by Sam Crescent
He inclined his head and held his glass out. “Have mine.”
Enya took it and eyed it doubtfully.
“I haven’t got anything contagious,” he drawled. “Just jet-lag and a severe case of what the fucks.”
She nodded. That was fair enough. “Thank you.” She sniffed the glass and decided she still didn’t like the scent. Her brother said she was a wuss. That all Scots should like whisky, especially a good single malt. She insisted she was the one to buck the trend, and she preferred gin. Scottish of course.
Nevertheless, needs must. Enya took a sip of the golden liquid and spluttered. “Good grief, what the hell is it?”
Sutter took the glass back. “Single malt. Twenty-five-year-old Highland Park to be exact. Exceptional flavor. Do you not drink neat whisky?”
Enya shook her head. “I’ve had it with lemonade.” And still didn’t like it. “And once with cola.”
He shuddered. “Do not let a Scotsman hear that. 60-40 whisky, water, or half and half is the preferred way. I couldn’t be bothered to go and get the water. Now we’ve got that over and done with, how about answering my question. Who are you, and why are you here?”
“You know who I am,” she said indignantly. What was he playing at? “If you must announce to all and sundry via the worst gossip columnist in the land, and put an announcement in a so-called, though I now have my doubts, ‘proper paper’, that we’re engaged, without telling me, you can bet your bottom dollar I’m going to be here. To ask you what in hades you are going on about. I’ve never ever met you before, and I’m sure as hell I’d know if I got engaged.”
“What?” He shouted, and dropped his glass. They both watched as it rolled across the carpet and left a trail of Scotland’s finest behind it.
“Say that again,” Sutter bent to pick up the glass. “Waste of good whisky,” he commented absently. “Understandable I reckon in the circumstances. I must have missed something, or I’m more jet-lagged than I thought and I’m hallucinating. Mind you, do you have conversations in a hallucination? I’m a bit hazy on those sorts of details. I don’t know you, never asked you to come here, have sent no notices anywhere except a few to confirm they are hired or fired. I’m not engaged, or even with a woman. My cock thinks it’s been made redundant.”
She blushed; she knew she did. It was something she hated and could do nothing about. “TMI, and anyway, I’m a bit hazy on what you’re trying to say.”
“Bear with me. Coffee?”
The change of subject made her blink. “Er, yes, please, thank you.”
He nodded. “If you come down to the kitchen, last door on left at the bottom of the stairs, I’ll be there making it. It’s that or take you to bed, and then you would have a reason to…” He broke off. “Well, anyway, there’s a robe in the cupboard in the corner.”
“You lied,” Enya said flatly. “You told me you didn’t have a spare.”
A hint of a mile played around his mouth. “Now I remember I have.” He left the room, and, deep in thought, Enya stared after him. He appeared as confused as she was. With a mental shrug, she got up found the robe and swapped it with the sheet.
Take me to bed? Hmm… That didn’t annoy her, just the opposite.
****
Sutter made coffee and did his best not to dwell on the woman’s body and the words she’d uttered.
Shit, he still didn’t know her name and had no idea why she thought he was her fiancé. He might be knackered, but no way would he forget a thing like that.
He had just pressed the plunger on the cafetière when she appeared in his spare robe. It trailed on the floor, and she had the sleeves rolled up more than once, making her appear like a little girl playing dress up. Only luscious curves gave the lie to the picture.
“Milk and sugar?”
“No sugar thanks.”
He filled a cup and passed the milk jug to her. “Sweet enough already?”
She glowered, then smiled, oh so falsely as she accepted the cup and added milk. “I doubt it. I just don’t like too sweet things. Including flattery.”
“Just as well you won’t get any here then.” Sutter poured his own coffee, didn’t add anything to it, and gestured to where two comfy armchairs were set at right angles to each other near the wood burning stove. “Let’s sit down and then you can explain what’s going on. And please, tell me your name.”
The woman scowled but inclined her head. “Enya Brown.” She sat down primly, put her cup on a nearby table, and wrapped the gown around her tightly. If she thought it made her less visible, she was wrong. All it did was highlight her curves, and give him a hard-on once more.
Bugger.
“I don’t have anything to explain,” she said primly. “That’s up to you.”
Shit we could go ‘round and ‘round like this for ever. “Look, Miss Enya Brown? If that is your name?” He raised one eyebrow and ignored the hard done by sigh she uttered. “Contrary to what you think, I assure you I have no, repeat, no fucking idea what the hell is going on. I come home from a bloody awful work trip, after the argument to end all arguments with my father, who has been systematically fleecing me for God knows how long, with I suspect the aid of one of his cronies and my chief accountant, to find a strange woman in my bed. She says she’s waiting for me, and that I know why. Well, sunshine, I bloody don’t. Nor do I know how you got by the alarm and I still had to turn it off.”
She blushed. Sutter narrowed his eyes.
“What am I missing?”
“You sent me a note demanding I come here, a key, and a note saying how to turn the alarm off and then how to turn it on so…”
“Not guilty. Not me. Why the fuu—oh hell, never mind,” Sutter said with more than a hint of impatience in his voice. He had a feeling her explanation would be convoluted and if it made sense it would annoy him. “Just tell me who you are, why you’re here, and what it’s all got to do with me.”
The woman sipped some coffee, put her cup down, toed off her shoes, and twisted her ankles around the legs of the chair. “I keep thinking I’m going to wake up any moment. Okay from the top. Like I said, my name is Enya Brown. Ring any bells?”
Sutter thought for a moment and shook his head. “No, sorry.”
“Bummer. I live in a village near a rather famous golf course. One you’ve played on several times for pleasure and in pro-am tournaments.”
“Go on.”
“My father is E.—for Edmund—R. Brown.”
“Ah, I know him.” Though he still had no idea what this situation was all about. “Bit of a shyster, begging your pardon.” And the friend of his father who had, Sutter thought, been involved in the reassigning of his—Sutter’s—money.
“I thought you did. He’s trying his best to not be arrested for what in any other job would be called insider trading. No need to do any begging there. I agree with you.”
“He’s tried to contact me,” Sutter said. “My father and he are cronies. They’re in some mire together. I’m sorry, I can’t help him in any way.”
“No reason why you should.” Enya shrugged. “He’s an egocentric idiot and washed his hands of me when I refused to give him my inheritance from my godmother to, in his words, help him out of ‘a wee temporary tight spot’. I’d never have seen a penny of it again, and he wouldn’t have cared one iota. I don’t see why I should fund his high living, freeloading whenever possible lifestyle while I live and work like most ordinary people. Within my means. My inheritance is going to help me buy a house, not help him jet all around the world, doing dodgy deals.”
Sutter could understand that. Sentiments after his own heart. “I’m with you on that one. But what’s it got to do with us here and now?”
“No idea. He did say I’d regret it, but that’s him all over. Thwarted and sulks like a three-year-old who can’t have another ice lolly. I told him whatever and walked out. Then yesterday, I got a phone call from that bloody gossip columnist, scrape the bottom of the heap, paper saying
how great we, as in you and I, are engaged and did I have anything to say for them to print. ‘Fuck off’ didn’t seem appropriate. And I don’t use that word. Then,” her voice rose. “Today I got your, or if you say so, not your note and the code—which was wrong by the way, there was a number transposed. I did wonder if that was on purpose so I’d be caught or something?” She raised her eyebrows in an enquiring manner.
“This smells of skullduggery by persons probably not unknown,” Sutter said. “Because I can just see the headlines. Were there any men with cameras loitering in the shrubbery?”
“No, but there was a window cleaner up a ladder,” she said in a sarcastic voice. “Do you think he had a camera in his chamois?”
“Nothing would surprise me.”
“Then brace yourself. I swear he was the person outside my house carrying a parcel as I left home. And he could have been the bloke in the chemists when I called in for aspirins. Just as well it wasn’t a pregnancy testing kit.” She sniggered. “No, I’m not, but how would that have looked?”
Sutter dropped his coffee cup. Dark liquid splashed over his legs and gown. The cup bounced off the table leg and shattered on the stone floor. If he carried on reacting to shocks lie that, he’d have no crockery or glassware left and would need his carpets deep cleaned.
“Fuck.” He looked at the mess. “Fuck again. I do use that word.”
Enya stared at his bare feet and blanched.
“Do not move, you moron, or you’ll cut yourself,” she snapped as she shoved her shoes back on and picked up the largest shards. “Bin?”
“Under the sink.”
“Dustpan and brush same place?”
He nodded and watched as Enya dealt with his mishap with easy competence. “Thank you.”
“No worries.” She returned the dustpan to its place and got back on her chair. “Now I’ve calmed down, I’m guessing you know nothing about this either. Oh, and I got in because I sort of am good at things like that.”
“Breaking and entering?”
She giggled and immediately looked ten years younger and a lot less stressed. “Cracking codes.” Her eyes twinkled as she wriggled to get comfortable, and her robe slipped to reveal the rounded top of her breast and the side of one elegant leg almost to the top where…
Enough.
Chapter Three
Sutter’s cock responded like a wilting flower to water and perked up. He crossed his legs, and rearranged his gown, unwilling to break their fragile truce. Enya glanced at him and wrinkled her nose.
“Gonads taking over, Sutter?”
He grimaced. “Temporarily, and I can’t blame them. But worry not, they are not allowed to act on their attraction. Even if we are allegedly engaged.” He smiled to show he wasn’t annoyed, upset, or fucking angry. He was all three of course, but it seemed it wasn’t her fault. Now they just needed to find out what the fuck was going on and who started it. He had a bloody good idea who, but not why.
“So, let’s pool our information,” Sutter suggested. “Not your propensity for breaking and entering, keys, codes or the gossip page, they can wait, but the rest. What paper and when?”
She named a reputable broadsheet that made Sutter take pause. “Surely they have to take all the proper steps to ensure it’s real?”
“I did ask who put it in. Made it sound as if it wasn’t supposed to be shared before I said the no comment stuff. They said you.” She paused. “The exact words were, ‘your fiancé, Mr. Sutter, Ms. Brown’.”
That made him blink. Fucking hell.
“I didn’t.” He thought for a second. “I wonder what name they used. Apart from Sutter.”
“Damn.” Enya frowned. “I never thought of that. Shall we find out?”
Sutter nodded. “Internet. The morning edition should be up by now. Let’s go into the lounge and get comfy…” He glanced at her face. “Er. Comfier. Note I didn’t say let’s go to bed and get comfy.”
“No, you didn’t, did you?” Enya sounded interested. “Why not?”
“I’m behaving myself.”
Did she really mutter “what a pity”? “Pardon?”
“Of course, but why?” He stared at her, and she smiled. “The lounge it is. I’m getting a numb bum on this chair.”
“Shall I rub some circulation into it?” He flexed his fingers, and Enya laughed.
“Nah, you’re all right. Use your hands to check the net. I can rub my own butt if need be.”
“Spoilsport, and us engaged.” Why he was teasing her goodness only knew. However, it seemed she was happy with it because she rolled her eyes.
“My aim in life it seems. Now let’s see if we can see who set us up. Do you have a laptop handy?”
He picked his up from the sideboard and handed it to her. “Another of your skills?”
“Half of my job. Well,” she amended. “Part of half of my job.”
“What’s the other half?” he asked.
“Eh?”
“Of your job,” he elaborated, become more interested in her by the second, and not just in a sexual way. That was already a given.
“Drawing nude men.”
If he’d been holding his cup, he would have dropped it again. What a mixture. “And so you split your time between drawing nude men, and hacking into whatever?”
“Well, sort of,” she agreed. “Or, I did for a while. Now the nude men bit is a hobby. One I sadly don’t get enough time for. You know? I was too bloody angry earlier to even think about who put it in and all that stuff. And me the person who is supposed to be on the ball. All I wanted was to find you and make you tell me what the hell was going on. I stormed here via the local chippy, hence the red sauce fiasco. I’d been on night shift, so when you weren’t anywhere to be seen, I thought bugger it, I’ll wait. The fact I picked your bed to wait in is because it was the only one made up. I thought I’d wake up when you opened the door, but I never heard a thing. That’s what two weeks on nonstop nights does to you.”
“You took a big risk. I could have pounced.” He knew he sounded judgmental and censorious but what a damn-fool thing to do.
“I’ve a black belt in karate and know how to fight dirty. You’d have come off worse.” She sounded certain. It was all he could do not to demand a demonstration. Except if she was correct…
She didn’t say what part of her job she did on nights, and Sutter had the feeling she wouldn’t tell him if he asked. He sat back and watched as she opened the laptop, seeming to ignore—or know—his password and began to type.
“You know Assh0les is a stupid password, don’t you?’ she said in a conversational tone. “Along with birthdays, pets, and where you were born. Just asking to be hacked. Not that with those sorts of things you need to actually hack. It’s easier than taking sweeties from a baby.”
“Why go into mine and not use yours?” he asked, captivated by the way she made her fingers fly over the keyboard.
Enya grinned. “Practice. And to check it didn’t come from your email account. It didn’t. Have you got any more?”
“Only work ones.” He rattled them off and told her the passwords. Enya rolled her eyes. “Like I said candy from a baby. Nothing there. Okay let’s work in the reverse way, from the paper.”
He sat back and watched as she frowned with concentration.
“Harder than I thought. Hold on, that’s it. Well, well.” She sat back and pointed at something on the screen. “Look at this.”
Never one to miss a chance of a close up and personal moment with someone who aroused him way more than was wise, Sutter perched on the arm of the chair. Her scent … fresh floral and vanilla surrounded him in the nicest way. Plus, the most arousing.
“Bloody hell.” The email announcing the engagement was signed, A. Sutter. “I guess that’s no surprise really.”
“Are you A. Sutter?” She stopped typing and glanced up at him.
He shrugged. “In a way. I refuse to use my proper name so everything is signed A. for as in I am a S
utter, but with the ‘a’ lower case. However, I know someone who is A. Sutter, upper case A.”
“You do? Who?”
“My sodding father. Andrew, as in A, Aloysius Sutter. The Fucker. That’s not the email address he normally uses.”
“Swearing shows a lack of imagination,” Enya said primly. Then sighed. “But I agree with you. The fucker. Why me?” She read the email again and swore again. “Bloody hellfire, I should have guessed. It’s Cc’d to E. Brown. The email address is my father’s. He’s not got the nous to set up a new one.” She shut the laptop and stared at Sutter. “What next?”
“It appears we’ve both been screwed over.” It didn’t give him any pleasure to know that. “Why for?”
“It seems so, dunno and not in a nice screwing way.” Enya shoved the laptop at him, and, as he assimilated her words—nice screwing … with him?—began to pace. The gown swung around, showing her legs. She either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “I bet he didn’t think we’d work together on this. Expected me to go off and show myself up. Well bugger that. What shall we do?”
Screw?
“Sleep on it?”
“Sleep?” she asked in such an incredulous voice you’d think he’d suggested they committed harakiri. “You could sleep?”
She had a point. “Probably not.”
“Well, the mood we’re both in, we might not think straight.”
“We need to do something to relax.” Although his ideas and hers probably wouldn’t mesh.
“Hmm, my sentiment as well.” Enya’s eyes were wide open and innocent. “Any idea what?”
Dare he?
Nothing ventured and all that. She might thump him, after all suggesting a bout of hot sweaty sex on such a short acquaintance was risky, and would increase tension before relaxation.
“I do have an idea, but you might not agree. After all we hardly know each other.” He grinned. “And it makes me appear a bit sluttish. But I did wonder how about if we go to bed?”
Sutter watched as Enya gasped, pulled herself together, and licked her lips. Then she yawned, very ostentatiously. “Good idea, I am a bit tired.”