St Kilda Consulting 02 - Innocent as Sin

his back and walked toward the patio.
    “You scared the crap out of me,” he said.
    “Same here. Anyone ever mention that you have fast hands?”
    “Once or twice.” His smile gleamed. “What are you doing out here in the dark?”
    “Trying to relax.”
    “How’s that working for you?”
    “Lousy.” Ice clinked as she lifted the whiskey glass to her lips.
    “I see you found the Grand Marnier.”
    She saluted him with the glass. “Who do I thank for it?”
    “Grace, probably. She’s the one who made sure you had the suite with the Jacuzzi.” And the fountains turned on hard enough to thwart eavesdroppers. But still…
    “I’ll share.”
    “The Jacuzzi?” he asked, startled and intrigued.
    “That, too. But I meant the liqueur.” She took another sip. “What’s in the envelope?”
    “Walking-around money.”
    She blinked slowly. “Excuse me?”
    “Come inside, where we can talk.”
    Reluctantly she went back inside and slid the patio door shut behind her.
    Rand checked the electronic device Faroe had fastened to the door, saw the green status light, locked the door, and went to Kayla.
    “Take it,” he said, holding out the envelope. “So you don’t have to use your credit cards or bank account.”
    She took the envelope, surprised by its thickness. “Thanks.”
    “All part of the St. Kilda service. You’d better count it. There should be five grand.”
    “Five thousand dollars? Are you kidding?”
    “No.” He reached for the whiskey glass she was waving around. “I’ll get you some more.”
    “What am I supposed to do with that?”
    “Drink it.”
    “The money,” she shot back. “Five thousand dollars!”
    “It’s the standard St. Kilda Consulting advance for an agent in the field. You run out before next week, you have to submit a requisition detailing why you need extra cash.”
    Usually for bribes, but I don’t think she wants to hear about that right now.
    “Room and board comes out of this?” Kayla asked.
    “Not if you stay here.” He headed for the bar.
    She hefted the envelope in her hand. “First Bertone buys my land for too much money. Now St. Kilda is giving me a five-thousand-dollar gift, with more to come next week. Gee, I’m beginning to feel…”
    “Special?”
    “Hunted.”
    “I always knew you were smart.” Ice clinked, followed by the soft splash of liqueur. “It’s not a bribe, Kayla. Money is a tool. St. Kilda doesn’t want an agent to screw up because he or she didn’t have the cash for a plane ticket on the run.”
    “Um,” was all she said.
    Rand appeared in front of her, holding out the cut-crystal glass. It was half full.
    “If I drink all that, I’ll crash,” she said, eyeing the glass.
    “I’ll help you.”
    “Crash?”
    “Drink.”
    “Good idea.” She took a healthy sip, cleared her throat twice, and looked at him from beneath dark eyelashes. “Whew. I usually add water.”
    “Ice melts. Same thing.”
    “Why didn’t I think of that?”
    He took the glass from her fingers, sipped, and said, “Sweet. With a bite.”
    “Better than beer—sour with a bite.”
    He laughed softly and told himself to turn around and go to his suite and stop thinking about what he shouldn’t be thinking about.
    Kayla, naked.
    “How do you feel about single malt?” he asked.
    “Scotch?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Smells better than it tastes.”
    He laughed. “I had a buddy once who said he wanted to die of Glenmorangie.”
    “Did he?”
    “Still working on it, last I heard.”
    “You sound like you envy him,” Kayla said.
    When Rand didn’t answer immediately, she realized that he was watching her. Or to be precise, watching the triangle of skin revealed by the robe. Heat that had nothing to do with her recent bath flushed her skin. She shrugged the robe more closely around her.
    “I might have envied him, once,” Rand said. “I’m older now.” A lot older. Too old to be thinking with my dick.
    But there it was, ready, willing, and begging to think for him.
    He turned and headed back to the bar.
    “Now what?” she asked, settling into a chair.
    “I want more bite.”
    She was about to offer her teeth on his skin when she heard him crack the seal on a whiskey bottle and pour it into the glass. No ice followed.
    Knowing St. Kilda, she bet the brand was single malt, Glenmorangie.
    “No ice?” she said. “No water?”
    “Neat.”
    The pungent scent of the single malt rose to her nostrils as he settled in a chair near her.
    Rand