The Artist's Touch (The Gentlemen's Guild Book 1) Page 9

  If he only knew.

  Tristan felt himself getting hard just thinking about her. The inextricable mix of calm reserve and determined brazenness, her innocent and yet powerful response to him; it was incredible.

  Focus.

  He couldn’t think about that tonight though. Tonight, he couldn’t cross any of those lines. She wanted him, that was without a doubt, but he needed to build that up to the point where it would be impossible for her to resist him, to the point where she would be the one to instigate their physical relationship; that would be ideal, but he was willing to be flexible.

  No, tonight would be about breaking down other barriers; the emotional ones that would shield her deepest secrets from him. The thought brought a smile to his face.

  This was going to be good.

  Checking the clock, he realized he only had an hour before he had told her to come back.

  Fuck. Where did the day go?

  It was a Saturday, which meant no one else had been in the office today except him; going in had been a necessary evil since he’d taken time off for the audition and then left early yesterday to meet her here.

  People think when you are the boss, it’s easy to just take time for yourself with no consequences. How he fucking wished that was true.

  Especially right now. He’d had to cut back his hours in the office preparing for their last exhibit; he hadn’t been prepared to lose even more time for this competition – which he wouldn’t have had to, if Pierce hadn’t lost his goddamn portrait.

  It was such a shitty time right now, too. Well, not shitty just busy. His company, Black Box, was looking to buy out Vanguard. It was a giant move and there was a lot of red tape to cut through, a lot of negotiating to take place. Most of it, he wasn’t directly involved with, but as the owner, he still had to know every move that was being made, he had to make sure his people knew where they could compromise and where they couldn’t. There was a lot involved for him, and then on top of that, he was trying to use his resources and connections to learn more about Jack Carter. He’d put out some feelers today, so he’d have to wait and see what they came back with, but, he wasn’t going to take any chances. He needed a plan B just in case this attempt with Ellie didn’t work out.

  Chugging down the rest of the water, he went into the bathroom to shower and change before she arrived.

  He was going to take her to Marea for dinner; it was right near his apartment and right by the park. He had personally called them this morning for a reservation which was probably the only reason that they got one because it was normally over a month’s wait for a table there on a Saturday night.

  Washing quickly, he threw on a navy suit and tie, roughly combing through his hair just as he heard a soft knock on the front door.

  Shit. Was it six o’clock already?

  Tossing the comb down on the bathroom counter, he headed for the door to his apartment, trying to ignore the electric excitement burning into his cells.

  You almost blew your shot yesterday; don’t fuck this up, again.

  “Good evening, Ellie,” his deep, warm voice melted over her as he opened the door.

  “Good evening, Tristan,” she replied softly, a hint of pink staining her cheeks, probably at the memory of what had happened between the two of them the day before.

  As she walked into the apartment, Tristan took in the sight of her.

  Fuck, she was hot.

  She’d chosen to wear a navy-blue dress, fitted, but not too short, with long, lace sleeves and a modest neckline. She wore simple white pumps that brought her not quite up to eye-level with him. Her outfit was nice, but not enticing by any of his previous standards. On anyone else, it would have looked too prim and proper for him to be interested; on Ellie, it was beyond sexy. Especially knowing that what was beneath it would be his.

  The color of the dress set off her vibrant hair, the blue contrasting with her loose, red waves. Even though the dress wasn’t short or low-cut, the way that it clung to every curve made it a struggle for him to keep his mouth from dropping open.

  “Brave enough to return, I see,” he said, his voice hoarse, his mouth feeling like a desert as he looked at the only drink of water in sight. That made her blush deepen, her eyes breaking from his for a moment.

  “You can’t get rid of me that easily,” she replied, teasing him back with a small smile.

  “I didn’t think that I would,” he confessed, his eyes darkening as he continued to feast on the sight of her.

  God, all he wanted to do was sit her up on his dining table again and have his way with her.

  That couldn’t happen yet. She was brave to come back, but she wasn’t stupid. She would run if he went that far, even though he could see how much she wanted him in return. She bit her lip underneath his gaze, the outline of her erect nipples just visible through the fabric, and the way that she stood there with her legs crossed to ease…

  Tristan tore his eyes away from her as the thought that threatened to undo him, walking back to the kitchen counter to collect himself and his wallet, phone, and keys. His jaw clenched in the attempt to reign in his desire and ignore the painfully hard erection he had straining against his far-too-tight suit pants. Picking up his stuff, he turned back to the temptress who was watching him with innocence and eagerness in her eyes.

  Stay focused, Tristan. Remember, letting yourself get in too deep means losing a whole lot more than just your control; it means losing to Jack, losing to Pierce, losing your mom, and eventually, losing yourself.

  “Alright, let’s go,” he clipped out, his cold and rational mind dampening the desire that had come to life inside of him.

  “Where are we going?” she asked curiously as they walked back out of the apartment.

  “Marea.”

  “Wait, what? Really? I thought it was impossible to get into that place.”

  “Not if you’re me,” he quipped as they got in the elevator that blessedly contained another couple leaving for the night.

  They arrived fifteen minutes early for their reservation, but it didn’t matter; they were seated immediately after he checked in with the hostess.

  You don’t keep a billionaire waiting.

  “Good evening and welcome to Marea,” the waitress began, “can I offer you still or sparkling water?” He didn’t have to look at the woman to know that she was trying to hit on him. She had only looked at him when she spoke, her voice deepening subtly with the question.

  Great.

  Thankfully, it didn’t look like Ellie had even noticed, her wide eyes still taking in the surroundings of the restaurant, the other guests, and the view.

  “Still, please, and a bottle of the Chablis Chardonnay,” Tristan responded coolly, his eyes never leaving Ellie, hoping that the waitress would take a hint.

  He just sat there and watched Ellie take in her surroundings, still completely oblivious to what had passed between him and the waitress, or the fact that he was abjectly staring at her.

  She was exquisite. Looking at her closely, it seemed like she had attempted to put a little bit of makeup on, but hardly enough to really be noticeable. Her porcelain face and bright green eyes, were enticingly framed by the wild red flame of her hair. Her long, slender neck dropping off to her shoulder that were just covered by the lace of her dress.

  God, how he wanted to kiss her neck.

  He tried to focus on revenge but the thought of the velvety soft skin of her neck underneath his lips, letting him feel her heartbeat as he made her pulse race.

  That moment brought her eyes back to his, her face flushing slightly when she realized that she’d been ignoring him.

  “I’m sorry for being rude. I’ve just heard so many good things about this place; I can’t believe I’m here,” she gushed with astonished gratitude. “Thank you.”

  Tristan nodded in response, watching the emotions play over her features.

  When he didn’t respond, Ellie bit on her bottom lip, her color heightening as though
she was going to say something, but was almost too shy to. Instead, looking down at the menu in front of her to decide on what she wanted.

  The waitress returned a few moments later to deliver their water and wine and take their order. Ellie looked up at the waitress in confusion when the glass of wine was set down in front of her.

  “The Chardonnay…” the waitress said. Her tone implied that ‘you idiot’ was added on to the end of the phrase in her head.

  “Oh, ok,” Ellie quickly responded, sheepishly, “thank you.”

  When the waitress turned to set Tristan’s glass down, she tried to catch his eyes with her sultry smile, caressing the wine glass as she slowly released it onto the tabletop. Tristan just nodded curtly in her direction, his gaze still focused on Ellie.

  “What would you like?” he asked, since it seemed like the waitress was just too distracted to do her damn job.

  “I…I don’t even know. What should I get?” she asked hesitantly, her eyes frantically scanning the menu, embarrassed, knowing that she was holding them up.

  “Ok,” Tristan began, taking charge, if for no other reason than the waitress’ blatant attempts to flirt with him were really annoying. “We’ll start with the White Stone oysters and then we will share the Branzino with a side of fingerling potatoes and Brussel sprouts.”

  We’ll also take a new waitress, please.

  He wasn’t going to go that far, at least not right now. Especially since Ellie didn’t seem to see the woman’s flirtation or the frustration that it was causing him.

  “Of course,” she replied with what was meant to be an enticing smile, “can I get you anything else?”

  “No,” Tristan replied flatly, giving the waitress his most stone-cold stare, trying to get it through her thick skull that he was definitely not interested. Thankfully, she took their menus and left without forcing him to create a scene.

  “The Branzino is excellent; you’ll really enjoy it,” Tristan spoke, realizing that Ellie was still staring at him with wide eyes. “I hope you don’t mind that I ordered for you,” he added as an afterthought.

  “No, of course it’s ok,” she said quickly, not wanting him to get the wrong idea. “I mean, I’m sure you’ve been here a bunch of times. I trust that you know what is good on the menu. I just hardly got a chance to look at it and everything looked so good, probably because I’m hungry…”

  Tristan grabbed his wine glass, raising it to her in a toast, only partially to stop her nervous ramblings.

  “Cheers – to not being controlled,” Tristan toasted cryptically, sure that she would take it to mean not letting her be controlled by her past. For him, however, it was to mark the start of his revenge against her father’s attempt to control him.

  Tristan watched as Ellie awkwardly picked up her wine glass and gently tapped the rim to his.

  “Cheers,” she said softly.

  He didn’t close his eyes while taking a sip of the wine; he couldn’t. He watched intently as Ellie hesitantly brought the glass to her lips, as if she were about to set it down without taking a sip until she realized that he was watching her. Eyes fluttering shut, she gently tipped the liquid to her intoxicating mouth. She took the tiniest sip of the wine – if she had even taken a sip, it was hard to tell. His brows furrowed for a moment in curiosity. Not that he cared if she didn’t drink, but why she didn’t drink intrigued him. He’d assumed that the personality she was trying not to be would have been the sober side, that the ‘new’ Ellie would be more than eager to let the wine relax her, but that didn’t seem to be the case.

  Maybe she was afraid it would make it too easy for her to be taken advantage of.

  But, if she was concerned about that, she never would have come back after yesterday. No, there was another reason that he had a feeling didn’t have anything to do with him.

  Very interesting.

  As if she heard his thoughts, or just saw the look of intrigue on his face, she quickly set her glass down and began to talk before he could ask her about it.

  “So, I auditioned to be a portrait model,” she began hesitantly, “yet, I’ve met with you two times now, and neither time have I seen any sort of artistic anything. I’m beginning to wonder what this really entails or if you are even an artist at all…”

  Her last statement was a poke at him, and he responded to her coy smile with a laugh. “Touché. Trust me, Ellie, there will be plenty of time spent working on the piece, but this is all part of the process,” he explained. “My work has a certain standard, and to meet that I have a certain set of steps that I follow to make sure that when I do sit down to sketch you, what results is the best quality.”

  Ellie raised her eyebrow at him skeptically.

  The little minx didn’t believe him. The thought had him laughing again. God, she was a piece of work, and one that was staring at him with even more confusion caused by his random laughter.

  “When you came over tonight, if I had asked you to sit there and let me sketch you, what would you have done?” he asked.

  “I would have done what you asked,” she said bluntly, as if the question was too easy to justify an answer, “I signed the contract, I remember what it said.”

  She thinks I’m wondering if she remembers what she signed up for. Tristan smiled.

  “And how would you have felt?” he continued.

  “What do you mean? I…I don’t know. I’ve never done this before. I’m sure I would have felt…fine?” she replied, genuinely unsure now what he was after.

  “Something you’ve never done before, something that you said is out-of-the-box for you, and you think you would have felt ‘fine’?”

  “I guess. I don’t know,” she paused, biting that delectable lower lip again. “I guess I probably would have felt awkward for a little, until I get used to how this all works.”

  “Understandable, but that is exactly my point,” Tristan began to clarify, just as their appetizers were placed on the table in front of them. “I don’t want to capture you as being awkward, and right now, that is all you would be.”

  “You may have picked the wrong girl then because I can guarantee you, ninety-nine percent of the time, I am just awkward,” Ellie replied, laughing at what she perceived was the sad truth about herself.

  Tristan’s eyes darkened at her self-inflicted insult, her gaze breaking away to reach in to try one of the oysters.

  Yes, she was awkward, but his mind thought of a thousand other things to describe her before that: gorgeous, enticing, daring, reflective, defiant, innocent, sexy… the adjectives before awkward were innumerable. Not to mention, her moments of awkwardness were endearing to him; they, for some odd reason, made him even more attracted to her.

  Fuck. He didn’t know why he was so concerned with what she thought of herself; what was it to him if she thought she was awkward and undesirable? But, for some reason, all his attempts to rationalize letting her beliefs alone failed; they failed miserably.

  “Trust me, Ellie, awkward is not the first thing that I see when I look at you,” he replied, his eyes deepening, turning completely golden with intense desire.

  Chapter 9

  Her eyes widened at his husky tone. His words conveyed much, much more than simply syllables that they were. Tristan watched as the oyster shell tipped against her lips, allowing the meat to slip into her mouth and then down her throat; his teeth clenched together imagining a certain part of him slipping inside that warm mouth of hers.

  Goddammit.

  He’d been doing so well and now he was as hard as a rock, about to eat what most would consider an aphrodisiac; this was going to be interesting.

  Had he ordered them on purpose because of that?

  Christ, even his subconscious seemed to be working against him, he thought in frustration as he picked up one of the offending morsels and let the slick oyster slide into his mouth.

  “These are incredible,” Ellie gushed, her face still red from his seductive compliment as she tried to steer the c
onversation back to a safer topic.

  “Have you ever had oysters before?” he asked, entranced by her reaction to the food.

  “No, I haven’t…” she trailed off, taking another oyster off of the plate to enjoy. She hoped that her face wouldn’t give her away. First, with the wine, and now this. She hadn’t been a big drinker even before the cancer treatment started and now, she’d been away from it so long she didn’t even know how her body would respond which is why she basically faked the sip from the glass.

  The oysters though, those had been a big no-no with the chemotherapy, along with sushi, beef, deli meats, soft cheeses or anything else that was raw, uncooked, or unpasteurized – or delicious; the oysters ran the risk of being infected with Hep A, which is why she had never had them. Thankfully, eating oysters wasn’t a terribly common thing so she was sure he didn’t think twice about her negative answer.

  The wine though… she saw his look and knew that he was wondering if she faked it; she’d been so surprised by the toast that she hadn’t had time to think. If she had heard him order the wine, she would have said something then – that she didn’t drink or that it made her sick; something more believable than not-very-effectively faking it.

  “Well, this was a good place to start; they are excellent here,” Tristan informed her as she took the last oyster, nodding her head in agreement.

  Tristan’s gaze narrowed slightly on her as she finished it and took a sip of her water. She hadn’t touched her Chardonnay since she set her glass down the first time. Taking a sip of his wine, he collected his thoughts for a moment before redirecting the conversation.

  “What do you think of the wine?” he asked, watching the color spread through her cheeks.

  “It’s good,” she replied, softly, picking up the glass again and taking another very small sip. He didn’t respond. His silence suggested that he knew that that was a lie; his eyes suggesting that she either tell him the truth or accept the consequences. “Honestly,” she sighed in defeat, quickly deciding which reason to give him, “I haven’t had alcohol in a while, I’m just not used to it anymore; I’m sorry.” She had plenty of other personal facts that she wanted to keep well hidden, there was no point in trying to conceal this one; she had to pick her battles.