week?”
He all but ran out of her room. “We can talk about it when you’re dressed,” he said over his shoulder.
Adrian had made breakfast by the time she got to the kitchen. Miranda drew out one of the pine chairs that Flo had sewed yellow-and-white-checked gingham covers for and stared suspiciously at the spread on the table. Scrambled eggs. Bacon. Mushrooms. Toast. Marmalade. Her favorites. “Is this a bribe?”
“No.” But he looked sufficiently guilty for her to frown at him. “I took Mum her food on a tray.”
“So now it’s just you and me.” Miranda sighed as she sat down. “Okay, explain to me why I should pay another cent to sort out your friend’s problems. Hasn’t he got family of his own?”
Adrian turned a dull red that clashed with his freckles. “It’s not for a friend. It’s for me.”
“A new pair of shoes?” she asked snippily. “You know I’m saving. Can’t this wait?”
“No.” He looked down at his plate for long seconds. When he looked up, Miranda was shocked at the desperation in his expression. “I’m in trouble.”
All her worst fears crowded in. “Tell me.”
“Last Monday night—”
“When you went out with your friends?”
He nodded. “I borrowed a car from work, but I crashed it—hit a concrete pillar in a basement parking lot as we were leaving a club.”
Horror filled her. “Everyone was okay?” The pounding of her heart slowed at his nod, and relief seeped through her, turning her limbs weak. No one had been hurt…or worse. “Were you drunk?”
“No.” He looked shaken. “I never drink and drive.”
She relaxed enough to fork a mouthful of food into her mouth. “So get the car fixed.”
“I’ve already had it repaired—and borrowed money from my friends to pay for it. But the amount was more than the original quote—that’s why I need more money. And they’re pressing me to repay them.”
I don’t have any more money. Not for this. Miranda bit back her wail of despair, as the extent of his deceit struck her. “You lied to me.”
“I didn’t want you to know.” Even his neck was red now. “I’m sorry.”
She restrained herself from asking what else he’d held back from her, and pondered on the fix he was in. “Wait, you shouldn’t be paying—the car belongs to Ironstone. It will be insured. Just fill out an incident report and let Ironstone handle the claim.”
“I can’t.” He looked utterly wretched. “I wasn’t supposed to have the car out after work hours. There might be criminal charges for theft if anyone at Ironstone finds out.”
“Theft?” She stared at him in alarm.
“Yes, for taking the car without the owner’s consent.” He suddenly looked very young, reminding her that he’d only recently finished school and was little more than a schoolboy. “I’m really sorry, sis.”
Miranda knew exactly how Callum would react if he found out—and being sorry wouldn’t help. He’d have Adrian arrested, and prosecute him to the full extent of the law. Look what he’d done to their father.
She couldn’t