Page 19 of The Captive
The statement hung in the air, layered with meaning that made Patrick's fingers tighten against my side.
"Perhaps that's where we differ," he replied, his businessman's smile firmly in place. "I believe clear expectations leave little room for misunderstanding. Consequences must be... memorable."
The word choice wasn't accidental. Patrick had always been creative in ensuring I remembered my lessons. The cigarette burns hidden on my scalp, just above my hairline. The night locked in the dark storage room beneath the stairs. The ice baths when my "hysteria" needed cooling.
"If you'll excuse me," I murmured, "I should check on dessert."
"Our housekeeper can manage that," Patrick countered, not releasing me.
"I prepared something special," I insisted gently. "I'll only be a moment."
Patrick's fingers loosened with obvious reluctance. "Don't make our guest wait."
In the kitchen, I pressed my palms against the cool marble countertop, anchoring myself against the rising tide of manic energy. Alexander was here. In my house. The man from the maze. I needed to think clearly, to figure what to do. First, I needed to get a grip on myself.
When I returned to the study, they had moved to examining Patrick's collection of rare whiskeys, Alexander feigning interestin the bastard's explanations of peat content and aging processes.
"Dessert will be served in the dining room," I announced, maintaining my hostess smile.
"Wonderful." Patrick gestured for Alexander to precede us, then caught my arm as I moved to follow. His lips brushed my ear, voice pitched for me alone. "You're not taking your medication."
I kept my expression placid. "Of course I am."
With a brutal grip, he pinched the nerve in my inner arm. "Don't lie to me, Beatrice. I can see your pupils dilating."
I didn't flinch. "Lighting changes, darling. Nothing more."
"We'll discuss this later." His voice promised consequences I knew all too well.
Throughout dessert—poached pears with cinnamon cream, I felt … different. Lights seemed brighter, conversations layered with deeper meaning, sensations more intense. I caught Alexander watching me with increasing attention, his dark eyes missing nothing.
When he finally departed, he shook Patrick's hand with practiced cordiality, then turned to me.
"Thank you for a lovely evening, Beatrice." He took my offered hand, his grip firm but not overpowering. As our skin connected, his thumb brushed deliberately across my inner wrist, pressing momentarily against my pulse point.
My breath caught as our eyes met. There it was—a flash of something, quickly concealed behind professional detachment.
He remembered … what we had shared in the maze.
"The pleasure was mine, Alexander," I replied, my voice steady despite the electricity coursing through me. "I hope we'll see you again soon."
After the door closed behind him, Patrick's false smile vanished.
"My office. Now."
I followed him silently, my mind racing ahead, calculating options, escape routes, strategies. The mania was in full bloom now, my thoughts crystal clear, connections forming with exhilarating speed.
Patrick closed the door behind us, engaging the lock with a decisive click.
"Remove your dress," he ordered, moving to pour himself another whiskey.
"Patrick—"
"Now, Beatrice." His voice dropped to that silken tone that always preceded his worst moments. "Or shall I remove it for you?"
I unfastened the Dior with unsteady hands, letting it pool at my feet. Beneath, I wore the lingerie he'd selected—black lace that revealed more than it concealed.
"The rest as well."
