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.”
Chapter Four
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
“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.”
Chapter Four
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
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