Page 33 of Redemption

He finally turns to face me, pivoting in the center of the room, just beside the easel he’s already set up alongside a table of paints.

“I’ll tolerate your barbed comments because I appreciate the fact that the way I pursued you was unconventional. Ifyou would take a moment to see things from my perspective, perhaps you wouldn’t be so prickly.”

I lift my brows, incredulous. “And what is your perspective? What mental gymnastics have you done to justify all of this?”

He lifts one finger. “You were so drunk that you forgot our initial meeting, so I couldn’t ask you out.” He lifts a second finger before I can respond. “You refused to make eye contact when I came into the café, but I knew you wanted me.” A third finger goes up. “We both have dark, kinky fantasies that defy social norms. I had to be sure that you really wanted what I had to offer before I risked showing you my true self.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “You’re right. You are selfish. Everything you’re describing is about what you want, about keeping you safe from judgment. You could’ve been vulnerable with me. You could have put yourself on the line and asked me out on a date. I should’ve had the chance to truly choose you, but you took that away from me. Everything we’ve shared has been a lie, a manipulation to get me into your bed.”

He waves his arms at the room in a jerky gesture. “Getting you into my bed would’ve been easy. Does this look like seduction to you? I’m offering you everything you could ever want. I’ll offer you the world, Abigail. And I’ve offered you myself in return. My real, frightening, unmasked self. You saw what I am at my core, and you wept in ecstasy.”

It finally registers that he must think he’s made himself vulnerable. He keeps saying that he’s revealed his true self to me in a way he’s never shown anyone.

But that doesn’t make him any less monstrous.

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 partof 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 toanyone 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.

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