Mystery Date Monday: Rion Silverhawk

Photo courtesy "Surely" from Stock Xchg
Every Monday I'll treat you to a Mystery Date with a character from one of my romantic or erotic fiction novels!

This Week's Mystery Date:

Who: Pagan jeweler Rion Silverhawk

What Book He's In: THE WICCANING, a paranormal romance

Where He Lives: the fictitious and magical town of Willowgrove, California

Why He's So Fascinating: Rion Silverhawk is far more than a craftsman who fashions artistic and magically imbued jewelry. He is a powerful witch with a talent for divination, a man who risks bucking his own spiritual ethics to save a woman--even though she rejected him for what he is.

A Memorable Moment with Rion Silverhawk:

A glance over her shoulder rewarded her with a jolt. A man was pushing through the crowd, looking straight at her. Breath dried in her throat as he drew near enough to catalog his features. Not a nondescript, average Joe. The words rock star wouldn't have been too great a stretch. As the quickening flutter of Monarchs in her stomach could attest, neither were the words trouble with a capital hunk. The glowy feeling intensified.

Many women would be moved by the black leather jacket flaring out around his knees as he strode along, or the snug jeans trapping slim hips within every confident step. A long sheen of straight blonde fell below promising, wide shoulders; with each boot step silky strands fanned back to allow glimpses of a provocative array of earrings climbing one ear. Those women who would be immune to such trappings, however, would no doubt be ensnared by the clean, strong angles on his carefully sculpted face, beginning and ending with a pair of lips one could easily envision singing praises from God's own heavenly host. These flashed into a smile that could melt a woman's heart, with a single dimple quirking his right cheek.

A smile she swore he'd just directed at her.

Dumbfounded and rooted to the spot, she managed to twist one weak corner of her own mouth upward in return. As stirring as the rest of the package was, Justine found something far more affecting about the stranger--his eyes. Did eyes that color even exist? They must, for no colored contact lens could take the jade of a Caribbean morning sea, press it into polished glass, and burnish it with a smoky quartz crystal until gray and black and green were indistinguishable from one another. That gaze held within its center the secret to unlocking a woman's universe; a spark of determination mingled with destiny that spoke to her in whispers and shudders.

Those whispers thumped her heart into a primal beat as she watched him approach. Good heavens, but the man was attractive...and getting more so the closer he came. Surely this was where the term “drop dead gorgeous” was coined, for at the rate her pulse was fluttering she would soon collapse from sheer exhaustion. Was he really coming to her? What on earth for? What would he say?

About the time she'd shifted back and forth three times between fear that the captivating stranger would speak to her and fear that he wouldn't, he dashed her hopes completely by veering off course at the last second. She felt a stab of foolish disappointment as he caught up to a basket-carrying flower lady and pulled some bills from a wallet. Of course. He wanted to buy something for the girlfriend―or twelve―no doubt swooning over him somewhere nearby.

Hoping to God he hadn't seen her grinning at him like an idiot, she swiveled back around to her drink and shook ice around in the bottom. So, he wasn't coming to talk to her. What a relief. She didn't need any drunk lechers hitting on her anyway. Speaking of which, when was Miresa coming back? Surely she wasn't planning on ditching her all night to engage in debauched flirting in some dark corner. Why on earth had Justine let herself get talked into this?

Her eyes narrowed in begrudging annoyance at the thought that even now she could be home, sunk chin deep in frothing bubbles or perhaps already slid between Egyptian cotton sheets.

"That ice bothering you, Miss?”

With a small gasp she startled at the interruption, head swiveling to find none other than the world's most striking gaze penetrating her not two feet away. Her heart applauded almost loud enough for him to hear.

She swallowed. “Excuse me?”

The eyes shifted to her glass. “The way you were scowling into your drink, I thought maybe those ice cubes had done something to offend you.”

She blinked twice before the humor in his words sank in. It's just a man trying to make conversation, for crying out loud. A really gorgeous man. Which generally works best if you converse back.

Flustered, she brushed aside a section of sideswept bangs that were impeding the toe-curling sight of him. “Sorry. I was just thinking.”

"Ah, well that explains it,” he said, leaning one elbow casually on the bar. A toss of his head sent luscious blond flying again, a glimpse of earrings winking in, then out as the flaxen hair slid right back down. “Thinking that serious often gets me scowling. Or in trouble.”

His smile flashed again until she felt giddy, but this time she managed to return it as she twisted around in her seat to face him. As she did she saw he held one of the flower lady's wares, a delicate red rose with the stem clipped off and paired with a sprig of leafy fern. He twirled the bud between thumb and forefinger in a motion that beguiled.

--from THE WICCANING
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When Rion is Available: THE WICCANING is a work-in-progress.

How You Can Get His Story: Stay tuned!