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.