Chapter 133 Catherine

• Rage. Pure, undiluted rage. I sense it within Peter, feel it emanating from his pores. It’s not anger or a momentary flare-up of temper. No, this emotion goes deeper than that. It’s a part of him, like his hard-muscled body or the white scar that bisects his left eyebrow.
• For all his cold, carefully controlled demeanor, the man is a deadly volcano waiting to explode.
• “We were just finishing up,” Patrick says, and I catch a note of displeasure in his voice. Tearing my eyes away from Peter, I see a tiny muscle flexing in Patrick’s jaw. I must’ve stared at Peter for too long without realizing it, and my husband misinterpreted my involuntary fascination as interest.