Like you did, she said.

Me?

You came to me right on schedule.

Hmm. Lucio's chest vibrated against her bare back. How do you mean?

Ginger turned on his lap, so that the side of her body rested against his torso. She wrapped an arm around his neck and turned so that she faced him. Water dripped from her arm to his shoulder, and rivulets ran down his chest. Wiping the tears from her face seemed silly.

Do you remember the lady who officiated at Rick and Josie's wedding? Mrs. Needleman?

Oh, absolutely, Lucio said, grinning. How do you think I knew which guest room was yours? Or that you'd be chatting alone with her that evening? Or that you were unattached? Did you think I was psychic?

Ginger's mouth fell open. She scooted around the rest of the way, spreading her legs so that she straddled Lucio's lap. The feel of his erection startled her, and her train of thought was momentarily derailed. Uh what was I saying?

Lucio laughed, spreading his fingers across her lower back, pressing her even closer. You were talking about the strange old lady with the intense eyes.

Yes! You noticed that, too?

Of course.

Well, Ginger continued, she told me about you, just seconds before we met on the walkway and I passed out.

Lucio tilted his head quizzically.

She told me there was a man waiting for me. She told me I could still get lucky if I listened to my heart and not my fear.

One of his eyebrows popped up high on his forehead.

I walked out, and there you were! Ginger shook her head, laughing. And your exact words were, ‘I have been waiting for you.' And your nickname is ‘Lucky'!

The Host! Lucio let out a surprised laugh.

I've wanted to ask you. What does it mean when you say ‘the Host'? You say it a lot.

He shrugged, taking a wet hand and stroking her bare shoulder. It is a Spanish curse, a very foul way of taking God's name in vain. It's a bad habit for a Catholic boy to have.

Ginger touched his cheek, then smoothed his dark hair away from his face. Are you a good Catholic boy?

He pursed his delicious lips. I am no longer a boy, and I was never a very good Catholic.

And do you have any other bad habits I should know about?

Not one.

They both laughed, and the sound echoed around the marble bathroom.

Listen, Genevieve, Lucio said, the seriousness in his voice changing the mood instantly. I want to know about you. I want to spend time learning who you are and where you have been and all the things you've been doing in the years before I found you.

Ginger smiled. Lucio's English sounded stilted sometimes, which she found charming. I feel the same about you.

But Lucio suddenly seemed nervous. He raked a hand through his wet hair, water splashing on both of them. It is important that you know I am not skilled at this type of thing. I have never been the kind of man who spends a great deal of time with one woman, in one place. That is what I meant when I told you that I am no good for you.

Ginger wasn't exactly shocked by this confession. The life he'd described at the dinner table didn't sound like it lent itself to long-term commitments of any kind. What bothered her was that even as they sat naked together in a Jacuzzi, Lucio felt the need to issue another warning.

Why are you telling me this? she asked, her voice soft.

I say this because I want you to know my intentionsthey are good. Lucio's eyes filled with worry. I have hurt many women over the years, but I do not want to hurt you, bonita.

Ginger shrugged. Then don't.

Lucio chuckled in surprise.

Just don't hurt me. It's that simple, she said. Ginger brushed her fingers along the rough stubble on Lucio's chin, studying those dark and liquid eyes. She was aware that, at that moment, her heart was in a shouting match with her fear, and she needed to decide which one she'd listen to. This was her chance to do what Mrs. Needleman had advised. She took a big breath.

Lucio, I don't think it's important how we got here. We're here now. So let's concentrate on doing everything right this time around. Do you think that's possible?

Anything is possible, Genevieve.

Good. Now, there's one little problem you should know about.

Yes?

I don't think I'd survive another betrayal. The matter-of-fact way the words came out of her mouth surprised Ginger. But why not tell him the truth? The truth was from her heart, too. You were right when you said that I've never known a man's love. I haven't, Lucio. I was married seventeen years and never managed to feel loved. That's quite a trick.

Lucio's dark brows knit together.

And I want that before I get old and die, she whispered. Ginger lowered her gaze and let her forehead rest against his, aware that she wasn't strong enough to look him in the eye as she finished her thought. I desperately need to be loved for who I am and to love back with the same certainty. Before it's too late. I really think this is my last chance. If it doesn't happen now, I'll be too scared to try again.

Lucio's hug was everything she neededrock-solid strength and tender care, all inside the shelter of his arms. He pulled her naked flesh close to his and simply hung on to her. The water stilled around them. Their breathing synchronized. She gripped his waist with her thighs and held on tight.

I will make a promise to you, Genevieve, he said, his words delivered carefully, the embrace continuing. I will stay put for as long as possible so that I can get to know you. I will tell you well in advance if I need to leave. I will be truthful with you, and I will be faithful. I will give you the best of what I am.

She nodded softly.

I have never made such a promise to anyone. Ever.

I understand.

I have never wanted to.

Ginger slowly separated from him, straightening as she pulled away. Thank you, Lucio, she whispered.

He chuckled softly, running a finger down the middle of her breasts, then teasing a nipple as it peeked out from the bubbles. There is nothing to thank me for, love. He smiled. Yet.

They hadn't bothered to dry off. What would it matter? By the time Lucio was done rolling around with Genevieve in that giant bed of hers, they'd both be bathed in sweat, the sheets soaked, calling out to God. A few drops of bathwater would be meaningless.

So Lucio had carried Ginger directly from the tub to the mattress, his hands gripping her warm flesh, his mouth all over hers. And now, the feel of how she writhed beneath himall of the wet, hot skin slipping and sliding against his ownit was maddening! She was driving him insane. His cock hadn't been this hard since he'd been a bellaco teenagercrazed with horniness. Something about Ginger made him feel as though he were touching, tasting, and seeing a woman for the first time.

Perhaps, in a way, he was. He'd just made a promise to her, after all. He'd promised he would stay put and spend time with her. Maybe knowing he had that luxury allowed him to savor every sensation in a way he never had before, pay attention to every small detail of the woman in his arms.

The odd thing was this: He hadn't intended to make that promise to her. Even as the words escaped his lips, they astounded him. Those words were fully formed, born of thoughts from the deepest part of his heart, thoughts that had been stewing for a long time. But how had the seeds been planted? When? And by whom? Could it have been the handiwork of his own guilty conscience? The result of his old-fashioned father's years of reprimands? Was it a byproduct of Sylvie's untimely death? Were the words linked to his realization that he'd missed his chance to have a son of his own?

Lucio was nearly forty. He'd lived a charmed life. He'd been born in a time when it was possible for one man to see most of the planet, and, through the lens of his camera, to share it with all people for all of history. He'd become an expert at exploring the world, yet he was an amateur when it came to exploring his own heart.