Page 132 of Sins of a King

Dolinsky stalked toward me with a determined look on his face. I couldn’t stop the quiver of fear that dashed down my spine. I backed up until I hit a wall, Dolinsky pressing close to me. I grabbed the lapels of his suit jacket and demanded, “What the hell do you want from me?”

I saw the tick in his jaw as he looked down at me, but he remained silent.

“Answer me, damn it!”

“What’s my name?” he asked quietly.

I’d been vacillating from fear to calm constantly. I was tired of this waiting game. It needed to end, now. “Fuck you,” I lashed.

“What’s. My. Name?”

“Dolinsky!”

Dolinsky placed his hands on mine and gently removed them from his lapels. “Good night, Barrett.” He left my room and closed the door on his way out.

Taking off one of my high heels, I chucked it after him and then ripped the beautiful gown from my body.

Chapter 40

I woke up with a headache from crying most of the night. There was no breakfast tray next to my bed, and that threw me into a bout of uncertainty. It had been something I could count on, but no longer, apparently.

After getting up, I splashed some cold water on my face, feeling marginally restored but listless. I refused to put on a good show, so I headed for the dining room still in my two-piece silk button up pajamas.

Dolinsky sat at his customary seat at the head of the table, a newspaper open, a half-finished plate of breakfast in front of him. He rose when I entered, ever the gallant gentleman. It pissed me off.

“Don’t bother,” I said waspishly when he attempted to help me with my chair. He didn’t listen and did it anyway. I sank into it, itching for caffeine. Dolinsky rang the little brass bell. Nothing I did seemed to faze the man. He had the patience of a saint and the charm of a prince. It was difficult to remember he was an evil man who sold and bartered women, who wanted to take down Flynn, who’d had me kidnapped.

“I thought after breakfast you might like to see the grounds,” he said conversationally, as if all the emotion that had transpired between us the evening before never happened. “It snowed last night. It’s quite beautiful.”

Fresh air. The idea appealed to me since I’d been cooped up inside for days. A prison, no matter how large and beautiful, was still a prison.

“I’d like to see the grounds,” I answered amiably. My coffee and breakfast arrived, and even though I stared at my plate while I ate, I could feel his eyes on me.

“I am not without compassion,” he said.

“Then take me home.”

“I can’t.”

“You mean you won’t.” My voice wasn’t angry, just dispassionate.

He inclined his head in agreement. “I wish for us to be friends.”

“We can’t be friends.”

“You mean ‘won’t,’ correct?” His smile was winsome and painted with sadness.

“You are my husband’s enemy. How can we be friends?”

“But I am notyourenemy. If we were enemies, do you think I would have brought you here, to my home, treated you like the treasure you are?”

I closed my eyes, so I didn’t have to see the pleading in his gaze. He tugged emotion from me, and I didn’t like it. Exhaustion made it harder to piece everything together.

“You plan to kill my husband, the man I love—”

Dolinsky’s hand shot out and swiped the delicate china teacup off the table. It hit the floor and shattered into pieces. His face was red with rage. “You will not speak of him with love.”

“Doesn’t change anything,” I said, too stupid, too tired to care. I hoped he hit me, and then I could hit him back. But Dolinsky refused to engage. He stood with composure, as if he hadn’t lost his temper.