The Artist's Touch (The Gentlemen's Guild Book 1) Read online

  “Well, maybe I’ll just have to work harder then,” he taunted, enjoying the sudden widening of her eyes, “I ordered in some Thai food, if that’s ok. You can go sit if you want, I’m just going to warm it up.”

  “Ok,” she said softly, taking her glass and going to sit at the dining table, turning her chair to face the kitchen and watch him.

  They seemed content to leave the passion and pleasure they’d just felt remain unspoken about, instead returning to a relaxed and platonic conversation while they both tried to sort through everything that the experience had meant.

  Tristan pulled the take-out Thai from the bag sitting on the countertop, dumping the cartons of noodles and curry into separate bowls, taking turns heating them in the microwave.

  “So,” Tristan heard Ellie begin softly from behind him, “when did you start practicing art?”

  “A long time ago, I don’t remember. My mom insisted that I do it after I brought home a stick figure drawing of my family; I don’t know what she saw in it, but somehow she knew that I had skill,” he laughed to himself at the memory.

  He’d been just a kid at the time, and of course, thought that art was a lame hobby to have. Thankfully, his dad had enrolled him Tae Kwon Do at the same time – a suitable defense mechanism should anyone decide to taunt him about it. Surprisingly, not unlike now, he’d managed to keep his art classes to himself for a very long time. When he was older it hadn’t been as big of a deal; that had been where he met Pierce and Sloane.

  “She seems like a very smart lady,” Ellie said warmly from the table.

  Tristan caught her gaze and realized how much had come across in his in tone and face when talking about his mom. “She was. She died,” he said with a sharper tone, not wanting to continue this conversation that was just going to remind him exactly why Ellie was sitting at his table in the first place.

  “I’m so sorry,” Ellie gushed, “my mother passed away, too, but when I was very young, so I don’t really remember. My dad has played ‘mom’ and ‘dad’ for most of my life.”

  Tristan gritted his teeth, determined to not feel sorry for her or her father. Sympathy would ruin him. “I’m sorry about your mom,” was all he could respond with, appreciating at least what a loss that was.

  “Thank you.”

  “Enough about me. I want to know more about you,” he said firmly, bringing over the now ready to eat food. Her eyes widened as he set the bowls and a plate for her down on the table, taking in all of the options before her.

  “What is all of this?”

  “So, there is Pad Thai here, Panang curry, Thai basil chicken, and some coconut sticky rice,” Tristan said, pointing out each dish for her.

  “Oh.”

  “Have you had Thai before?”

  “No – another first for me,” Ellie replied, with a sheepish smile.

  “How have you never tried Thai food?” he questioned her.

  She was an enigma, coming from a wealthy family, yet never having been outside of the city; she craved to travel the world, but has never had Thai food.

  “Umm…well,” she stuttered, her face reddening, “I guess I just never thought to. My dad was never into ethnic food really – unless pizza counts, so I never ate any of that growing up, and then when I started working, it was just easier to stick with things that I knew. Not to mention, I’d be eating with my dad most nights.”

  With her dad, in the hospital, eating cafeteria food. Or at home, so nauseous from the chemo meds that she could barely choke down some bread or pasta without wanting to vomit it right back up.

  “Well, if you want to travel the world, you should really think about branching out,” Tristan replied, eyeing her narrowly, trying to decipher what was going through her head that had her concerned. “I would suggest starting with the pad Thai – most people like that one.”

  She followed his suggesting, taking a serving of the delicious-smelling noodles onto her plate, wondering how many other women he had suggested it to.

  Of course he didn’t suggest that to other women, silly, they’ve all probably had it before; they’re all far more cultured and experienced that you.

  The negative thoughts about herself derailed as she took a bite of the food in front of her.

  “Oh my God, this is amazing,” she said, mouth full of noodles.

  Tristan smiled at her enthusiasm. He didn’t think he would ever get tired of watching her experience new things – or of being the one responsible for it. “I’m glad you like it.”

  “I’m definitely adding Thailand to my list of places to travel to.”

  “It’s a pretty interesting country, but I agree, the food is worth it,” he replied nonchalantly, as if going to Thailand was an everyday occurrence for most people.

  “You’ve been there?” Ellie asked, her eyes widening.

  “I’ve been a lot of places. Comes with the job.” Both of them.

  “That’s amazing,” her words still muffled by all the food that she kept trying to eat.

  “So, your father never took you anywhere?” Tristan probed, his opinion of the man dwindling by the minute.

  If that was even possible.

  “No. Well, to the beach in the Hamptons a few times, but not to a different country or anything, no.”

  “Why not? Or does he not like to travel either?”

  “No, although I’m sure he would struggle if we went to somewhere that didn’t have American food. I think he likes to travel. He knows how much I want to, and plan on going.”

  “If he knows how much you want to do it, how much it means to you, why didn’t he travel with you before now? I thought you said he was such a great dad,” Tristan couldn’t help the slight edge that entered his voice.

  How could someone not want to experience something like that with this woman? She was incredible.

  He needed to stop thinking like that, like really fucking stop. He watched Ellie as she continued to finish her bite of food, eyes widening as she absorbed what he said, although it didn’t seem to be because of his tone, but more because she didn’t have a good answer to give him – or that she wanted to give him.

  “He is a great dad,” she began in defense, “he really is. He was really busy with work and growing the firm, making sure I never wanted for anything – except to travel, I guess. It was a lot thrown on him, when my mom died; he had a little girl and not a whole lot of ideas on how to raise me on his own. He is a great dad and I know that he did his best, even if I never managed to get everything that I wanted, but who does? Plus, I was in school most of those years too. I know that everything that he did was out of concern for me; I’m all he has left,” Ellie mumbled as she finished her last bite – at least the last part wasn’t a lie.

  “I see,” Tristan said, not trusting himself to say anything else about her father, “well, if you want any travel recommendations, don’t hesitate to ask.”

  “So, you and your dad aren’t close?” Ellie asked, hesitantly, intent on keeping their conversation to family.

  He knew it was hard for her to imagine that he wasn’t as close to his father as she was to hers, especially since, in her mind, they’d both experienced similar traumas; but that wasn’t how life worked and that wasn’t a conversation that he was going to have.

  “No, and you also have a little bit of sauce in the corner of your lip,” he said redirecting her focus from his answer – or lack thereof.

  He chuckled at her embarrassment as her thumb came up to quickly wipe away the small remnant of the pad Thai sauce.

  “Thank you,” she replied, her thumb coming up to wipe the corner of her mouth. Without thinking, she immediately brought her thumb to her mouth, gently sucking the drop of sauce off of the pad of her finger. What was thoughtless for her, was like a sucker punch to him - the way her eyes briefly closed as she sucked and savored the last bit of sauce from their dinner; he wished her lips were on him. That thought meant that he was a hard as a rock again, a split second later.
<
br />   “Fuck,” he mumbled painfully to himself as he picked up their plates off of the table and took them out to the kitchen – anything to put some distance between them.

  Rinsing them quickly in the sink allowed his blood to cool for a few seconds before he walked back to the table. Her confused gaze straying from his and wandering down the length of his body, quickly jumping back up to his face as soon as they crossed his waistline. Her eyes were verdant with hunger.

  “What?” he asked with a half-smile.

  “Nothing,” she said quickly, letting her head fall, but not before Tristan saw the blush steal over her cheeks.

  Yes, he had an erection and yes, he knew that his sweatpants were not the most ideal at disguising it. He didn’t care though. She needed to know that he wanted her; she needed to know just what she had instigated and the look he’d caught on her face told him that she wanted him just as much.

  But not tonight.

  He’d already gone far enough with her tonight. He needed to send her home before they both did something that they would regret.

  “Next time, maybe we’ll try a live sitting,” Tristan informed her, his tone returning to its businesslike persona while he stood by the table.

  “So, you think I’m comfortable enough around you then?” Ellie teased as she stood, recognizing that this meant it was time for her to go.

  “I would say so, wouldn’t you?” he asked, his voice deep with arousal, his eyes darkening on her again. Tristan watched her face flush and her body come alive as she realized exactly to what he had been referring.

  “Ahh, so, when is this next time?” she asked, the look of hope and excitement in her eyes gnawing at him.

  “Saturday,” he replied, matter-of-factly.

  Unless he caved and called her sooner.

  “Oh…ok…” she said, biting her lip.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.

  “Nothing, it’s fine. I just had plans with my dad, but I’ll tell him we have to reschedule; it wasn’t important.” Tristan said nothing in reply, bitterly pleased that she was being forced to pick him over her father.

  “Would it be ok if I told him why I had to reschedule?” she asked hesitantly.

  “No,” Tristan replied immediately, his tone sharp with disapproval, “you signed the contract; you know the rules.”

  “Of course, I just… well, never mind. I’ll see you on Saturday then.”

  He saw the look of disappointment in her eyes, knew the myriad of things that were crossing through her mind – was he mad at her for asking to tell her father? Had she done something wrong that he didn’t want to see her tomorrow or the next day? Was he trying to get rid of her by putting her off? His mouth literally burned with the words of reassurance that she craved, but he forced himself to remain silent while he watched her eyes dim as she turned to grab her things from off of the couch.

  He was annoyed that she had thought about breaking her contract, annoyed that her relationship with her father was still a priority. Which was fucking ridiculous because she’d known him all of a week, which meant that he was really just annoyed at himself for caring.

  “I’m taking over a company so I have meetings the rest of the week trying to get everything squared away,” he blurted out, walking over to the entrance just as she opened the door to leave, cursing himself for his weakness.

  It was true. He hadn’t planned on having to create another piece for this competition, or for anything, which meant his secretary had overloaded his schedule over the coming weeks to compensate for his recent absence.

  “It’s ok; I’ll see you Saturday,” Ellie replied, a small spark of hope returning to her gaze, as she stared up at him, expectant and hopeful for one more thing.

  Do not kiss her, Tristan.

  God, how he wanted to, though. His eyes staring into her, lost in their green depths. Their increasingly shallow, warm breaths met and mingled in front of them; his face was mere inches from hers.

  It would be so easy, so right.

  The elevator dinged and saved him from himself.

  “I’ll text you a time. Goodnight, Ellie,” he said, lifting his head, shifting away from her.

  “Goodnight, Tristan.” Her tone and smile surprisingly concealed most of the disappointment he knew that she felt. She turned and walked into the elevator with her head held high.

  Siren.

  He stared out the door until the elevator closed, definitively eliminating his last opportunity to stop her one more time and give in to what they both wanted. Shutting the door, he didn’t even bother to clean the rest of the dishes off of the table. Instead, he walked straight past the table and headed for the bathroom and the cold shower that was calling his name.

  So far, so good.

  Ok, maybe not good, but decent, at least.

  Tristan let the icy pellets of water pelt his sensitized skin; each micro-bullet eliminating the desire, frustration, arousal, and anger that had been building up in his body. The coldness numbed his senses, leaving only his thoughts to focus on.

  Had he gone too far?

  The question plagued him over and over. She hadn’t run away afterward, which was a positive sign, but had it been too soon for something so intimately physical. He’d planned to woo her, to slowly lure her in, and yet all of those plans seemed to fly right out the window every time he was around her; he couldn’t maintain that level of control.

  Yet, she hadn’t seemed to mind.

  Mind? She’d been the one who’d asked, who’d instigated. Tristan realized that he’d forgotten that small fact up until this moment.

  She’d asked him to show her pleasure.

  Granted, he’d left the sketchbook with those sketches out for her to see, but only as a means of bringing their relationship closer to that level – a hint of what was to come. He never expected it to go as far as it had tonight and that threw him off guard. He wanted her to know how he saw her, how he thought about her, how he could make her feel. Yes, she was looking to change her life, because of what stimulus he was still trying to uncover, but she’d been so skittish up to now, accepting his advances but only to a certain point.

  What had changed between Saturday and today that made her the instigator?

  Something had happened.

  But did it really matter to him what it was? Should it matter?

  He shouldn’t care. Whatever it was, was working in his favor and he shouldn’t even think about messing with it. Except that he could stop his mind from wondering. Everything that she said made sense; it all seemed plausible, but he just knew there was more to it.

  Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Tristan.

  He needed to stop concerning himself with whatever it was, no matter how curious it made him. It wasn’t his concern, just like she, ultimately, wasn’t his concern. The thought had his gut clenching, remembering the way that she had looked at him just before the words ‘show me’ had left her mouth. What had happened between them was incredible, he wasn’t going to deny that. The way she had responded to him, it was even more beautiful than he had imagined; it was beyond his talents to reproduce artistically. Thankfully, it wasn’t beyond his talents to enjoy it. And, fuck, did he enjoy it. He hadn’t planned on becoming that physically involved. She’d asked him to show her pleasure, and that is what he’d set out to do, with no intention of finding any himself; in his mind, that would have gone too far.

  He wasn’t a stranger to giving women pleasure, especially during his art process – it was an emotion that could be otherwise elusive, but a challenge to capture; and Tristan loved challenges. Ellie was a challenge, but not just as a piece in the plan for his revenge. No, she was a challenge to him to remain in control and unattached. Touching her, watching her, watching her watch herself and remaining unaffected, it was a challenge that he had failed. She was gorgeous in her innocence and anticipation, in the way that she experienced pleasure.

  It was definitely her first orgasm.
<
br />   He didn’t know if she’d had sex before but he did know that that had been her first orgasm. And it felt so fucking good to be the one who had given it to her. He’d known the moment she saw the drawings he had done of her. The shock and wonder that had crossed her face told him she didn’t understand how she could look and feel that way; the only possible reason she could think that would be if she’d never experienced an orgasm before. And then, when she did finally come…

  Fuck.

  Tristan glanced over his shoulder, checking to see if the water temperature could go any colder. He was on fire again replaying how he’d pleasured her over again in his mind, remember her face and the feeling of her hot, wet passage clasping around his finger as she succumbed to release.

  It had definitely been her first time.

  The thought brought an unwelcome bloom of pride and satisfaction in his chest. If he wasn’t careful, he could easily lose himself in this process.

  Chapter 13

  “Knock, knock.”

  Tristan’s jaw clenched as Pierce’s devilish tenor rolled through the air like a wave, crashing down on his productive mindset that he’d been ensconced in.

  “How can I help you, friend?” Tristan replied, sarcasm evident in his tone, refusing to look up from the contract he was currently reading. In his periphery, Tristan saw Pierce saunter over closer to his desk. Pulling his eyes from his work, he met his partner’s amused expression with a cold, hard stare of his own.

  “Oh, just checking in,” he replied casually.

  Liar.

  “Great, well, you’ve checked. I’m here, and busy. I’ll see you in a few weeks.” Tristan knew he wouldn’t get rid of him that easily.

  “You’re still doing the competition then? I was wondering…I stopped by your studio the other day but you were nowhere to be found…” Pierce trailed off, picking up one of the books sitting on the edge of Tristan’s desk.

  “I am,” Tristan replied harshly, “I figured you might swing by, so I’ve had to temporarily move my operation elsewhere.” As he spoke, Tristan began to slowly round his desk in an attempt to convey that Pierce wasn’t welcome here at the moment.