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Housekeeper at His Beck and Call
Susan Stephens
Maid for his bed! Lieutenant Cade Grant wears his scars well on the outside. He’s rugged, strong and gorgeous, but his heart is as hard as they come. Sweet, innocent, and in need of employment fast, Liv will do almost anything. If that means donning her housekeeper’s pinny for the brooding Lieutenant then so be it. As sparks fly between them, Cade’s more interested in having his beautiful new housekeeper between his sheets rather than washing them. But the plucky virgin’s nervous.The job description has just been changed – the situation vacant is now in his bed – and Cade will teach her everything she needs to know…


‘Get out of my way, Cade. I’m warning you—’
He pulled away from the door and stood back, but when she tried to slide past him he got in her way. She tried to dodge round the other side, but he moved with her. And now he had her trapped, with both his hands resting on the door above her head.
‘Move, Cade!’
‘No.’
‘Why?’ she demanded, chest heaving up and down.
‘Because…’ He kissed her firmly, possessively, hungrily, and felt her tremble as she moaned.
She was just getting into it when he pulled away. A kiss like that could lead only one place, and though Liv was fiery and courageous, she was vulnerable too, here under his roof, his dominion.
He watched her as she recovered. ‘That’ll teach you to fight me.’
Susan Stephens was a professional singer before meeting her husband on the tiny Mediterranean island of Malta. In true Modern™ Romance style they met on Monday, became engaged on Friday, and were married three months after that. Almost thirty years and three children later, they are still in love. (Susan does not advise her children to return home one day with a similar story, as she may not take the news with the same fortitude as her own mother!)
Susan had written several non-fiction books when fate took a hand. At a charity costume ball there was an after-dinner auction. One of the lots, ‘Spend a Day with an Author’, had been donated by Mills & Boon author Penny Jordan. Susan’s husband bought this lot, and Penny was to become not just a great friend but a wonderful mentor, who encouraged Susan to write romance.
Susan loves her family, her pets, her friends and her writing. She enjoys entertaining, travel, and going to the theatre. She reads, cooks, and plays the piano to relax, and can occasionally be found throwing herself off mountains on a pair of skis or galloping through the countryside. Visit Susan’s website: www.susanstephens.net—she loves to hear from her readers all around the world!
Look out for Susan’s next Modern™ Romance, coming soon!
Recent books by the same author:
Modern Heat™ LAYING DOWN THE LAW DIRTY WEEKEND
Modern™ Romance DESERT KING, PREGNANT MISTRESS BOUGHT: ONE ISLAND, ONE BRIDE ONE-NIGHT BABY
The Royal House of Niroli EXPECTING HIS ROYAL BABY Book 5

Recent reviews for talented Modern™ and Modern Heat™ author Susan Stephens
About LAYING DOWN THE LAW, Modern Heat™, January 2008:
‘It should be illegal to miss Susan Stephens’ terrific LAYING DOWN THE LAW! With its cast of wonderful characters, hilarious one-liners, sparkling dialogue and steamy sexual tension, LAYING DOWN THE LAW is compulsive reading for readers who enjoy reading sexy romances that will tug at their heartstrings and tickle their funny bones!’
—www.cataromance.com
About BOUGHT: ONE ISLAND, ONE BRIDE, Modern™ Romance, December 2007:
‘An exhilarating tale full of passion, intensity and heat, BOUGHT: ONE ISLAND, ONE BRIDE is a sizzling romance you will be unable to put down, featuring a gorgeous Greek tycoon and a feisty but vulnerable heroine. Sexy, steamy and engrossing, BOUGHT: ONE ISLAND, ONE BRIDE is another triumph for the wonderful Susan Stephens, a writer who never fails to deliver enthralling romances we just cannot resist!’
—www.cataromance.com
‘A pleasing story about overcoming the past with the healing power of love. The Greek island and its people are wonderful secondary characters, filled with rich local flavours and traditions.’
—www.romantictimes.com

HOUSEKEEPER AT HIS BECK AND CALL
BY
SUSAN STEPHENS

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For the wonderful, strong women who so generously shared their thoughts on loving a soldier with me
CHAPTER ONE
HE WAS aching with inactivity. He could never sit down for long. The television company had asked if they could conduct the interview in the farmhouse kitchen at Featherstone Hall, saying the kitchen would make him seem more human and approachable.
Thinking publicity would help raise awareness of his campaign, he had agreed, and now he found himself sitting in the glare of camera lights, while a girl with dirty toenails and an earnest air snapped a clapperboard in his face—which was doing nothing for his blood pressure. ‘That’s it,’ he said, standing up.
‘But, Lieutenant Colonel Grant…Cade.’ She clearly thought that using his first name might soften him. She was destined to fail. ‘You haven’t finished interviewing the prospective candidates for the post of…’ she paused for dramatic effect ‘…Housekeeper to a Hero—’
‘If you mean the stooges—’
The earnest one’s eyes gleamed. ‘’No one else turned up…And so in order to prevent the interview from being a complete disaster, I provided—’
‘Stooges from your team? Yes, I know.’ He pushed his chair back. ‘And now you can all pack up and go home; this interview is over.’
He stood at his full height, knowing that with the top of his head brushing the beams he was an intimidating sight. He should have known it was a mistake to let anyone into his life, and that it was just an excuse to pry. The only reason he’d done it this time was because he’d hoped television coverage would promote his scheme to turn Featherstone Hall into a rehabilitation centre for returning soldiers; a service he was determined to expand throughout the country. But the reporter was only interested in graphic stories of heroics, with plenty of blood and gore, she told him. He’d flinched at that, and when she’d added that sort of stuff worked miracles for the ratings he’d felt like telling her it was lucky for her she wasn’t a man, or he’d have invited her outside. Grinding his jaw as he waited for the camera crew to pack up their gear, he knew he shouldn’t blame the reporter. He should be glad she was ignorant of what he had been through and was spared the reality behind the images on her television screen.
As soon as the last of them had gone he set about clearing up, and had no sooner piled their dirty coffee-cups into an already overloaded sink than the whole stack keeled over. He swore viciously, having cut himself on a piece of shattered china. And now the cut wouldn’t stop bleeding…
He banged about, searching for plasters. How could a home turn to chaos in the time he’d been away? The first housekeeper he’d hired to take care of things had appeared tough and uncompromising. Just the sort of person he could relate to, in fact. He should have known a black belt in karate and more stubble on her chin than he had was no guarantee of domestic goddess status—and to add insult to injury she’d walked out the day after he got back saying he was impossible to live with.
And now there hadn’t been a single reply to his ad for a replacement. The reporter said his reputation must have frightened everyone away. That and his appearance, he guessed, judging by the way the camera crew had stared at his scars. He suspected they would have liked more close-ups to shock the viewers. Fingering his stubble, he glanced in the mirror. He couldn’t blame them.
And he hardly had the temperament of a saint, Cade registered grimly, cursing a second time when he scalded his wounded hand trying to rescue a second piece of shattered pottery from the sink. He was in a foul mood now.
Hearing a knock on the door ratcheted it up a notch or two. He might have known someone from the film crew would forget something.
‘Yes?’ He flung the door wide. And was forced to adjust his eye line radically down to where a small bedraggled wretch stood on his doorstep wearing some type of fancy dress.
‘Can I come in?’ she said.
He took everything in at a glance. Something inside him stirred, which required stamping on, plus a stern reminder that appearances could be deceptive. The girl was young with honey-coloured hair hanging in drenched straggles around a heart-shaped face. She wore a tiara, tilted at a precarious angle on her head, and her silk shoes were ruined. What appeared to be a bridal gown and veil were ripped and streaked with mud…and now he could see she’d been crying—whether from relief or grief, he couldn’t know. But one thing he did know—this was not fancy dress. ‘What do you want?’ he asked suspiciously.
‘The job you advertised… The notice on the gate?’
Standing back, he thumbed his stubble. He needed someone, and quickly. But first he had to make sure he’d got this right. He raised his brow as he looked the girl over a second time. ‘You are applying for the job as my housekeeper?’
‘I know this doesn’t look good,’ she said, mashing her lips together as she struggled to convince him. ‘And of course I would have preferred to make a proper application wearing a suit—’
‘But?’
‘But events overtook me.’
Talk about understatement. But she held his gaze steadily enough, and this was hardly a high-risk situation. ‘Okay, you can come in.’
‘Do you mind if I get warm?’ she said, walking straight past him to hold her hands in front of the blazing log fire.
‘Go right ahead.’ It was a reasonable request, and she was shaking—with cold or shock, he couldn’t tell. He closed the door and turned back to find her unpinning her veil. Her pale arms glowed pink in the firelight, adding to her air of vulnerability. Where there had been anger and impatience and frustration in his head, now there was only curiosity and more than a flicker of inconvenient desire.
Between the flight from her wedding and her arrival here, in the kitchen at Featherstone Hall, everything was a horrible blur—up to now when it had snapped into sharp focus. Her senses were on full alert. And it was all thanks to the man resting against the door with his arms folded and his head tipped back, weighing her up. The power of his gaze, the spread of his shoulders, even his stillness, were arresting. When she had stumbled off the bus and found the notice on the gates advertising the post of housekeeper she had pictured some elderly retainer conducting the interview—not a hunk in jeans and a snug-fitting top with dog tags swinging round his neck. This man was as different from poor Horace—the almost-husband she had left at the altar—as it was possible to be. Stifling a guilty sob as she thought about the look on Horace’s face when she had bolted, Liv started to tug at the wedding dress she didn’t deserve to wear.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’
‘Taking it off…’ The man’s voice was low and husky, and had done things to her insides that should be forbidden by law; things that stirred the guilt inside her to the point where she had to confess. ‘I’ve done something terrible.’
‘Robbed a bank? Killed someone?’
‘Worse.’
‘Worse?’
‘Really, I have… And now I can’t go back.’
‘That bad?’ He thumbed his stubble once again.
‘Can I stay here?’
As her lips trembled and her eyes filled with tears he knew he had to forget the attraction element and concentrate on getting to the bottom of this. ‘I think we’d better start with introductions, don’t you?’
‘Liv Tate,’ she mumbled. After some hesitation she gathered herself enough to extend a soft, perfectly manicured hand and add, ‘My first name is Olivia, but my friends call me Liv.’
He went into the handshake with his unwounded right hand. Considering her obvious distress, the strength in Liv’s grip surprised him. He released her before any more concerning sensations could get a hold of him.
‘I’ve told you my name,’ she reminded him, ‘but as yet I don’t know yours…’
‘My apologies for the omission.’ He made her a slight bow. ‘Lieutenant Colonel Cade Grant… But you can call me Cade.’
‘Cade…’
When their hands connected he felt a jolt, an unwelcome jolt that reminded him why he stayed away from people—and women like this one, especially. He shunned feelings. All feelings. All the time. ‘Something wrong?’ he demanded when she continued to stare at him.
‘My turn to apologise. I was just surprised to hear your name. I didn’t connect it when I saw the family crest on the top of your notice because that said Grant Featherstone Carew.’
‘Just imagine signing for a parcel.’
The look of irony in his eyes made her laugh. It also jolted a primitive urge inside her that made her gasp when she recognised it as instant, potent, dazzling lust. And now she couldn’t have been angrier with herself for the lapse in concentration. She recovered herself to say primly, ‘Yes, I can see why you might shorten it.’
Lieutenant Colonel Cade Grant, local war hero? How slow was she? Bolting from her own wedding must have scrambled her brain. You could hardly pick up a newspaper or switch on the television without there being some report about Cade Grant’s bravery under fire. The reasons for his extended leave might have been vague, but no one questioned a hero’s right to some R and R. ‘Of course I’ve heard of you—who hasn’t? And I know I shouldn’t stare—’
‘At what?’ he demanded. ‘The scars?’ His mood took a dive as he fingered his face.
‘Scars?’ Her brow puckered and then her eyes cleared as she focused on them. ‘Sorry again, I hadn’t noticed them. I was just thinking how much better looking you are in the flesh than on the television—’ She gulped, went bright red and pressed her lips together as if she didn’t trust herself to speak another word.
Surprising himself, he badly wanted to smile.
Starting to fumble with the tiny buttons on the back of her dress, she angled her back towards him. ‘Could you help me with this, please?’
He hesitated, and then thought, Why not?
She felt Cade move behind her on silent feet like a big cat. His warmth surrounded her, sending tingles of sensation down her spine. She could smell his scent, clean and musky with a hint of toothpaste in the mix. She held her breath as he reached out and touched her.
‘This terrible thing you did… Are you ready to tell me about it yet?’
In a moment when she could breathe again! And, truthfully, she had been hoping he wouldn’t ask. She felt so ashamed. She’d let everyone down—especially her mother, whose day this really was. Not to mention both families. And Horace. The guilt bit deep as she thought about Horace.
‘Well?’ Cade pressed.
She blushed furiously. For such a big, tough man his voice could turn surprisingly gentle. He made her want to talk. ‘I abandoned my fiancé at the altar…’
She waited for a reaction, but Cade just went, ‘Hmm,’ and started undoing the top button on her dress. The brush of his fingertips on her naked skin made it impossible to speak for another long moment.
‘Go on,’ he encouraged. ‘You’ve started so you might as well go the whole way now.’
Her eyes widened at this suggestion until she shook her brains cells into some sort of order. ‘Horace was harmless…He was really nice. He didn’t deserve this—’
‘He must have done something wrong.’
She wracked her brains. ‘No…that’s just it—’
‘Keep still, will you? Or I can’t undo this.’
She tensed, and then relaxed into the starburst sensations created by Cade’s fingers moving smoothly on. ‘Horace’s worst crime…’ She managed, discovering it was hard to find a balance between her need for more sensation and the need to get things out in the open.
‘Horace’s worst crime?’ Cade encouraged.
She blinked furiously as Cade opened a button close to her waist and she felt the reverberations of his touch all through her lower body. ‘He was too nice,’ she blurted, moving forward out of range.
‘Too nice? What’s that?’
‘But so immature…You know…’ She made a half-hearted attempt to explain to Cade what she meant. ‘Whenever Horace saw a pretty girl at the golf club, he…’ She bit down on her lip. She couldn’t bring herself to be so disloyal, not even now.
‘I see.’
No, Cade didn’t. Or at least, she hoped not. Horace was harmless, and almost certainly less well prepared than she was for their wedding night. Her mother hadn’t wanted to talk about sex with her, but there had been magazines to guide her, and some of the articles had been really helpful. But when it came to the real thing…well, she couldn’t face it; not with Horace. ‘I feel so bad…Horace is such a softie.’
‘Which was why you agreed to marry him, I presume?’
And why she had bolted too. They would never have made each other happy.
Cade gathered Horace was a bit of a chump, but not a bad bloke. What Liv had told him had cleared the air. It explained something about her situation, and he could tell she felt better for it. Her actions had been a tad on the dramatic side, but he could see why she had cut and run before a disastrous marriage had made both Liv and her fiancé unhappy.
And he was a marriage guidance counsellor now?
Of all the crazy situations—and he’d been in a few—this one was a peach. Liv reminded him of the wounded animals he used to bring home as a boy—the birds with broken wings he’d put in shoes boxes filled with cotton wool.
And how exactly did he think he could help her with her mixed up emotions when he was used to men, fighting men…commanding them. He hadn’t touched a woman in…too long, anyway.
The buttons she wanted him to open extended down the length of her spine to the hollow just above the swell of her buttocks. When he’d freed the first of them he’d noticed how soft her skin was, and by the time she’d lifted her hair out of the way and he’d seen the tiny birthmark like a love-bite at her hairline he wanted to taste it. He’d killed that thought immediately, just as he was going to pull back now. ‘You can finish the rest of them yourself.’
Stepping out of the dress, she stood facing him in a plain silk shift. ‘I hate to ask, but do you have a jumper I could borrow?’
As she turned her big blue eyes on him it took him a moment to refocus. ‘A jumper?’ Anything of his would trail on the ground if she wore it. With her bare feet and bedraggled appearance she looked like a waif…Cinderella. And he was no Prince Charming. He was already regretting his decision to let her in. What business had he allowing someone so young and vulnerable into his life?
‘An old sweater…anything,’ she pressed him.
He grimaced as she held out the discarded wedding dress. ‘I’ll get you a dustbin bag.’ Seeing her eyes fill with tears, he could have kicked himself for the careless choice of words. He brought the bag anyway, and opened it. It took her ages to fold and lower the discarded gown into it as he held it out. He could only guess at the distress she must be feeling, but by the time she had laid the twinkly thing and veil on top of the dress he had to admit to a flare of irritation. If it all meant so much to her, why had she bolted from her wedding? He was so busy feeling an emotion unsettlingly close to jealousy he forgot to hide his injury.
‘Oh, no, you’re bleeding,’ she exclaimed, staring at his hand.
‘What?’ He feigned indifference.
‘Let me help you. It’s the least I can do.’
He shrugged. She liked to help. And he needed help. And not just with his hand. He glanced around at the mess, but then, deciding she’d been through enough for one day, he killed the idea. ‘Don’t worry about the cut—it’s nothing.’
‘You should clean it. No, come here and I’ll clean it for you—’
‘You?’ He gave a half-grin of surprise as she walked to the sink. She had seemed so fragile up to that point.
‘I’m a nurse—’
‘A nurse?’
Now he really did sound interested. And she really did need a job. With accommodation, if possible, Liv remembered as her sensible gene kicked in. She quickly pressed home her advantage. ‘Fully trained.’
As Cade continued to look at her with interest she could feel her face firing up. He was so much bigger, taller, and sexier than a thirty-six-inch television screen would allow. And it was hard—make that impossible—to stop staring at him. And what was it about a woman’s eye line that drew it to the area below a man’s belt? She quickly adjusted her gaze to his feet—XL; clad in no-nonsense army boots. No. No! She definitely wasn’t going there! ‘Your hand?’ she said, reaching out to inspect the damage.
‘I told you, it’s nothing.’
As they faced each other she caught sight of their reflections in the mirror, and for the first time that day she felt like laughing. Their jaws were jutting out at exactly the same stubborn angle—though she doubted Cade’s insides were trembling. ‘I need to clean that wound,’ she told him firmly. ‘Come on.’
He hesitated. He was accustomed to being in command, and he didn’t like this new feeling. He felt even more unsettled when Liv gave him a smile of such angelic sweetness it made his insides dance a rumba; a slow, insistent rumba that made it necessary to turn his back on her to ease the tension.
‘If you can’t bring yourself to let a mere woman help you,’ she said wryly, ‘how about I sort out your hand in exchange for a jumper?’
He relented. ‘Done.’ His interest was firing on all cylinders. Liv might have taken a knock today, but she was far from out for the count. ‘On one condition.’
‘Which is?’
‘While I find you something to wear, you have to sit down at that table and work out a CV. Unless you brought one with you, of course?’
Her cheeks pinked as he reached for pen and paper. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Yes, I’m serious.’ Why not? In spite of the bizarre circumstances of Liv’s arrival, he liked what he saw, and his earlier black mood had eased the moment she’d walked through the door.
The glint that appeared in Cade’s eyes made parts of her untouched by man wake up. With so much testosterone curling round her it was hardly a surprise. And as he raked his thick, dark hair she had to remind herself she was a virgin who had held out so long she’d lost the urge.
Oh, really? her inner voice demanded. Cade had provoked some strong magic in her pelvic region, if that truly were the case.
Assembling her face in a prim expression, she held out her hand ready to make her inspection. She couldn’t risk losing what little aura of professionalism she had left now he’d given her the chance to apply for the job. She braced herself in readiness to take his hand. It was a big, strong hand, tanned…endowed with who knew what sort of experience. As the long, lean fingers rested on hers it was a battle to concentrate on the injury…a nasty cut, but fortunately not one requiring stitches. ‘Hold your hand under the tap for me.’
‘Like this?’ Cade pressed against her at the sink.
She hummed assent, struggling to keep her thoughts in line as her body responded to him, culminating in a pulse of shimmering sensation between her legs. ‘Does accommodation come with the job?’ She was determined to keep her mind on exactly that.
‘For the successful candidate I might go as far as throwing in a sweater.’
How was she supposed to concentrate when Cade was making it impossible to do so? And did his voice have to be quite so intimate, as if they’d known each other for ever? Still feeling delicious twinges down below, she let go of his hand. ‘Disinfectant?’
‘Under the sink. Or there’s some iodine in that drawer over there.’
‘Iodine…’ A sharp sting would soon bring him into line.
She felt Cade’s keen-eyed stare following her across the kitchen. He was lean and wired, his body-hugging top revealing a band of rock-hard belly. She might be determined to keep this on a business footing, but there was no denying Cade Grant was a feast of wicked thoughts rolled into one hot man. ‘This drawer?’ Opening it, she slammed it shut again on several boxes of condoms.
Now she was flustered. Now a pink stain had appeared on her cheeks. He was enjoying this. ‘Okay, not that drawer, the one next to it.’
Typical man—he didn’t have a clue where anything was. She found the iodine, closed the drawer and turned round to face him. ‘And the plasters are here.’ She reached for the tin, which he could now see was hidden behind the taps.
‘Well, I’ll be…’ He could only be impressed by her swift recovery—though he did wonder at the rapid rise and fall of her breasts beneath the fine silk slip. ‘So that’s where they got to.’ He acted innocent as she gave him a reprimanding look.
CHAPTER TWO
LIV tried to make a start on the CV, but it was impossible to concentrate while a rugged army officer prowled about the kitchen watching her. ‘If you could just sit down, I might be able to concentrate.’
‘That’s a very bossy instruction coming from a woman with bare feet dressed in her underwear.’
Liv’s short-lived confidence drained away. Practical matters she could deal with, but when the spotlight was turned on her sexuality…She rallied determinedly. ‘Do you want me to apply for this job, or not?’ Her gaze was drawn to Cade’s lips…to his scarred, firm, mobile lips. She forced herself to look away. She could not allow him to guess how badly she needed this job, or how insanely she wanted him to kiss her. ‘Just keep still for a minute or two, please.’ She could feel his gaze warming her face as she bent her head back to the task.
‘Any more instructions?’
‘Not as yet.’
‘Perhaps I should bring up your obsession with discipline at your interview.’
She didn’t dare look up. ‘You should cover everything you think relevant.’
‘Don’t worry, I intend to…’
While her heart tried to beat its way out of her chest, Cade narrowed his steel-grey eyes to stare at her. He had incredible eyes that seemed to reach deep inside her. He was an incredible man. She hadn’t known what to expect when she’d hammered on his door, but it wasn’t this hard man with muscles and a tan, and shoulders wide enough to hoist an ox…a man who smelled so good she had to fight the urge to forget the CV and simply close her eyes and inhale deeply…
‘You don’t seem to have made much progress,’ he observed, glancing at the blank sheet in front of her.
‘I’m forming the phrases in my head first.’ When I’m not imagining how it would feel to have your stubble rasping against my neck…
‘You are going to write something down?’ Cade prompted.
Pulling herself together, Liv ran through the possibilities in her mind. School results: average. Golf handicap: nonexistent. Cooking skills: A+, thanks to a term at Miss Smythson’s finishing school for young ladies. Hobbies? Reading romance and watching RomCom films. Hardly Cade’s cup of tea, Liv thought with a glance at his impassive face, but, guessing he could do with a little warmth in his life, she wrote them down anyway. She wrote faster when it came to her nursing qualifications; she was really proud of them. Thirty seconds later she handed Cade the completed sheet.
He couldn’t stop staring at Liv and wondering at the strange tricks fate played. There had been no other applicants, and she was a nurse. Could anything have suited him better? He exchanged an old army sweater for the sheet of paper she handed him, registering huge relief when she slipped it on. The dun colour drained her and it was so big she wore it like a shapeless dress. It went some way to concealing her slender form, but not far enough…even with a mud-streaked face, she looked beautiful.
‘Aren’t you going to read it?’
He refocused on the piece of paper in his hand, registering the important bits like age: 22; marital status: single. ‘Well, that all seems in order,’ he said, handing it back. ‘I take it you can start right away?’
‘That’s it?’ Her jaw dropped.
‘That’s it,’ he confirmed distractedly. ‘You’re hired.’
‘I am?’ She sprang up. ‘You’re sure you’re not joking?’
‘I never joke,’ he assured her. ‘We’ll talk money later. All I’m agreeing to for now is a short trial this weekend.’
‘Oh…’ Nothing was settled, then. She would just have to make sure she excelled at everything he threw her way.
‘It’s going to be a particularly taxing weekend. Do you think you can cope?’
‘Yes…’ Her mother had always told her she would amount to nothing, and that she would never survive in the real world. Even when the cottage hospital had closed and she’d lost her job it had somehow been turned around to make it her fault. Something told her that Cade’s world was all too real and the trials he would put her through would be similarly demanding. Was her mother right? Should she have settled for marriage as quickly as possible, and to an undemanding man like Horace? No! ‘Yes,’ she said again, this time with feeling. She brushed off her misgivings. If she didn’t try to make something of herself she’d never know what she was capable of, would she?
‘Good. If you survive the weekend we’ll talk money. For now I suggest you get out of those clothes—’
‘You do?’ Liv swallowed hard, remembering the condoms in the drawer. This was all moving way too fast.
‘I’ll show you to your room.’
‘Not yet,’ she said, buying time. ‘I mean, I’d like to clear up in here first.’
‘All right…’ He seemed impressed. ‘I suppose there’s no time like the present to make a start…’
Why was Cade looking at her like that? It was making all the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand to attention.
He rather liked the idea of Liv washing his dishes in a satin slip, rough woolly jumper and bare feet. She was a prim little thing, and shy, but her full lips were a give-away, likewise her darkening eyes too, and as for the tender swell of her breasts—
‘Rubber gloves?’
‘What?’ That caught him out. ‘Uh, no…sorry.’
‘Never mind, I can do without them this once…’ Liv plunged her arms up to the elbows in the washing-up water with relief. She could feel the chemistry between them and didn’t know what to do about it. She had dreamed of something like this all her life, and now it was happening she hadn’t a clue. Could Cade feel it too? She hoped not. She wanted this job, and if he made a move she wouldn’t know what to do, what to say, how to handle him…She could only be a disappointment. Just as her mother said she had to forget the opportunities open to other women and concentrate on the few things she was good at—like washing dishes.
His face brightened. He had been wrong thinking fate had brought him a nurse; fate had brought him an angel. She was going to transform the suppurating pit he had returned to into a nice clean house. It had been so long since he’d properly smiled, his facial muscles creaked.
‘Aren’t you going to help?’ The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. But anything was better than Cade watching her with that narrowed wolf gleam in his eyes. ‘Don’t you have any clean tea towels?’ Maybe that was the reason he was holding back. ‘Look—there’s one here,’ she said, handing it to him.
He was shocked into accepting it.
‘Don’t worry—we’ll put some more on the list for when I go shopping.
‘We will?’
She smiled at him. ‘Pass me the rest of those things, will you?’
He picked up the pile of cutlery, but as he handed them to her they slipped out of her soapy hands into the bowl, splashing water everywhere. As she shrieked and jumped back he was forced to steady her. ‘Here…wait until I’ve wiped the floor, or you might slip on the tiles in your bare feet. He hunkered down. Her feet were splashed with soapsuds too, and he decided to dry them before turning his attention to the floor. Her nails were like shells, painted the palest pink, in honour of the wedding, he presumed. They were the softest, tiniest feet he’d ever seen on a woman. Balling up the tea towel, he very carefully blotted them dry. The room went very quiet; so quiet he could hear her breathing. Tension was like an electric current joining them. Lifting one of her feet, he rested it on his knee. When he lifted it again to blot her sole she gave an excited whimper. ‘Ticklish?’
She didn’t answer; he wasn’t sure she could.
Lowering that foot, he put himself through the same torture with the other. The temptation to massage her feet and show her just how sensitive they were was overwhelming him.
She had to lean on the sink for support. It had nothing to do with keeping her balance and everything to do with the feelings that were flooding her. She had never known she was capable of such strong sensations…and all Cade was doing was drying her feet, though in reality he was doing so much more. She wanted to moan and let her feelings out…She wanted to think straight and breathe steadily. But neither was possible. She had to hide her thoughts and pretend this wasn’t happening. He was drying her wet feet, and that was all.
Her feet, for goodness’ sake! Feet were for walking with, useful for kicking a ball with, and occasionally ornamental in the summer in a pair of strappy sandals. Feet were not erotic hot-spots…were they?
He couldn’t believe he was doing this. He couldn’t believe it was turning him on to this extent. He had to stop now. He must stop now…‘Let’s leave this,’ he said, ditching the towel as he stood up. ‘I haven’t shown you round yet.’
‘Oh, that would be great,’ she said with huge enthusiasm, thankful for the reprieve and forgetting her earlier determination to stay in the kitchen until everything was straight. ‘So there is accommodation with the job?’
‘Of a sort.’ He grimaced. ‘It isn’t the Ritz.’
‘That’s okay.’
Liv hesitated by the door, overcome by the sense of taking a step into the unknown with a man she didn’t know. And when that man was Cade…
But she must at least try for this job, or else be content with her mother’s assessment of her. Gathering her courage, she followed Cade into the main part of the house.
Far from being the stately home she had imagined Featherstone Hall was suffering badly from neglect. ‘How sad,’ she murmured as Cade led her past a deserted ballroom. She could imagine it must have rung with music and laughter at one time, but now it was just a vast, empty space providing accommodation for a colony of spiders, judging by the cobwebs.
‘Come on,’ Cade urged, as if it saddened him too and he didn’t want to linger.
Or was that her imagination working overtime again? Liv wondered as they headed upstairs.
There were several flights of stairs, starting with a grand sweeping staircase, and ending in a narrow flight of steps winding up to the attic rooms. ‘Servants’ quarters?’ she asked him dryly.
‘That’s right—’
This was worse than she had imagined. The room Cade showed her into looked as if it hadn’t seen a lick of paint in centuries. And he expected to keep his staff? But then he could hardly be expected to keep everything up to date while he was off fighting for his country, Liv reminded herself. She gazed round the bare room with its tiny window and sloping ceilings and mentally girded her loins. She had been spoiled long enough, lived in comfort long enough. ‘This is fine.’
Judging by Cade’s expression, he was seeing the room through her eyes, as if for the first time, and he didn’t like what he saw. ‘Are you sure this is okay for you?’
She had been wondering how long it was since he’d had his last military haircut. Some time, she guessed now as he ruffled his inky-black hair. ‘Positive,’ she confirmed, refocusing. Maybe he’d grown his hair to cover his scars? She could see more of them cutting through his tan now he’d brushed his hair back from his forehead.
‘I haven’t been up here recently,’ he admitted, ‘and, as you can see, things have got kind of neglected.’
She felt a little glow of pleasure that he cared. She’d suspected he’d a human side and just hid it well. Or maybe she was clutching at straws and shouldn’t allow herself to get carried away; she liked Cade Grant far too much already. ‘All I need,’ she reassured him, ‘is a bed, a window and a door.’
He wanted to smile, but stopped himself in time. She’d struck a chord with him. He’d grown up in undiluted splendour, but what Liv described was how he’d felt on the day he’d joined the army. ‘I wouldn’t object to you making a few improvements…’
If she was here long enough there would have to be more than a few improvements, Liv reflected, and not just to the house.
CHAPTER THREE
CADE was full of surprises, Liv thought, gazing at the clothes he’d brought upstairs. She’d smiled when he’d asked her to take them to the cleaners in town where they did a turn-around service. How nice was that? He must take care of his gran’s cleaning for the old lady. And now Liv was on the point of leaving her attic room, to undertake this, the first of her missions—settling in having taken her all of thirty seconds, which was the time it took to throw open the window, turn back the bed, and discover that Cade had a lot to learn about bedding.
But his heart was in the right place. And it wasn’t just this kind deed. He had magicked up some acceptable army gear for her to wear, comprising a plain blue track suit and trainers in the correct size. Apparently he ran courses in the grounds when he was home—another plus point in his favour—and kept a stock of clothes. And then he’d insisted on giving her a wad of money ‘for anything else she might need’. When she’d protested her needs were few, he’d quirked a brow and she’d given in. She must buy some new clothes—an interim solution, he’d said. He’d just shrugged when she’d assured him she’d pay back every penny out of her wages. ‘I haven’t hired you yet,’ he’d reminded her.
Which had made her doubly determined to nail the job. Cade might seem a little gruff on first meetng, but life had made him that way. She had seen a different side of him briefly, and, however well hidden that side might be, she liked what she saw.
Wasn’t it easy to find excuses for a man who made her thrill with just a glance? Liv’s inner voice suggested. And was it the thought of those condoms in the drawer or the barren room that was making that quiver run down her spine now?
The room, Liv told her inner voice firmly; there was so much she could do with it. For someone who revelled in frills and flounces it was a blank canvas upon which she couldn’t wait to get started. What it amounted to was this—whatever Cade threw at her, she had to tough it out. She had nowhere else to go. And after the wedding fiasco she had no intention of becoming known as a serial bolter. People thought she was ditsy enough already, just because she looked a certain way, and this was her opportunity to prove them wrong. Yes, the thought of going into town on the afternoon of her aborted wedding frightened the pants off her, but she had to show her face in town some time, so why not make it now?
He frowned as he watched Liv marching down the drive. It hadn’t occurred to him she couldn’t drive. It hadn’t occurred to him anyone over the age of seventeen couldn’t drive. It made him wonder what else was lacking in her education. Recalling her horrified reaction when she’d spotted the condoms in the drawer, he had to consider the possibility she was a virgin. The thought of taking up the role of educator appealed to him. His body apparently agreed with this proposition.
He considered the ruined wedding dress, currently residing in a black plastic bag on top of the bins. What had torn Liv away from her own wedding? She must have known what she was getting into. She appeared to be the girl with everything…or was she the girl with nothing, who had realised how empty her life would become, and had decided to do something about it?
She was as pigheaded as he was, he concluded as she reached the gates. She had left without speaking to him first and clearly didn’t know the local bus only stopped every two hours outside the gates and she had just missed the last one. He could chase after her and explain, but something told him she wouldn’t appreciate that; she wanted to do things on her own, to prove she could.
She barely paused at the bus stop, before starting off down the road. Did she know how far it was to the next stop? There was a rusty bike languishing in the back of the garage, or he could even drive her into town, but didn’t he expect rookies under his command to use their initiative? Something told him Liv Tate would do just that. Plus she’d suffered enough for one day, and if she was anything like him she needed time and space to find her own solutions. Whatever had happened to her in the church that morning she had managed to put it behind her, and now she was determined to get on with the rest of her life. He could only admire that, and even envy it a little. Pulling away from the window, he left her to it.
She hitched a lift into town. Olivia Tate, formerly known as Miss Prissy-Pants-Caution-Is-Her-Watchword, waited as long as she could bear to for the bus and then hitched a lift into town with a lorry driver; a lorry driver moreover who offered to share his hamburger with her. How good was that? Having ascertained that that was all he wanted to share, she thanked the fates for being kind to her and declined politely.
By the time she climbed down from the cab on the outskirts of town Big Harry and Liv were good friends, but her buoyant mood was rudely shattered by the vicar’s wife, who lost no time in telling her that Olivia Tate was not welcome in town. ‘Why, Olivia Tate. I’m amazed you dare to show your face today of all days! And what on earth were you doing with a…truck driver?’
Liv’s eyes narrowed. Had this sort of thing been going on all along, and she’d only just noticed how ridiculous people were? ‘Big Harry?’ she said, affecting surprise. ‘Why, he’s my friend.’ And a better friend than you are, Liv concluded. Hugging Cade’s gran’s clothes for comfort, she turned her face towards the high street and the next part of her mission.
Liv was the first to admit she had a problem with shoes. She could never pass a sale sign without taking a look, and sale signs seemed to be everywhere, tempting her today. But she was looking for sensible shoes to wear at Featherstone—sturdy lace-ups with flat heels, she decided, forcing her reluctant feet past rows of massively discounted designer footwear.
She spent some of Cade’s money, and then a little more—telling herself she would work it off—before finally taking cover from the rain inside the Minster Tea rooms while she waited for the local bus to arrive.
Having drained the last of her coffee, she glanced at her watch. It was time to collect Cade’s gran’s clothes from the dry-cleaner’s. It made Liv smile every time she thought about them. Cade was all bark and no bite, she had decided. And now she really must go. She had collected a timetable from the bus station, and had no intention of being caught out a second time.
Of course, she could always take a taxi, Liv reflected, looking out of the window at the pouring rain; Cade had given her plenty of money…
And have him think her a wuss?
Smiling at the waitress, she asked for the bill.
He’d had to drive into town to pick up light bulbs. He wasn’t looking for Liv. It was just coincidence that made him cruise past the tea shop. He thumped the wheel in triumph when he spotted her seated by the window. And now he’d finished his shopping and the rain was sheeting down. He decided, in one of his ‘gallant knight helps out the little lady’ moments, to offer her a lift. But as he depressed the brake pedal in preparation to park he noticed the redoubtable Ms Tate was already striding down the high street in the direction of the dry-cleaner’s. So she had planned everything to coincide with the local bus leaving…
Good for her.
In spite of the dentist’s warning about grinding his jaw, he did so before stepping on the accelerator. He had wanted to be her white knight.
Yes, and, for a man who shunned feelings, that was dangerous.
On Liv’s return journey reality started to sink in. Now the trek up the drive of Featherstone was a guilty march and her head was full of how wretched everyone she had left behind must be feeling now. How would Horace feel? She knew she should be there with him now, facing the music and convincing him how much better his life would be without her.
How were her parents?
Liv’s firm stride faltered. She couldn’t tell tears from rain as she pushed her rain-soaked hair back. What a mess she’d made of everything, and now that nosy woman in town would embroider the facts, talk up Big Harry, and fill her mother with dread. The encounter had prompted her to leave a brief message on her father’s mobile to reassure him, knowing he would be the calmer of the two. She had also written a letter home, which she now posted. She had spoiled her mother’s special day, and, whatever their disagreements in the past, she loved her parents; they’d sacrificed everything for her. It was only her mother’s fear and insecurity that made her act the way she did. Liv should have known that and found a way to break through her reserve—touch her, reach her, reassure her, hug her…
As Featherstone Hall loomed in front of her and Liv saw Cade’s rugged vehicle parked outside, her bones turned to water. Whatever she’d done Cade Grant could sweep in and dominate her thoughts at the drop of a hat. Returning to him was exciting and frightening; he made her feel so vulnerable. It was like balancing on the edge of a precipice knowing a breath of wind could tumble her off. The thought of him, so big and sexy, with those expressive eyes that could look so haunted one minute and so challenging the next…Frying-pan into the fire didn’t even begin to cover it. Ruining her wedding was unforgivable; the pain she’d caused her mother was unforgivable; leaving Horace at the altar was unforgivable, but at least she had an underlying sense that she’d done the right thing even if she’d gone about it the wrong way. She had no such reassurances where Cade was concerned.
Clutching her precious parcel from the dry-cleaner’s, Liv picked up pace. She had promised to make Cade a nice supper, and had all the fresh organic ingredients in her shopping bag. In her smart, transparent, state-of-the-art plastic, this season’s must-have tote, Liv corrected herself. She hadn’t been able to resist snapping up the last of them at the store. And, yes, that made her shallow…Or maybe it was her insurance policy she had to secure the job now. She must stay on until she could pay Cade back the money she owed him.
Freudian shopping? Or was it just an irresistible urge to play with fire?
Whatever her motives, the thought of seeing Cade again certainly filled her with a blaze of excitement.
‘What time do you call this?’
‘Er, supper time?’ Liv’s cheeks blazed. No man had ever spoken to her in so sharp a tone before, and she wasn’t absolutely sure how to respond. Cade looked furious, but what had she done? She checked her watch. She wasn’t late. She had done everything he’d asked her to. His ‘tiger with a thorn in its pad’ stare wounded her more than he knew. So was she going to crumple? Drawing herself up, she met it coolly. She wasn’t going to fail. She wasn’t going to fail—
‘Well, don’t just stand there,’ he said impatiently. ‘You’re dripping rain all over the place.’
‘Your compassion overwhelms me,’ she said coolly. ‘Has something happened to upset you while I was away?’
He looked at her suspiciously. Everything was upsetting him. He had invited a scrap of a woman into his life, and she’d turned it upside down in no time flat. Wasn’t that enough to upset him? And did he want to feel this way? Did he want to feel anything? Plus he couldn’t get away from her—she was everywhere. Her essence invaded his mind, his body, his house—she wasn’t just here with him in his kitchen, she was in his head.
His thoughts were interrupted when she moved past him to the fireside.
The way her face brightened as she warmed herself contrasted sharply with his mood. He tried hard to sustain his bad mood, but now she was kneeling on the rug in front of the fire with her hands outstretched like a child…He looked away thinking he should know better than to introduce a girl like Liv into his dark world.
Liv was relieved to be able to turn her back on Cade and stare into the flames. She had been so certain he would be pleased to see her when she burst in through the kitchen door in a flurry of rain and parcels. She had been excited by the prospect of seeing him again, but his mood had quickly dampened that. And she still couldn’t work out what she’d done.
She had expected too much of him, that was all. Why should he be pleased to see her? She hadn’t proved anything yet. But tonight was her big chance. She brightened at the thought of it. She was going to cook Cade the best meal he’d ever eaten. At least that was one thing she could get right. She refused to be a grump, just because he was, and she had no intention of remaining on her knees all night with her back turned as if she were frightened of him. She was frightened of him, though not in the conventional sense. She was frightened of what she could see in his face…shadows, and grief, in spite of his hard outer shell. ‘You make a great fire,’ she said, trying hard to the lighten the mood.
‘It will be your job from now on.’
Had he mistaken her for Cinderella? She managed to hold her tongue as she glanced at the pile of heavy logs.
‘You’d better go and change,’ he said. ‘I’m hungry, and I’d like to eat soon.’
She had never expected working as a housekeeper to be easy, had she? ‘My apologies,’ she said pleasantly, remembering what the job meant to her. ‘I just thought I should dry out a little first.’ She held his gaze, and had the satisfaction of seeing his glance flicker away for once. She suspected Cade wasn’t used to defiance but there was only so far she would go. She would work as hard as she could, and cooperate to the best of her ability, but she would not cower in front of him.
‘At least you’ve got your uniform,’ he said.
She had been so lost in her thoughts it took her brain a moment to unscramble. ‘My uniform?’
‘Yes, you can change into it before you serve supper. You might as well get used to wearing it—’
Her nod got stuck halfway. She could understand that Cade felt more comfortable with people in uniform, and perhaps he would relax a little when she put it on…but—and she wasn’t being silly now—where was it? ‘Sorry?’ she said, gazing round the room to prompt him.
‘What are you looking for? It’s right here.’ He toed the edge of the dry-cleaner’s bag.
‘But those are your gran’s clothes…’
‘My gran?’
Liv paused. ‘You don’t have a gran.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Or an elderly relative…’
Cade’s ebony brows lifted.
‘So this…’ Liv gazed at the package on the floor in dread ‘…is my uniform?’
‘That’s exactly what it is,’ Cade told her stony-faced. ‘And now I suggest you go upstairs and put it on. You are still interested in the job, I take it?’
‘Of course I am—’
‘Well, then.’ He folded his arms across his broad chest. ‘I work to a strict timetable. I’ll give you a draft of my requirements later, but one thing will never change. Supper is always served at seven.’
If he’d told her—
‘I trust it won’t be late again?’
‘Once again, my apologies…’ How she managed to sound calm when Cade was being so unreasonable Liv had no idea. Maybe it was a measure of her determination. But, boy! Could she see why he had trouble hanging onto staff! What with the barren room and the way he’d talked to her—in her opinion a smooth-running household was a team, not a dictatorship.
‘I just like everything to be regular.’
She had to bend down and pick up her parcels before Cade could see the smile on her face. She’d give him regular. A large dose of cascara in his food should sort him out. ‘I’ll lay up the dining room for seven o’ clock,’ she said mildly.
‘Prompt.’
‘Prompt,’ she echoed, holding her breath until Lieutenant Colonel Grant had left the room, at which point she stuck out her tongue and wiggled it vigorously.
Closing the door, he let out his breath in a ragged stream. Shutting his eyes was no deterrent against the evidence. The blouse beneath Liv’s jacket had been soaking wet, revealing the contours of her breasts in alarming detail. He couldn’t trust himself to stay in the same room with her a moment longer, and the faster she got herself into that shapeless uniform, the better it would be all round. He only had to picture his previous housekeeper wearing the same outfit to know that both of them would be completely safe. He, for instance, would be able to breathe again properly, and function like any normal, rational man, instead of the sex-craved, rabid beast he felt sure he had become.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE housekeeper’s uniform was the most hideous thing Liv had ever seen. She could hardly bare to look at her reflection. Woolen stockings, yellow ochre in colour, wrinkled around her ankles, and the shapeless navy blue serge skirt together with its matching boxy jacket was so ugly it should be shredded and set fire to. Cade had no idea. When she thought of the smart army attire he wore for his job it made her ping with fury to think he expected anyone who worked for him to wear this rubbish. She was going to have it out with him—
No, she was going to calm down right now, and accept that she had no alternative but to toe the line, at least for the time being. Did she want this job, or not?
Liv soothed herself by laying out the little trinkets and feminine accessories she had bought in town to make her life in the attic room at Featherstone more bearable. It hadn’t cost her much to transform her bedroom…just a scented candle, a cheap, but pretty chiffon scarf thrown over the back of the single hard-backed chair, a clock, and a pair of fluffy slippers to tuck underneath the bed. Oh, and a small vase full of fresh flowers, as well as a novel for her to read…
Perfect, she thought, standing back smiling as she viewed the finished effect.
But there were still one or two more things she intended to change. If Cade expected staff to use this accommodation, whether she stayed or not, it would require a radical modernisation programme, and to help him with that she would draw up a list…
Liv’s heart lurched at the thought of anyone but her taking over the job of running the household at Featherstone, let alone anyone else living with Cade. She already felt quite protective of her position. Just thinking about Cade had prompted her body to react in a way that she couldn’t just brush aside. And anyway, physical reaction to Cade was a lot more fun than studying the single blanket on her narrow iron bed. The insistent pulsing between her legs made her sigh with pleasure, while the old grey frizzy thing that passed for a cover on her bed just annoyed her. It looked like old army issue, possibly dating back to the Great War. And that was only for starters…There was a single bar of dried-up soap on the cracked and rust-stained washbasin, along with a hand towel that had seen better days. Flimsy curtains drooped sadly at the windows promising the early morning light would flood straight through them, and the threadbare rug only added to the general air of dilapidation.
She stood back, hands on her hips, shaking her head. Featherstone Hall might have known its glory days, but this wasn’t one of them. She’d give Cade her improvements list when they met again at supper.
He did a double take when Liv walked into the kitchen. How could anyone look so sexy wearing that? Even in the ugly flat shoes her legs looked fantastic—until you noticed the wrinkles in her tights, that was. Forget the wrinkles—all thoughts of previous housekeepers were immediately expunged from his mind. All he could think of now was unpeeling Liv like a particularly ripe fruit, and then sucking on her until he was replete—which could take quite some time.
‘I hope you like red meat,’ she said, walking over to the fridge.
His heart sang. Folding the newspaper he’d been reading, he put it to one side. ‘I love red meat.’ He was prepared to cut her as much slack as necessary in the happy anticipation of the first proper meal he’d had in days.
‘If you’d care to relax in the library,’ she went on, ‘I’ll bring you a glass of wine—or beer, if you’d prefer?’ she offered, turning her pearl-white smile on him.
‘A beer would be fine, thank you,’ he said, exhaling with contentment as he left the room.
Having donned her apron, Liv flexed her fingers. She was ready to begin. She was determined to impress Cade, and this was the way to do it. She had been top of the cordon bleu cookery class at Miss Smythson’s finishing school for young ladies.
It would do it, Liv thought, determined, breathing steadily, in through her nose and out through her mouth to a count of three. Remembering Miss Smythson’s advice that a good cook was a calm cook and an organised cook, she had planned this meal like an army exercise, and now she was certain Cade couldn’t fail to be impressed.
She peeled and scraped and washed and mashed and pricked and patted and seasoned, and then cooked the perfect meat and the perfect vegetables for the perfect length of time. When she had finished she wiped her brow, and then wiped the edges of the plate with a fresh, clean cloth she’d had standing by for just this very moment. She stood back and let out her breath in one ragged stream. The dish was a triumph. For once she was right to feel confident.
She had brought him his beer in a wineglass, which he had decided to overlook on the basis that the scent that assailed his nostrils when Liv opened the door spoke to him of gravy and roast potatoes, mashed carrots and honeyed parsnips…
He didn’t have long to wait before disillusionment set in.
‘What’s this?’ he demanded, staring down at his plate. There was a minuscule offering piled in the centre that looked to him like a particularly small pea on top of an overlarge bun.
Liv’s face lit up. No wonder Cade was taken aback. She had decided to surprise him on this first night with her signature dish…a silky concoction consisting of slivers of beef spiked with horseradish cream, served with crisp threads of green pepper and onion. The whole dish took up no more room on the plate than a teacup; just arranging it was an art form in itself. There was a dot of mashed carrot to add colour and texture, and, of course, she hadn’t forgotten the single round of roasted parsnip no bigger than a five-pence piece to lend crunch. It was a triumph! She took in the astonishment on Cade’s face and realised she had never thought of herself as a proud person before, but she felt proud now as Cade continued to stare down at his plate in wonder. He was clearly overawed by her skill and expertise, not to mention the time and trouble she’d taken to find just the right ingredients, and then prepare them for him so well. It felt really good to be appreciated—
‘It’s not enough!’ Stabbing his fork into her glorious creation, Cade stuffed the whole of it into his mouth and swallowed it down in one gulp. Then he turned on her. ‘It may have escaped your notice, lady, but I’m no leprechaun. I’m a fully grown man who expects a proper meal—not this light bite for a fairy.’
Tears sprang to her eyes, which she held back. She wasn’t going to fail. Her mother always said she was a failure. It wasn’t going to happen again—not this time—not here with Cade. ‘I’m sorry.’ She wished her voice hadn’t come out in a whisper. She wished she didn’t want to bolt from the room. Somehow she kept her feet firmly pinned to the ground and told a lie: ‘Don’t worry, that was just a first course.’
Cade grunted acknowledgement and was still frowning as he pushed his plate away. ‘I don’t need this fancy food. You didn’t need to go to so much trouble.’
‘No trouble.’
He could see she was on the verge of tears and swiftly reined in. ‘What about all those lovely fresh ingredients you bought in town?’ he said, as if he’d just remembered them. ‘Make something simple you can prepare quickly.’
He wasn’t used to dealing with emotional women, but suspected if he said anything else half nice she would bawl her eyes out.
‘Will you have your main course now, or later?’ she asked him stiffly, pausing by the door. ‘Or I could give you a break, if you prefer?’
‘Liv.’ He was halfway out of his seat ‘—I’ll come with you—’
She held her hand up, stopping him. ‘No. I’d rather you didn’t.’
He subsided down again as she hurried from the room. He felt appalling, like the worst type of ungrateful layabout—like a man who didn’t know how to get off his backside and help when a woman was so close to tears. He shifted unhappily in his seat. Was he completely unaware of other people’s feelings—of Liv’s feelings? Had he really sat here like some arrogant, fault-finding plutocrat, allowing her to wait on him? He’d never felt this way about a woman—maybe because no woman had made him face what he’d become. So why Liv? What was it about her that stripped him naked and made him feel? Seeing the tears in her eyes and knowing he’d been the cause of them had really shocked him. He hadn’t always been like this. The battlefield had made him brusque and detached, because that was how you stayed alive, but this was civilian life, and he had better get used to it. He didn’t want to turn into a block of stone. He wanted to remember how it felt to laugh and soften, and share a smile. Liv had tried her best tonight, and he’d thrown it all back in her face. It was up to him to make an effort now, and he would.
Leaning back against the kitchen side, she bit her lip, trying not to cry, though all she wanted to do was howl in despair at how useless she was. Cade had laid her bare, exposing her weaknesses and forcing her to take account of how naïve she was—how shallow and inexperienced, and how very much she had to learn…about everything. And so she would make a start right here, right now. She wasn’t going to fail on this, her first night of employment. She would just have to try harder.
Liv searched through the store cupboards for the ingredients for a main course. The cupboards needed a good clean out and yielded little more than a few half empty packets of cereal and some assorted tins. The refrigerator was better stocked with fresh eggs, vegetables, salad and beer…
As she straightened up Liv’s face brightened when she noticed a side of bacon on the kitchen counter. She walked over to examine it. It was just lying on a platter beneath a giant-sized net. The meat was a luscious tawny red colour, and the perfectly distributed fat was the buttery shade of clotted cream. Her mouth watered as she imagined it thinly sliced and crisped up in the oven. For pudding she had prepared Vanilla Snow, one of her lighter desserts—she had better come up with something more substantial before she served that…
‘Absolutely delicious,’ Cade pronounced, much to Liv’s relief. She had prepared a soufflé omelette for him with crispy bacon on the side, and it was done to a turn, if she did say so herself.
‘Where did you find such delicious bacon?’ Cade demanded. ‘I thought my farm produced the best—I only need the trophy from the Great South Western Show now to prove it to the world—but that was wonderful!’ Sighing with contentment, he patted his iron flat stomach.
A whisper of dread intruded on Liv’s pleasurable feelings. She shrugged it off. This was the friendliest conversation Cade had attempted since she had arrived, and more than made up for his earlier unkindness. And if he was prepared to make an effort, then so was she. ‘I’m really glad you enjoyed it,’ she said, taking his plate.
‘You haven’t told me yet where you found such excellent bacon,’ Cade reminded her. ‘Perhaps I should be worried about my chances at the show tomorrow. It seems I have some stiff competition in the area…Olivia?’ he prompted when Liv remained silent.
She wanted to be a thousand miles away. She wanted today erased from her memory bank. She couldn’t stop running the scene that was about to play out in her head, and it wasn’t looking good for her. She might as well fall on her wooden spoon now. ‘It was your bacon.’
Cade laughed. He spread his hands out on the table palms flat, looking, as well he might, the master of all he surveyed; a man in command of every situation—apart, that was, from his bacon. ‘I beg your pardon?’ he said, angling his face towards her.
Liv was rapidly losing the will to live. ‘I said it was your bacon.’
When Cade remained grimly silent, words poured from her in a reckless torrent. ‘I cut those slices you just ate off that lump of meat in the kitchen. You’ve got some excellent knives in yours drawers. I don’t know if you know about them, but they’re really sharp.’
Cade stood up very slowly. Planting his fists on the table, he leaned towards her. ‘What did you say?’
She couldn’t stop gabbling about the wonder of Cade’s excellent knives until he slammed one fist down on the table, shocking her into silence.
‘Talk to me about the bacon.’
His eyes had narrowed to pinpricks of light. Was he serious? She wanted to laugh hysterically she was so scared and bewildered. If Cade had told her about the bacon—if he’d warned her…‘The bacon?’ Her throat felt as if someone were standing on it.
‘That’s right.’
Cade’s voice was menacing and low, and the table dividing them suddenly seemed far too small a barrier. But what had she told herself about meekly accepting blame? Hadn’t she had enough of that at home from her mother? Wasn’t that what she had escaped from? And wouldn’t it follow her everywhere if she didn’t make a stand? Digging her nails into her palms, she kept her chin tilted firmly up. ‘You just ate your bacon. I cut it from that lump of meat on the side in the kitchen—’
‘That lump of meat?’ A muscle worked in Cade’s jaw. ‘That was my prize-winning fletch!’
Liv flinched as Cade raised his hands, but it was only to rake his abundant hair with stiff, angry fingers.

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