© 2000

Luke had chosen his bedroom because it overlooked the golden California coast, glittering water and Manhattan Beach pier. In fact he'd bought his house on the Strand because it had this glorious view, and his first sight of it each morning was precious.

Today, as on every day, he slipped naked out of bed and went to the window. He was about to pull up the blinds when he stopped and cast a fond glance behind him to where he could see a riot of blond curls spilling across the pillow.

Dominique was a darling, but never at her best in the morning. And after the crazy night they'd had together, she deserved her sleep. Her "beauty sleep" she called it, though why the most incredible face and body in the whole of Los Angeles-no, make that the world, he thought generously-should need beauty sleep was beyond him.

He left the blind in place, pulled on some swimming shorts and went downstairs to his oversize kitchen. From his refrigerator he took out the glass of orange juice he'd squeezed the night before as he always did. He drank it slowly, savoring each mouthful of the cold, tangy liquid. He never insulted good food by hurrying it.

When he'd finished it he raced across the Strand, just as he was, and down the beach. The sting of the fresh water drove away the last of his sleep, making him ready for the new day in a life that was good in every way.

Luke Danton, thirty-four, popular, handsome, successful. For as long as he could remember, whenever he'd held out his hands, life's pleasures had fallen into them. Not without effort on his part, for he was a man who worked as hard as he played, which was very hard. But his efforts almost always brought their just rewards.