I think about it, you didn’t greet me yesterday, either. Maybe you’re not a morning person.”
He had that right. But nor did she want any reminder about waking in his bed yesterday morning. “What do you want?”
“Now there’s a leading question.” He’d lowered his voice to a husky drawl and at once a rush of heat filled Miranda. Oh, heavens! She couldn’t let herself respond to Callum with such unfettered sensual delight.
She tamped it down. “Oh, please, it’s too early in the morning for sexual innuendo.”
He laughed. “Definitely not a morning person. I apologize for calling so early.” That must be a first. “I’m flying out to New York this afternoon,” Callum continued more briskly, “and my schedule this morning is hellish.”
Miranda suppressed the urge to cheer at the thought of Callum over three thousand miles away—it would give her time to recover from the turmoil that sleeping with him had caused her.
He was still talking rapidly. “I’ve got tickets for Les Misérables on Saturday night. Do you want to go? We can have dinner afterward.”
“You called me to invite me on a date?” she said, blank dismay settling over her.
The silence stretched. Then he said, “I suppose you could call it that.”
What else did one call a show and dinner followed by whatever else he had in mind? Shivers prickled as vivid images of what he might be planning assailed her.
The 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?”
