Page 22 of Sins of a King

“Good evening. How may I help you?” the concierge greeted.

“I’m looking for Mr. Campbell.”

“He’s in a meeting at the moment,” she said.

I smiled, but it must have come out feral because she flinched. “Please call him.”

“Oh, but—”

“Call. Him.” I didn’t raise my voice. Showing anger loudly didn’t prove anything, except that I wasn’t in control of my emotions.

She hesitated only a moment before picking up the desk phone and dialing. “I’m sorry, Mr. Campbell,” she apologized, “There’s someone who—”

I leaned over the desk and snatched the phone from her hand. She squeaked in protest but otherwise did nothing. Putting the phone to my ear, I said, “We need to talk. Now.”

“Barrett. I’m in the middle of an important business meeting,” he said. “Can I call you when I’m finished?”

“I just found out about some of your business ventures.”

Flynn paused and then, “My suite. Five minutes.”

He hung up, and I handed the phone back to the desk agent. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she murmured.

Anger thumped in my blood as a bellhop took me up to Flynn’s suite in the private elevator. I paced back and forth across the living room carpet while I waited for him to show up. I was ready for a fight. Physical or otherwise. The elevator doors opened and Flynn stepped out.

My stomach dropped—he was so damn rugged and masculine. It only pissed me off more. I hated that I wanted him. I hated that I couldn’t trust him.

His eyes, cobalt blue and fierce, searched my face. He stood in front of me and waited.

“You own a brothel and a casino?”

“Aye,” he said. No hesitation. “How’d you find out?”

“Doesn’t matter, does it?Youdidn’t tell me.”

“It wasn’t for you to know.”

My eyes narrowed. “My brother traded me to pay his fucking debt. And I think I have a pretty good idea how he got that debt!”

“Casino. It was in the casino.”

“That hardly matters at this point.”

“Are you mad because I didn’t tell you, or are you mad because I own illegal enterprises?”

“I’m mad because you didn’t tell me.”

“Really?” he asked in that slow way that signified he didn’t believe me.

“Idon’tcare—I’m not a fucking prude! I’ve been to Vegas. I’ve gambled. And if women want to sell their bodies, as long as they’re safe and protected, then I’m good with that. I wouldn’t want to do it, but I’d never stop those that do. And if men want to pay for it that’s for them to decide.”

“That’s all well and good, Barrett. But you’re forgetting something. It’s all illegal.”

“Why do it then?”

“I like the danger.”