Although, after the first few years of the rumors and hype, the newer fans of their works seemed to be less concerned of what was involved in their artistic process. Tristan was pretty certain that Jack Carter would have never requested a portrait of his daughter if he knew what delivering on that request might entail.
The hot shower helped to remove some stress from his toned and muscular form, but it was the promise of vengeful satisfaction that brought comfort to his tormented mind.
True, he could just draw the girl and be done with it, get his mother’s portrait back, but the status quo was no longer acceptable. Jack Carter had essentially blackmailed him into going against everything that he stood for, into doing something that he had expressly agreed never to do. No one forced his hand like that without consequences.
Oh, and Elsa Carter, there would be consequences.
Chapter 3
Tristan tapped his pen impatiently on the table in front of him just wanting to get this fucking ordeal over with. Treating this like any other project was a genius stroke on his part. He’d originally done it because in the moment he didn’t have time to think of how else to approach it, but now, reflecting on the impulsive move, it made the most sense.
By having an audition, even though the model to be chosen was pre-determined, it threw off any suspicion from Sloane or Pierce; ok, mostly from Pierce. To explain to her who he was, what had happened with her father, and why he needed to draw her would have required too many answers that he was unwilling to give, not to mention, he’d assured Carter that he wouldn’t. Even though the man had seemed spineless, he’d blackmailed Tristan and Tristan wouldn’t put it past him to do something to his mother’s portrait if he went back on his word.
No, the best way to have this girl, Elsa, sit for him and do exactly what he wanted was to treat this like any other piece that he was beginning; the less she knew, the less she could question. As much as he would have revenge on her father for his obstinate behavior, Tristan couldn’t risk endangering the Guild any further. On top of it all, the chosen routine put him in the mindset that she was just like all the others; and she would fall just like all the others. He smirked to himself at the thought.
“Alright, they are all here,” Morgan said, pulling Tristan from his plans to the present.
“Fan-fucking-tastic. Let’s get this show started,” Tristan said as he tossed his pen on the table and leaned back nonchalantly in his chair, arms crossed over his chest.
“Alright,” Morgan agreed, setting down the small stack of headshots on the table in front of Tristan.
Tristan made no move to look at the photos on the table. No, he wanted to see if he could guess which woman he was being forced to portray. God, with his luck this past week, Carter’s daughter was probably in her forties and had inherited his large nose. Realizing that Morgan was waiting for him to review the photos, Tristan shot him a look that said to just bring them in, he wasn’t bothering with the photos today. Reading the message loud and clear, Morgan walked to the door of the conference room that they’d rented for the afternoon and ushered in the line of ten models.
Tristan knew from the second the women walked into the room which would be good candidates and which wouldn’t be – if this were a typical audition. Not based on their looks, but the attitude that they carried with them. The first three, a blond and two brunettes, all stunning, walked into the room like they owned it; they knew how good they looked and they each had no doubt that they would be the one chosen. Tristan never picked those because they didn’t mind being used. Like him, they would attach no emotion to whatever else happened during the creative process, and that would be devastating to the result that he needed to achieve.
The next three, all blondes, were almost at the other end of the spectrum. They knew they were beautiful, but their dress and demeanor was reserved; they were here for the job, but would treat it as exactly that, they wouldn’t be open to any extra activities that might be involved. Tristan’s observation was confirmed when he noticed rings on the left hands of two of those models. Married and off-limits. If he was willing to bet money, it would be that the third, non-married woman was Jack Carter’s daughter. Her hair color and the shape of her eyes vaguely reminded him of Jack. His jaw clenched as he recalled the reason he was doing all of this; he must have sent a menacing stare, because the third woman’s eyes widened in concern, her body moving back slightly in fear.
The next two were ideal candidates – nervous, yet eager. Beautiful, yet not so self-absorbed that they would consider using their looks however necessary to advance their career, like the first three would. Maybe he would even keep one of them on file for his next actual exhibit piece and save himself the trouble of going through the audition process again. The one model in the middle with jet black hair was particularly enticing; he scanned the length of her, his eyes returning to capture her anxiously willing gaze.
Just as Tristan began to send her a sultry and seductive smile a crash off to the right startled him as the last model in line seemed to have dropped the clipboard that held the information sheet and questionnaire all the models were required to fill out. For a second, Tristan couldn’t really see her; she had turned around and knelt down to gather the board and papers scattered on the floor behind her. He watched intently, only semi-aware of the few models who had begun to snicker at her clumsiness.
She wasn’t dressed like the rest of them; she had on jeans and a blazer that were fitted onto her toned form, as far as he could tell, and she was wearing a hat, underneath which seemed to be tucked all of her hair. She awkwardly stood back up and turned to face him again, her vibrant green eyes catching his.
Tristan felt the air being pulled completely out of his lungs. She was exquisite. He couldn’t even see all of her face or her hair because it was hidden, but the way she looked at him made his heart stop. He couldn’t help but stare and soak in every detail about her.
She wasn’t as tall as the rest of them, but then again, she hadn’t worn heels to the audition like them either. While the rest of the models seemed to be either quite voluptuous or the typical runway tall-and-skinny, this woman was the only one who seemed to fall right in the middle. She had on a white t-shirt underneath her blazer, both of which partially obscured the shape of her torso from his assessment. She fidgeted when his gaze slowly returned up her body to capture hers.
“Oh, shoot, I’m so sorry,” she mumbled as she quickly reached up and pulled off her hat, having forgotten that it was even on. She must have assumed that’s why he was staring at her, because he was waiting for her hat to come off.
If he had known what it would reveal, he would have asked her to give him a moment to recover his breath, but he was afforded no such luxury. He watched in torture as the removal of her hat let her warm, messy, red waves fall, cascading down her shoulders and back. Before, he’d been blown away; now, he felt like the wind had been completely knocked out of him.
God, he hoped Morgan didn’t realize what was going on, or that he probably needed to call an ambulance; his brain couldn’t even register if he was remembering to breathe.
He should have suspected that she was a fucking siren. Her skin was so fair and her face was sprinkled with freckles. Her vibrant hair set his desire for her on fire. She would be incredible to capture. He could barely read her demeanor; he was so distracted by how exquisite and unique her beauty was. She hadn’t put on any make-up like the rest of them and she hadn’t worn something slinky and provocative, like the first few. She was nervous, that was obvious when she dropped her clipboard and even now as she bit her lip, still uncomfortable under his stare; he knew he could break through that though.
Fuck. He knew he would enjoy breaking through that.
He was here for a reason, and the reason wasn’t his choice, wasn’t up to him.
He would still use her though, for his next project, he had no doubt. Once he got his mother’s portrait taken care of, she would be his.
Bre
aking his gaze from her, he looked down at the photos in front of them, shuffling them for a moment to compose himself and get on with this farce. He looked up again, unable to control his eyes and stop them from going back to the siren on the end.
“What’s your name?” he asked her pointedly, before he could stop himself.
“Ellie,” she replied softly, her words registering in slow motion as he found himself enthralled by the movement of her mouth.
“Ellie…” he repeated slowly. In retrospect, he could see that how he repeated her name made it sound like a question, as though he didn’t recognize it or why she was here, instead of the statement of awe that it was, which explained her subsequent response.
“I’m so sorry; It’s Elsa. My name is Elsa Carter,” she nervously elaborated, “but you can call me Ellie.”
And just like that, the giant bucket of reality dumped ice water over every fiery thought that had just run through his mind. For a instant, his mind went blank with rage for the second time this week; Jack Carter had screwed him once, and now again, the man had managed to unintentionally fuck with his mind. The beautiful, albeit slightly awkward and clumsy, woman standing in front of him was mesmerizing. Everything about her had ensnared him from the second he saw her, and now, again, the joke was on him. This stunning siren was Jack’s daughter; she was the reason he wasn’t in possession of his mother’s portrait, even if it was all Jack’s doing, and she was going to pay.
“Elsa Carter,” he drawled out slowing, testing her name on his lips, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.” The smile that he sent her was enticing and alluring, but if she had looked closely, if she had known what to look for; she would have seen the danger hiding behind the friendly facade.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Mr. ahh... Shoot. I’m sorry, I don’t know who you are,” she rambled on, her face flushing as her mouth clearly worked faster than her brain could think.
Tristan couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him at her awkwardness, kicking himself for how easily she was able to get underneath his skin without even trying.
No, this was unacceptable.
She was dangerous – not that he could imagine it based on her demeanor these past two minutes, but then again, he would never have expected a man of Jack Carter’s stature and personality to blackmail him either. No, no one in this family could be trusted that was for damn sure. Who knows what their plan was? Maybe it was to blackmail him even further now that they, or at least Jack, knew his identity? For what, he couldn’t fathom… more pieces? Money? Fame? It didn’t matter; he needed to be on his game and he couldn’t afford to be distracted by this woman no matter how much he wanted to be.
Acknowledging that want had him shifting in his seat, trying to adjust how uncomfortably tight she’d made his jeans feel.
Dammit, Tristan, you’re a fucking pro at this, so start acting like it.
His lips thinning into a hard line, his eyes narrowed on string of women in front of him as he stood up, relieving the pressure on his annoyingly physical response to her. Walking over to the beginning of the line, he stood directly in front of the first blond who had entered the room, looking her up and down. Normally, he would be assessing the models to see if they were the right fit for his piece and to see their response to being in such close proximity with him, except this time, it was just for show. He eyed the voluptuous blond, who not only enjoyed the attention, but craved it, her breathing becoming deeper to accentuate the rise and fall of her chest. Normally, he would have been paying attention, if for no other reason than to be amused by the blatant attempt to seduce him into choosing her; this time, he couldn’t help but find the woman tacky. The only thing that he could focus on was in the periphery of his vision, watching Ellie’s reaction, out of the corner of his eye, to every move that he made.
He could see that she had stepped out a little farther from the line to see what he was doing, unconcerned with her blatant curiosity of his interest in the other models. In comparison, the two brunettes next to the blond number one, just stared straight ahead at Morgan, intentionally ignoring the attention he was giving to the first model. Moving down the line, those same two brunettes responded in the exact same way to him – by subtly trying to emphasize their physical attributes, or catching his eyes with a look that said they were eager to give him more.
So far, Ellie had done nothing but watch; she’d given no hint that she was as affected by him as he was by her and that pissed him off. The third woman in line, one of the brunettes, was particularly suggestive with her body language, so Tristan decided to take his assessment a little farther to see if he could get some reaction out of the siren. His hands came up to thread his fingers through the model’s hair. For a moment, even she seemed surprised by his action, but she transitioned quickly into an eager player. She licked her lips, giving him a sultry smile before letting her head fall back against the slight pressure of his hands; she played the part perfectly for what he’d wanted to see. She looked enraptured by his touch, and he began to lean in close. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ellie’s jaw drop slightly, her mouth parting slightly and eyes widening.
God, he wanted nothing more than to kiss that innocent look of surprise right off of her face.
Ellie’s tongue darted out to lick her lower lip before pulling it in to bite on lower lip anxiously. The unconscious movement making his erection painfully hard against the firm denim of his Rag & Bone jeans. Tristan had to bite his own lip from groaning out loud.
What he wouldn’t give to taste her, to pull that softly plump lower lip into his own mouth.
Shit, he was such a moron. The shot of anger that ran through him at his apparent lack of control pushed him farther than he would have normally gone in an audition. He closed the space between his face and that of the model, whose head he was still holding. Leaning in, he was about to let his lips graze the model’s jawline, when a split second before he kissed her, the damn siren dropped her clipboard. Again.
The noise and her embarrassment shattered the moment. Tristan immediately stepped back from the woman in front of him and watched with pleasure as Ellie chaotically tried to gather everything back up from the floor; finally standing, to reveal that her face had turned beet red with mortification.
Now that was what he was looking for.
He had craved her reaction to him; he had craved to unnerve her like she had unknowingly done to him. A brief glance at the model who he’d just been entangled with showed a smug smile spread over her face, not too much bigger than the smiles on the rest of the women in line, confidently believing that there was one less person that they had to worry about losing this gig to.
With a smile on his face, he walked down to the end of the line, past all the other models, to stand right in front of Elsa.
That was his first mistake.
Being so close to her only made her effect on him even worse. The subtle smell of warm vanilla permeated his nostrils, intensifying his arousal.
God, she smelled delectably sweet.
His gaze captured her vibrant green eyes, and he knew that his desire was etched across his features; he was surprised when she didn’t back away; for some reason, he had expected her too. But no, she stood her ground and stared back, even though color flooded her cheeks again, she didn’t drop his gaze. Her lips parted again and Tristan’s fist clenched as it took every fiber of his being not to lean down and take her mouth, wondering if it would taste as warm and sweet as she smelled.
She was too much, he needed to distance himself before he lost all control.
He just wanted a little more, to be a little closer. Holding her gaze, he leaned in ever so slowly so that he didn’t startle her, leaned in next to her ear, feeling the heat or desire and anticipation radiate off of her, unsure of what he was going to do next.
“My name is Tristan Black, but don’t worry, Miss Carter, you’re going to get to know me very well,” he whispered huskily into her ear. Moving his face away f
rom hers, he stepped back, looking down the line.
“Thank you for coming, ladies. That will be all,” he said unemotionally, watching the looks of shock and horror cross over their faces, realizing that they had lost the audition to the awkward and clumsy redhead.
The same redhead who didn’t even realize that his statement implied that she was to stay. Ellie ducked her head and had barely turned to move towards the door, when Tristan reached out with a vise-like grip on her wrist.
Another mistake.
The softness of her skin underneath the few fingertips that managed to reach underneath her blazer, burned him. She was on fire; or maybe he was. Her breath caught at the first touch of his hand, her face jerking back to face him. Quickly dropping her arm before he really did something that he couldn’t control or would regret, he let his gaze sear into her, making what he said next very clear.
“Not you,” Tristan said, his voice silky smooth, demanding her presence.
The reserved half of the group walked out in disappointment, the rest, especially the one brunette who had good cause to believe she might be chosen, stalked out of the room, giving him the evil eye as they went. The first blond even had the nerve to wink at Morgan sitting back behind the table, with the hope that maybe he might be able to do something for her – or that she might be able to do something for him. Finally, it was just Ellie and him left standing, while Morgan watched the whole scene play out in front of him with intense interest.
The Artist's Touch (The Gentlemen's Guild Book 1) Page 4