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Tall, with golden brown hair and with a wicked grin spreading across his wide, full lips, his gleaming brown eyes made my stomach drop.

    When he took my hand, I felt so tiny in his grasp and the touch of his fingers sent a shock all the way down to my knees. My hips tilted involuntarily towards him as he said, “I wasn’t talking about the piece on the wall.”

    My breath caught in my throat and all I could manage to say was, “Oh?”

    He lowered his voice and said, “I was talking about you.”

    My breasts heaved and they were still almost against his hard stomach. The warmth of him was close enough for me to feel his heat on my chest. Other parts of me were heating up, too. His strong, deep voice made the whole of me vibrate as he leaned forward in a slight bow and he said, “Orsino Arturo. I’m very pleased to meet you. What do you think of this… stuff?”

    “I’m pleased to meet you, too, Mr Arturo,” Where did I know that name from? “I think that Ak is a fresh and energetic talent.” That’s not the perfect art-biz playbook response, but it’s a fair approximation. The trick is to say something that sounds very appreciative and is peppered with cutting-edge buzz terms, but without giving away any actual opinion of your own.

    The time that I have been helping out on Paulie’s blog has taught me that nobody in the art business actually knows anything at all, and the only opinion that really matters at an opening is the one that’s expressed in the little red stickers.

    Orsino Arturo wasn’t thrown off by my evasive answer.

    “You think that grinding commonplace objects to dust is modern post-Dadaism with a touch of Warhol? A little Cornelia Parker, maybe? Much more important, though, I told you my name. What’s yours?”

    “I’m Goldie, Mr Arturo. Goldie Licks.”

    “A golden, fairy-tale beauty? You certainly are a rare find.”

    Pretty talk. I’ve heard it before. It’s usually one kind of malarkey or another. Some guys can’t help themselves, they spot a willing victim for some charm and they just pile it on. Forceful flirting, played in a low register.

    I don’t remember hearing it delivered by quite such gorgeous lips before, or in a voice as deep and silky as his. There was a deep, lazy drawl in his voice and it made my insides vibrate. It’s a voice that you could just curl up in, and the look in his eye was level and hungrily sincere. My thighs tingled and my knees were unreliable at best.

    Orsino was a man you wanted to be hugged by. Cuddled. Squeezed.

    He really didn’t look or sound like he was feeding me a line, but whatever, right? Anyway, I was spoken for. Then. Because that was the day before yesterday. The day before the Paulie showed his true colors.

    That was the moment that I spotted Paulie, coming out of a door halfway up a staircase. Ak was following him out and Paulie’s face was flushed. Ak, she seemed to be yanking up her fly. Her fly?

    To the gorgeous Orsino Arturo, I said, “Please, would you excuse me for a moment, I’ll be right back,” and I followed Paulie. He vanished into the crowd on the next floor up, and it was a while before I caught up with him.

    Had I seen something that was just odd, but entirely innocent? Was Ak not quite as far along in her transformation as she had implied? If so, had Paulie omitted to mention his bisexuality to me? WTF? When I finally reached him through the sparkly throng, Paulie was slugging a glass of champagne like he was parched and it was water. He gulped it and he nearly spluttered when he saw me.

    “Hey, Paulie, what was that?”

    “What was what, the champagne?” He swayed a little and his expression was defensive.

    “No, not the champagne, Paulie. What were you doing with Ak?”

    “What are you talking about? Look, can we discuss this later?” He moved to brush past me. I blocked him and I said,

    “Is there something to discuss?”

    “No. That’s not what I meant.”

    “What did you mean,