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

  “I’ll talk to you later.” Tristan closed the door behind Pierce. Turning to face his empty apartment, the first and only thought that came to his mind was Ellie.

  He wanted her back here. Now. He stalked around his apartment looking for where he had set it down the night before. He wanted to text her and see if she’d finished her errands.

  God, he was starting to sound like such a needy bitch.

  That’s what Pierce would say – good thing he was gone. What he had left though was even more disturbing. Tristan sat on the bed, spinning his phone through his fingers in absentminded distraction while he contemplated the heavy weight in his chest.

  Did he love her? Is that what all of this was?

  She was always on his mind – whether it was wanting to talk to her, or wanting to do other things to her. She invaded his sleep, his dreams, his art; he found himself daydreaming and scribbling at the office, in meetings. When he finally realized what he was doing, there was Ellie looking back at him. He knew how much he desired her, that there was no doubt in his mind – or any other part of his body, for that matter. She had completely enflamed his body, but more than that, she’d invaded his mind and his stumbled awkwardly into his heart.

  Before Ellie, provoking deeper emotions of his models, his subjects had been a game – one that he only felt satisfaction in winning and being able to capture the rewards. With Ellie, he didn’t care about drawing her – even though she never ceased to provide inspiration in that arena, he wanted to inspire her emotions just to see her experience them. He wanted her to excite and provoke her so that she could truly experience those emotions, not just so that he could capture them; he wanted to please her for her, no longer just for himself.

  When she wasn’t with him, every breath of oxygen was only a means of life-support, like it was just enough to hold him over until he could breathe her in again and come back to life.

  Tristan began to laugh – the rich, fullness of the sound permeating throughout the empty apartment, his happy enlightenment echoing through every room.

  You are so in love with her, and you are so fucked.

  He just kept laughing at himself, at his foolishness, his blindness. He’d been the one to scoff in Pierce’s face that his friend ‘wouldn’t know love if it came up and punched him in the face.’

  And wouldn’t you know it, it fucking did – he loved Ellie, hell, he’d love her for a while; it was his love for her that sparked him to punch his best friend. Only he was the one too blind to recognize it.

  You’re a class act, Tristan, a class act.

  His laughter died down to a few silent chuckles of air rushing into his lungs. He, of all people, was in love. He’d spent years actively trying to prevent this, keeping busy with work, but making sure his physical needs were met. At some point along the line, he’d felt so hardened against any attempt on his heart that he’d become complacently confident in his indestructible barriers. Confident to the point where he didn’t think twice about an awkward ginger tripping into his life, especially one that he’d been bent on destroying.

  He looked at his phone again, his fingers burning to call her, but he couldn’t – not yet. He needed a new plan since, as Pierce would say, his old plan is ‘royally fucked’. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he tried to outline his options. The first wasn’t even an option – he had to tell Ellie about what had happened between him and her father. The question was, did she have to know the whole truth? Did he have to tell her that he was planning on using her for revenge? What if he just told her that he thought if he got to know her, he could convince her to ask her father for the portrait back on his behalf? It was believable and it would leave their other arrangement – the one where her father blackmailed him into creating her portrait in the first place – out of it.

  It seemed like the best option.

  Then, he could go to Jack and explain to him that he was in love with Ellie, and that if Jack didn’t want to break his daughter’s heart, he probably should give him back the portrait.

  Yeah, blackmailing your future father-in-law is a genius plan. Moron.

  Tristan huffed, rewinding his thoughts back a few steps to start over. What if he just went to Jack first? Told him how he felt about Ellie and that it would be in both of their best interests to not let her know that meeting Tristan wasn’t by chance, but by extorted coercion; that would hurt her more than either one of them would want.

  That still left his mother’s portrait in Jack’s possession. Sure, there was a chance that out of the goodness of his heart, or seeing how happy his daughter is, that he would return it to Tristan, but that wasn’t a given.

  And that doesn’t even explain how her father ended up with one of his pieces in the first place, or who Titian was, for that matter; another secret, that’s who he was.

  He would have to tell her about the Guild. Hell, she’d already met all of its members. If she was going to be a permanent muse in his life, she would have to know about them and what they do.

  What they do…

  His jaw clenched at the thought. What would he do now? For the past seven years, there had been a method to his work, one that relied on his heart not being attached. It wasn’t that he doubted that Ellie would be able to provide him with enough inspiration to create enough original pieces, but would she want to?

  Would he want her to?

  A fierce jolt of possessiveness ran through him; he didn’t want anyone else to see her like he did. She was his. Everything that he made her feel was for him and his eyes alone. He’d have to scale back, or find some other subject matter to use, regardless of whether Ellie was ok with her portraits being auctioned – he wasn’t.

  Fuck.

  This was definitely not part of the plan and it was something he would have to discuss with the rest of the Guild; he was their leader and he didn’t know how they would react, especially Pierce. Pierce never dealt with love and even though he didn’t care what Tristan did with his emotions, he wouldn’t expect anything to change within the Guild, but something would have to.

  He grabbed his phone, opening up his recent calls.

  “Hello?” Sloane’s mellow voice picked up.

  “Hey, got a sec?”

  “Yeah. What’s up? You survive Pierce?”

  “Yeah, we’re good.”

  “Fan-fucking-tastic. So, I’m assuming then that’s not why you called,” Sloane mused.

  “No. I’m in love.”

  “I know.”

  “Seriously?” Tristan asked in disbelief.

  “Tris, all I do is sculpt expressions of love and lust; if I can’t recognize the look of love by now, I might as well quit this whole artist gig.” Sloane laughed lightly.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Why would you have believed me? You don’t just tell someone that they are in love; they have to realize it all on their own – especially you.”

  “What’s that supposed to me?”

  “You are stubborn, just like Pierce. If I told you that – or even hinted at it, you would have so royally fucked yourself in that relationship just trying to prove that you weren’t; I’m not going to be responsible for that. I no longer meddle in peoples’ relationship, I’ve learned that the hard way,” Sloane finished softly, remorse clouding his words. Tristan didn’t know what troubled his friend, but he knew better than to ask. “So, I’m assuming you are telling me this for a reason?”

  “My role in the Guild is going to need to change.”

  There was a pregnant pause on the other end of the line. “In what way?” Sloane asked, his voice deeper and on edge.

  “I can’t produce the same kind of art anymore – not using someone else, and definitely not using Ellie.”

  “Oh, that’s all?” Relief reverberated in his friend’s voice.

  “Yeah, what did you think I was going to say?”

  “Nothing,” Sloane answered firmly, “that’s fine. I certainly don’t give a shit what you draw; i
f no one bids on it, it’s your loss.”

  “Ass,” Tristan shot back.

  “Seriously though, I’m sure you’ll figure out something just as enticing that people will want. You already have a reputation – if you make something, someone will buy it.”

  “Yeah,” Tristan responded, breathing a little deeper with his friend’s vote of confidence, “I just know it’s going to be a big deviation from what we’ve been doing since we start this whole thing.”

  “Yeah, but who cares? Pierce is always whining that we need to change things up anyway, now you get to rub it in his face that we are.”

  “Something like that,” Tristan laughed, still hesitant about having this same discussion with Pierce. As much as Pierce loved change and the unexpected, he only really loved it when it happened to others, not to himself, especially with something that hit so close to him. They were just finally back on decent terms after this morning, and now it looked like Tristan was going to have to drop this bomb on him.

  “You good?” Sloane asked, breaking the heavy silence that had settled over the line.

  “Yeah, thanks man, just thinking,” Tristan loosely explained.

  “Sure. I’m happy for you, that you found Ellie.” Tristan heard the sincere happiness in his friend’s voice, but also caught the potent sadness that was intertwined with it; the sadness stemmed from outside sources though, ones out of Tristan’s control. “I wanted to tell you that before – you know, when I saw how bad you had it for her.” His laugh had just the hint of being forced, trying to move off of a subject that was clearly causing him to struggle with deeply-seeded regret.

  “Thanks,” Tristan said wryly, following Sloane’s lead and letting the conversation take a lighter, more playful tone. “Alright, well if you’re done rubbing my idiocy in my face, I’m going to get going. I have a lady to woo.”

  “Later.”

  “Aren’t you going to wish me luck?”

  “Why? She’s already wooed,” Sloane informed him confidently before he heard the click of the line going dead.

  God, he fucking hoped so.

  Ellie sat on her couch, a glass of dry red wine in her hand and dried tears of hopelessness on her face. Her thumb played over the screen of her phone where the notification of a missed call from Tristan still sat. She had heard it and held it as it rung earlier. She’d been at her dad’s, which was the most legitimate reason for her not answering it, but she doubted she would have if she’d been alone.

  Opening up the screen, she cleared the alert, opening up her texts to the message that she’d sent him as soon as his call had gone to voicemail:

  - Hey, I’m talking to my dad. I’ll call you, later.

  Perfectly normal, perfectly legitimate, and a perfect example of one of her many omissions. Her heart squeezed as she read over his response.

  ~ Alright, siren. Sorry about earlier. Can’t wait to fucking talk to you. Can’t wait to fuck you again either, gorgeous.

  Every time she read it, without fail, it sent a jolt of lust right to the center of her. He knew just how much she loved when he made it clear just how crazy with lust she made him. That power over him intensified her desire for him tenfold.

  Or more.

  But, she couldn’t call him back now. Her tears had just stopped, her voice though was still hoarse from crying. She was surprised, she’d managed to hold it together while she relayed to her dad what Dr. Sion had said in the voicemail. When she got home though, everything had changed.

  As she swirled the wine in the glass, slowing sipping it down after learning from the painful and embarrassing events of her last foray into drinking alone, she tried to process her emotions, she tried to break them down into manageable bites. This wasn’t like the first time, or the second time, when she learned that she had cancer. Surprisingly, that part, while defeating and disheartening, wasn’t what had broken her. It had been that last look up at Tristan’s apartment building, his face in the back of her mind, and the knowledge that this time losing to cancer didn’t just mean losing herself, it meant losing him – and that was what was devastatingly destroying her.

  He had taken her off life-support, pulling her out from the shadows into the world that was alive with emotions and experiences just waiting for her to explore. Sure, she’d been in remission for almost a year, but that didn’t mean that she had been living in that time either. Tristan breathed life and the love of living back into her, and she loved him for it.

  She loved him.

  The realization wasn’t a shock to her, it wasn’t even really a realization. It was just a truth, a part of her that she finally decided to say out loud. It was like something that had been inside of her all along – a seed finally deciding to bloom. What happened to the aspiring blossom remained to be seen.

  Losing her life wasn’t so simple now. Now, it meant losing love, too – a fate infinitely worse. She cried because she didn’t want to lose him, but at the same time, she didn’t want him to have to lose her. Worst yet, she didn’t want him to have to watch her slowly slip away, watch the life he brought out in her slowly and painfully fade away. Ultimately, it wasn’t her choice though. She was greedy and selfish; she would stay with him for as long as he would let her because even though she had the strength to fight her cancer, she didn’t have the strength to let him go.

  Get it together, Ellie, because that means you’re going to have to tell him.

  She took another sip of wine, thinking about that inevitability. She would have to tell him, which meant coming to terms with the fact that he would never look at her the same way. It was ok though, she would take tainted version of herself over a nonexistent version of them.

  She should have known better than to expect a perfectly happy ending; cancer was nothing but crushing compromises.

  She flipped back to her missed calls screen. She wouldn’t tell him until the final test results came back and she had all the answers to every question she knew he was bound to ask. In the meantime, she would live the next few days to the fullest without a thought of the future, until she saw Dr. Sion and her fate was written in stone.

  With that newfound resolve, she tapped on his name in hot pursuit of a few more days of blissful ignorance.

  “Hey there, siren,” his deep, husky voice answered.

  Ellie smiled in spite of herself. “Hey there.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Oh, just sitting on my couch, drinking some wine…” Her breath caught, anticipating his response to her admission.

  “Oh, yeah? Are you sure that’s a good idea after the last time?” Even though he was joking, Ellie could hear the undercurrent of desire enter his tone, remembering just what had happened that time.

  “Don’t worry, I’m taking it nice and easy this time,” she scoffed in reply.

  She heard him moan into the phone. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining, gorgeous. If I recall, I had you fingering yourself nice and easy the last time, too.” She choked on the mouthful of wine that she just attempted to swallow.

  How did he always manage to do this to her?

  She crossed her legs on the couch, trying to ease the sudden pressure that had built between her thighs. The sudden shift in position telling her that just those few words already had her soaking through her underwear.

  “How did you meeting go with Pierce?” she choked out, her voice awkward and strained from the wine going down the wrong pipe.

  Tristan chuckled on the other end of the line, hearing her pained attempt to change the subject. “Fine,” came his non-descript answer. “Are you ok? I know I asked you before but did he do anything to you? Say anything to you?”

  “No, nothing that I couldn’t handle,” Ellie reassured him lightly, thinking back on the scope of the day she actually had to try not to laugh at how dealing with Pierce was the least difficult thing she’d had to cope with in the past twenty-four hours. “He’s harmless, you know. Hurting, but harmless.”

  There wa
s a momentary pause as Tristan absorbed the perspicacity of her remark, the calmness and confident ease with which she made that discernment; it was as though she’d just told him the sky was blue. “Unbelievably unpredictable,” he responded in awe.

  “What?”

  “You,” he said simply. “I’ve known Pierce for years, and I’ve seen what happens when other people meet him for the first time, when he’s been in a good mood, and most people just assume that he’s an ass. You…you can see right through that, something that few people have been able to do.”

  Those who suffer inside, or have suffered, are easily recognizable to one another, she thought, but instead just replied, “Well, most people see what they want to see.”

  “Perhaps just like you used to?” he teased gently. “Now, you know better than to think you are anything but exquisite.”

  “Whatever you say…” She purposefully provoked him.

  “I’d be happy to show you again.” Ellie could practically feel his desire radiating through the phone.

  “I don’t know. I seem to be a pretty slow learner. You might have to show me two or three times…” she played along, biting her lip. Playing into his sexual banter was doing nothing to subdue the building ache inside of her.

  “Christ, Ellie, you know I would fucking love to…or should I say you know I would love fucking you.”

  She moaned, unable to stop the rush of pleasure through her body, desperately craving the action to his words. “I should go,” she whispered.

  “Are you sure about that? I was thinking you should stay; you know I love listening to you come from the sound of my voice.”

  Ellie groaned. She wanted to – she really, really wanted to, but she was bone-tired from the trauma of the day. She could hardly focus on the words he was saying as it was.

  “It’s ok, Ellie,” he said, as if he knew her internal struggle. His soft, seductive voice hoarsely leading her senses out of their cancerous confusion. “Remember my mouth on you last night? How I sucked on that deliciously sweet pussy of yours?”