The Artist's Touch (The Gentlemen's Guild Book 1) Page 11

  He’d even tried tempering his thoughts of her by trying to constantly remind himself that she was Jack Carter’s daughter; that she loved and adored her father, the man who was blackmailing him. He’d replayed his conversation with Jack over and over again to tone down his desire to please her, to build her up to the point where she would look at him with that same expression of adoration. That had been the most successful. When he thought about Jack Carter, it put his desire for her in perspective. She was only a means to an end and he couldn’t make her want him without her feeling the same – a thought that helped him sleep at night, convinced that he wasn’t betraying himself by actually having feelings for her.

  Monday had rolled around and been filled with meetings over the Vanguard situation, which kept his mind a safe distance from Ellie – a safe distance that probably had let his need grow unchecked into today, when he hadn’t been able to focus on anything in the office with the thought of seeing her tonight.

  Seeing her soon.

  Tristan squinted to check the clock on his microwave again. He’d never sketched from his apartment before, but for some reason it didn’t seem right to take her to the studio he’d been renting for their last exhibit. He told himself that it was mostly because he was sure Pierce was making it a point to swing by there every so often with the hopes of dropping in on Tristan while he was working. Well, that, and the fact that the studio was covered in preliminary drafts of the piece that ‘Titian’ was supposed to have auctioned off, as well as a few other sketches from previous exhibits and some initial attempts at a Da Vinci piece that he was to begin restoring next month. Even if she didn’t know about the Guild, he didn’t want to open the door for the questions that were sure to be asked.

  He’d stopped at the studio though, to grab a pad of newsprint sketch paper and some charcoal paper, his set of charcoals, and an easel; he normally only had a sketchbook and pencils stashed in his apartment. He’d been trying with only marginal success to turn the small office in his apartment, off of the living room in the opposite direction from the kitchen, into a makeshift studio. Until about halfway through when he realized how shitty the lighting was in the small room, especially as the sun began to set.

  Guess we’re doing this in the living room.

  He laughed to himself about what she must think of him. Sure, the audition seemed legit, but since then, all he’d done was kiss her and take her on a date; she only knew him as Tristan Black, she had no reference for the type of art that he did, or that he was a legitimate artist; he could not be an artist at all and just trying to seduce her for all she knew about him.

  Tonight, she would know that this wasn’t a ruse – well, at least not that kind. She would see that he was actually an artist, that he actually had talent.

  Setting his sketchbook on the coffee table in the living room, he left it open to the beginning of the sketches that he’d done of her, of her expressions that he’d witnessed over the past few days.

  And some that might have come to him in his dreams.

  “Ellie,” he addressed her huskily, opening his door.

  “Tristan,” she replied warmly and a little more confidently than the last time that they’d stood in these same spots. Her flame-colored hair flickered in the natural light from the windows as she walked into his apartment, the setting sun accentuating its vibrant color.

  It made him want to paint her instead, to capture the vivacity that was intrinsic to her personality.

  “How was the rest of your weekend?” he began, admiring the way the simple light blue, long-sleeve t-shirt and fitted jeans molded to her form.

  “Good,” she smiled, “Uneventful. I spent some time with my dad, told him I was having a portrait done.”

  “You did?” his voice had hardened at the mention of her father, like a bucket of ice water dousing over him.

  “Yes… I ahh… I mean,” Ellie stuttered, her face turning beet red, “I didn’t tell him anything specific. I remember what the contract said; I didn’t mention you or anything like that.”

  It took him a second to realize that his tone made her think she had broken one of the rules of the contract, when the reality was that the thought of her father extinguished the warmer feelings he’d been having.

  “Of course, it’s fine,” Tristan recovered quickly, plastering an appeasing smile on his face. “Can I get you something to drink? Water? Tea? I also have an excellent Pinot Grigio, but I don’t want you to try to take advantage of me again.”

  His joke distracted her, bringing a smile back to her face as the momentary tension was forgotten. He, on the other hand, seethed inside at the mention of Jack’s name, knowing the man had probably sat smugly by, hearing his daughter talk about what she had accomplished and knowing that it was all because of him.

  He couldn’t wait for Ellie to find out that her father had planned this whole thing. If crushing his daughter didn’t break him, having her resent him in the process surely would.

  “I think I’ll just have water, thank you,” she replied with a small laugh, watching as he walked into the kitchen to get her a glass. No, she definitely couldn’t do wine tonight. She hadn’t done too poorly after Saturday night, surprisingly. Yesterday, she’d checked in with her oncologist, Dr. Sion, since she knew that Tristan wouldn’t be calling her. She had been feeling under the weather the past few weeks and with her track record, it was better to be safe than sorry. Dr. Sion said that she could just be fighting off an infection, gave her an antibiotic to take and scheduled her to come back in 2 weeks for some bloodwork to make sure things were normal. She was trying not to think too much about it, and as difficult as that was, somehow her thoughts kept drifting miraculously back to Tristan and their kiss.

  Thinking about kisses was definitely better than thinking about cancer.

  Ellie took a seat on the couch, noticing the sketchbook he’d left out for her to see. She stared in awe at the drawings…at herself. They were incredible. Even though they weren’t very detailed, somehow the lines that were there conveyed her emotions so acutely, that she was brought back to the moments when she had felt them.

  Tristan set the glass down on the table in front of her, a satisfied smile on his face as he saw her expression of wonder and sincere admiration at his work. The noise of the glass touching down on the table brought her out of the trance she’d been in, paging through the sketches, and stopped her right before she reached the expressions that he’d only imagined she’d made.

  “These are incredible,” she said breathlessly, looking up at him in awe, “you did an amazing job; I can’t even believe that these are of me…”

  “Thank you,” he replied coolly, trying not to laugh at the surprise in her voice, “why would you say that? That is what you auditioned for, for them to be of you.”

  “I know, but I just never thought that I could look like this…”

  “Like what?”

  “I never thought that I could look so moving, so expressive, so beautiful,” she said with a small, astonished laugh. “My brain is still having trouble believing that these are truly of me, even though it’s obvious that they are.”

  “It’s not that you can look like this, Ellie, you do look like this,” he said huskily, his eyes turning to liquid gold as he looked at her, their intensity conveying the veracity of his statement.

  It was her low, undeserving opinion of herself that always caught him off-guard; he couldn’t understand it. She was beautiful, how could she not see that? And yet, somehow, she didn’t. Even though he could kick himself every time he let something slip like that; those compliments came from a place that held too much meaning for him, that made him feel things that he shouldn’t be feeling.

  A soft pink blush stole over her cheeks, her eyes clouding to a misty green as they absorbed and responded to his lustful gaze.

  “Maybe,” she replied with a smirk, even though her blush told him that his words had aroused her, she was unable to completely agree with him. “Th
ey are really phenomenal though; you are an excellent artist.” Her gaze returned to the drawings, running her fingertips over the lines. Tristan’s body stiffened as he imagined those fingertips running over him, over his hard, muscular lines. His erection now throbbing painfully, especially after having been denied her presence for the past few days. Tristan sat down on the neighboring couch corner, trying to alleviate, and disguise, his current condition.

  “Thank you, I figured you might start to wonder,” he joked, flashing her smile.

  “I told you that the thought had crossed my mind,” she played right back. “Really though, what made you go into business with talent like this? I mean, with the quality of work like this, I can’t imagine you not being successful at it. Although, you’ve obviously been very successful in business as well…”

  She trailed off as her eyes met his amused ones, realizing that she was rambling instead of just letting him answer.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled, sheepishly.

  “I’m sure I would be very popular if I promoted myself as an artist,” he began, ducking his head, unable to stop the smile that crossed his face knowing that he already was, “but I never wanted to need to produce art to survive. Art is very personal, not just because of the emotions that it captures of its subjects’ but because of the emotions that it requires of the artist. I never wanted that to be controlled by either money or other people, which is why my art is only a hobby – whether it’s for private auctions or exhibitions, it’s never about making a profit.”

  “So, you actually show your work places?” she asked, innocently.

  “Sometimes,” he answered carefully.

  “I would love to see them. I mean, the other pieces that you’ve done, other than the ones of me. So, you don’t make anything when one of your pieces gets auctioned?” she asked, her hand coming to rest over her face in the last sketch before the ones showing his fantasies of her.

  “It depends. If I do, I donate the proceeds to art programs or charity,” he replied, then realizing that their entire conversation so far had been about him, and that wasn’t ok. “Enough about me though, I want to know what you are looking for.”

  Her brows furrowed at his change of subject.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you left your job with your father because you wanted a change of pace, but doing what? I don’t believe that modeling is your top choice,” he quipped as his eyes traveled down the length of her again, knowing she could be a phenomenal model. Although his gut clenched at the thought of the rest of the world, or anyone else for that matter, admiring her body.

  “Oh… well, I’m not entirely sure. I’ve been researching some options. I would love to work somewhere that I could travel the world while consulting for different businesses; I think that would be incredible,” she mused. Tristan watched the wistful expression pass over and light her face at the thought of seeing the world. “I’ve never been out of the country; I’ve never done a lot of things. You know, I’ve lived in the city my whole life and I’ve never even been to a show on Broadway,” she laughed at her admission, but the sadness behind it was unmistakable.

  “Why not?” Tristan asked.

  Traveling was one thing, but to have never seen a show on Broadway when you live in the city, and when your ass of a father is the part owner of a well-known accounting firm, there didn’t seem to be an understandable reason for that to be true.

  He watched as her eyes broke from his, her head ducking as if she realized that she had said too much. Well, not too much, but something that she wasn’t willing to then reveal her reason for.

  “Well, I just…Oh my God,” she whispered as her eyes caught sight of the vibrant sunset that was perfectly visible through the windows in his apartment.

  She was hiding something.

  Her astonishment at the sunset was real, there was no doubt, but she’d been searching for a distraction, something so that she could avoid answering. Tristan watched as Ellie stood and walked over to the windows, drawn in by the beauty of the scene before her.

  Just like he was.

  “To be able to see this every night,” she began in awe, “must be incredible.”

  “What’s on the other side of the glass is incredible, but it’s nothing compared to what I see on this side of it,” he replied seductively, admiring her as she stood of the warm glow of the setting sun. She glanced over her shoulder at him, her lips parted slightly as she tried to figure out how to respond. “I’m usually not home in time for sunset, but this does make me wish that I was,” he continued with a half-smile, saving Ellie the trouble of trying to find a response.

  ‘This’ being her reaction to it.

  He really needed to stop wanting her here so badly, but she was like a siren, calling to him with her awkwardly attractive and innocent song, pulling him in deeper and closer to her no matter how hard or rationally he tried to fight it. Staring at her from behind, he groaned softly at the way her shirt framed her lithe body, her jeans molding to her ass and thighs.

  How she could not see herself as fucking gorgeous was beyond him.

  His groan must have startled her, because she turned around and made her way back towards the couch. Bending down, she picked up the sketchbook again, flipping to the next page before Tristan had a chance to stop her; he’d wanted to finish their current conversation, but that wasn’t going to happen now.

  Tristan watched as her mouth dropped open seeing the sketches she’d just revealed. They were her alright, they just happened to be her in the throes of passion, which was how he typically saw her in his dreams – her luscious red hair tumbling over her fair, creamy skin as Tristan pleasured her with his hands and mouth; her innocent eyes widening as she took in the erotic scenes he’d created.

  “What are these?” she choked out, even though it was clear. There was no mistaking the expressions that he’d rendered; they were consumed with passion.

  Her eyes looked down at him, not, as he had expected, with shock or horror at his presumption to draw her so, but with a potent mix of desire and curiosity; Ellie saw herself in the drawings like she had never seen herself before, experiencing emotions that she’d never felt before, and she wanted to know what caused them; she craved to be the woman in the images, to feel what she was feeling.

  “They are how I see you,” he replied, his voice coarse and deep with need, as he stood to tower over her, holding her gaze the entire time.

  “When?”

  “Whenever you’re not here, whenever I close my eyes, whenever I sleep, whenever I think about you,” he paused here with a breathless laugh, “so, all the time, Ellie, all the fucking time.”

  “I don’t believe it,” she said breathlessly, her eyes darting up to his for a split second, just long enough for him to see his same desire mirrored in her gaze.

  “It doesn’t matter what you believe; it’s the truth,” Tristan replied huskily, watching the play of shock and wonder over her face.

  “What am I doing?” she whispered, staring down at the image as if she couldn’t keep her eyes off of it, her fingers coming up to caress the image on the page.

  “Letting me show you just how beautiful you are.”

  The gauntlet had been thrown. Ellie let the meaning of his words coarse through her blood, her pulse rising as goosebumps spread all over her body. They stood just inches from each other, separated only by the length of his sketchbook. Their desire for each other potently innervating the air surrounding them. Tristan watched her eyes stay trained on his drawing for a moment longer before she swallowed hard; he held his breath knowing that one of two things was about to happen.

  And he prayed to fucking God it was the first.

  “So, show me,” she dared, her eyes raising in sharp defiance to return his smoldering gaze. Her words ignited their desire into a full-on conflagration.

  Tristan pulled her to him, his lips crashing down on hers, as her hands released the sketchbook, letting it fall to the floor wit
h a thud that neither of them heard. She wasn’t hesitant this time, just like at the door tonight, she responded to his mouth confidently. She opened immediately for him, her tongue greeting his as they began their familiar dance.

  His arms came around her, crushing her to him. His left hand tangled in her silken waves, angling her head for better access to her deliciously warm and sweet mouth. He groaned as his right hand slipped down over her lower back, coming to rest on the firm muscle of her ass, cupping the generous flesh and pulling her hips hard against his, relishing in her gasp as his impossibly hard erection pressed against her stomach through his jeans.

  Tristan held her there for he didn’t even know how long, drinking his fill of her, tasting every crevice in her mouth that had been tantalizing his thoughts all weekend. The sweet softness of her tongue delving into his mouth, returning his ministrations, and driving his need for her to painful levels.

  This was incredible, Ellie thought. She’d never felt anything like this before Tristan, nothing so all-consuming. There was a current running through each cell in her body that heightened every sense, every touch making her heart beat faster, craving more. Her hands, originally planted firmly on his chest, had somehow made their way up to snake around his neck as she tried to press herself even closer to him. She felt the hard ridge of his erection pressing against her stomach, her hips shifting to try to rub closer to him to ease the ache growing between her thighs. Ellie couldn’t think straight, her mind succumbing to the desire that burned through her looking for release. Now, she knew how it would be possible for her to make the expressions in the sketch; she knew that what Tristan was doing, the need he was building inside of her would bring her to that level of ecstasy. And she wanted that release, that freedom, more than anything.