Authors: Gem Sivad
“This is wicked.” Urgently she jerked her mouth from his, gasping for breath.
“Yep,” he agreed, shoving her corset down and cupping her breast, caressing the rounded globe before closing finger and thumb to pull and pinch her nipple.
“I didn’t play enough with these last night.” As if to show her what she’d missed, he twisted the stiff peak, making Eleanor jerk, thrusting her breast against the caress.
She couldn’t remain still, sinuously rolling her hips as her walls gripped his shaft in a tight squeeze. Her breath was a tight rattle in her throat as sensations threatened to smother her.
“I’m going to eat you up tonight.” He brought her to the edge of release and whispered in her ear, “Jesus God, you’re sweet and tight.” Cyrus thrust deeper, rubbing his groin against her rump before withdrawing to thrust again.
“If you don’t stop,” she panted, “I’m going to scream.”
He answered her challenge by pulling his shaft all the way out, teasing both of them. Her gasp of dismay was a soft begging sound.
“When you scream, I’ll stop. Might want to muffle it some, I see Bill heading this way.”
“Please,” she implored Cyrus. Blurry-eyed, Eleanor stared out the window, sighting the man who approached the ranch house.
“Yep,” the heathen reprobate agreed. “That’s what I aim to do—please you.” He took that moment to plunge into her again, pinching her pearl at the same time he pulled on her nipple.
She shattered in a swirl of delicious pulsing heat, her wild cry caught by the arm he provided as her shriek forced its way from her lips. He came in short hard jerks she felt all the way to her womb.
Dizzy and weak, she slumped against the sink. He petted her lower curls, dropped her skirts and stripped off the condom as she stared panic-stricken out the window. The cowboy she’d seen walking toward the house hesitated, looking at the closer back entrance before veering off, striding toward the front.
In a moment, the sound of the door opening accompanied the cowboy’s words. “You ’bout ready to head out, boss?”
“Just washing my hands,” Cyrus answered. “Go ahead and mount up. I’m coming.”
Eleanor walked on trembling legs to the table. He disposed of the rubber device he’d filled, adjusted his pants and followed behind, patting her rump before she collapsed on a chair.
“Don’t let me keep you from your work.” He handed her the basket of darning.
Apparently he was unfazed by the event. It was quite some time before Eleanor’s hands were steady enough to thread the needle. Sternly she told herself she would have to speak to him about the line separating day and night duties.
In order to keep her wits about her, she needed time away from him to take care of housekeeping tasks and focus on her future. But when once again she sat in the swing sewing on his buttons, her skin burned remembering his touch, her womb clenched hungrily and the sound of her embarrassed laughter escaped into the summer day.
Cyrus thought his knees might buckle before he made it to the barn. Good God he’d come like a sonovabitch. Warnings went off in his head. His new housekeeper had only been here a few days and he was ready to break all his rules. First he’d pulled her into his bed full-time and now he was slacking off, hanging around for afternoon dessert.
“Lovely or not, I’ll just have to explain to her she can only have it at night.” He muttered his intentions aloud.
He didn’t get the chance to set her straight. As usual, Eleanor tried to take charge. After supper was cleared, he poured a glass of whiskey and prepared for a discussion. She entered from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron and beat him to it.
“It is inappropriate to couple in the hours of daylight. Besides, I, for one, have work that needs attention and I’ve no extra time for dallying.”
“Guess I’ll have to catch you between jobs. Leave the bloomers off. You never know when my baser instincts will require some more dallying
.
” In spite of his earlier decision, he couldn’t let her get the last word.
She opened her mouth to sass and he said, “You got any on now?”
“I’ve got work to finish, pastries to prepare, bread to work.” Her face turned beet red and she backed toward the kitchen.
“Best get at it then and leave off telling me how to manage my help.” He sipped his whiskey and grinned, enjoying her flustered retreat.
* * * * *
Cyrus spent the better part of every night that week exploring wickedness with the widow. By Friday he was so damned tired, he got careless. He was stringing barbed wire, thinking about his trip to Board Town, the red-light district in Paris, and almost stepped on a rattler. Then, like a fool, he nearly shot himself in the foot when he killed it.
It jarred sense into him. His mind was on fun and not business. Many a man had lost it all by such careless inattention. The next morning, Cyrus dropped off Eleanor’s pastries at Mable’s store and then made the trip to Paris. He had business to take care of before he could concentrate on fun.
He visited his lawyer while he was there, the one who’d investigated Henry Alcott before Cyrus made him bank president. After he gave Lawyer Jud another assignment and sent a telegram to Sage Beckett, Cyrus went shopping at Molly’s Interesting Incidentals. Molly was a whore with good business sense. At the back of her dress shop in Board Town she also ran a sex shop. He picked up his condoms and went back to the telegraph office and retrieved Sage’s return message.
Arriving Monday.
He’d considered it from every angle and knew his decision was sound. Never mind that he’d only known her a week, Eleanor would make a fine permanent housekeeper. As soon as he made sure her story was on the up-and-up, he’d offer her steady employment.
Hell, I’m solving all her problems and mine too.
* * * * *
By the end of the first week, Eleanor found it quite intoxicating running a household to suit herself. Her initial reserve began crumbling.
“Thank you, ma’am. Those were fine eats.” The cowboys were polite, wiping their feet on the way in, taking their hats off at the door, shuffling to the table for meals and complimenting her by cleaning their plates.
Cyrus though, was underfoot much more frequently. On the Monday of her second week of employment, he brought a new ranch hand to the house and introduced him.
“Eleanor, this is Sage Beckett. He’s going to be ramrodding the outside work while I concentrate on inside business for a while. He eats plenty so better add another measure to your fixings.” Then he turned to the new man and grinned. “Sage, when you taste Ellie’s meals, you’ll thank me for calling you here.”
Mr. Beckett gave her an appraising look and from the interaction between the two men she felt certain he was Cyrus’ friend, not just another employee.
Sage did eat a lot and after his first bite of her sweet potato pie, he’d aimed a look her way and drawled, “They say the way to a man’s heart is through his belly. I’m in love, Mrs. Lacey. Marry me.”
The men ringing the table laughed and chimed in their own declarations.
“You go marrying her off, boys, and that’ll be the end of the chocolate éclairs.” Cyrus stopped the laughter with his sarcastic opinion. After that, the men concentrated on their food and quit their teasing remarks.
On Wednesday, she started working on the oak planking in the dining hall, scrubbing it, sanding it in spots, and polishing it to a mellow shine. At supper, the ranch hands respectfully wiped their feet before they entered, acknowledging her efforts.
“I have the other half to complete tomorrow,” she told them, pride in her voice. Cyrus might be assured of the discretion of his employees but she was certain the men stood ready to hold her in contempt as another of his doxies if she gave them reason.
She concentrated on the household tasks, hoping her labors would earn their esteem and if they spoke of her later, they’d mention the floors, not the porch swing.
There was nothing respectful at all about Mr. Burke, though. The next day, he lingered in the house, coming out of his office from time to time to watch her work.
Eleanor’s limbs ached from crawling and her knees were chafed. She was not in the mood for any of his nonsense and ignored him accordingly. Little by little she became uncomfortably aware of her derriere in the air and the way his glance seemed fixed on it. She attempted to stand, but the inflexibility of her corset turned it into an awkward scramble.
The corset was stiff, an uncomfortable binding, pinching her painfully when she tried to bend or reach. She wore it as part of her kit, her armor she donned every day to face the world.
“Leave the corset off from now on. Hell, you can’t breathe in that device. Next thing you know you’ll suffocate and then I’ll be out a cook.” He crossed the room and pulled her to her feet, poking his finger against her dress and then running his hands down to her waist.
“A respectable woman doesn’t present herself publicly without proper undergarments, Mr. Burke. Not even a cook,” she told him sedately.
Cyrus shrugged, saying no more about it, and when he left the house, she forgot about the corset, assuming he had too.
Silly her. Eleanor quickly understood that Cyrus didn’t forget anything. He just sidled back to a subject in unexpected ways.
Eleanor creaked along in the kitchen, moving like an old woman. All day, as she’d crawled over the floor finishing her task, she’d been planning a before-bed luxury. She’d waited until Cyrus became engrossed in his after-supper accounts before quietly climbing to the bathing room.
She drew a bath and quickly began disrobing, intending to be in bed and asleep before he came upstairs. Wrong. She’d removed her dress and started on her corset when the door opened. She froze.
“I’m going to bathe,” she said lamely.
“I see that.” Carrying a bottle of spirits and an empty glass, he set them down next to the tub, leaned against the wall and, crossing his arms, inspected her.
“I’ll hurry,” she told him. The vexation that flickered constantly when he was near began to simmer. Her planned leisurely soak was interrupted. Eleanor pointed at the door. “You can leave now.”
Instead, he pushed away from the wall and pounced on her, deftly unhooking the corset and peeling it off. Red marks marred the underside of her breasts and bruised pinches showed even through her thin chemise.
“That’s history. Don’t wear it again.” He threw the corset on the floor.
She was in the process of explaining to him that she’d wear ten corsets layered on top of each other if she chose when she realized he wasn’t paying any attention to her words. He was staring at the juncture of her legs clearly outlined through the thin material of her last garment.
“You trim your lower hair?” he asked.
“What?” Her face flamed and she slapped her hands over the part of her anatomy he leered at. “You are totally reprehensible. Leave.”
“Nope. Since you’re not into sharin’, I’ll just wait here and get in line for the tub.”
“You are not going to watch me bathe.” But there was no getting him out of the room so finally she stepped into the tub still wearing her chemise, ducking under the water before removing the thin garment.
“Hell, I’ve seen it all already. What are you so shy about?”
“Yes, you have,” she agreed crossly. “So stop looking and let me have this moment in peace.” Eleanor closed her eyes, hoping he’d go away if she gave him no encouragement. She should have known better. Recognizing the sound of his clothes hitting the floor, she wasn’t surprised when his foot brushed hers as he stepped into the other end of the tub. She opened her eyes in time to see his big frame slide into the water.
Pulling her knees up to her chin, Eleanor glared at him. She could see that she’d lost her comforting soak. Angry words were on her lips when he grinned and slapped the surface of the water, sending a splash up to drench her face.
“Your behavior is childish.” But she found it hard to lecture a man without looking at him and since she’d caught a glimpse of his shaft standing tall in the water, she focused on the wall instead.
Eleanor tried to avoid touching him, but he sprawled, claiming every inch of space she’d abandoned.
“Relax, Ellie. Unfold your legs. Hell, it’s a big tub. There’s room for both of us.” Stretching his legs out, first he rested a big foot on either side of her. When her knees remained folded, he hooked a foot under one, pulling until she obeyed. She no sooner slid her feet forward than he grabbed them, putting a foot on each of his thighs.
“See, that’s better than all scrunched up the way you were.”
If she closed her eyes and listened to him, she’d swear he was interested only in her comfort. Cyrus had a way of wrapping seduction in innocent-sounding sincerity.
She peeked through her lashes, assessing the situation. There wasn’t much room and what there was, he claimed. Before long, he used his feet to catch her hips, inching her forward enough until his heels hooked behind her. His pretense of platonic bathing had ended.
“Would you leave me alone?”
“Nope.” Cyrus pulled on her rump, moving her toward him as her legs slid higher, riding his hips instead of his thighs.
“Lean on back, Ellie, let’s just soak a little and talk.” He groaned, rolling his shoulders against the end of the tub, his eyes closed.
“I don’t want to talk,” she muttered. But she did want to soak. She eased her shoulders against her end of the tub, sinking lower in the warm water, letting the washcloth float to the surface and hide parts of her anatomy.
It was hard to believe that in less than two weeks, she’d gone from arguing with him on the porch to sharing a bath with the man. His ability to manipulate and seduce was rather extraordinary. She studied him, looking for signs of her own exhaustion and found none. He was lean and fit, working every day as if he were a machine.
His features—large nose, stubborn jaw and sun-and-frown-lines crossing his broad forehead—made his face too craggy to be called handsome. And when his eyes were open, his gaze was too direct, commanding her attention. She almost snickered when she looked at his prominent beak. And good Lord, he poked it in her business without shame.
Though his words were often crude and always nosy, she liked talking to him. It was invigorating, like a jousting match. She sighed. In other circumstances, Cyrus would have made a good friend. He really did seem benign just then, relaxed and resting with his eyes—and mouth—shut. She leaned back and closed her lids, not opening them even when she heard the clink of bottle against glass.
“Taste this and see what you think?” He waved the glass under her nose, inviting her to sip.
“Fennel.” she murmured, keeping her eyes shut. “I can’t remember whether it’s a flowering herb or a root. Our gardener grew both it and anise. I believe it’s good for indigestion.” She waved it away without looking at him. “No, thank you. “
“It’s called absinthe, and it’s damned expensive spirits. Now taste.”
“Yes, I’m familiar with the flavor. I’ve used a pinch of anise to flavor my spiced almond biscotti on occasion.” Eleanor obediently accepted the glass, sipped, rolled the liquid on her tongue, swallowed and sipped again before handing it back.
“Is that right?” he drawled, tipping the glass for a drink before handing it back to her. When she would have declined, he distracted her with a question. “Are your knees sore?”
“When I finish soaking, they’ll be fine.” She flexed them tentatively.
“The floor’ll just get messed up again. You’ve got the boys trained to come through the front door now.” Instead of offering some kind of balm for her tender joints, he pointed out the futility of her actions.
“You need to buy a rug.” Eleanor closed her eyes again, contemplating smacking him over the head.
“Throw an old worn-out towel down.” Cyrus splashed water at her, rippling the water in the tub.
“And cover part of that magnificent oak floor under a rag?” Eleanor sat up straight looking at him indignantly. It was an opportunity to take him to task about other things. “The fireplace is as grand as any I’ve seen, yet you’ve allowed the handsome flagstone to become marred with soot. Your windows have no curtains to frame the beautiful view. And though the walls of this house are solid, weather has chipped away the paint. Mr. Burke, you insult the builder by your lack of care.”
“Is that right?” he drawled, taking the glass from her, emptying the contents in a gulp before filling it again.
“Buy—a—rug.” She leaned closer, her nipples brushing the top of the water as she ordered him.
“I built the house.” He handed her the glass.
“Oh.” Covering her surprise, she sipped absinthe, meditating on this information before saying tartly, “Well, take better care of it.”
“That’s what I pay you to do,” he drawled and took the glass back.
“Buy a rug,” she repeated and hid behind closed lids, sliding lower, suddenly aware of her breasts bobbing in the water as she argued with him.
Cutting off her retreat, he angled his big foot, sweeping her forward as if he were a croupier raking in his winnings. Without opening her eyes, Eleanor gripped the sides of the tub, stopping her forward motion.
“You like my house?” His question was designed to distract her and it did.
“Very much,” she told him, opening her eyes. “It seems settled, as if it’s been here a long time. When did you build it?” He’d balanced the glass on the edge of the tub and she picked it up, admiring the bathing room.
“Started on it the year I bought the land. Didn’t get it finished for another two or three—hell, it’s not really finished now. I’m restin’ between ideas.” He lay in the water, feigning exhaustion.
“Well, your home is quite lovely now that I’m uncovering its treasures. You did well, Mr. Burke.” Eleanor complimented him before taking another sip of liquor and handing it to him. The water lapped against her, gently surrounding her in an oasis of calm. She closed her eyes again, floating placidly in nirvana.
“Your turn to answer a question,” Cyrus said as he filled the glass again. “What was your home like, with all the gardeners and servants? Miss it?”
“That’s three questions,” she corrected him, waving her finger at him for emphasis before answering his inquiry. “Number one—Grandfather’s home is a tomb of quietude. Nobody speaks above a whisper and all the servants are afraid of him. Number two—his gardens are magnificent but no better squash or cuke was ever grown than what I’ve found in your patch. Number three—yes, I miss my sisters and my aunt.”
“What happened to your ma and pa?”
She felt her bottom lip quiver and Eleanor reached for the glass of absinthe, not waiting for Cyrus to hand it to her. “Dead, long ago,” she said flatly. “Had I not left Hartford, my sisters would also have been dead as far as society was concerned.” She looked at the drink and then downed it, blinking tears from her lashes.
Shuddering, she inhaled deeply, remembering her last morning with them. They’d waited to hear her destination, vowing to join her where ever she was sent. It had been bravado, and they’d all known it.
“When I’m established… ” When she had her business operating successfully she would invite them. Biting her lower lip, she thought of the shack next to Mable’s store, not exactly a promising home.
“Tell me about when you were a little girl. How did you spend your days?”
“What do you mean?” Eleanor frowned, remembering her childhood and Grandfather’s rules. “Most of the time we had to be verrry quiet.” She drew the word out, picturing the four of them underfoot in the cook’s kitchen, avoiding the old man who’d taken them in.
“Phoebe is a scholar. Augusta is a wunderkind with mechanical devices and Josephine is an artist. ”
“So Phoebe read a book, Augusta tinkered with the cookstove and Josephine drew everyone’s picture. What did you do?”
She closed her eyes again and smiled. “The cook let me make desserts.”
“Sounds like pretty tame goings-on,” Cyrus chuckled.
“Noise was discouraged,” Eleanor mumbled defensively. Then a childhood dream popped into her thoughts and she smiled at him, ready to share. “I wanted to run away and join the circus.”
Cyrus snorted. “Let me guess. You were going to sell baked goods and make a fortune.”
“No.” she mumbled, feeling drowsy and content. She waved her finger back and forth making an arc.
“What then?”
She pried her eyes open and answered. “I wanted to swing on a trapeze and fly through the air high above everyone on the ground.”
He moved his feet, drawing her closer again, and she could either slide under the water or let him guide her to her destination. The night was so mellow and she didn’t feel like arguing so she complied, finding herself pulled up on his lap until she straddled his thighs.
“Your grandpa take you to the circus?” Cyrus asked her.
She hiccupped. “Good Lord, no. Grandfather was horrified and there was ‘hell and damnation’ being shouted after our Aunt Tia escorted us home and we confessed where we’d been.”
He laughed and she looked up at him, trying to remember what she’d been talking about. Oh yes, family.
“And you?” she asked, stroking the dark whiskers on his jaw, preparing to rest her head on his chest and go to sleep. “Do you have relatives? It’s a big house. Why did you build it?” She yawned sleepily.
“I built it for my mama,” he drawled. “She died before I got it finished.”
“That’s so sad. I’m sure she’s proud of you as she watches from above.” Eleanor squinted up at the ceiling trying to picture Cyrus’ mother viewing him from heaven then back at him, lolling in the tub. “Well, maybe she’s not looking right now.”
Flustered at the idea of angelic eyes witnessing the scene, she decided it was time to depart the tub.
“I’m all wrinkled.” Eleanor thrust her hand in front of his eyes, dripping water on his nose, showing him. She didn’t want to be impolite, but she really had been in the water a long time. She grasped his shoulders, levering herself upward, preparing to climb from the tub.
“You ever get to fly like you wanted?” Cyrus slid his hands up her hips and caught hold of her, lodging his cock against her belly, trapping his shaft between their bodies as he brushed his lips across hers in a kiss.
“Only recently. At night. With you.” Eleanor heard a silly giggle and realized the sound had escaped from her. “Oh,” she looked at him. “I feel rather giddy.” She hiccupped and held her breath.