“If it draws such spite from you? Certainly,” he remarked.
When his smirk grew bigger, she rolled her eyes.
“You liked my last painting better than the first, yes?” Ophelia asked. She crossed her arms over her chest and gave him an insistent look when he nodded.
“Well part of why it was better was because you were not watching me,” she explained.
Tristan slowly slid his eyes down Ophelia’s body. The fitted suit he’d sent her hid her most of her femininity, yes. Especially fromstrangers. But him? He knew her body. Knew the supple curves that lied beneath the masculine clothing and it left him with the most curious of inclinations.
“I am afraid you will simply have to grow accustom to being watched,” he replied. “I want to keep an eye on your progress.”
“And if I do not agree to that?” Ophelia asked haughtily.
Tristan shrugged his shoulders, then reached forward and took off her mask.
“Then you are out of employment, dear Ophelia. In here, what I say goes. There is no room for negotiation,” he replied matter-of-factly.
Her eyes narrowed with irritation as her jaw worked back and forth. He could tell she was holding back some sarcastic retort and it thrilled him to no end to see her trying so hard to keep it inside.
Perhaps this little venture may be more amusing than I originally thought.
“Well, stop dawdling,” he sighed, purposely pushing her metaphorical buttons.
“Show me what your creative little mind has conjured. Sketches will do tonight. We will agree on at least one, and then I will send you home.”
He waved toward the far left wall of his office where several canvases of all shapes and sizes sat.
“Arrogant…precocious…nancy…” Ophelia muttered under her breath as she stalked to the canvases.
“What was that?” Tristan asked, raising an amused brow.
“Nothing!” She snapped, picking up a medium sized canvas.
“Nothing, I said nothing,” she muttered, putting the canvas on the easel. “Give me my mask back.”
“That will not be necessary,” Tristan replied, not moving an inch to retrieve it. “This room is safe and has a lock mechanism. No one dares to come back here and even if they did, they would have to knock to gain entry.”
“Pity,” she muttered, drawing her charcoal stick from her case, “I rather liked being able to hide from you.”
Tristan chuckled as he drew closer to her side and reached for her chin. He caressed his fingers over her buttery soft flesh and then grabbed and tilted until her eyes met his.
“Aw, now why would you want that beautiful face of yours from me?” He teased.
Pleasure surged through him as Ophelia’s milky complexion turned crimson in an instant, and she reared her head back from his grasp.
“Stop that,” she snapped at him, batting her hand at him, “I know you do not find me beautiful, Tristan.”
“Oh, I find you very beautiful,” he quickly replied, “It is your sarcasm and apparent hatred for men that I find so ugly.”
Ophelia’s mouth gaped open, looking at him as if she did not know what to say to that. He reached back out to her chin and pushed up, closing her mouth.
“Enough of your strange flirtations,” he said, unable to resist teasing her yet again. “Show me what you are thinking. Walk me through it.”
As he predicted his words earned him another glare and it filled him glee, but Ophelia did not break from his rules, and turned to the blank canvas and began to sketch.
“I have to admit that the woman in the ropes was quite fascinating,” Ophelia said, sketching out a rough form, “All those knots and twists in the rope. It was as if she was caught in a web. She is what caught my attention the most. You said I could not use anyone’s likeness or even their masks, so I thinking of doing a twist on the spider goddess, Arachne.”
Tristan watched, fascinated, as Ophelia’s idea came to life on the canvas. The spiderweb of robes stretched out to the edges, and in the center laid a beautiful woman, her wrists, ankles, and waist bound. Her hands were outstretched though, in a beckoning motion, as her head tilted downward. Near the bottom of the canvas were two muscular men, naked from waist up with shoulder-length hair. One was on her left, the other on her right. They were both climbing the web toward her, a look of lustful need sketched over their faces as their arms outstretched to her with desperation.
