Pinch of Naughty (14 page)

“I like your fancy socks,” he said, stripping them free. “They’re real handy.” He tied them around her ankles, adding a second layer of bondage as he bared her lower body for his gaze.

“Open your knees.”

Eleanor parted her legs, letting them fall as wide as her bound ankles allowed. Her sex was revealed and he leaned closer, blowing a gust of warm air, making her shiver and clench. “Spread your legs wider for me,” he directed.

Eleanor arched her back, planted her feet securely against the mattress, pressed her knees wider and jutted her hips high, watching as he lowered his head and parted her folds to taste her.

She moaned, incapable of hiding her pleasure. He held one hand under her rump, steadying her. She thrust her hips upward watching him feast on her. But it wasn’t enough. Her pearl pulsed, responding to every brush of his mouth.

Eleanor followed the torturous path of his lips, trying to entice him to the spot that shrieked in need. Instead, he nibbled and suckled his way to her entrance, licking the liquid heat trickling from her sheath.

He flicked his tongue in and out, bringing her to the brink of orgasm without completion. She writhed under him needing more. “Please,” she groaned, begging him.

Abruptly he removed his support from her bottom, kissing his way up bare skin until he rubbed his face against her belly. Through a sensuous fog, Eleanor heard him growl, “Say my name.”

Dazed, she stared up at him. Cyrus straddled her waist, holding her gaze as he reached behind to caress the curls on her mound, fondling her breasts with his other hand.  Pressing the bodice lower, he exposed her nipples.

   It was torture. She arched her back seeking relief as the tips of her breasts poked upward, ruby—the color of desire.

“You want my mouth again?” he asked her.

Eleanor moaned, “Yes, please.”

Both hands came up to cup and stroke and squeeze. He suckled her nipples, biting and kissing, giving each his attention.

He moved higher until his chest pressed against her breasts and she rode his thigh positioned between her sprawled legs. As his tongue thrust in and out of her mouth, he kicked the silk ties from her ankles, settling himself deeper against her mound.

She writhed upward, trying to get free but her arms remained tied above her head. He rocked his hips against her lower body, sensuously teasing her. “Say my name.”

“Devil,” she gasped.

His laughter was a guttural sound in the room—both of them breathing heavily as if they waged a battle.

He rolled off her, lifted her legs over his shoulders, buried his face between her thighs and ate her, settling his lips over her pearl and suckling with strong pulls until she whimpered. Abandoning her at the crest of her release, he explored the sensitive flesh inside her cleft, tickling her with his tongue, teasing moans from her.

Finally he tongued her with deep thrusts until her orgasm swept over her in pulsating waves. Wiggling her hands free, Eleanor pressed her palms to his head, holding him in place as he suckled her honey and laved her folds leaving her limp and spent in his arms. The only sound in the room was the creak of the bed frame as he silently adjusted his position beside her.

As he rested his face against her belly, Eleanor lazily stroked his hair until he turned his cheek and blew a loud raspberry against her flesh. Tangling her fingers in his thick strands, she tugged, getting his attention. When he lifted his head, she caressed his jaw and spoke in a somber voice. “I will miss you terribly when I leave.”

“Horse shit,” he interrupted her, swinging his legs from the bed and standing. “You’re not leaving and you damn well know it. Now say my name.”

Eleanor shrugged off his command. “Mr. Burke, I’m your housekeeper, not your personal slave. Our intimacies have been invigorating and educational, but nevertheless, as you have made clear from the beginning, they were duties.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” he growled.

“Am I correct when I say that you want a wife who will replace your need for a cook, maid, laundress and mistress?” She held up a finger for each, punctuating her remark.

“And what’s wrong with that?” he asked her, his tone defensive.

“Nothing, Mr. Burke. It’s a splendid offer. Were I desperate, I would certainly snap you right up. But,” she paused, meeting his glance steadily before adding, “I’m not desperate.”

“It’s a damn good offer not many women would find fault with.”

“I imagine a long and continuing line of applicants would agree. I’d rather have the security of four walls and a stove,” she said, trying to keep the sarcasm from her voice.

“Four walls I own,” he reminded her.

“There are other buildings,” she warned back, determined not to let him intimidate her.

Eleanor moved into the guest room she’d never occupied and spent a fitful night pacing the floor. The next day he was polite, withdrawn and gruff, and his visits to the kitchen were infrequent. The silence grew between them until by Friday they weren’t speaking at all.

After supper she finished the dishes while the ranch employees filed through the dining hall and received their pay. She listened to Cyrus find something nice to say to each man and exchange quips and jokes as he paid each wage in cash.

When the final man had departed and she was sure they were alone, she walked into the dining hall, symbolically took off her apron and stood before him.

His expression was amiable while he counted the bills slowly as though she doubted his honesty. When the last dollar hit her hand, he spoke. “Mrs. Lacey, you’ve exceeded all my expectations. You’ve set a new standard for my future housekeepers and their duties.”

A cold chill slid down Eleanor’s spine but she refused to be frightened by his implicit warning.
So he will replace me as soon as I go through the gate.

“Mr. Burke, I appreciate the opportunity you have given me. Every aspect of our relationship as employer and employee has been a pleasure,” she said quietly.

“Now that I’m not your boss any longer, you can call me Cyrus,” he said.

She considered it aloud. “Mable addresses you in that manner, so do your friends, but as you are too near my age for such a familiarity between lessee and landlord, I think it would be best if I continue as we have.”

“And would you like for me to call you Mrs. Lacey?” He tilted his head sideways, studying her.

“That would be best,” she agreed.

“I’ve got books to finish up,” he said abruptly. His voice was brusque, the usual glint of laughter in his eyes gone. “I hope your store satisfies you.”

“Anything you build is unquestionably solid, Mr. Burke. I am sure the structure is everything I asked for,” she assured him hastily.

“The building is exact to your specifications, right down to the sign,” Cyrus growled. For a moment Eleanor thought she saw a hint of smug satisfaction in his eyes.

She said, “About the other concern—seed planting and such—it’s no longer an issue.” A blush climbed her cheeks as she told him.

He nodded acceptance of the news and she tried to see his true emotion but she couldn’t decide whether it was disappointment or relief.

“I’ll be leaving early in the morning with Mable after she drops off your supplies. I-I’ll say my goodbye tonight.” She ran out of words and reasons to prolong the conversation. “Good night…Mr. Burke.”

He remained polite and aloof and bid her good night, calling her Mrs. Lacey.

After she climbed to her room, Eleanor lay awake, aware of the man who slept across the hall snoring loud enough for her to hear. She finally rose, dressed, tucked all of her possessions into her trunks and went to the porch swing to wait for Mable, who had agreed to come early.

Cyrus hauled the supplies inside the next morning as two of his crew carried Eleanor’s trunks to the empty wagon. That done, he said his goodbyes.

“Mable, I’ll be in to settle up soon. Mrs. Lacey, good luck with your business. Let me know if the building doesn’t suit.”

“Will you attend my grand opening?” Eleanor asked. He couldn’t tell if that was something she wanted or dreaded. He remained uncommitted.

“If I can,” he replied, walking away to the barn to saddle up so he didn’t have to witness Eleanor leaving. He rode out to string fence before the wagon pulled out. He’d intended to ride along at least to the place where he’d first seen her, but found at the last moment he just couldn’t.

Slim cooked his usual beans for supper, supplementing it with a loaf of the fresh bread Eleanor had left behind. The men ate in silence, nobody ready to mention the loss of their cook. Afterward he told Slim to go on to the bunkhouse. “I’ll do the washup.”

He didn’t want anyone else messing up Ellie’s kitchen and he made sure the floor was clean too. He didn’t bother to climb to his bedroom, stretching out on the couch with a shot of whiskey and wondering if he’d handled things wrong.

Second-guessing wasn’t something he indulged in, but, he’d been damned sure he could talk her into staying, and look where that had ended up. He’d built the shop to her specifications and even as slender as she was, she’d have a time fitting her personal gear as well as herself in the tiny space. He figured he’d look better to her every night she spent in the cramped quarters.

He didn’t get much sleeping done, finally going out and watering the garden again, but the trip through the kitchen served only to remind him Eleanor was gone and wouldn’t be baking any pecan sandies for him in the near future.

She had her grand opening on Tuesday and he missed it, though he let some of the boys off early so they could show their support. They came home telling stories of her success and sporting sacks of cookies. He was depressed.

He slept on the couch, dressing out of the basket of clothes Eleanor had left folded in the sitting room. He ate whatever Slim fixed and spent afterward doing cleanup duty in the kitchen. At night he stared at the figures in his account book wishing Ellie was sitting at the other end of the table.

He stayed away from town on Saturday, incapable of seeing Eleanor without kidnapping her and bringing her home. Come sundown, Jake came galloping into the ranch yard waving a note from Henry Alcott.

Cyrus read it. “Bank matters require your attention. Urgent.” It was Saturday night. The bank was closed on Sunday. Alcott’s message didn’t say anything about Ellie. Whatever Henry needed would keep. He stuffed the paper in his pocket, poured himself a glass of whiskey and drank himself to sleep.

Sunday morning he finally forced himself up the steps to the bedroom they’d shared. When he opened the closet door, a figure loomed there waiting to scare the bejesus out of him. He reached for his sidearm but then his hand relaxed as he stared at the dummy hanging from a hook.

He scratched his head trying to remember when Eleanor had said, “I need a new broom. The old one gave out”. The old broom now served as the body for her life-sized doll.

“Hell, that was at the beginning of the month.” Cyrus studied the homespun mannequin with interest. “I remember her ordering those buttons. Wondered at the time why she wanted that color.”

Lavender eyes looked at him beneath brows sewn in black thread. A thimble served as her nose. A castoff silk scarf was wrapped around the figure’s neck and the green velvet robe he’d pitched in the back of his closet was now draped over fake shoulders loosely tied to display a pink corset beneath. Eleanor had devised two legs, stuffing white silk stockings with linens and decorating one with a purple garter adorned with a red rose.

“Well, damn,” he muttered. Remembering her snide suggestions about purple rugs and green velvet drapes, gradually the tight constriction in his chest began to loosen and his frown changed to a full-blown grin. “Guess she was upset.”

Mad at him or not, it put a whole new complexion on her departure.
He looked at the dummy and read aloud the note pinned to the bosom.

“A uniform for your next housekeeper.”

Eleanor’s hat perched on the head, sitting at a jaunty angle. Along with the eyes and nose, she’d detailed the rest of the face. Rouged lips formed a bow around a piece of pink cloth forming a tongue that stuck out, mocking him.

“You have a sassy mouth, Miz Prim,” Cyrus told the dummy.

It was Sunday and he had no excuse other than seeing Eleanor to make the trip to town. He moved the dummy away from his clothes and pulled out a suit he rarely wore, dressing with care before he set out to make amends. As he drove the ranch buggy to his gate, he met a ranch guard waving a note from Mable for him. He read it and slapped the buggy horse into a trot, cursing the jarring ride to town.

Once there, he pulled up in front of Eleanor’s new store, jumped down and tied his team to the rail. The place was locked up tight with a sign announcing, “Closed for Sunday church.” She’d pinned a menu to the front bulletin board advertising her éclairs and cookies. He went to the side entrance but knocking brought no response. In disgust, he listened to the church bells ringing down the street.

“Eleanor,” he muttered, “I might have known you’d make a beeline for respectability. Right about now, you’re probably passing out a list of your wares along with the church pamphlets.”

Disgusted, he started to turn away when the door opened and Eleanor cast a quick look over his shoulder before ushering him in.

“Cyrus, how nice to see you,” she said, closing the door and guiding him sedately toward the back of the store out of sight of the windows.

Miz Prim to the end.
“The churchers are all singing hymns,” he told her wryly. “Your secret’s safe. Nobody saw me.”

“Would you care for some coffee? Dessert?” She brushed dust from his shoulders and took his hat. “You look very nice, by the way. I’ve never seen you in a suit. What’s the occasion?”

Well, there it was—time to do his belly-crawlin’. He followed her to her kitchen and sat at the little round table. Ellie being Ellie, she put the coffee on while he watched and rehearsed his words.

He didn’t indulge in the cookies she set next to him, afraid he’d choke if he tried to swallow.

The brew finished perking and she filled two mugs. When she sat down across from him their knees touched. He shifted on his chair, trying to get his swollen cock situated.

“You didn’t come to my grand opening,” she said abruptly.

“Figured I’d just be in the way. The boys said you did fine.” It was kind of dark in the kitchen with her curtains closed as they were, but if he wasn’t mistaken he could see a shine of tears in her eyes.

“It was lovely. My éclairs have become my best seller, your pecan sandies are the next favorite. I had the shop decorated and—”

“Did you miss me, Ellie? I missed you.” He didn’t want to hear about her business success. He wanted to take her home.

“Yes,” she said quickly. “If the offer is still on the table, I’ve decided to marry you.”

“What happened to ‘you’re Mr. Burke, my landlord and I’m not desperate’?” His mouth got ahead of his brain and he spoke before he could stop himself. He hurried to add, “Not that I’m not pleased to hear you’ve come to your senses. What convinced you? The small quarters, right? I knew if I built them to your specifications they’d never suit you.” Feeling smug he examined the narrow space between the shelving and the work counter in the kitchen.

“The shop is magnificent—perfect. But I-I don’t want to sell the pastries. I just want to bake them.”

“But you said you wanted to be a business woman. What about your shop?” Much as he wanted Ellie, he smelled a rat.

“I’ve decided to let Aunt Mildred run it.”

He peered across the table at her suspiciously. “So you’re already hiring help and you just opened your doors?” Fascinated, he watched her gnaw on her lower lip again before she answered.

“We’ve come to an agreement. I’ll bake, Millie will sell, and Mable will carry a few desserts in her store to point the public at my shop. My aunt’s excited.”

“How are you going to bake the goods when you’re married to me and living on the Burke ranch?” Cyrus crossed his arms, ready to maximize his demands since it looked as though their negotiations had resumed. 

“You’ll carry them every morning,” she assured him. When his eyebrow went up, she changed it to, “Or someone can.”

Before she could say anything else, a heavy pounding began on the front door.

“It’s my grandfather’s attorney.” She looked nervous. “He’s been prowling around this building all morning.”

When Cyrus stood, ready to talk to the lawyer for her, she shook her head, herding him into her living quarters. It was dark in there too.

“Ellie,” he asked, pulling her into his embrace. “You hiding in here?”

She leaned her head against his chest and circled his waist with her arms, not speaking. He didn’t hustle her for an answer because he liked the way she felt hugging on him that way. He let her simmer, rubbing his chin against her hair while he stroked his hand up and down her spine. He couldn’t help but notice she’d decorated real nice in here too.

A fancy chair and marble-top table sat in a corner of the room. A thick carpet covered the floor. Rich, plum-colored drapes decorated the tall window, the glass pane covered by sheers. Cyrus’ glance stalled. He hadn’t ordered that window.

“You come into some money?” He looked around puzzled. The room was as pretty as a picture. Two oil paintings hung on the wall above a small-sized couch.

“Of course not,” she said. “My business is just getting off to a good start.”

“Then how in hell did you afford this stuff?”

“I didn’t. You did,” she answered glibly. “Mable and I decided you were leasing a furnished building to me. That way I’d be able to concentrate my expenses on my ingredients.

“Is that right?” He didn’t give a damn about the furnishings. But leverage was leverage. “Reckon you’ll be baking cupcakes a long time to pay me back for your furnishings,” he drawled.