I just couldn’t see him clearly before. I didn’t have all the horrific facts to make a rational assessment of him.
“Just because it’s not carnal doesn’t mean it’s not a form of seduction,” I inform him. “You’re trying to lure me in with every word, every tender action. Even offering me this studio is part of a twisted game to you. But you can’t trick me into loving you again. I don’t think I ever did love you, because I didn’t know you at all. I loved an idea of you, but that man was never real.”
His eyes turn stormy, and I know I’ve said the wrong thing.
“If you’re feeling so emotional, I’m sure some time at your easel will help.” He speaks in clipped tones, and his massive body seems even larger than usual as all of his powerful muscles flex with barely restrained aggression.
I take a wary step back, refusing to enter the studio with the beast. “Dane…”
“You will paint, Abigail.”
“You can’t compel my art.” I swallow hard against my rising fear. “That’s not how it works.”
“I’ve seen your real masterpieces,” he reveals coldly, no longer bothering to hide behind charm and beguilement. “The dark, erotic paintings that you keep hidden in your closet. But you don’t have to hide your talent anymore.”
The reminder that he’s broken into my apartment multiple times makes bile burn at the back of my throat.
“Those are private,” I choke out.
“Not from me. Any secrets you think you have, I know them. I knowyou. All of you. And I choose every part of you. I won’t apologize for wanting you.”
“That much has become clear,” I reply bitterly. “I won’t hold my breath for an apology.”
He doesn’t feel a shred of remorse for what he’s done to me, for the countless violations that I can’t even begin to fathom.
“Paint,” he commands.
“No.”
He can’t make me. He could crush his fist around mine and force me to lift a brush to the waiting canvas, but he can’t compel me to create art. My tumultuous emotions are my own to purge through my paintings. That part of me will never belong to anyone else. Certainly not the man who’s betrayed me on a level I never thought possible.
“Abigail…” My name is a warning, but I refuse to heed it.
“I won’t do it. I won’t paint for you.”
His brows draw together, forbidding. “You can come in willingly, or I can put you here.” He points to the chair that’s set up in front of the easel, presumably for my comfort. “If you won’t do it for me, do it for yourself. You need this.”
“You don’t know what I need!” I fling the defiant words at him, losing my composure. “I need to get away from you. I need my freedom.”
“I’ve set you free,” he growls. “You just don’t want to listen.”
Rage curls my fists at my sides, and suddenly, I’m surging toward him.
“You want me to come to you like a trained pet?” I rail at him. “You think I’ll roll over and do what you say?”
The canvas is in my hands, and I hurl it at his beautiful face.
“Fuck you!”
He bats the canvas away at the last second, and it clatters to the parquet floor. His lips peel back from his teeth in an animal snarl, and he lunges for me.
A defiant scream tears from my chest, and I grab the table where the paints have been neatly arranged for me. It’s lightweight enough that I’m able to lift it, and I raise the delicate antique like an unwieldy bat. In a split second, I swing.
But he’s too fast. Too strong.
He lifts one corded arm just in time to stop the impact to his head. He barks out a rough shout as the table splinters against his shoulder, and I’m not sure if it’s a sound of pain or a predator’s warning.
I lunge for the easel, desperate for another weapon.
