Page 129 of Sins of a King
“I’m part of that empire, am I not?” I pushed, feeling bold.
His eyes were speculative. “Are you having his child?”
“No.”
“Then I see no reason for you to burn with Campbell.”
“What makes you think you’re safe from me?” I wondered. “I could take this dessert fork and stab you in the throat.”
“Try,” he said in amusement.
“You don’t think I’m a worthy adversary.” For some reason that deeply offended me.
“Oh,moya krasotka, I wish I could explain it all to you, but it is too soon.”
“What do you mean?”
“It means that for now there are no more questions and dinner is over.” He rose from his seat and came around to help me. Before he pulled out my chair, he leaned over, and I felt his warm breath on my bare skin.
“Make yourself at home, Barrett.”
Dolinsky caressed the back of my neck and then was gone.
Make yourself at home.
The words churned in my mind as I stared at the ceiling of the lavish bedroom. After Dolinsky had left me in the dining room, I hadn’t had the energy to test his words, so I’d gone upstairs to the bedroom I’d woken up in. The sheets had been changed and the room had been aired out. There was no sign at all that I’d been sick to my stomach. I closed the door, removed the sheath dress, and then took a bath. No longer forced to put on a brave face, I cried.
All the adrenaline I’d been running on leaked out of my body, leaving me exhausted. I’d found a pair of light pink silk pajamas in a chest of drawers. Because there wasn’t a clock, I had no idea of the time, so I climbed into bed. I tossed and turned, missing Flynn, worrying for him.
I wondered why I wasn’t afraid of Dolinsky. Was that part of his plan? Capture the bird, stick it in a cage but feed it, stroke it, take care of it, so it will forget it was once free?
I was forced to play a game, and I didn’t know the rules. How long was Dolinsky going to keep me here? And where washere?Was I still in the United States? For all I knew, while I was drugged, I could’ve been on a plane bound for Russia.
Sleep continued to elude me, so I threw off the covers and climbed out of bed. I put on the terrycloth robe hanging on the bathroom hook. I tried the bedroom doorknob, surprised to find that it turned easily. It hadn’t been locked.
Discovering a smaller, less for show staircase, I walked down it. I held onto the carved wood rail and found myself in a long hallway with many doors. I heard the faint sounds of a viola and I hesitated. The only other souls I’d seen in Dolinsky’s massive mansion had been the two Russian women who had served us dinner. No guards, no cronies. Not that I doubted he had security lurking about, but this was Dolinsky’s haven—I realized—his home.
I walked toward the mournful sounds of the instrument, approaching cautiously. I didn’t know Dolinsky—only what he chose to show me—and I had to remember it was all a facade. The man wanted to destroy Flynn. In destroying Flynn, it would destroy me.
I came to the doorway of what looked like a music room. The light from the chandelier was on but dim, casting the room in a romantic glow. Dolinsky was turned slightly away from me, but I could see enough of his face to realize his eyes were closed as he expertly elicited despondent notes from the viola. When he was finished, he paused a moment before opening his eyes. He breathed deeply, like he was letting go of a memory and returning to the present. He glanced at me, not at all surprised that I was there.
“You could not sleep,” he stated, shattering the quiet.
“No.”
“You miss your husband.” It was a statement, not a question.
Dolinsky set his instrument in its case, gently, like a child, before looking at me. I saw puzzlement on his face and a deep yearning. For what, I wondered.
“Are you married, Mr. Dolinsky?”
“Igor,” he corrected. “My name is Igor.”
“Igor,” I repeated. “Are you married?”
“I was. Once.” He turned away to stare out the window. His hand reached out to touch the glass. It took me a moment to realize it was snowing thick, fat flakes. It was winter, wherever we were.
“Why am I here?” I asked.
