warning me off!” Fraser’s grin widened as he searched Callum’s face. “I thought you were already attached.” Turning his head, Fraser scanned the room. “Although I haven’t seen the princess here tonight.”
“Petra doesn’t like it when you call her Princess,” he said pompously, and spoiled the effect by slicing his brother a dirty look.
“Does your lack of answer mean she was supposed to be here?”
“No.”
Callum shuddered at the memory of the disastrous call he’d made from New York. He should have ended it with Petra a week ago. It hadn’t been fair to keep Petra on a string, not while this hunger for Miranda ate at him like acid. Petra hadn’t said much, but he knew he’d hurt her. It’s not you, it’s me—he’d even used that old corny line. You deserve better. She did—he should’ve waited to break it off with her in person.
So he’d organized a string of pearls to be delivered to her, more to assuage his guilt than to offer consolation. And he was grateful Petra wasn’t here tonight—although he’d noted Gordon’s appearance with some relief.
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
