Someday I will repay you for your generosity, he'd told Rick.

His longtime friend put his arm around his shoulder and said there was no need. You were there for me when I needed you, Lucky. This is what friends do for each other.

Lucio recalled how touched he was by Rick's offer, and chuckled softly to himself. They were no longer the wild boys they once were, cutting a swath through the continents in pursuit of adventure and pleasureand, for Lucio at least, an occasional paycheck. They had both made many mistakes in those years and the ones that followed. They had learned some hard lessons. And they had both come to appreciate the true value of friendship.

As it turned out, Rick's Pacific Heights home was luxurious and convenient to everything Lucio needed. His agent lived only four blocks east in the same exclusive San Francisco neighborhood, much to the man's chagrin.

I will do everything in my power for you, as always, Sydney Frankel told him the last time they'd talked. But I am only human.

And the house was just a short trolley ride away from Lucio's friend and fellow photographer Piers Skaarsgard, who'd lent him his couch for weeks on end. It had been especially generous of Piers considering the fact that Piers's wife had died of leukemia just months before.

It's good to have another beating heart in the place again, Piers had said to Lucio his first night in the apartment. Stay as long as you'd like.

Lucio sighed. The rich and rewarding life he'd built for himself over twenty years was gone. It had collapsed'se derrumbothat was the only word he could use to describe it. Instantly, he'd gone from the peak of his success to piecing together a day-to-day existence.

Just months ago he was finishing an assignment in the northern deserts of China, chronicling the effect of pollution and climate change on the region's wildlife. He had finalized travel plans for his next assignment, to Galapagos. And he'd recently learned he'd won the prestigious Erskine Prize for achievement in nature photography. He began to make travel plans to be in New York in December for the ceremony, where he'd be handed a check for a quarter of a million in U.S. dollars.

And then it all came crashing down.

First, some of his raw digital video went missing. Soon after, the U.S. embassy in Beijing sent word that Lucio was in danger of being deported. The missing video had been leaked to the Chinese government, which found the images shameful, and in Lucio's opinion, they should have. At first, the Chinese claimed Lucio's work was hostile to the People's Republic. Days later, the Chinese amped up their claim, calling Lucio's work an act of espionage intended to weaken the country's international standing. Two additional details made the mess even messier: About fifty thousand in Geographica funds had been drained from Lucio's expense account, and word got out that Lucio had been bedding his official Chinese guide, the thirty-year-old daughter of a high-ranking government official, and the man went nuts over the shame his daughter had brought to him.

Days of in-person and Internet meetings followed. Lucio admitted it; he lost his cool a few times with the Chinese, the American consulate, and with his Geographica editorsbut the accusations were pure insanity! Lucio vehemently denied charges of spying and stealing the money from his own expense account. It was all rubbish.

Nobody seemed to listen. Before he knew it, he was kicked out of the country and released from his Geographica contract, putting an end to a long and profitable professional alliance.

Piers encouraged Lucio to come back to San Francisco. That's what Lucio didwith his tail between his legs and his wallet openready to funnel every dime he had to his lawyer, who he prayed would untangle the string of misunderstandings. But that had been three months ago. With each day, it seemed to Lucio that the nickname he'd carried since childhood no longer fit him.

He shook his head and rose from the stone wall, deciding to stroll into the heavily scented gardens of Rick's Sonoma Valley paradise. It was funny how life sometimes doubled in on itself. He was thousands of miles from the fig trees and strawberry patches of his childhood, but this place smelled much the same to him, and the scent had conjured up long-buried memories.

Alma had worn a simple ivory lace dress that fell to mid-calf, accented by an angry scowl. She carried a bouquet of wildflowers in front of her belly, camouflaging the baby that grew inside it. Lucio recalled how his throat had tightened at the sight of herand it wasn't out of joy. Unlike Rick and Josie's ceremony, his own wedding hadn't been about love. Or even family alliances. It was simply the only choice given to two hormonal kids who'd shucked their common senseand their clotheson a hot spring night at the riverbank.

The truth was that when Alma lost the baby just weeks after the wedding, Lucio was relieved. She blamed him, of course. He was the one who had dragged her to the ugly, dirty, crowded city and was too busy with his studies to take care of her. Her brothers came to Seville to fetch her back to their village. The annulment papers came within a month.

At the time, Lucio felt as if he'd dodged a bullet. The life he planned would not have been possible with a wife and child.

But lately, Lucio would find himself stopping in the middle of a shoot or waking in the deep of night, overcome with the truth: If the child had lived, his son would be a man now. Lucio would be father to a tall, handsome, and ambitious young man, who might even have an eye for the light like his renowned father. But he would never know.

Lucio?

He turned, surprised to see Ginger Garrison approaching him in the twilight. She'd changed out of her satin and chiffon and into a pretty knee-length skirt and simple top. Her hair was down. She wore no jewelry, and she didn't need it. Her cheeks were flushed. Her pretty little toes peeped out of a pair of delicate sandals.

He stared at her. The strange energy he'd felt when he kissed her had returned, making his skin tingle. Lucio watched as the beautiful woman moved closer, her shoulder brushing against a stand of tall gardenias, releasing their perfume. Ginger smiled at him. It was a shy smile from a mature woman, and the beguiling power of that combination pierced his heart.

Nothing good would come of this. He was certain. The timing was all wrong. Holy Host! He was all wrong! Ginger Garrison deserved a stable man, a man with his own home and money in the bank, a man who wouldn't be on a plane to Galapagos the instant it became feasible.

But he returned her smile, because those details had never stopped him in the past, and they wouldn't now. As always, Lucio's only obligation was to issue his standard word of caution, leaving the woman responsible for her own fate.

Unfortunately, I am no good for you, guapa.

Lucio's words stopped Ginger cold. She choked on her surprise. Did this man think she'd come down to the garden to hit on him? While his presumptuousness offended her, he probably had his reasons for saying it.

Lucio Montevez was an intoxicating man, a deadly combination of brawn and beauty. He had an edge Ginger imagined a bullfighter would possessan intense gaze, perfect posture, muscles coiled and ready to spring to lifeall while oozing the velvety charm of a gigolo. She could see this dichotomy repeated everywhere in him, each smooth and elegant thing about Lucio balanced out by something over-the-top macho. His big brown eyes were liquid and sultry, but they were capped by a thick, dramatic brow. His mouth was full and sexy, but framed by rough-looking stubble on his upper lip, cheeks, and chin. His wavy dark hair was long and thick, but combed back, close to his perfectly shaped head. He walked with grace, but was tall and muscular. Ginger figured all this would be too much for the average female to resist, and women probably lined up around the block to get a peek at him wherever he went.