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She was always, always aware of how she looked, how she was seen. Gina never merely sat or stood or lay she posed. She stood at the foot of the bed, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other hand at her mouth, touching two fingers to her lips in a thoughtful posture. I’d once watched Vitaly slit a man’s throat with a steak knife and then go back to eating. Even her father was a little afraid of Gina, I think, and that was saying something. Those eyes could fix on you and make you squirm, no matter who you were. Black as her hair, gleaming with wicked intelligence, cold, cruel, calculating. The dress was long and fluttering, molded so tightly to her curves as to be immodestly revealing. She wore a white dress, sleeveless, cut in a deep V between her plump breasts, the hem flirting just above her ankles.

#OMEGA JASINDA WILDER PDF SKIN#

Her skin was the flawless golden tan of a Greek woman raised in the Aegean sun. Her thick, straight black hair hung to her waist in loose locks glinting in the sun, dark as a raven’s wing. Now…? Now she was all woman, a bit of weight giving her curves and making her even more beautiful. Fifteen years ago, Gina had been a fresh, nubile girl of nineteen, slim and delicate and almost too angularly beautiful. The door swung open, revealing the one woman on the entire earth I would have given my entire fortune to never see again. The door was thick, dark wood reinforced with black straps of metal, locked from the outside.

I heard a lock twist and turned my attention to the doorway directly opposite the bed.

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The headboard was set against a wall with windows running in almost a complete circle around the circumference of the room, which was clearly a rotunda, offering a spectacular view of the entire island, with the tiny fishing village of Ormos Armeni visible to the south. Brass rails two inches in diameter spanned between the stout upright posts at each corner, handcuffs shackling me in place. Oia is a city carved out of the rock on an island a hundred and fifty miles southeast of Athens, a quaint, quintessentially Aegean village. How did I get here? The blue of the sea was a perfect azure rippling with the occasional whitecap, sails dotting the blue there’s nowhere on earth quite like the Aegean. In an instant, I knew exactly where I was.

I could see that the buildings descended down the hillside in serried ranks, bare rock peeking through in places, the sea rippling in the distance, far below. I twisted my head and strained to see out the window, where I saw flat-topped white roofs, whitewashed buildings with blue doors and shutters, and more than a few roofs and cupolas painted that same distinctive bright blue. Something familiar, an old, haunting memory. This incredible brightness reminded me of something.

It was a platform bed, the headboard mounted directly to the wall. Bedpost? The bed in the Languedoc chateau didn’t have posts. Was this a new game of Kyrie’s? I tugged hard, but my wrist was bound firmly to the bedpost. Gradually my eyes adjusted to the light, and I craned my neck, looking for a hint as to where I was, or why my hands were restrained. I was having trouble getting my bearings. I could hear the waves crashing outside the window. The sunlight was blinding, and it bounced off the waves like so many knives. I shut my eyes again and peered through slitted lids. I had to blink and squint and twist my head to the side. I tried to touch my fingers to my forehead, but couldn’t. It felt like a thousand hammers were pounding on my skull. I swallowed hard, hoping Henri wouldn’t get in any trouble because of me.

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