Pinch of Naughty (7 page)

              “What makes you think you’ll have enough money then? Shoot, Eleanor, you’ve never even asked how much I’m paying you.”

Cyrus didn’t tell her he owned the flimsy shack she was dreaming about. Hell, it would probably get flattened by a good wind before Eleanor raised enough money to rent it.

Lavender eyes darkened to purple as she sputtered, “Of course I’ll earn enough for all this work I’m doing.” She demanded, “Won’t I?”

Cyrus squirmed inside and his voice came out gruff when he finally answered.

“Business is business. If you’re planning on making your livelihood from a store, you’d better know how much you’re spending on your ingredients.” He suddenly didn’t want to douse the hope shining in her eyes, so slid past the building topic and centered on the one at hand.

“I’ll do the arithmetic.” She nodded eagerly.

“You might be better buying the fixins from Mable wholesale before you set your price next time.”

“Oh I don’t set the prices.” She frowned. “Should I?”

“I’m not saying Mable Smyth isn’t an honest woman. Hell, I’ve known her since I was a boy—she’s as straight as an Indian lodge pole. But she’s not above lettin’ a fool be a fool.”

“But we’re both making money,” Eleanor protested.             

“She’s making a sight more than you if she’s charging you retail for her ingredients. Besides, you’re doin’ all the work.” Cyrus pointed out the obvious.

“Even if I make nothing, the introduction of my pastries to the marketplace has given me an enormous start. I prefer to think that neither Mable nor I are fools.” Her jaw squared, she flushed pink and her expression became militant.

“Maybe not.” He conceded the point to her, pouring the last tepid drops of coffee into his cup. Actually he kind of liked the way she refused to let him undermine her loyalty to Mable.

“I’ll put on a fresh pot.” She took the cup from his hand, heading for the other room.

He followed her to the kitchen and leaned on the doorsill while she fiddled with the coffee and set it brewing. “You count in that cost?” He pointed his finger at the stove.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you don’t own a stove and without mine you can’t make squat. And did I hear you right? You’re counting on me being your distributor, carrying your wares to the store and your ingredients back?”

“How much will that cost me?”

“How much can you afford?”

“I don’t know.” Her tone was exasperated.

“Well, figure it out,” he told her. “If you want to run a business, you have to watch every cent coming and going.”

He crossed to the stove, lifting the half-perked coffee from the fire.

“It’s not done.” Eleanor reached to pull it back in place.

“Time for bed.”

“But I have things…” she began.

“Mable’s already cuttin’ into my Wednesdays and Saturdays.” Cyrus acknowledged his defeat, claiming the important victory. “She’s sure as hell not gettin’ my nights. Upstairs, move your clothes and come to bed.”

He turned and strode from the kitchen, willing her to follow. He wanted her so bad his gut ached. He was halfway to the steps when her tart answer floated from the kitchen.

“I will report for night duty shortly, Mr. Burke.”

Trying to compose her rioting emotions, Eleanor rubbed butter on the tops of the loaves and set them to rise. When her preparations were finished and she had no more excuses to linger, she trudged up the steps, flutters of anticipation mixed with confusion.

After denying her the right to honor her contract with Mable, Mr. Burke had shifted mid-discussion to picking apart her business plan. Apparently he had acquiesced and now waited above for her arrival so he could deliver his next work-related demand.

The move to his bedroom was silly.
I’ll humor him until he goes to sleep, then return to my room as I always intended.

Since she had few items to move, it took very little time to carry her satchel to the other room. Rebelliously, she left her dress behind.

“Come in here, Eleanor.” As though he’d been listening to her progress, as soon as she’d deposited the satchel next to a chair, he called to her.

It was unheard of—venture into the bathing room while he used the facilities? She pretended not to hear. The next call was too loud to ignore. She crossed the hallway, cracking the door to peek inside.

“What?” she asked, staring at the wall instead of the man in the tub. One quick glance had been enough to confirm her fears. He was naked, expecting her to join him in the room to complete some nonsensical task he’d demand.

“Quit staring at the wall, come over here and wash my back.” He made his outrageous suggestion in the voice of a general ordering his troops.

Nervously, Eleanor’s gaze flicked sideways and he pounced, capturing her glance. He motioned her toward him, flipping water on the floor.

“You’ll ruin the wood.” She concentrated on the splatter of water instead of him.

“Throw a rug down and it’ll be fine,” he answered.

To do that, she’d have to move closer to his person—his unclothed body—his naked skin covered with nothing more than transparent water. She swallowed her fear and slowly crossed to where he sat in the water waiting.

“Is this part of night duty?” she asked.

“Yep,” he drawled. Then gave her a sly look and asked, “You ever wash your old man’s back?”

“You mean my father? Of course not. My father had his own manservant to attend his personal needs.”

“Not your pa. Your dead husband. They tell me a good wife bathes her man.”

Eleanor blinked at him, confused. She was the daughter of a prestigious Eastern family. She had to remind herself that she was also Mr. Burke’s servant.
Cyrus wants me to wash his back? I can’t think of him as Mr. Burke while I put my hands on his naked skin.

Her intimate address would have to remain purely mental if she intended to maintain their employer and employee relationship.
I will think of him as Cyrus and call him Mr. Burke.
That settled, she answered him.

“No, Mr. Burke.  My husband and I did not share such intimacies.” She repressed a shudder remembering William’s pudgy frame.

“Guess I’ll have to teach you how then,” Cyrus drawled. “Take this and lather it up good, then scrub my shoulders and back with it.”

Eleanor accepted the dripping sponge and obediently rubbed it against the soap, coating it with lather.

“Okay, you’ve got the first part down,” he growled sarcastically. “There’s foam dropping on the floor you’re so worried about. Now let’s see if you can manage the next step.”

“You’ll have to lean forward.” Eleanor knelt at the end of the tub, sponge in hand. Her breath caught when she saw the scratch marks she’d left the night before. They were reminders of their coupling and her limbs felt weak anticipating another encounter.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she muttered to cover her heated response.

“I should charge you for your instructions.” Of course he heard and taunted back.

Eleanor squeezed the sponge full of water over his head, sending a cascade of frothy liquid over his face.

“Why in hell did you do that?” he sputtered.

“I didn’t have a bucket of water to use,” she answered grimly.

Eleanor decided washing his back was the safest way to avoid whatever else he had planned. She trickled water in a stream downward, enjoying the way his muscles twitched and he jerked under the tickling caress.

“Your tongue would feel good doin’ the same,” he suggested.

“Why would I want to lick your back?” Eleanor asked, startled at the way the idea made her sex clench.

“You don’t want to taste me?” he asked innocently.

“No,” she lied, remembering the flavor of his sweat.

“Not even a nibble?” He ignored her rebuff, reaching around to grasp her skirt, tugging on it.

“Let go of my dress,” she snapped.

“Might be better if you shucked it altogether before you climb in here.”

“You want me to disrobe and get in the tub with you?”
The man has lost his mind.

“Yep. There’s nothing like sharing a bath with a woman to get to know her better.”

“Good night, Mr. Burke. Your back is clean. Your suggestion is impertinent and we know each other quite well enough. I’ll leave you to finish your ablutions alone.” Eleanor’s face flamed and she stood, throwing the sponge at his head before hurrying to the door.

“Eleanor, I didn’t give you permission to leave.” The sound of water splashing on the floor accompanied his warning as his wet feet hit the floor.

She slammed shut the door and took off running, making it down the stairs and outside to the swing with him following close behind.

“Eleanor, you sure you want to conduct our business out here?” He came out on the porch, his nakedness outlined by the house light.

She edged behind the swing, keeping it between them. Speechless, she gazed at the beast stalking her. His bare feet were big, his long legs topped by muscled thighs and the evidence of his manhood jutted rigidly in front of him as if it were made of steel.

Gauging the distance to the steps leading to the ranch yard, Eleanor risked a glance away from the savage.

“You run off the porch and I’m gonna chase you,” he drawled, crossing his arms over his chest. Waiting for her next move, he added, “Might be kind of fun.”

“Don’t you have something better to do than tormenting me?” she asked tartly.

“Yep, I figured on doing it in that bed upstairs. But if it’s the porch you’ve decided on, I’m flexible.”

“If you’ll put on some clothes, I’ll come back into the house.” Eleanor drew in a deep breath waiting for him to agree—then she’d get off the porch and run like hell toward the big gate and the town beyond.

“Nope, no point in it,” he said. “They’d be comin’ back off as soon as you hit the door.”

“Your brains were addled by a head injury, right?” Cornered and unconvinced she could persuade her cowboy boss to come to his senses, she gripped the railing, ready to sprint for the steps.

“Eleanor, did I not agree to haul your desserts to town?” If he hadn’t been stark naked it would have been a reasonable question.

“I don’t know what you agreed to. Worse yet, I don’t know what I agreed to,” she muttered, inching her way closer to her goal.

“Did I not tell you my housekeepers had night duty too?” he growled.

“You didn’t say night duty included cavorting naked in a bathtub with you,” Eleanor answered swiftly.

“You haven’t done much playing in your life, have you, Eleanor?” he asked. Then seeing her glance toward the steps again he said sternly, “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

As soon as he went through the door, she studied her escape to nowhere, hesitating before she started her descent.

“Eleanor.” His voice cracked out like a whip drawing her gaze to where he stood draped in a blanket that covered him from neck to knees. “Sit down in the swing. We’ll negotiate some.”

Dreading the coming conversation, she took a seat. As soon as her feet left the porch floor, he walked to where she sat in the swing, unfurled his blanket, wrapped it around both of them, and slid next to her, pulling her tight against his bare thigh.

Eleanor gasped, jerking in shock when Cyrus reached down and untangled her clenched hands, laying the right one on his bare leg.

“Just settle down. All we’re doin’ is talking a bit.” He covered her fingers, capturing her hand between his warm palm and warmer thigh, sending heat scorching through her. Lazily he propelled the swing into motion, his left arm embracing her shoulders, her body hugging his.

“Eleanor, the way I see it, we made a deal and finalized it last night. If you didn’t agree to the terms, you shouldn’t have accepted the contract.”

Before she could protest further, he dropped his head and nuzzled her neck.

“Did you not enjoy yourself?” he whispered the question in her ear.

“I’d rather not speak about it.” She averted her gaze, staring at the barn.

He moved his hand, pulling hers with it in a slide through the fine hair on his thigh. Her fingers clenched, grabbing his skin in a pinching hold, preventing the upward climb.

“You brand me, I put my mark on you in the same place.” His low chuckle brushed across her ear, his breath warming her as he leaned closer with his promise.

She released her grip.

“Burns where you touched me,” he drawled. Then, instead of rubbing his own leg, he dropped his left arm to her side and put his hand on her thigh, mirroring the spot she’d pinched.

“Right about here,” he said, stroking her limb, his heat radiating through her skirts.

“What do you want from me?” she asked desperately.

“Well, aside from two meals a day, a clean house and you warming my bed, I wouldn’t mind you dropping the Mr. Burke and calling me Cyrus.”

Since she’d just been arguing with herself about the same thing, her answer was already framed. “Mr. Burke, I’m your temporary housekeeper. Using your given name would signify we have a relationship other than employee and employer.” She closed her eyes and sighed, holding her head rigid where it lay against his shoulder.

“Not interested in anything else, huh?”

“What? Resident doxy, slattern with a mop? Of course I’m not interested in anything else.” She grabbed his arm, stopping the hand on her thigh from moving higher. “I have to maintain a reputation above reproach in order to be tolerated in town when I set up my shop. It will be hard enough keeping my presence here on your ranch a secret. Flaunting an illicit relationship is unthinkable.”

“Your reputation is safe with me, Eleanor. Mable knew that when she sent you out here.” Cyrus shrugged and sent the swing gliding back and forth again.

Since his fingers had resumed their slow crawl, towing her hand toward his shaft, Eleanor didn’t find his reassurance convincing.

“We’re sitting here in a porch swing, you’re totally nude under this blanket and the men in the bunkhouse can surely see your intentions are not honorable.” She wasn’t stupid, just hopeful somehow the men would remain quiet.

“You don’t need to worry about them talking. My men have sense enough to keep their gobs shut. If there’s gossip it won’t start here.” He squeezed her thigh and slid his hand upward again.

“I expect Aunt Mildred will be instrumental in spreading the news if she finds out I’m here.” Eleanor turned her head and unintentionally rubbed her cheek against his chest. His warmth against her face made her want to purr. Instead she quelled the urge and sat up straighter.

“Nope, that’s not going to happen either,” Cyrus told her. “That would be Henry’s wife, right?”

“Yes,” Eleanor agreed. “But during my visit with them it was clear Aunt Mildred loved gossiping. I don’t think she can resist.” She didn’t tell him that Aunt Millie’s favorite topic was him.

“Henry’s not likely to want his dirty laundry aired in public.” Cyrus made a disgusted noise, pulling her tighter into his embrace.

“Uncle Henry is henpecked and Mildred doesn’t listen,” Eleanor explained.

“She understands she likes to eat and they’ll be out on the street if she runs her mouth.” Cyrus interrupted.

“Why?” Eleanor craned her head backward, trying to see his face in the dark.

“Why do you think Mable sent you here?”

“Well, because I needed a job and a place to stay.” Eleanor started to explain again.

“Nope,” he said. “Because Mable knows when Henry can’t stifle his wife, I can.”

“How?”

“I own the bank.” Cyrus said calmly.

“You are in banking, like Grandfather?” Was this yet another manipulation on the part of her family to conduct a business transaction? Eleanor froze.

“Nope,” he drawled. “I just don’t trust others to manage my money so I built my own, got a state charter and set up a bank close to home. I hired your uncle away from the bank in Paris.”

Eleanor didn’t know whether to warn him or not. It was common knowledge in the family that Uncle Henry had been sent to Texas to expand the family’s banking interests.

Cyrus’ laughter rumbled under her ear, changing the direction of her thoughts.