Shantel opened her mouth, but no words came out. She could feel her walls which she'd carefully constructed over the years, threatening to crumble under his gaze.
His fingers brushed her jaw. "I don't want to pretend anymore."
Shantel took a sharp breath, her eyes glinting as if she were torn between running and leaning into him.
"You don't get to say that," she whispered, but there was no heat in it—only the trembling edge of restraint. "You don't get to show me that painting, say those words, and expect me to just… forget everything that's happened."
Richard's gaze didn't falter. "I'm not asking you to forget. I'm asking you to see me. As I see you."
"I do see you," she snapped, stepping back. Her heels clicked softly against the polished marble, but her voice rose with quiet ferocity. "I see a man who's used to getting what he wants. Who might still be playing his game and wouldn't stop until he wins."
