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

by Dr. Rebecca Sharp

  He gave her a playful smile as she took ahold of his hand.

  “The jury is still out for me…” Ellie teased, not missing a beat.

  Tristan raised his eyes in mock shock before he let out a laugh, escorting Ellie inside of the theatre. “Touché, Miss Carter, touché.”

  Ellie shot him a coy look just as they walked into the theatre to take their seats, the lights dimming for the celebrated performance that was about to begin.

  Chapter 18

  They stepped back out onto the sidewalk a few hours later, Tristan leading them through the masses of people all trying to get out and on their way. His car was waiting for them just around the corner, a front row spot, much to the dismay of the cabbies trying to pick up customers.

  “Tristan, that was incredible,” Ellie gushed, as they got settled inside the car, her eyes wide and sparkling with excitement and happiness, her face flushed from the rush of escaping the exiting crowd.

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he mused watching her beautiful face alight with pleasure.

  “I did!” she assured him ecstatically. “It was amazing; the music was phenomenal, Lin-Manuel Miranda…I’m at a loss for words. And the costumes, the entire story, I mean…God, I probably sound like an idiot, I’ve just never been to the theatre before and I always imagined what it was like, but never that it would be something like this.”

  “You don’t sound like an idiot,” Tristan said, taking one of her hands within his, his thumb tracing lazy circles over hers.

  “Is always like that? When you see a show?” Ellie asked, wondering if every performance was just as moving as this one had been.

  “It’s never been like that before, Ellie, never,” he replied huskily, “at least, for me.”

  He’d seen shows on Broadway before, and in London, and Paris; he really enjoyed going to the theatre when he had time and he was always impressed by the performances that he had seen, but this time wasn’t like any before it. Yeah, he’d heard the rumors, the reviews, the raves about ‘Hamilton,’ but truth be told, he’d struggled to keep his eyes on the performance when show of emotions crossing Ellie’s face next to him had been so much more captivating. The joy, pleasure, suspense, sadness that had moved over her face like the

  In some way, it was like Tristan had experienced a Broadway show for the first time tonight too, just like Ellie had.

  “Did you enjoy it?” she asked, her voice coming down from her excitement; her eyes and tone deepened, subtly suggesting that her question was referring to more than the musical.

  “I enjoyed you enjoying it,” he responded, his eyes never leaving hers, “but then again, I always do.”

  Wow.

  Ellie felt like her body was just set on fire, the way he was looking at her igniting the blaze. She shifted in her seat, trying to ease the ache that was building between her thighs and contain the warm gush of liquid she knew would easily soak through the thin silk of her dress.

  Tristan leaned closer to her, her eyes immediately shifting to focus on his lips, expecting…craving his kiss. The oxygen in the car seemed to be dwindling as the temperature and tension between them rose.

  And then her stomach rumbled…loudly.

  “Hungry?” Tristan asked, a smile breaking on his face as he sat back in his seat; the moment broken.

  “I guess so,” Ellie replied, her face lighting up with embarrassment.

  “There’s dinner waiting for us back at the apartment; don’t worry, I’ll feed you,” he said lightly.

  And then he would feast on her.

  “Are you hungry?” Ellie asked, as she realized that she was chewing on her lip again.

  She must really be hungry – how had she not realized?

  “Yes,” he said, “but not for food.”

  Her eyes shot to his – impossibly dark, with barely a hint of their usual gold. She watched as he shifted in the seat of the car, adjusting his pants even though she could see very clearly how aroused he was.

  The car stopped, signaling their arrival back at Tristan’s apartment. Getting out of the car, Tristan let Ellie lead the way inside, his hand remaining stable on her lower back, not for nothing but at least she was a partial shield in front of the obvious and uncomfortable erection in his pants.

  A situation he was in because of her.

  Making it up to his condo with no uncomfortable encounters, Tristan walked immediately into the kitchen where a large pizza box was sitting on top of his island.

  “Pizza?” Ellie squeaked.

  She couldn’t remember the last time she had pizza. No, she could.

  Pizza was the one thing that her stomach seemed to tolerate while she was on chemo – if only because she desired it. After she finished treatment, she had stayed away from the stuff partially because it wasn’t healthy, but mostly because it was a distinct reminder of painful times.

  “Please tell me you’ve had pizza before,” Tristan exclaimed, shock and concern written all over his face.

  “Of course, I’ve had pizza before,” Ellie scoffed, “who do you think I am? No, don’t answer that. Yes, I’ve had pizza; I love pizza. I just haven’t had it in a while, that’s all.”

  “I was really worried about you there for a second,” Tristan joked as he opened the box and began to slice the pie.

  Ellie huffed and waved him off, walking into the living room and picking up her glass of wine that she had left there from earlier. This time, she enjoyed the sweet burn of the alcohol as it touched her tongue and sank back down her throat. Again, she remembered the events of yesterday, curiosity gnawing at her.

  “So, we’re all dressed up and going to sit and eat pizza?” she teased, not caring in the slightest what they ate or what they wore when they ate it.

  “That’s the plan; I like contradictions,” Tristan laughed, “Unless you are uncomfortable in your dress, I won’t be upset if you’d rather eat naked.”

  She heard the joke in his voice, but saw the serious desire in his eyes at the mention, the thought of her naked, heat rising in her cheeks.

  “I’m ok, thanks.”

  No sassy response that time, Tristan smirked. She was a walking contradiction – strong, but shy; sassy, yet sweet; sexy…

  No, just sexy. Period.

  “Who is Pierce?” she asked, turning around after the words had left her mouth, unsure if she would have had the courage to say them had she been looking at Tristan directly.

  His hands froze in the middle of putting the slices of pizza on their plates, his eyes narrowed before meeting her gaze, thrown off by the change in subject; his lips thinned, the amusement from their previous banter replaced by the uncomfortable seriousness of the topic she was inquiring about.

  She didn’t back down; she stared at him, taking another sip of the wine in an attempt to fortify her courage.

  “He’s a business partner of mine,” Tristan responded cryptically.

  “Like Sloane?”

  “Yes, like Sloane,” he confirmed, picking up the two plates and walking over to the dining room table. He set the plates down at the far end of the table, closest to the windows, so that they would have a better view out over the city while they ate.

  “Is he still going to be your business partner even after you punched him?” Ellie continued her probe, meeting him at the table and taking the seat opposite him.

  “Yes.” Hopefully.

  “Are you going to apologize to him?” she asked, just before taking the first bite of her pizza, a small moan escaping as the delicious mixtures of carbs met her tongue.

  “Something like that.”

  “Well, are you friends? It seems like he’s a friend…” Ellie trailed off, her questions keeping him from changing the subject.

  “He is. Sort of,” Tristan said, swallowing his bite of pizza before continuing with a sigh, “Pierce is a different breed of human. Yes, we are friends by most peoples’ standards but friendship isn’t exactly something that Pierce does well.”

&nbs
p; “So, you don’t get along?”

  “You could say that,” he laughed. “No, we do. The problem is that we are more alike than not in ways that make our friendship very hit or miss. We have a similar drive, a shared goal, when it comes to our…partnership…and yeah, he’s been there for me during some difficult times in my life, but at the same time, he’s one of those people where you really never know what he is thinking or planning, and many times it’s not for the good.”

  “I see,” Ellie responded, listening intently as Tristan opened up about his work and friends, “so, does he work with stocks and investments too?”

  “No,” Tristan chuckled. “Out of all of us, Pierce hates numbers and equations and all things predictable the most; he’s a producer. So, he’s usually here scouting for new film ideas and then out in California or on location making them a reality, which is a good thing because it means that we don’t have to deal with him all of the time.”

  “So, then how is he your business partner?” Ellie asked, perplexed by the seeming lack of business connection between them.

  Shit. How did he not see that coming?

  “He’s more of a silent partner,” he replied, thinking on the fly.

  “Will I ever meet him?”

  “No, definitely not. Hopefully not,” Tristan said harshly, finishing the last of his pizza.

  Her head ducked down at his immediate reply. “Oh, ok,” she replied softly.

  Tristan could see from the look on her face that she thought his answer had something to do with her; that he didn’t want his friend meeting her, when the reality was that he didn’t want her to meet his friend.

  “Fuck,” Tristan let out on a sigh, “it’s not because of you. I told you, Pierce is not like normal people; he enjoys causing mischief and problems, he enjoys intimidating people, playing with their mind, and, with you, I don’t know how far that would go.”

  “Because I’m the reason that you punched him?” Ellie suggested softly, her wondering gaze raising to his.

  Tristan’s mouth thinned. Unwilling to answer the question, he instead picked up their empty plates and brought them out to the kitchen, dumping them in the sink to be handled later. When he turned back to Ellie, he saw she was looking out the windows of the condo over the vast expanse of the city, yet her stare seemed blank, like the only thing that she was seeing was the thoughts running through her mind.

  He poured himself a glass of wine, bringing the bottle back over to the table to refill hers.

  “You weren’t the only reason,” Tristan ground out as he tipped the bottle to add a splash more wine to her glass, unsure what was propelling him to tell her the truth right now, “he lost something of mine, something very important to me.”

  He watched as her face turned up to him, her eyes now alive in the moment. He continued before she had the chance to ask him the question written all over her face.

  “He lost a portrait of my mother that I did of her before she died.”

  The words came out clipped, stifled by the suppressive control he was trying to maintain over the emotions caused by thinking about the portrait and his mom.

  “Oh, Tristan,” she said, her hand coming to rest on his hand that was holding the wine bottle, “I’m so sorry; I’m sure it that must have meant a lot to you.”

  “I’ll get it back,” was his hardened response.

  Ellie inhaled sharply at the intense tone and look in his eyes when he made that promise. The look he had was cold, calculating, and determined, but that wasn’t what startled her; it was that those emotions seemed to be directed at her in that moment, as if she was the problem and the answer all at the same time.

  And, in an instant, it was gone. Tristan pulled back, realizing a second late just how much he could have revealed to her and how easy it would have been. He walked back into the kitchen with the empty wine bottle, needing to distance himself from her.

  “I don’t expect this to ever happen,” he switched the subject, “but, should you ever meet Pierce, should he ever show up here or run into you in this building, or elsewhere, do not listen to him, do not trust him.”

  “I…ahh…ok,” Ellie stuttered, her brow furrowing in confusion.

  “I told you, he’s not nice and he’s not normal, and I don’t trust him to not do something to you in order to get to me.”

  “But he’s your friend…”

  “Which is why I can comfortably and confidently say this to you; just don’t trust him, Ellie,” Tristan instructed her harshly.

  He knew he was making Pierce sound like a monster, but sometimes, he was and it was better she be overly cautious than not. Ellie was too innocent and naïve to know or understand; Pierce would easily be able to use her to hurt him, to pay Tristan back for hitting him. No, he wouldn’t physically hurt her, he wasn’t that breed of psycho, but he would use her against Tristan, he had no doubt.

  “Ok,” she agreed hesitantly, not fully understanding why Tristan was so concerned about Pierce. Yet, she recognized that he was very concerned by his face and voice. She stood from the table and walked towards him, but stopping short of the kitchen.

  She was dangerous.

  The way that she looked at him, like all she wanted to do was help him, please him, it would have brought a weaker man to his knees. Her emotions, her empathy, called out to him; it drew from him things that he had tried to erase and things that he needed to keep hidden. The only thing that kept him strong was the image of his mother; she was the only one who had been there for him and he wouldn’t forsake the only thing he had left of her for Ellie, he couldn’t.

  Or could he?

  “What is the portrait of me for?” Ellie inquired, “or am I not allowed to know.”

  No, technically she wasn’t allowed to know.

  “The Met is hosting a competition in a few weeks that I’ve agreed to participate in,” he replied.

  It was the truth, just not the whole truth. But, a partial truth was better than a lie.

  “Wait, my face is going to be at the Met?” she asked in shock, the color draining from her face. She turned away from him in embarrassment, walking into the living room.

  No, his mother’s was – but he couldn’t tell her that.

  “Would you rather me submit a drawing of a different body part of yours?” He responded seductively, carefully avoiding answering her question, instead presenting her with one that would further unnerve her.

  “Have you started on it?” her voice floated over to him, readily changing the direction of the conversation.

  “On what?”

  “The final drawing…of me,” she replied, stopping in front of the settee, staring at it for a long moment remembering the events of yesterday, before she turned and sat down, trying to arrange her dress that rode dangerously high up her thighs.

  “Hmm…good question.” Tristan cracked open another bottle of wine. “Maybe tomorrow, I’ll know when I see it.”

  “What are you looking for?”

  “The perfect expression of yours to capture,” he answered, walking over to dim the living room lights, allowing the faint glow of the fading sun to cast its warm, honeyed glow over the room.

  “Oh, jeez, no pressure on me then,” she laughed nervously, turning her face from him to look out at the orange sunset that was steadily vanishing to the deep night sky.

  “That’s not the problem,” he clarified, “I have too many options.” As he spoke the words he came and sat down right next to her on the settee, her right thigh burned where it touched his. He took her wine glass from her, setting them both down on the floor next to the couch. “Everything you experience, is written so flawlessly on your face; it’s the most incredible thing that I’ve ever seen,” as he spoke, the verity of his words was reflected in the awe-filled hoarseness of his voice.

  His fingers came up to gently rest underneath her chin, tilting her face up to his. He watched the light play over her features, her mouth part slightly at his words, as her eyes becam
e lost in his. His thumb moved to rub gently over the soft, velvety fullness of her lower lip; his eyes fixated on its perfect shape for a moment. His gaze raised to hers, not dark with desire, but shining bright, shimmering golden with appreciation and desire; the artist and the man fighting inside of him for whose needs should be met first – one needing to capture her, the other needing to captivate her.

  “I could spend the rest of my life etching your emotions and never find myself short on inspiration,” he whispered, hoarse with sincerity.

  Ellie felt her need for him enflame her. The way that he made her feel – beautiful, interesting, mesmerizing, was beyond compare and all she wanted was more. She looked at him full of longing, begging him to make her feel alive, to incinerate her worries and her fears with his passion.

  Like a magnet attracted to its opposing pole, his lips pulled to hers because the laws of physics demanded it.

  The touch of their lips creating a magnetic moment, its intensity mimicking the force of attraction that was overflowing between them.

  Chapter 19

  Whether it was the desire left unfulfilled from yesterday, the wine they’d both had, or the depth of the connection that they had unexpectedly reached, this wasn’t about to go slow.

  As soon as his lips touched hers, her mouth opened in response, desperately inviting the exploring touch of his tongue. His hands grasped the side of her face, sliding back until his fingers thread through her hair. He tilted her head for better access to the sweet interior of her mouth, her tongue eagerly tasting the intrusion of his.

  She was burning.

  Underneath his fingers and his mouth, he felt her on fire. He didn’t know if it was because her desire had been on edge since yesterday, or if it was from the full glass of wine that she had drank, but he didn’t care. She kissed him back fiercely needing more from him, faster. Her hands came to rest briefly on his chest before finding their way underneath his jacket and grabbing onto his dress shirt, fisting the previously, perfectly-pressed material in her hands in an attempt to pull him closer to her.