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“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?
