Shameless by Ann Major Page A

steak.”
    â€œHardening of the arteries,” she’d murmured. “Ever hear of that?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œMen in this country eat way too much red meat. You probably eat too much steak. At your age—”
    â€œYou work for me.”
    â€œAye. Aye.” She’d saluted him with her left hand.
    Before he thought, he’d almost saluted her. Then he’d clenched his fingers into a fist and slammed it on the table. “You haven’t done one single thing I wrote down today.”
    â€œBecause you’re not a housekeeper or a cook. Youdon’t think about your health. In short, you don’t think like a woman…”
    â€œThank God!”
    â€œYou don’t have the least idea what to put on my list. You write down all these silly things that no woman in her right mind would ever do.”
    â€œDon’t be absurd. You work for me—a man, in case you haven’t noticed.”
    â€œOh….” She’d slanted her long-lashed eyes his way. Then she’d batted them and given him a seductive smile. “Oh, I see. This isn’t about your list. You’re just sulking because I don’t want to share your bedroom.”
    â€œThe hell I am.”
    â€œThen fire me.”
    â€œAnd you’d go?”
    â€œAll you have to do is get me a real job.” She’d flashed him her most brilliant smile. “But if you won’t get me a real job, as a tiny concession…because you’re so stubborn, we’ll have steak tomorrow.”
    â€œI’m stubborn?”
    She’d giggled. “But no more than five ounces of red meat.”
    â€œYou’re impossible.” But he’d grinned back at her.
    â€œLook who’s talking.”
    â€œYou’ll really cook steak?”
    Over dessert, which was strawberries and fat-free, sugar-free vanilla ice cream, she’d said, “Since you’re not going to fire me…”
    â€œIt doesn’t take much for you to get cocky—”
    â€œWhich is a trait I share with you.”
    She knew she shouldn’t tease him. It made her remember how wonderful loving him had been. To break the spell, she’d sat up straighter and said, “Phillip, I need money.”
    â€œI knew it.”
    â€œCould I have an advance against my paycheck?”
    â€œAn advance? Already?”
    â€œIt’s important…or I wouldn’t ask.”
    â€œHow much?”
    She’d named the exact amount she needed to pay Cole Yardley.
    Phillip had given her a sharp look, but he hadn’t asked what the money was for.
    â€œI owe somebody,” she’d blurted, on the defensive because she could tell he was suspicious. “That’s all.”
    â€œAll right. We’ll leave it at that.”
    The next morning, she’d gone to the bank and the post office and sent Mr. Yardley a five-hundred-dollar money order.
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    In a month, Phillip calmed down. He stopped writing lists. Maybe she’d worn him down. Or maybe he liked the way she did things more than he would admit. She wasn’t sure. When there were no more dead cows, she quit worrying that The Pope and Nero had discovered her hiding place.
    Growing up in so many homes, she’d learned there were lots of ways to run a household, and if she was going to be the woman of this house, especially when Phillip was a rancher and could pop in at any time, she had to do things her way. No woman in her right mind would let the man have the upper hand in such a situation.
    Last night he’d almost said he preferred her menus to his—before he’d caught himself. She cooked lots of vegetables. If she’d left things to him, he would have eaten steak and potatoes every night.
    Once things were easier between them, and she’dtaught him she wasn’t some grunt he could boss around, new tensions, or maybe the same old tensions, began to build inside her. When they were in the same