Pinch of Naughty (4 page)

So Mrs. Prim ’n’ Proper wants to get snippy.
Cyrus smiled grimly. “After you clear up the supper mess, I’ll be working on my books at the table. Go upstairs and use the bathing room. I like a clean woman in my bed.”

The order sounded pretty rough even to him, but if she was going to bolt he figured it might as well be now. He’d told Jake to be prepared to escort her back to town.

Cyrus already knew better than to expect silence. She stared at him, scanning his dirty denims and sweaty shirt.

“I trust you will acquaint yourself with that facility as well.” Having gotten the last word, she elevated her nose, telegraphing her pugnacious desire to hit him as she cleared the supper dishes, leaving a clean table for his work.

First the sound of pots banging then a closing door drifted from the kitchen.
Did she leave?
I’ll be damned if I go looking to see.
Cyrus immersed himself in cattle business, trying to ignore his internal hum as his curiosity prodded him. Just how serious was Mrs. Lacey about this job?

“Mrs. Lacey, here’s to our deal.” Cyrus poured himself a short shot of whiskey and saluted the missing housekeeper, downing the fiery liquor in one gulp. He checked the clock. The house was silent but it didn’t have its usual empty feel. Lips curled in a sardonic grin, he stood and stretched.

The kitchen was warm when he carried his empty glass to the now spotless sink. A peek under an unexpectedly clean linen revealed rising dough. Half surprised, he murmured, “Guess she didn’t leave, and the boys will at least have bread for breakfast.”

He studied the room. The place looked good and smelled better. She’d hauled away the trash piled in the corner and Cyrus reminded himself to scout around and relocate it to his compost pile.

He put on his hat, went out back to the garden and grabbed two buckets for water. His foreman sauntered up to the pump and began filling the buckets for Cyrus.

“Hope she’s got more for breakfast than a cookie,” Jake muttered. “Any of ’em left?” Evidently the wave of sugar having faded, the ranch hands were ready to rethink their temporary support for Mrs. Lacey. “We’ll give her one more meal to prove herself and that’s it.”

Jake argued for and against Eleanor’s employment while Cyrus watered the melon patch and remained noncommittal. His stomach rumbled its own complaint as Jake mumbled, “Night, boss,” and returned to the bunkhouse.

He had favorites among his crew but didn’t coddle any of them. He wouldn’t keep anyone on the ranch he didn’t trust and he paid the best wages in the state, which made his men loyal to the bone. But dammit, they counted on decent food when they pulled a full day’s work. Mrs. Lacey was an indulgence he couldn’t afford—like one of those fancy cream things she’d served—more air than substance.

It was unusual for Cyrus to be ambivalent about anything. But the woman waiting upstairs made him pause. She was delicate, like an exotic flower, not made for tough housework or rough loving. He shrugged regretfully, making plans to return her to town the next day.

But still—she’d stood toe-to-toe with him, insisting she could handle him and everything he threw at her.

It was late and he suspected Mrs. Lacey was curled up asleep. In spite of his firm belief she was the wrong woman for the job, Cyrus took the steps two at a time, suddenly eager to see what kind of dessert Eleanor had to offer for night duty.

Her scent hung tantalizingly in the air when he entered the bathing room. It was more an essence, a feeling, instead of the heavy, cloying perfume his recent housekeepers had used to cover their smell.

Cyrus stripped fast, scrubbed dirt and sweat from his body and climbed out of the tub. He didn’t deliver the usual hand job to appease his hard-on. Instead, he breathed in the smell of Eleanor, thought about her naked and waiting in his bed and just in case things went the right way, rolled a condom over his rigid cock. In deference to her
respectable
status, he pulled on a clean pair of denims, leaving them unbuttoned to ease the pull on his groin, and padded on bare feet to his bedroom.

She’d obeyed orders. Mrs. Lacey—Eleanor—sat upright against pillows and headboard, her hands folded in her lap, waiting for him. She’d left the lamp turned low so he could see the shape of her under the sheet drawn across her lap. Her pale yellow nightgown, although a sedate affair, revealed the swell of unfettered breasts beneath the fabric.

The condom encasing his length tightened around him as his cock thickened. He felt like a stallion ramped and ready to cover a mare as he eliminated the distance between them.

“Ready to seal the deal, Eleanor?” Leering down at her, he leaned over the bed, his palms on either side of her hips.

She grabbed the sheet, securing it tighter around her. Cyrus admired the colors playing over her features. She blinked at him from violet eyes accented by strangely dark lashes and darker brows considering her otherwise blonde hair.

Cyrus licked his lips. She looked as smooth and creamy as one of her exotic treats. He focused on her ruby lips marked where her white teeth had gnawed on the bottom one.  Closing the space between them until his nose bumped her flushed cheek, he tasted her mouth, running his tongue along the tightly closed seam before he toppled her sideways off the stack of pillows.

He’d intended to scare the bejesus out of her, proving his point that she wouldn’t suit. Instead he found himself sprawled on top of her, feeling every inch of that fine body cushioning his big frame as his chest pressed against firm, plump breasts.

“Mr. Burke.” Her words brushed against his lips and he leaned back an inch.

“What?”

“Is this quite necessary?”

That tied it. “Mrs. Lacey, did I not tell you this wouldn’t work?” He rolled off her before he lost complete control and forced the issue. Grimly he started for the door.

The ache in his groin wiped out the pleasure in her cookies. He had the door open and intended to put her in the wagon himself and say good riddance to Widow Lacey once and for all.

“Wait, I’m ready.”

He knew damn well it was a mistake but he walked stiffly back to stand beside the bed. Without a word, he dropped his denims and stepped out of them. His cock waved in the air, undaunted and ready to play.

“What is wrong with your male part?” She pointed at his erection trussed up like a sausage roll.

“Never seen one of these before?” Cyrus looked down—the rubber was stretched to a thin gold color encasing his cock like a glove.

“No. What is it?” Mrs. Prim ’n’ Proper pulled the sheet up to her chin as though afraid of catching something.

“They call them French letters.” He watched her head tilt sideways like a robin’s, questioning his words. “It’s a condom,” he said gruffly, not in the mood to explain the device.

“What are condoms?”
Eleanor asked in a puzzled voice.

“Cock gloves, rubbers, dick wrappers,” he said grimly. She still looked mystified. “It covers me so I won’t leave a kid in your belly.” Pointing at her nightgown, he growled, “That’s gotta go.”

The quivering in her stomach spread to her limbs and Eleanor shivered from both the anger in his gaze and her icy terror. Somehow she had lost control of the situation and the reality of Mr. Burke’s half-naked presence wiped out any thought of a quick interlude during which she would doze. “My sleepwear?”

“Yep,” he growled. “If we’re doing it, we’re doing it right. Now take it off.”

Eleanor stared at his stern expression and saw no reprieve. She pulled the sheet higher and fumbled with shaking hands at the ribbon closing her gown.

As she wiggled out of her nightwear, the sheet slipped, revealing her bare shoulder. A low rumbling sound emerged from the man standing by the bed. Mable’s earlier description of him as
a
wolf
seemed only too accurate.

Eleanor lifted the sheet higher, as if its thin material would protect her from the stiff member jutting at a right angle from Mr. Burke’s body.

“As long as we’re losing things,” he said, reaching for her cover, “this goes too.” He grabbed the sheet, wrestling her for it until the sound of ripping material and her fully displayed naked body signaled her defeat. “Cost of one new sheet coming off your wages.”

Eleanor didn’t know what to cover or how to hide. His gaze slowly crawled up her frame, lingering on her breasts. Traitorous nipples hardened into pouting nubs and she clapped her hands over them.

His eyes narrowed into a hooded glance assessing her. Eleanor inched backward until she sat with knees folded under her and arms primly covering her chest. Remembering the voluptuous woman she’d seen at the local store, reputed to be one of his lady loves, she glared at him, daring him to insult her less spectacular curves.

His silence irritated Eleanor so much she decided to be equally rude. She let her gaze play over his naked expanse. Mr. Burke’s muscular thighs were connected to strong legs with rope-like tendons showing under the skin.

Eleanor let her gaze rove higher, studying the slim hips, flat hard stomach, broad chest and powerful shoulders. Her eyes traveled upward until she met his gaze and recognized the sardonic tilt of his eyebrow. His expression was relaxed, his mouth curving into an almost smile.

Heat coursed through Eleanor’s veins. Hastily she dropped her eyes, stopping at the iron pillar surrounded by a pelt of dark curls at his groin. It moved, jerking as though acknowledging her glance.

“Are you sitting there all night gawking at my dick, or are we certifying our business relationship?”

“All right.” She flung herself backward, grabbing hold of the bedding on each of her sides. “I’m ready for your ludicrous night duty.” Eleanor closed her eyes, resigning herself to the indignity of coupling with Mr. Burke.

“You look like a virgin sacrifice,” he growled as soon as she took her place.

“I’m neither innocent nor sacrificial. If you don’t mind, I’d like to get this over with. I have bread rising I need to attend.” The idea of punching the air out of the bloated dough suddenly appealed to her very much. She had to open her eyes to glare at him.

“Since I’m the employer and you’re the employee and night duty is part of the job, I’ll do the prioritizing.” He moved between her clenched thighs, parting them easily, looming over her. The last part of his declaration was lost in a grunt as he opened the lips of her sex.

She tensed, counting the hairs on his chest to pass the time.

“You’re tight,” he grunted.

“I beg your pardon,” Eleanor apologized.

“Guess we’ll just get this first time over with.”

Mr. Burke’s words mimicked William’s, “Let’s get it done,” spoken at each of their infrequent visits. William’s manhood had been small, popping in for a moment before he sighed, withdrew and bid her “good night”—her cue to return to her room.

Dutifully Eleanor gripped the bedding, anchoring her hands as the rigid end of Mr. Burke’s member touched her entrance. She couldn’t repress the shudder racking her body. Mr. Burke was not William and his member was not small.

“Let go of the sheet and put your hands on me.”

He wanted her to touch him? She didn’t know if she could. Eleanor’s breath froze in her lungs, making it difficult to formulate her request. “Put the light out, please.”

He braced on one arm, muscles bulging as he held himself above her and reached across to extinguish the lamp, clothing them in darkness. “Now put your arms around me.”

Eleanor pried her fingers loose from the sheet, tentatively embracing him as she wondered what to do with her hands—leave them cupped or lying flat?

“Run your fingers up and down my back.”

She closed her eyes and obeyed, using her fingertips to explore the thick muscles in his shoulders before venturing down his spine. He radiated heat like a hot oven.

“Mark me,” Cyrus whispered against her throat, settling his hips in the juncture of her legs.

Mark him?
Eleanor focused all the frustrations and anger she’d felt for months on obeying his command. Arching her palms, she made her nails into talons, scratching his back from rump to shoulder.

His hips jerked and she whimpered as his manhood penetrated her like a battering ram, stretching her tight passage, mimicking the exquisite drag of her nails scoring his flesh.

“You’re too big.” She gripped his shoulders, hanging on as her internal muscles flexed and squeezed trying to stop the molten iron forging toward her womb.

“We’re fine,” he grunted in response to her complaint.

When she would have protested again, the savage covered her mouth with his, poking his tongue inside as he had earlier in the day. Eleanor’s attention divided between the heavy penetrating member below and the thrusting invasion above.

Her fingers curled in his hair. When he released her mouth, she gasped for breath, readying to argue again but… He nudged her head sideways, planting his mouth on the spot dividing neck from shoulder, licking and nibbling there until her dissent became a moan.

Exquisite pleasure rippled through her. Her fingers slid from his hair to his jaw, stroking the rough stubble abrading her skin. The cloak of darkness heightened her senses so that she felt even the tickle of his short curls against her mound. She was filled with him, surrounded by him, covered by him, steeped in the heady male scent of him.