I would be honored, if it is all right with your parents, he said.

So if you got framed for spying and stealing, why did you get the nickname ‘Lucky'? Joshua asked.

Lucio's laughter rose up into the air along with the steam from the sink of hot water. He finished rinsing the pan and shook his head, still chuckling. It is a very long story that will have to wait for another time, I'm afraid. He dried his hands on a towel. I wanted to talk with your mother. Can you finish up in here?

Sure, Jason said.

No problem, Joshua said.

Ginger rushed back to her chair and casually crossed her legs, trying to appear lost in thought. When Lucio entered the dining room, he was rolling down his sleeves and buttoning his cuffs. She got a peek of the dark olive skin of his forearms, the sprinkling of dark hair, the thick twist of muscle and bone.

The heat was back. In spite of everythingincluding the very real possibility that Lucio might have the personality of a used-car salesmanGinger felt the heat flare inside her. The idea that she couldn't control her reaction to him made her frown. She reached up and patted her fingertips on her brow.

Is something the matter, guapa?

No. Why? Ginger stiffened.

Because you are tapping your forehead. Is it a headache?

Ginger ripped her hand away from her head and she shoved it between her crossed thighs. I'm fine.

I could not help but notice you have a lovely garden. Can we walk for a moment, do you think? He held out his hand to her.

He must have seen her eyes dart to the kitchen because he said, I will not keep you from your sons for very long, but there is something important I must discuss with you.

She looked up at him. His eyes were dark and his lids heavy. A gentle smile played on his lips. His cheekbones were bold and his beard stubble looked rough. Of course she felt heat in his presence. It was perfectly understandable. He was the sexiest man she'd ever laid eyes on in her life, and she might be forty, but she hadn't completely flatlined. Not yet, anyway.

Ginger let out a helpless little moan. She didn't intend to. When it came to Lucio Montevez, there were many things she didn't intend that happened anyway.

Please. Come with me. His hand reached for her.

The offer was much like the one she received weeks ago in Sonoma Valley. She'd refused his hand that night. But tonight, in her home and with her boys in the next room, she knew she would accept. For reasons she could not even begin to fathom, the words of Mrs. Needleman began to waft through her mind. You must listen to your heart, Genevieve, not your fear.

Oh, sure. Why not? Ginger said. She reached up and Lucio was there to catch her hand. His palm was still warm and damp. His grip was confident but gentle. He pulled her to a stand, and her knees were so weak she nearly fell into him.

Swooning could do that to a girl.

Lucio had not meant to take a meal with the Garrisons. He had not even known that Ginger's sons would be at her house that evening. Stupid of him! He knew nothing of the woman and her life, so he'd walked right into the middle of a cozy family evening. It was the last thing he'd expected, and the last thing he'd wanted. But his intentions no longer mattered. He'd ended up sharing a feast with the family, and now everything was far more complicated.

Lucio had long ago perfected the ability to manage garden-variety lust. It was simple, really. He just had to remain detached emotionally while hooking up physically. It required balance. Lucio would give the woman enough of himself that he wouldn't seem distant, and accept a large enough portion of the woman's affection so that she would feel needed. But no gifts. No promises for the future. No I love yous. Certainly no meals with the woman's family.

And up until that evening, that was all Lucio had had with Ginger Garrisonlust. Granted, it was an unusually strong kind of lust. It was a lust so forceful it made his thoughts fuzzy and his blood hotbut, at its core, it had been only lust.

Until now.

Lucio had enjoyed himself thoroughly. He liked the Garrison twins more than he would have anticipated. They were spoiled American boys, yes, but they were smart and funny and interested in the bigger world. Lucio could work with that.

The meal was delicious. The home was comfortable and gracious. He'd laughed more that night than he had in many months. He enjoyed the way the little spoiled dog felt curled up on his lap.

And oh, how he liked sitting next to Ginger.

So it pained him to know what she was thinking. At some point during the meal, Ginger had decided his interest in her was only financial. He'd seen the realization hit her, taking the light right out of her eyes. She believed he was after her money to help repay the stolen funds and that anything else they'd shared was a ruse.

The thought was so wrong it was funny, but Lucio now had to decide if he wished to correct the misunderstanding. That was his problem, and it was a big one.

Lucio glanced to his side, just to watch Ginger walk. She created a pretty profilea straight, small nose, a delicate chin, and lovely full lips. Her skin was much paler than his own, but tinged with a warm undertone and a few scattered freckles, especially on her chest. Ginger was long and lean and curvy in precisely the right places. She was a graceful woman.

He took a moment to really think this through: If Ginger thought he was only after her money, then she would hold him at arm's length. She would pay him his fee and might give him the names of potential clients and then leave it at that. And that's what he wanted, yes? He wanted to sort out his professional difficulties and resume his life. He was itching to get out of San Francisco and back on the road, yes?

Lucio peeked down at where Ginger's hand had slipped into his. Her fingers were long and elegant, like the rest of her. Like her arms. Her neck. Her'

What are you thinking about, Lucio? Her question jarred him from his private inventory.

I am sorry, senora. You'll have to forgive me, but I am not like many men.

She chuckled. No kidding.

He squeezed her hand and smiled. What I mean is that I experience everything through my eyes. I understand my world by the light, the line, the composition and form. I was admiring how all those elements come together in you. It is pure pleasure to look at you. That's what I was thinking.

Her cheeks flushed. Their eyes locked. And suddenly, Lucio realized the woman at his side was nearly as tall as he was, that he could hold his head high and be looking directly into her eyes. He smiled.

What are you, about one hundred eighty-two centimeters? he asked.

Ginger's head snapped back. She looked offended. What?

Your height. How tall are you?

Oh. She relaxed a little. I'm pretty tall. About five ten without shoes, but I have no idea what the metric conversion is for that.

Lucio grinned, suddenly understanding what had made her uncomfortable. You thought I had asked about your weight?

Ginger shrugged.

Bonita, whatever your weight is, it is perfect. Your height is perfect. Your body and face are perfect. Your hair is perfect.

She looked askance at him. Uh-huh.

He laughed. Inexplicably, Ginger seemed uncomfortable with this line of conversation. It made no sense. How could a woman as exquisite as Ginger Garrison not want a man to admire her? In Lucio's experience, beautiful women of every culture couldn't get enough of that, unless, of course, they didn't believe it themselves.

That could not be the case with Ginger, Lucio decided. It would be ridiculous.

You know you are a stunning woman, yes? He asked this politely, without accusation. He wanted to see how she'd react. But she said nothing. Ginger?