by Sivad, Gem
“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.
There she was, drunker than a Saturday night cowboy, weaving and dancing over his cock, tempting him to sink it deep and forget about putting cover between him and sure-fire disaster. He had a policy. He never fucked bareback. He just didn’t. But goddamn it right then he wanted to. She was cute as a button, with her uninhibited bouncing and giggles. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and love on her all night with nothing standing between them.
Instead he made her stand up, still straddling his thighs so her mound was on eye-level with him. She giggled again, a sound so foreign from her usual prim notes he had to look up and check her eyes to see if she was still lucid. She was and she wasn’t. Instead of giving him her usual glare, she winked.
“I trim it,” she said.
He looked back at the short hairs feathering along the seam of her cleft and blew a puff of air on the lips of her sex. “Why?” he asked curiously.
“It’s more subdued,” she said sedately and folded her arms, watching him inspect her. “Well, did I clip it too short?”
“See if you can hook your leg over my shoulder. I want to look a little closer to see what kind of job you did.”
“I can’t do that,” Eleanor shook her head. “Water is sure to splash all over the floor.” She tapped him on the nose, scolding him.
“I’ll sop it up with a towel.” Before she could argue more, he lifted her leg, resting her thigh on his shoulder.
“Like that?” She shifted unsteadily on her one leg, trying to get comfortable.
He didn’t answer. His stuck out his tongue and licked.
“That tickled.” She grabbed his head and laughed. “Do it again.”
She was cocked open and ready for him and he buried his face, bumping his nose against her nub of pleasure at the same time he explored her entrance. He flicked in and out, feeling the mouth of her channel squeeze shut trying to catch his tongue. Holding her by the rump, he pulled her closer and commenced eating her up.
&n
bsp; He didn’t have to tell her what to do. Her hips did a slow roll, grinding into the sensation. Damn, she tasted fine. Hot honey flowed for him and he savored it, sliding his tongue as deep as he could, using his nose to rub her pearl.
When she came, she latched on to his ears for purchase, muffling the sound of her scream as her orgasm rolled over her. But damn, what he could hear sounded good—she moaned begging for more even as he kissed and tasted her back to earth.
Gently he shifted her leg, letting her slide back into the water before he sat up on his knees facing her. His cock jutted out, about even with her head and she looked at it, bleary-eyed but game.
“My turn,” she said and stuck her tongue out, licking the white cream already dribbling from his slit. She closed her eyes and did one of those taste-testing things. He could see her concentrating on the flavor as she rolled it around in her mouth. He held his breath, cursing himself for forgetting to have a condom ready to slap on.
Women didn’t suck naked dicks. At least none he’d ever had wanted to actually put their mouth on him. Which was fine. A hot mouth on a rubber-coated cock was almost as good as a tight pussy.
“Delicious.” She licked her lips and went back for another swipe.
“Suck on it,” he growled, forgetting about the condom, cupping her face and presenting more of delicious.
She did. By God, she wrapped her lips around the head of his cock and sucked hard enough to pull his stones through his nose. “Easy there,” he cautioned, not wanting her to stop but not sure she wouldn’t decide to take a bite in a moment.
“It has an odd texture,” she said before taking him deeper, the end of his cock brushing the back of her throat. She tilted her head, trying to talk while she explored, commenting in garbled speech as she ran her tongue over, around and then down his shaft.
She gagged and he tensed, ready to pull out and apologize. She grabbed him by the ass, pulled him closer, and hollowed her cheeks, sucking him deeper with long pulls that spelled his imminent demise.
Cyrus let her play until the last possible moment but before he came in her mouth and made her sick, he thought he’d better back off a bit. She slapped his hands when he tried to pry her mouth off him.
“Goddamn, don’t say I didn’t try,” he groaned and lost it, pumping in and out of her mouth and watching her swallow his seed as it jetted out of him. With back bowed and muscles rigid, his orgasm blasted through him like hellfire and he knew it was the best goddamn fucking he’d ever had.
He got both of them out of the tub before they collapsed and drowned in the three inches of water left in the bottom. Kicking a towel over the spill on the floor, he carried her to the bedroom.
“That was lovely, just lovely,” she said, rubbing her head against his chest.
“Yep,” he agreed. He didn’t even consider ruining the night with a rubber glove corrupting the sensations. He pulled her on top of him, arranged her thighs over his face and her face over his cock, and they did it again—and again.
When she started to flag, he fucked her with one finger, then two, sucking her pearl and licking her honey while she writhed on top of him and did the same for him, laving his cock with her mouth and tongue, swallowing it deep. And when he came, damned if Ellie didn’t drink his release as though it were French champagne.
Cyrus pulled her up beside him, resting his chin on her head. She pressed her face against his chest and snored softly. He didn’t think he was drunk, but his world was rocking sideways just the same.
It wasn’t hard playing a sophisticated lover with a woman as inexperienced as Ellie. Hell, she made him feel like a stud. Possessively, he tightened his arms around her. Pastry shop be damned, Ellie isn’t leaving.
* * * * *
Cyrus woke with a smile on his face, picturing Ellie on a trapeze. The night before, she’d been wild, uninhibited and flying with the greatest of ease. His satisfied grin changed to a frown.
She was drunk. He should feel guilty for plying her with alcohol. He didn’t. Cyrus was pretty damned sure that as soon as Eleanor woke, she’d point out the error of his ways. He kept his eyes clamped shut, enjoying his memories, not ready to face feminine hysterics or accusations.
She twitched next to him and then he could feel her creeping toward the side of the mattress. Cyrus turned his head and met her gaze. Her eyes, smoky lavender and as big as fifty-cent pieces, blinked at him and he knew—she remembered.
She scrambled off the bed, grabbed the sheet to hide her nakedness and headed for the door. He cleared his throat, preparing to say something even if it was wrong.
At the sound, Eleanor turned, facing him, her blonde hair tumbling around her shoulders and pink flesh peeping out of the sheet. She was a wet dream come alive. As they stared at each other, her cheeks blushed rosy and her eyes deepened to purple.
She held a finger up. “Not a word.”
She ordered his silence, he agreed it was a good time to keep his mouth shut, and she left, presumably to get dressed but more likely to hide.
Cyrus pulled on his own clothes, trying to get his wits about him. Since she hadn’t run screaming from the bedroom or tendered her resignation, he took that as agreement that their night had been mighty fine. As he was tucking in his shirt, he remembered the corset.
He couldn’t resist deviling her some more so he put on his most autocratic expression and followed her to the bathing room. Sure as hell, she was trying to sneak it on before he arrived. His tension melted into laughter he was hard put not to show.
“Leave it off,” he ordered her.
“I told you that would happen.” In the process of hooking the corset, Eleanor paused, pointing at the water marking the floor.
Cyrus snorted, recognizing misdirection and avoidance. Pulling her into his arms, he rocked her against his big frame, hugging her close.
“You taste delicious too.” Tipping her chin up, Cyrus brushed his lips across Ellie’s, trying to keep from whooping laughter at the blush threatening to incinerate her. Patting her on the fanny he added, “Better get breakfast started, sweetheart. I’ll take care of this.”
She fled.
He mopped up the mess, giving the room a final satisfied look before glancing up at the ceiling. Remembering Ellie’s concern about a heavenly witness, he flinched. Mama, if you’re watching over me from up there, you need to close your eyes for a spell.
Chapter Seven
By the end of her second week of employment, Eleanor realized she’d formed a tendre for her boss. When he was gone, she composed sassy remarks she’d say to him. When he was with her, whether it was a quick visit in the afternoon or a long sensuous night in his bed, every beat of her heart was attuned to what he said and did. She found ways to spoil him—trimming his hair, rubbing linseed oil into his work glove to make it supple and soft, and even polishing his boots.
Eleanor was besotted, enjoying the freedom of working alone in the house, choosing which task to undertake or set aside as her mood dictated. She found housekeeping for the dear man arduous but wonderfully satisfying. He was a rustic rascal, endearing under his gruff exterior.
Their harmonious relationship had her daydreaming like a fifteen-year-old girl over her first sweetheart. She reveled in the home she was creating for him and in her zeal, moved her cleaning and primping to the second floor—to the closet in his bedroom to be exact.
Her sentimental thoughts and maudlin affection screeched to a halt when she uncovered a purple garter sporting a garish red rose, followed by an assortment of silk stockings, a lush green velvet robe, corset strings and a pair of mauve slippers.
“I wonder if William bought his lady love such items.” Eleanor stared at the castoffs from a long line of predecessors. Nothing could have reminded her so eloquently of her status. Rubbing the velvet material between her fingers, she inspected the wares—expensive, flamboyant and wicked. She snooped further, looking with interest at the sheer scarves she found tucked in a wooden chest. The box also held a su
pply of condoms plentiful enough to provide for the needs of an army battalion.
She was appalled. Scandalized. The tenets of decent womanhood resounded in her head. She was furious.
“Thank God I found these before I made a bigger fool of myself.” She vibrated indignation at the same time it occurred to her that she was now as much a floozy as William’s mistress.
* * * * *
Two evenings later, Eleanor had already retired for the night but returned to the kitchen for a last chore. She hurried downstairs, not bothering to light a lamp while she fiddled with her breakfast preparations. Cyrus was outside tending his garden, talking over ranch business with his friend, Sage Beckett.
“You planning on telling me why you called me here?” Beckett asked.
Eleanor wondered the same thing. Beckett’s sudden appearance did seem odd given that there was already a foreman on the ranch.
“I brought you here to watch over the spread while I do my courting.” Cyrus straightened, passing one bucket to be refilled and picking up the other. “I’ve been looking for a permanent solution to my housekeeping problems for a long time. Never thought I’d say it, but I intend to take a wife. Mrs. Lacey fits all my requirements and then some.”
Happiness blossomed in Eleanor’s heart and she smiled, her previous animus melting away. So she was more than just one of the many women who’d graced his sheets.
Sage snorted. “Thought you’d be protecting your territory after the boys started considering your housekeeper’s marriage prospects. Why this woman? If I recall, it was you who said all cats look the same in the dark.”
Ready to march outside and use a skillet to clobber Sage Beckett over the head, Eleanor waited for Cyrus to put the other man in his place. Instead, he laughed.
“But not all cats can cook,” Cyrus said smugly.
“You’ve only known her—”
“Around two weeks,” Cyrus interrupted. “And that’s long enough to recognize a good deal when I see it. Damn, Sage. Do you have any idea how much time and trouble, not to mention money I’ll save by marrying Ellie?”
