And there was no comparison.
No one had ever made her feel like Tristan did – beautiful, passionate, intriguing, alive. All of the emotions that coursed through her when she was with him, she welcomed them, encouraged them to overwhelm her. Being overwhelmed by them was a stark contrast to the stifled and muted feelings that her disease and its treatment had brought on her.
On the other hand, there was so much more about Tristan that she wanted to know. Just the fact that he was an incredible businessman according to Google, yet pursued his passion for art in private, was just inspiring to her; to have two things that he excels as and to be able to do them both – one publically and one privately, was amazing.
And here she was, struggling to become an international business consultant.
She loved to listen to him talk about his business, his art, because it motivated her. He’d grown up with a similar if not worse family situation that she had, and he’d managed to make so much out of it; there had to be hope for her. It wasn’t just for inspiration that she was fascinated by his story; she was fascinated by him.
There was something else, something more to him and she just wished she knew the right questions to ask to get him to open up about it. Unsurprisingly, he usually managed to switch the topic of conversation back to her, but she’d been getting better at not letting that happen. Although, she was one to talk about wanting to know his secrets, when she was definitely unwilling to share her own.
The thought ripped a shudder from her body, causing her to drop her phone. Tristan could never know about her cancer, she thought, as she picked up her cell, checking to make sure it wasn’t damaged. The image of his face, his expression when he looked at her, when he watched and wanted her, when he lost control because of her, were engrained in her mind and having him learn about her cancer would shatter that; he would never want her the same way again. Well, not that he wouldn’t want her, but every look would be tainted with pity, with the need to coddle and protect, to not take advantage. She was tired of being babied.
She was a survivor.
And she needed to stop picturing that scenario in her head; he wasn’t going to find out. She would do anything to make sure of it.
Opening up her phone, she returned to his messages from yesterday, warmth immediately spreading through her body. She’d reread them countless times in the last twenty-four hours, waiting for the thrill of anticipation to wear off; it hadn’t.
She hadn’t been completely honest in her text. She had been researching places to travel to, but only while she waited for her dad to be done with a meeting so that she could talk to him; she hadn’t told him that she’d been feeling under the weather lately, and that Dr. Sion was going to run bloodwork if she didn’t start to feel better. At first, she hadn’t wanted to worry her dad – again. Now that it had been almost a week, her course of antibiotics almost finished, and not much sign of improvement, her fear was starting to get the best of her and she needed her dad. He’d always been her rock and even though she knew that he would tell her to not jump to conclusions, she needed to hear it from him in person.
All of that turmoil had been completely obliterated from her mind those few minutes that they had been texting. In those minutes, she was free – free from worry, free from cancer, free from fear, all thanks to Tristan. Sometimes, she felt guilty, as though she were using him, but it was like there was a shield around her when she was with him, or in contact with him, that eliminated all negative thoughts from her mind and eased her worried nerves; it was another reason that she, too, had counted down the minutes to this afternoon because it meant a few hours of relief from the constant and growing fear that she was headed into another battle for her life.
Eleven o’clock.
Ellie clicked off her phone and headed into the building, determined to be right on time today. Her heartbeat picking up speed as she approached his apartment door and knocked. She didn’t know why, but she always held her breath waiting for the door to open.
“Good morning, Ellie,” Tristan drawled from the open doorway.
“Good morning, Tristan,” Ellie replied, a little breathlessly as the air she’d been holding in rushed out along with her words.
That, and the fact that the man always looked gorgeous, even if it was only in a pair of navy sweatpants and a white t-shirt.
Good thing she hadn’t dress up either today, instead choosing to wear just jeans and a cold-shoulder sweater than still kept her arms covered, even though it had been pretty warm outside today; she couldn’t take any chances.
“Are you ready for what today has in store?”
“I’m always ready,” she countered with a grin as she entered into the familiar space. Although it wasn’t too familiar today. The living room furniture had been completely rearranged. No, not rearranged, it had been removed to the far ends of the room. In place of where the large leather sofas and coffee table used to be was now a smaller settee covered in an off-white sheet. The rug and floor was also covered with a sheet and an impressively-sized easel sat dead center in the room, with a small wooden stool behind it.
He’d turned his living room into an art studio.
“Wow,” she said, softly, “I see you’ve redecorated.”
“Just for the short-term,” he chuckled back, walking behind her and into the kitchen, “would you like some water? I also have tea and coffee and I might have gotten some chocolate chip muffins.” The mention of muffins had Ellie’s head jerk back to where he stood, her eyes widening with excitement. “I’ll take that as a yes to the muffins,” Tristan said, a smile breaking out over his face.
God, his smile always turned her insides to mush.
“Was it that obvious?” she replied with a laugh, “and just water, please.”
While he set about getting that for her, Ellie made her way over to the ‘studio’, eager to examine everything. The easel was simple and well-used; stray marks of what looked like charcoal and paint marred the edges of the wood behind the pristine piece of white paper that was attached and just begging to be tarnished with a masterpiece. Next to the wooden seat was a box of Faber-Castell sketching pencils, a box of Conté à Paris Natural Charcoal, and two boxes of Winsor & Newton Vine & Willow charcoal packs. She knew what charcoal was; she remembered using it in her sixth-grade art class, but she had a feeling that this charcoal was a little bit fancier than the kind that they had been given.
Ellie picked up one of the Winsor & Newton boxes, running the pad of her thumb over the charcoal sticks in the window of the box.
“Inspecting my tools?” Tristan’s silken tenor melted over her back.
She carefully set the box back down before turning to face him, praying that her cheeks were only a slight pink.
“I told you I was interested,” she replied sheepishly.
Ellie reached out her hands to take the glass and muffin from his, her right hand jerking back when she saw the charcoal dust staining her thumb. She quickly looked around for something to wipe it off on, about to bend down to use the drop-cloth on the floor when she felt Tristan’s warm palm capture hers. She saw he had set the muffin and bottle of water down on his stool, in order to be able to take her hand.
Her eyes met his, watching their bright golden-brown begin to deepen into an aroused amber. Pulling her hand towards his waist, his eyes stayed locked on hers as he pulled the edge of his t-shirt away from his body, using the crisp, white fabric to wipe off the remnants of black dust from her finger.
“You didn’t have to –” Ellie began, feeling guilty that he’d dirtied his shirt unnecessarily.
“Ellie,” he cut her off, sternly, “if you think this shirt was going to come away from this afternoon unscathed, you are sorely mistaken; it’s charcoal – it gets everywhere, trust me.”
Ellie bit her lip and gave him a grateful smile as he rubbed over the pad of her thumb a few seconds longer than needed, letting the small sparks from their minimal contact travel through her body.
Her hand finally free, finger thoroughly cleaned, Ellie picked up her water and muffin from the stool where he had set them.
“Thank you,” she mumbled, heading over to the couch that he’d pulled over to but up against the chairs in the dining room. She sat down on the soft leather, opening the bottle of water and taking a sip before she set her focus to unwrapping the muffin.
“How was your week? How did the rest of your research go?” Tristan asked.
“Pretty good,” Ellie replied, a little too enthusiastically for having a giant bite of muffin in her mouth.
Tristan let out a bark of laughter at the jumbled mess that her words came out as. Ellie quickly reached up to cover her mouth as she laughed too, trying to swallow her bite before she did something even more embarrassing, like choke on her food.
“Please tell me you’ve had a chocolate chip muffin before,” Tristan teased.
“Yes,” she shot back, tempted to stick her tongue out at him for that one. Ellie set the remainder of the muffin down on the drop cloth, taking another sip of water to wash the delicious sugary rush down.
“How was the rest of your week?” she countered.
“Fine. Busy,” came his non-descript response.
“What are you working on?” she pressed, “Sorry, I’m not too familiar with what you actually do… besides the art stuff that is.”
“Art stuff?” he laughed, taking a seat on the wooden stool in front his easel, “Well, aside from the ‘art stuff,’ my company is in the process of acquiring another large investment management corporation. We’ve been in talks the past several months, but now that I’m back in the office, we’re trying to close the deal.”
“What do you mean, ‘back in the office’? Where were you?” Ellie asked.
Shit –this is what happens when you get too comfortable, Tristan; you make mistakes.
“I was out of town taking care of some other business,” he responded swiftly, his tone giving Ellie the impression that that was all he was going to say on the matter.
“Were you anywhere interesting? I have a couple places that I think are going to be first on my list.” The mention of her travel list brought a smile back to his face.
“No, unfortunately not this time. So, where are you going to go?”
“Well,” she began, biting her lip, “I looked at a couple big names that I’ve always wanted to go to, like London, Paris, Rome – but, I think I’d actually like to start with Ireland.”
“Ireland? Really? I wasn’t expecting that,” Tristan replied, his eyes widening when she mentioned the Celtic country.
Ireland was a pretty good choice in his book; he’d love to see her take in the views there, and all the old castles; plus, they had great tax laws he could take advantage of…except, you aren’t going with her, Tristan. What are you thinking?
Tristan shook his head, annoyed by the thoughts plaguing him. He didn’t want to think about not being here. He wanted to see her experience the world, he wanted to watch the looks of awe and wonder come over her face when she saw how much it had to offer.
You know that’s not possible.
“Well, I was on Pinterest looking through the travel section and I came across a bunch of just absolutely gorgeous photos; all of the greens just look incredible, not to mention all the old ruins and castles,” Ellie enthused, excitement written all over her face and in her voice.
Tristan just stared at her, wishing this circumstance was different than it was; wishing that taking her there wasn’t an impossibility by the time all was said and done. She’d never want to see him again, let alone go anywhere with him.
“Have you ever been there?” she continued, “that’s a dumb question, I’m sure that you have.”
Tristan smiled in response. “You’ll enjoy it. It’s one of the most beautiful countries I’ve ever been to – the architecture, the culture, the people, and yes, all of the greens. Although, none that I saw were as vibrant as your eyes,” he admitted, voice deepening on his last complement.
Ellie felt the blush rising in her cheeks, just as the heat rose in her body.
“You know, I’m not even Irish,” Ellie responded with a nervous laugh, “people assume it a lot because of the hair, but we’re not Irish that I know of – just British and German. I guess I’ll fit in pretty well there though.”
“Interesting, and yes, you will.”
“Did you go there for business?” Ellie mused, unable to resist taking another bite of the muffin still in front of her.
“Yes.”
Or something along those lines. Two years ago, the Guild chose to host their exhibit at the British National Gallery, but decided to have their auditions in Ireland, so they’d spend a few weeks on the Emerald Isle.
“Honestly, it had me thinking about moving there for a little while. Plus, it would be so close to Europe that I could travel elsewhere easily and cheaply if I wanted…” she trailed off as she saw Tristan’s gaze darkening.
She couldn’t leave; she couldn’t live there; he wouldn’t let her. No, she actually can, Tristan, because she’s not yours. Hell, you’re going to break her so bad that she’ll probably want to move to Ireland just to get as far away from you as possible. You have to let her go if you want your mom back.
“You would enjoy it,” was all he could force himself to bite out, turning away from her towards his easel, reaching down to pick up a box of charcoals.
Ellie quickly took one last sip of water, recognizing that Tristan wanted to get started. She set the bottle down on the floor as she stood, moving hesitantly towards the covered settee.
“Where do you want me?” she asked, turning to face him. Ellie watched as his gaze traveled up the full length of her, the gold flecks in his eyes shimmering with appreciation.
Underneath me, he thought, but instead answered, “You can just sit and relax on the couch,” nodding towards the seat behind her.
Sitting down on the settee, Ellie crossed her ankles, and began to run her fingers through her hair.
Did she even look ok? Did she have chocolate around her mouth?
Wishing she had a mirror, Ellie absentmindedly tried to tame her waves before forcibly clasping her hands in her lap. She looked around the room, biting her lip as she a wave of nervous nausea rolled through her – the muffin may or may not have been the only thing she had eaten this morning.
She didn’t even know why she was so nervous; he’d drawn her before. Ok, maybe not with her sitting right in front of him, but so what?
“Ellie,” she heard Tristan’s sharp voice break through her thoughts, her gaze snapping back to his, “Relax.”
She took a deep breath, giving him a small nod, trying to abide by his instructions.
“Ok,” Tristan began, seeing in her posture and body language that she was definitely still not relax, “I’m just going to have you talk to me, can you do that?”
“Sure,” she said, swallowing hard.
Seriously, Ellie, just relax. She was frustrating herself right now; why was this such a big deal? She should be used to having people look at her by now.
Exactly.
The only other times that someone had looked at her this intently was when she was in the hospital, or undergoing chemo. The nervousness that came along with it was conditioned, always wondering if everything was ok; were they looking at her because something bad at happened? Did they see a new sign or symptom that the cancer was progressing? Were they wondering how to tell her the bad news that the first round of drugs wasn’t strong enough and that they had to up the dosage on the chemo that already felt like it was going to kill her?
“Ellie, what are you thinking about?” Tristan asked her softly.
Realizing that her gaze had dropped from his, probably in an unconscious effort to hide the tears forming in her eyes, she looked back up at the God-like man sitting before her, his golden gaze thoroughly assessing her.
“Nothing,” she began, realizing that it didn’t soun
d convincing at all, so she clarified, “just about my past; how I got here, it all seems so crazy.” She tried to finish with a laugh, but even the laugh came out sad. She watched as his gaze on her narrowed, his hand beginning to glide lightly over the paper. She heard the soft murmur of the charcoal etch across the pristine canvas. Her brow furrow slightly, wondering why he would possibly begin drawing now when she was so tense and upset.
Taking stock of herself though, she realized that it wasn’t just her gaze that had shifted when her mind drifted back to her years battling cancer. Her hands had become unlinked, one coming up to rest her fingers by her mouth, absentmindedly rubbing her thumbnail over her lower lip. Her ankles had uncrossed, on leg had moved up underneath her seat, while the other still draped off the edge of the settee.
Even though the thoughts had been sad and emotional, they’d removed the rigidness from her posture.
“Why do you feel helpless about your past?” Tristan asked discerningly, “I know the look of helplessness all too well…”
“How…” How did he know that is what she felt? How was he so familiar with that expression?
“When my mom passed away, well let’s just say helpless was a common emotion of mine for many years before and after her death,” he answered, his voice thick with emotion, “she suffered for a long time and when you watch someone that you love agonize for so long, knowing there is nothing you can do to help them, it tears you down, piece by piece. Of course, you try to be strong because what is what you are feeling compared to what they are dealing with. Only when they are finally gone, you realize that hollowness surrounding you is too vast to repair and that you have no strength left to stand.”
Ellie’s eyes widened, immediately filling with tears at his heartfelt answer, truly surprised he’d revealed so much to her, so easily. Everything that he said was true; she had seen it in her father’s face every day that he took her to the hospital for testing, or took her for chemo, or took care of her in the weeks following treatment when she thought she truly would have preferred death. She saw the toll that it had taken on him, the only difference was that she had survived it; Tristan’s mother hadn’t been so fortunate.
The Artist's Touch (The Gentlemen's Guild Book 1) Page 15