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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.
