Page 94 of Sins of a King

“You’re really worried about Dolinsky, aren’t you?”

“I’m worried about you. I’m a betting man. Never bet more than you can stand to lose—and I can’t lose you. Promise me, you’ll be careful.”

I snuggled into his arms. “I promise.”

Chapter 27

It was the night of the Houston Charity Gala, and I’d spent the better part of the day in The Rex Spa. I’d been treated to the works: waxing, massage, mani, pedi, and I’d even gotten my hair done. My auburn locks were twirled up into an elegant bun with wispy tendrils at my neck and temples. My makeup was demure, almost like I wasn’t wearing any. The amethyst floor length dress had a modest neckline, but the back was open, showing inches of my skin. I wore antique amethyst drop earrings set in platinum the size of quarters and a matching cuff bracelet.

“You look absolutely stunning,” Malcolm said to me as I strolled across the lobby toward him.

Malcolm was dressed in a classic tuxedo jacket, but he was wearing a kilt in what I assumed were the Buchanan colors. I couldn’t help but smile. He was tall and impressive, his bushy eyebrows behaving.

“You’re looking dapper,” I said.

“Thank you, lass.”

“Where’s Flynn?” I asked. I’d gotten ready with Lacey’s help in another suite, wanting to surprise Flynn with my appearance. I’d expected him to meet me there to escort me, but he’d called saying he would meet us in the lobby.

“Not here yet.”

I laughed. “Obviously.”

“I haven’t worn a tuxedo in years,” Malcolm said, fiddling with his tie.

I reached out to stop his hands from his nervous gesture. “Well, you look wonderful, so you shouldn’t worry.”

“I’m not good at these sorts of events,” Malcolm admitted. “I’m a simple man.”

“Then why did you insist on coming?” I demanded.

“Damned if I know,” he answered gruffly.

“I have an idea,” I whispered in a conspiratorial tone. “You love your godson and don’t see him nearly enough. You’re proud of him—and you want to see him in his element.”

“You’re a very astute young lady.”

“I try to be.”

“Have you ever been to the Highlands?”

“Yes, once, when I was studying for my masters. I loved it.”

Malcolm’s eyes glimmered with approval. “You have an open invitation to visit. See if you can drag Flynn away from work long enough to come for a vacation.”

“Doesn’t he like the Highlands?”

Malcolm paused, weighing his words. “It reminds him of his beginnings. And the death of his parents. For him the Highlands are bittersweet.”

We chatted for a few more minutes, but I grew increasingly restless. Where was Flynn?

Finally, the elevator doors chimed open and the absent man made his appearance.

My mouth gaped when I saw him.

Flynn was wearing a kilt—and a devilish grin.

“You did this on purpose!” I accused.