“See?” He said. “I'm not wearing cosmetics; it's all me.”
“How fascinating,” the woman practically swooned.
I frowned at the strange display and focused my witchy senses on him. Sure enough, there was more than the gleam of gold to his skin; there was also a distinct ripple of magic in his aura. He was some kind of other, but he didn't have the feel of a witch, he was too classically handsome to be a werewolf, and he wasn't pale enough to be a vampire.
He looked up and caught me staring at him; staring in a way that I'm sure he was unused to; more scientific than appreciative. This seemed to pique his interest, and he excused himself to saunter over to me. Oh, great; I could tell by his swagger alone that he knew how attractive he was. I hated that. I could appreciate all kinds of beauty, but once someone became cocky in their appearance, I lost my appreciation for it. The Golden Boy saw my distaste, and his eyes widened as his steps quickened.
I turned away and started heading for the bar.
“Now, hold on a minute, Miss.” He caught my arm. “You can't just look at me like that and then run away.”
“Can't I?” I looked pointedly at his hand.
He loosened his grip but only to slide his hand down to mine. In a move that seemed practiced, he lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it. My heartbeat picked up despite my irritation; this guy was handsome enough to make me excuse his arrogance. And that's past movie-star handsome, by the way. Living in Hawaii, I've had the opportunity to meet several celebrities, and the arrogant ones always become unattractive to me. But not this guy.
I glanced up and found his face mere inches from mine. His eyes were the most amazing shade; a metallic gold that matched his skin. From this proximity I could tell that they were real too; they had striations of amber, umber, and even pale blue in them. I blinked in surprise, and his sensual lips turned up into a smile.
“I'm Re,” he introduced himself as he lowered my hand but continued to hold it.
I just stared at him.
“Now, you tell me your name,” he prompted.
“I don't think so,” I whispered as I extricated my hand from his.
Re gaped at me as I slipped past him. The last thing I needed was some gorgeous man making me feel insecure on my big night. He was so distracting that none of my usual quips had come to mind; the man was actually making me boring. Which made me angry.
“Vervain, the turnout is fantastic,” Jennifer, the gallery owner, said as she approached me. “Oh, hello.” Her gaze went up and over my left shoulder. “Who are you?”
“I'm Re.” His hand came around my shoulder to shake Jennifer's.
I glanced over and noticed the dark undertone of his skin. I began to contemplate his ancestry again; not Native American, but possibly Middle Eastern. How strange that the sheen of gold made him look so much paler. I had assumed that he had some Caucasian genes, but now, I was certain that he didn't. This man was all kinds of exotic. Damn it; I really wanted to paint him.
“I'm Jennifer,” she said. “I own this gallery. Welcome, Re; thank you for coming.”
“Oh, coming is my specialty,” he teased.
Jennifer blushed to her blond roots as she giggled. “You're naughty,” she whispered. “I love it.”
“Does Vervain work with you?” Re asked.
I glanced up at him and grimaced; he had used my name as if we were old friends.
“Work here?” Jennifer lifted her brows. “This is her show.” She waved at the paintings on the walls. “Vervain Lavine's Divine Disasters.”
“You're the artist?” Re asked as he took my hand and wound it around his arm. “Then you must give me a tour; I'm here to buy pieces for my collection and nothing intrigues me more than hearing about what inspired the art.”
Jennifer widened her eyes at me; we couldn't pass up the opportunity for a sale. I sighed and waved my hand toward the end of the hall.
“Let's start at the beginning then,” I muttered.
“Indeed,” Re agreed with a wicked smile, “as we must.”
Jennifer winked at me as we passed her, and I rolled my eyes. This guy was arrogant and lecherous; two things that didn't appeal to me. But Jennifer was right; the whole point of the show was to sell paintings. I knew I'd have to blow smoke up someone's ass tonight, it might as well be a gold one.
I led Re to the first piece in my collection; a dark, stormy painting with a man set in its center. He had bright, strawberry-blond hair, a massive body, and held a hammer before him. But he was on his knees; bent over the broken hammer. His shoulders were hunched and his blue-green eyes wept.
“The whole collection is focused on gods,” I began.
