Page 49 of Ruthless Enforcer

Gabriel doesn't want to be looked at, which is interesting considering how much time he spends looking at everyone else.

He shakes his head. "No."

I'm not surprised. "Why not?"

"Because I don't sit for paintings, Duchess."

"Have you ever?"

"No."

"Then you don't actually know that."

His eyes narrow. "Pretty fucking confident I do."

I smile. "I don't need all of you."

His gaze drops slowly over me. "Don’t you?"

Heat curls low in my stomach, but I refuse to be distracted. "Just your hands."

He glances down at them.

"What We Hold is about the things we carry. What we protect. What we cling to. What we choose to release." I pause. "Every painting in the collection tells that story, and I'm still missing the last one."

His attention comes back to me. "And you think my hands are it."

"I know they are."

The words hang in the air between us.

He chooses to deflect my request. "I'm not an answer, Clara. I'm a complication."

"Good.” I lift my chin. “My best work is always complicated."

"Your best work”—his gaze drops to my bare legs before returning to my face—"doesn't involve a man who’s only going to be in your life a short time."

"My best work involves whatever I decide it involves," I throw back.

He laughs—low and dark and edged with something that sounds almost like admiration. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"No."

"Even if I say no."

"Especially if you say no."

We stare at each other, and I can see him weighing his options. He could walk away. He could shut this down with a single word and remind me that he makes the rules in this house, in this marriage, in this entire arrangement.

Surprisingly, he doesn't.

Instead, he pushes off the doorframe and steps into the studio, his bare feet silent against the wood floor. His cock is half-hard behind his jeans, and he doesn't bother hiding it as he stalks past me toward the leather armchair near the window.

The casual confidence of it makes my mouth go dry.

"One session," he says, settling into the chair with that devastating grace. "And if I don't like what you're painting, you stop."

"Deal," I agree quickly.