Page 27 of Sigma

I hiss at the pain.

He tuts. “Such beautiful skin, such a shame to sully it.” Something touches my skin where he cut me, a napkin or handkerchief. “All better.”

The tip of the knife taps the end of my nose—the flat of it, I assume. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Can you stand up?”

I wiggle forward, but I’ve been sitting for enough that my legs are numb. “No.”

Two large, strong hands grip my arms and he helps me upright. My legs go from numb to afire with pins and needles, and I shake them out, flex them to get the blood pumping.

“Steady?”

I nod. “Yes.”

I feel him move, a breath of his cologne wafting past my nose. Behind me.

“Ach,” he says, a nonword sound of irritation. “Duct tape? Barbarians.” I feel the duct tape loosening as he cuts through it. “Spread your wrists apart.”

I do so, and he cuts through it the rest of the way, and then he removes it completely. I hear what sounds like him wadding the tape up into a ball, and I hear it hit the ground and skitter away.

“Did they treat you well?”

“My kidnappers, you mean?”

“Your…custodians. I am your kidnapper, if you wish to be accurate.”

“Yes. I was well treated. Except for the part where I was snatched out of my bed in the middle of the night, hauled away from my home and my family, put in a tiny metal cell in the dark for who knows how many days. Except for that, yeah, I was well fucking treated.” My temper is flaring.

I struggle to suppress it. Cool it off.

“What I mean to ask is if any of the men did anything inappropriate or untoward.” Calm, as if my outburst went unnoticed.

“Once. As I was leaving the ship. Someone grabbed my boobs.” I let out a breath. “He was shot.”

“Ah, good.” A pause. “That he was shot, not that you were handled thus.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t want that.”

I feel him close. “No, you wouldn’t, would you? So far, you’ve been unexpectedly…removed…and had a rather boring boat ride, Corinna. Would you like it to have been more…eventful?” His voice is low and razor-sharp.

I swallow. His presence is…intimidating. “No.”

“I thought not.” He’s behind me. “I’m going to remove your hood.”

“Okay.”

He rips it off quickly. The light is abrupt and blinding—when I’ve blinked and become accustomed to it, I take in my surroundings. A huge foyer. The ceiling rises a good fifty feet overhead, with an ornate chandelier in a vaulted, wood-ribbed ceiling. The walls are stone, huge blocks of gray stone fitted together with artistic precision. Underfoot, blue and white tile—Spanish. Before me, fifteen-foot-tall French doors with pointed gothic arches, elaborately-carved scrolling in the stonework of the frame, the doors massively heavy, strapped with black powder-coated iron—in place of door handles, there are rings of metal as thick as my wrist, wide enough in circumference that I could wear it like a crown.

My heart is hammering, now, pounding in my chest so hard it hurts.

I turn, slowly, and face my captor.

My breath leaves my lungs with an involuntarywhoosh.

He’s the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on in my life. I couldn’t have imagined a male as exquisite as this one.