Pinch of Naughty
Authors: Gem Sivad
by Gem Sivad
You give in to temptation often, Eleanor?”
“Never,” she answered honestly.
“That’s too bad, Ellie,” Cyrus murmured. “Everyone needs a pinch of naughty from time to time…”
“This is the kind of book which you start and you can’t stop reading until you’re done…and then you read it all over again—it’s that good. ~
Laura, Two Lips Reviews
“I
loved the book!!! Perfect for lovers of historical romance, it's a book you can read over and over again with the same delight and pleasure.
~Dolce Amore, Booked Up
“A
lovely romance, with characters that will stay with you long after you finish the book. ~
Barbara, Just Erotic Romance Reviews
Eleanor Lacey’s husband is as dead as their sexless marriage. Leaving scandal behind in Connecticut, where the law ponders whether she’s widowed or divorced, she flees to Texas to begin anew.
But if Eleanor is to remain independent of her manipulative family, she needs money—fast. The local mercantile owner suggests that she earn her
grubstake
by
cooking meals for the richest rancher in the state.
Cyrus Burke works hard for every penny he makes and prides himself on knowing where to cut costs. He doesn’t want a wife cluttering up his life. His housekeepers are good enough—round the clock employees tending his sexual appetite, too.
Mrs. Lacey applies for the position and looks like a promising candidate. Delicious in fact, as smooth and creamy as a tasty tart.
Recipe for hot love:
Blend one wickedly willful widow, with one arrogantly masterful man, add a dash of decadent desire, stir in a pinch of naughty, and turn up the fire.
COPYRIGHT
This ebook is licensed to you for your personal enjoyment only and may not be sold, shared, or given away.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the writer’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
****
Although this title has previously been published, the author has refreshed and added content to the original story.
Pinch of Naughty
Copyright © 2016 by Gem Sivad
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
No part of this publication may be used, reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles or reviews. Manufactured in the United States of America.
Published by Gem Sivad, LLC
Editor: Meg Davis
Cover Design: Selfpubbookcovers.com/FrinaArt
Sivad, Gem (2016-01-17).
Gem Sivad LLC. Kindle Edition.
Texas, 1887
Cyrus Burke’s long strides carried him toward the house and the woman who sat waiting in the porch swing. As soon as his foot hit the first step, she stood.
“My name is Mrs. Lacey. I am a wid…” She paused and licked her lips as if trying to get the words out. “My husband is deceased.”
He knew who she was and he knew she was a widow. She was part of Mable Smyth’s delivery and nothing came on this ranch without his prior approval. But he wasn’t in the mood for disappointment and even though she came in a nice package, from her air of superiority and refined tones he could tell Mrs. Lacey wasn’t housekeeper material.
Mable just wasted my time. I’ll dock her next load for that.
He studied the woman in front of him. Mid-twenties, stubborn tilt to her head, determined jawline, smooth, creamy skin—currently flushed from the sun—pale blonde hair and a pair of fine violet eyes mimicking the color of Texas sage.
He’d looked her over earlier in the day when he’d checked the shopkeeper’s wagon contents. Mable’s human package had ignored him until he’d pointed out that her hat was listing sideways. She’d corrected the tilt and stared silently at Mable’s mule instead of speaking to him. Her hat was slapped on straight now and she didn’t mince words.
“I would like to apply for the position of housekeeper.”
“No.” As soon as she’d given him her prim snub earlier in the day, he’d been pretty damned sure she wouldn’t suit. But, he admitted to himself, he’d wanted a closer look. He needed a live-in woman who took care of business around the clock, and that included warming his bed at night.
He hadn’t found a housekeeper yet who’d worked out. From time to time he paid saloon women for servicing him at the ranch, but they couldn’t cook. And it seemed as though none of the females who were willing to clean, wash and mend were interested in shedding respectability to tend to his personal needs.
Mable knew his requirements, so the current job applicant made no sense. The woman who stood before him might as well have worn a sign saying “morally upright and rigid”.
“I tried hiring a respectable woman once.” The word respectable stuck in his craw, irritating him more. Hell, he’d been forced out of his own bed to take care of business, lest the housekeeper find out and quit. And that was pure horseshit.
“What happened when you hired a decent woman?” Mrs. Prim ’n’ Proper questioned him as though she had the right.
He snorted. “After trying to accommodate her ladyship for a month, I fired her and hired Alice from one of the local saloons to take her place.” He didn’t add that the arrangement had lasted only as long as it took for Alice to get bored, drink up all his whiskey and steal the pearl studs from his cuff links. But his expression must have shown his disgust.
“You have my sympathy for your previous domestic difficulties.” She spoke in a conciliatory tone but the tilt of her straight little nose and the way her delicate nostrils flared showed her true feelings.
“Mrs. Lacey, believe me when I say you don’t have the skills I’m looking for. Let it go at that.” And it was a damn shame too, because her snooty attitude aside, her high, firm breasts and flared hips offered a pretty tempting picture to a man who hadn’t had a ride for a spell.
“I am qualified.” Mrs. Lacey straightened all five feet and an inch, ready to argue.
“Mrs. Lacey, is this the first time you’ve applied for a job?” Irritated at her stubborn persistence, Cyrus stepped closer.
“Yes, but I am still qualified.” Her chin lifted a notch and a blush tinged her cheeks.
“Just for future reference, first impressions mean a lot. And I’m not impressed with an argumentative female.” He watched her swallow. She looked nervous. Good.
“Mr. Burke, with all due respect, you are being shortsighted. You posted a notice advertising your need for a housekeeper. I am seeking domestic employment. An agreement between us would seem mutually beneficial.”
“Mrs. Lacey, you might be able to cook. It’s doubtful you can dish it up for fifteen hands morning and night, but I’ll allow for the possibility. As for the cleaning, if you say you can dust and polish, I’ll take your word for it. In addition to those jobs, there are other duties I employ female help to perform. Trust me, you don’t qualify.”
When he’d gotten the message from Mable that she had a candidate lined up, he’d agreed to meet the applicant. The woman had looked promising—strong and determined, smart enough to manage a house and pretty enough to hold his interest. Now he could see it wouldn’t work out and that riled him.
He was tired and dirty, he’d been stringing wire since before daybreak, and he had another section to finish before he could clean up and eat. Widow Lacey didn’t look as though she could handle even warmed-up beans and cold bread. Frowning tiredly, Cyrus waved her away as if she were a gnat bothering him. But the woman wouldn’t quit.
“Given the penchant for gossip in this county, I’m aware of the additional housekeeping tasks you require. I’m prepared to take on that chore also.”
Cyrus knew he’d made the right decision when she reduced coupling to drudgework, calling bed sports chores. Deliberately he merged his shadow with hers, stepping closer until his stature dwarfed her size, expecting her to retreat. She held her ground, tilting her head just the necessary degree to meet his eyes.
He shook his head regretfully, his cock stirring as he caught her scent—some kind of flower mixed with woman. That combined with her husky tones had him contemplating a hell of a lot more than suppertime. “Mrs. Lacey, you’re the kind of woman a man marries to get free labor and a pack of young’uns. I don’t need either. I pay a fair wage for a full day’s work and my housekeepers have night duty too.” Cyrus moved away from her to the door.
“I’ll take it,” she said, pulling an apron from her satchel before scurrying toward him. “I’m ready to get started.” Though he blocked the entrance with his big frame, she ducked under his arm, brushing by him as she tied on the scrap of cloth.
“You won’t suit. You’ll get started, last a day, and quit.” Cyrus spoke to her retreating back, startled at how she’d gotten by him so fast.
“No, I won’t,” she disagreed, sniffing the air and heading straight for the right door. “I assume if I follow the smell of dirty dishes and rancid butter I’ll find the kitchen.”
Not slowing down or altering her course, she spoke over her shoulder. “The position of housekeeper is perfect.” She slapped the door open and held it a moment. “The gossips have also reported you pay your domestic help quite well.”
If Mrs. Lacey had been one of the women he bedded on a semiregular basis, he would have been glad to audition her cooking skills.
Audition, hell. Anything she cooks would be better than Slim’s meals.
But he couldn’t very well usher a respectable female upstairs to try out her mattress skills—not that the sight of Mrs. Lacey’s firm round ass going through the doorway didn’t tempt him.
Tired of the whole conversation, he decided to run her off and get back to work. “I like my women to have dark hair and some curves I can hold on to when I ride.”
That sure as hell ought to put paid to this conversation.
Although her cheeks pinked-up some, she rolled her eyes and said, “Yes, yes, I know. I’ve seen them come and go at the local mercantile. Frowsy-headed and plump is your taste. My apple pie will balance that loss. Close your eyes when we have relations.”
Cyrus looked at the pale blonde hair neatly coiled at the nape of her neck and let his eyes slide across her body, openly assessing her full bottom lip, slender neck, plump breasts and narrow waist.
Close my eyes like hell.
“I don’t hire long-term and I’m not looking for a wife.” He might as well dispel any notion she’d get a wedding out of the deal.
“Why not?” she asked caustically. “It would seem much simpler than replacing your housekeeper so often.”
“None of your business,” he snarled, glaring at her. Cyrus found himself in the unusual position of being asked to explain himself. Truth was, he hadn’t looked that hard. Women were fine for bed sports and cooking. Having a clean house would be nice too. He’d always figured that eventually the right housekeeper would come along and one way or another he’d make the position permanent.
“Never mind then.” She shrugged, making clear her disinterest in his marital disinclination, then she cast a scathing glance around the filthy kitchen. “I would like to fill the position until the next pay period. And I am
not
looking for a husband so you are safe from me.”
The little woman shuddered and he didn’t know if it was at the idea of getting hitched again or because of the state of his kitchen. Probably the latter since single women were always looking to harness a man.
He studied the room.
Hell yes, it’s dirty.
He hadn’t had time to get to it for a while. Wondering if he could cozen her into staying long enough to wash the dishes, he began his negotiations.
“Mrs. Lacey, I pay once a month and we’re mid-month now. I don’t think you can handle the job but I’m willing to let you try for two weeks. We’ll discuss terms after we’ve auditioned each other.”
“So you will employ me for two weeks to see if we suit. If not, I’ll receive payment for my services and we will part company? That seems fair to me.” A relieved expression flitted across her face, replacing the snooty disdain.
“Nope. The job is yours until the end of next month if we suit. If we don’t, you leave and I don’t pay you squat.” Cyrus expected her to tell him to go to hell. “Take it or leave it.” He folded his arms, indicating he was done negotiating.
“And if we do suit, then I will receive wages for all six weeks?” She inhaled, holding her breath as though waiting for his response.
“Yep.”
“All right,” she agreed. “I won’t need money until the day I leave.” Her voice and manner were crisp and decisive, ignoring him as she removed the knives and forks from the rank pile in the sink, stacking them on the counter.
It had been awhile since he’d had help in, and he expected she wouldn’t last long enough to clean the dishes. But as he leaned on the doorjamb watching, she rolled up her sleeves and began scraping crusted food from the plates.
“Woman,” he said gruffly, “you don’t have a clue what you’re offering.”
She turned her back on him, hiding her face completely and remaining silent.
The petty defiance irritated him. “Mrs. Lacey, you are trying my patience. Go home. You aren’t cut out for this kind of work. ”
She turned, facing him. “I was married for five years and I’m not unfamiliar with sexual congress.” Pragmatically she added, “Whatever your demands, I will deliver.”
Cyrus had a lot of demands and they didn’t come cheap.
Nor are they the kind of things Mrs. Lacey would know how to deliver.
He liked the way the soap suds showed white against her skin. It made him think of the room upstairs. His cock unfurled, willing to initiate her into some of his games.
He sighed. Dammit, he was already figuring ways to make it work. She looked good standing there flushed from the heat in the kitchen.
Wonder if she’d climb in the tub with me?
Rashly he said, “I’ve got a water closet and a bathing room upstairs.”
She looked relieved. “I wonder if I might visit your convenience.”
“It’s up the stairs, end of the hall, last door.” He scowled at her, his offer grudging. He didn’t need a woman like her prancing around his house, invading his privacy. Mrs. Lacey had respectable stamped from the top of her pinned-on hat to the tip of her kid boots. The body in between invited sin and under normal circumstances, Cyrus would be happy to oblige. But morally upright women got paid with life blood, owning a man’s stones before it was said and done.
“It’s a very well-built house. When I get finished polishing it to a shine, it will be quite lovely.” She pounced on his words, heading in the direction he pointed, blotting her job application with flattery.
Grinding his teeth in frustration, Cyrus watched her mount the steps. He’d offered his convenience and she was already formulating domestic plans. Mrs. Lacey promised to be a pain in the neck. As soon as she came back down, he intended to see her gone.
He was thirsty and rummaged in the cupboard for a clean glass while he waited for her return. There were none. By the time she rejoined him, frustration boiled inside him.
Looking considerably less tense, she said, “I didn’t realize you were the ranch owner when you came to the wagon earlier.”
“Had I wanted you to know, I’d have introduced myself. I like to look over what Mable carts in before I let her unload.” He’d also wanted to see how the new woman treated him before she found out he owned the place. He had to admit, she’d been a snooty piece then and she hadn’t changed a bit.
“Mrs. Lacey, let’s spare ourselves the trouble of getting acquainted. I’ll have one of the boys drive you back to town.” Mable Smyth was an interfering busybody bringing a woman like the widow onto his land, so he didn’t feel bad about getting straight to the point.
“Mr. Burke.” She actually stamped her foot to get his attention. “I am here. Your kitchen is in disrepair, your supper is not prepared—what can it hurt to let me try?”
