Page 55 of Sins of a King
Flynn’s face warred with concern and anger. “I’ll call up for some food. You take a shower.”
“I don’t have any clothes.”
“I’ll have Lacey get you something to wear.”
“Okay.” I knew Flynn wasn’t a man who asked for things—he just expected them to be done, so I nodded and headed toward the bedroom. I was so discombobulated that I wanted someone else to take control of the situation. At the moment, I was glad for Flynn’s solicitous and arrogant behavior.
It meant I wasn’t alone.
“Barrett?”
I turned.
“We’re not finished. Not by a long shot.”
My eyes widened at the promise I read in his face, in the tautness of his body.
I made sure my shower was cold.
While I was shampooing my hair, I remembered something from last night. Not about the guy from the club—Eric—who had been the culprit of my drugged drink. But about Flynn.
I was in bed, thrashing around, getting tangled up in sheets. I’d cried out, but someone had been there to soothe away my subconscious fears.
Closing my eyes, I doused my head under the magnificent spray. Another memory came to me. Flynn’s lips on my forehead, his arms wrapped around me, saying soothing words in a lilting, hypnotic language.
I had no way of knowing if it was real or a figment of the drugs. I could ask him, but that would open up the gates of vulnerability, and I wasn’t there just yet.
I turned off the water and reached for a towel. Wrapping myself in a robe, I went into the bedroom and found a pair of my jeans, a T-shirt, and a few comfortable undergarments. Flynn must’ve sent Lacey to my apartment. It didn’t bother me if she’d been in my home without me there. The night she’d come to my place, and we’d downed martinis, had been a bonding experience. The people that Flynn kept close to him were steadfastly loyal and protective. It made me want to be part of his inner circle.
After I got dressed and pulled my wet hair into a ponytail, I headed into the living room. Plates of food graced the counter and kitchen table. I reached for a piece of dry toast, wondering where Flynn had gone. I saw a bottle of Aspirin on the counter and popped a few.
Flynn entered his penthouse suite from the private elevator, dressed in a pair of black slacks and a gray sweater. His hair was tousled, dark, and wet. He must’ve showered somewhere else. His large chest and shoulders made him look like he could take on the world and win.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Still a little nauseous,” I said. It was a challenge to stay awake—I was exhausted.
“Drink the OJ. It’ll help,” he commanded. “Aspirin is on the counter.”
“I already took three.”
“We’ll make this as fast as we can. Then you’ll take the rest of the day off. And don’t even think about arguing with me.”
“Okay.” He looked like he could use a decent nap, too. “Have you been up all night?”
“Aye. I’m also suffering from jet lag.”
“Jet lag?” I asked in surprise. “Where were you?”
He paused briefly before saying, “Scotland.”
“Did you…” I trailed off, wondering why I was suddenly shy and nervous.
“Did I what?” he prodded.
“Never mind,” I muttered, munching on a piece of toast.
Even though Flynn had been up all night, all that showed for it were the dark smudges beneath his eyes. I knew he wouldn’t rest until this evening. I drank another cup of coffee before we headed down to the security room in the burlesque club.
