Chapter 89 After

• After the coffee is ready, I pour each of us a cup and join him at the table. I feel off-balance, like I’m walking on a tightrope. One second I want to scream with joy that he’s alive, and the next I want to kill him for putting me through this torture. And through it all, at the back of my mind is the knowledge that neither of those is an appropriate response for this situation. By all rights, I should be trying to escape and call the police.
• Patrick doesn’t seem the least bit afraid of that possibility. He’s as comfortable and self-assured in my studio as he was on his island. Picking up his cup, he takes a sip of the coffee and looks at me, a mesmerizing half-smile playing on his beautiful lips.
• I curve my hands around my own cup, enjoying the warmth between my palms. “How did you survive the explosion?” I ask quietly, holding his gaze.