Callum knew he probably had Petra to thank for that. The woman had style.

So why the hell couldn’t it be Petra he craved with this deep and desperate desire?

“She’s got more sense than I credited her with if she dumped you.” Fraser sounded almost satisfied.

Narrowing his gaze, Callum studied his brother’s mocking smile. He didn’t correct his brother’s mistaken belief that it was Petra who’d done the ditching. Instead he said with brotherly candor, “I don’t think she likes you much. Kind of like Miranda-who hates my guts.”

“Miranda?” Fraser’s suddenly blank expression gave nothing away. “Wasn’t Thomas Owen’s daughter named Miranda?”

Without meaning to, Callum glanced toward the woman who’d been tormenting his nights. “Yes.”

Fraser followed his gaze. “That same Miranda?”

This time Callum’s “Yes” was terse.

Knowing his brother was examining him with keen interest made Callum feel uncomfortably exposed. The silence stretched long enough to become pointed. Finally Fraser said gently, “Ouch.”

Exactly. “Just stay away from her.”

“And if I don’t?” Fraser asked. “Then what, little brother? You’ll beat me to pulp?”

Blood rushed through his ears. “Don’t…try…it.” He bit the words out with aggressive intent.

Fraser hooted in disbelief. “You would.”

The sound of his sibling’s laughter caused Callum to ask grimly, “What’s so damn funny?”

“If you don’t know, I’m not telling.” Fraser was already off to where their half brothers, Jack and Hunter, huddled with a major stakeholder. Still smirking, he threw over his shoulder, “You always did like to do things the hard way, Callum.”

You always did like to do things the hard way. Fraser’s words still rang in Callum’s ears as he fought his way through the crush of people that seemed to have grown larger and louder over the past hour, heading to where Miranda and two waitresses were replenishing platters of savories on the temporary bar.

She shot him a wary look as he approached.

He supposed it was foolish to have hoped for a little gratitude after all the trouble he’d taken to ensure she could do the catering tonight. Biddy had been far from pleased at having to call the catering company that had already been booked-he’d had to pay them in full for the late cancellation.

Of course Miranda didn’t know that. He’d told her the caterer had been forced to renege for reasons of illness… Nor did she know he’d broken up with Petra. He had no intention of telling her either. Miranda already had more power over him than he liked.

Talk about a tangled web.

As far as doing things the hard way, this fierce attraction to Miranda topped all. Callum wasn’t even sure his motives were pure any longer. What had begun as a sop to his conscience had somehow gotten out of control since meeting the all-grown-up Miranda. He didn’t know what had hit him. All he knew was that he wanted to take her back to his bed…sate himself with her.

Hell, why should she be grateful? Given her conviction that he’d caused her father’s death it wasn’t surprising she couldn’t bear the sight of him. Callum didn’t like the niggle of discomfort that ate at his stomach-the same sensation that often gnawed in the middle of the night. If he hadn’t pushed so hard to have Thomas Owen arrested, the man might still be alive today.

And Miranda and Adrian would still have a father.

As he cut through the throng, he smiled and nodded to business acquaintances but didn’t pause until he reached Miranda, busy setting out serviettes and fresh bowls of olives amid a crowd at the bar.

“Need any help?”

Miranda’s eyelashes fluttered down, blocking her eyes from his view. White serviettes printed with gold snowflakes fanned out under the touch of her deft fingers, and he had to strain his ears to hear her response.

“It’s all under control.”

He dropped his gaze from those teasing fingers. Only to be confronted by the provocative white apron with its starchy ruffles and wished furiously he could as easily control his wild thoughts. Clearing his throat, he managed, “Uh…I need to update you on Adrian.”

Her hands stilled. “Adrian?”

The rest of what she said was drowned out by a burst of laughter. Not even staring at her mouth helped him make out the words-although the soft shape of her lips caused another quake of lust.

Placing a hand under her elbow, he drew her away from the bar. “Sorry, I can’t hear you.”

She came slowly, her arm suddenly stiff under his fingertips.

It didn’t augur well for the chances of assuaging the growing hunger that burned in him. He bent forward and said loudly over the music and surrounding chatter, “Let me introduce you around-we can talk about Adrian later.”

He sensed her hesitation. Flicking him a quick, sideways look, she rested a hand on his shoulder and rose on tiptoe. “I’m not sure I can wait.”

Callum shuddered as her breath warmed his ear with the innocently provocative words. Turning his head, he discovered her mouth not far from his. For a moment he was tempted to throw caution to the winds. To confess that Petra meant nothing to him and that she, Miranda, consumed his every thought. To plunder the soft ripeness of that sweet mouth.

But she withdrew her hand, leaving him bereft. Bringing himself back to the present, he mouthed, “Later. We’ll talk when the party settles down. Right now, I ought to circulate.”

She glanced around at the press of people that made it impossible to talk and nodded, but her irises had darkened with worry.

“Adrian’s fine,” he said. Miranda needed to think more about herself and spend less time fretting about her brother. Into a short lull he said, “Have you got your business cards here?”

She nodded. “In my bag. I’ll get them.”

He gave her a thumbs-up and waited for her to return.

Once it had sunk in that Adrian’s secret was still safe, Miranda’s heartbeat steadied and she started to relax.

Callum introduced her to an older couple, Madge and Tom Murray. On learning that Miranda was responsible for the food, Madge said, “The mince pies simply melted in my mouth. What magic did you use?”

That launched a discussion about pastry that attracted a nearby woman. After several minutes Miranda turned to Callum and Madge’s husband and apologized profusely. “Sorry, I lose time when the talk is about food.”

“Madge likes nothing more.” Tom laughed.

The conversation moved on to favorite dishes and dinner-party disasters. Madge was amusing, and her husband clearly doted on her-even though he confessed to hating oysters which Madge vowed was grounds for divorce.

As everyone laughed, Miranda felt a stab of envy. Even though her father had adored and indulged Flo, there’d never been this sense of kinship and shared laughter between her parents.

The arrival of a tall, dark-haired man who looked vaguely familiar interrupted her thoughts. But the respite proved to be short. The newcomer turned out to be none other than Callum’s brother, Fraser, whose sharp eyes assessed Miranda and missed nothing. Not the fact that his brother stood beside her, nor that his brother’s arm was behind her. His arched brows rose a little, but thankfully he only added to the hilarity in their discussions about food.

“What is your secret food passion, Miranda?” asked Madge.

“Chocolate,” she said. “Rich, dark and slightly bitter.”

“Sounds like Callum,” Fraser said with a sly grin.

Miranda didn’t dare glance at the silent man standing next to her. In an instant those mad moments in his home played through her brain like a movie in slow motion.

Callum hoisting her up and stepping between her thighs. Callum soaping her in the shower afterward. Callum naked and damp with droplets moving over her before pinning her on his bed and…

She became brutally aware of the gentle pressure of his hand resting in the small of her back. And blinked. Hard.

This was Callum Ironstone, for heaven’s sake. Petra’s almost financé. Her brother’s boss. Her sworn enemy. How could she allow such treacherous desires to consume her? How could she even be tempted to respond to his touch? And worse, to every breath he drew? Yet the touch of his hand on her back seemed so…right. What was wrong with her?

“I need to get back to the kitchen,” she said desperately, shifting out from beneath his hand.

“Don’t you dare say anything about a woman’s place,” Madge warned as Fraser looked as if he were about to comment.

He said, “I wouldn’t dare. Mother would send us to our rooms for voicing such heresy, wouldn’t she, Callum?”

“Without a doubt.” The laugh lines around Callum’s eyes crinkled, making him even more attractive.

Miranda escaped before she could be further seduced. Or, heaven help her, admit that she wanted to be seduced.

Drat the man.

The long night was almost over.

Miranda had been clock-watching for the past half hour, waiting for the guests to leave as the medley of cheerful Christmas carols segued into light classics. But she still started when Callum came up silently behind her, invading the refuge she’d sought behind the tall Christmas tree in the lobby where she’d hidden in the hope of avoiding him.

A quick upward glance from where she knelt beside three crates revealed that he’d discarded his jacket, and the white shirt he wore was startling in the dim lobby.

“I’ve been looking for you.” Callum held out a glass of what looked like port. “You’ve done enough tonight, Miranda. Leave packing those glasses and take a break.”

She glanced at the dark liquid swirling in the crystal glass and pictured-too vividly-what had happened the last time she’d indulged in wine under his roof. Her pulse quickened, causing blood to rush to her head and a wave of dizzy desire.

“No, thanks.” Miranda fought to control her physical reaction. Port would only cause her defenses-already vulnerable-to crumble more rapidly. Earlier he’d promised to catch her later and talk about Adrian; no doubt that was why he had been looking for her. Not to seduce her-contrary to her wild imaginings.

He shrugged and took a sip of his wine. The lights of the tall Christmas tree overhead flashed, creating a surreal glow of silver, and for a moment she was riveted. His tie had been abandoned and the pulse in the hollow of his throat beat visibly.

She stared transfixed.

Then he surprised her.

“Tonight was a success. I want to thank you, Miranda.”

His eyes were warm, the blue muted, making her wish they’d met under different circumstances-that 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…