Housekeeper at His Beck and Call. Susan Stephens

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.