The heat of Piers’s stare made Lucio turn toward his friend. Immediately, he knew Piers was thinking the same thing he was’hell yes, such a person existed.
Several persons, really. Several women. Lucio closed his eyes as he started to go down the list in his mind—Marina, the photographer’s assistant in Belize; Hima, the freelance translator in Nepal; Julya, the documentary producer in Siberia; and, of course, Ilsa, the photo editor in Frankfurt. And that was just for starters. Like he’d done with Sylvie, he’d carelessly tossed them all aside for his only true love: his work. And each one had been quite unhappy about it. Ilsa, dramatically so.
“So where might we find this person?”
Lucio did not answer the lawyer, so Piers spoke in his defense. “Truly, this is a real possibility. My friend does not lie. There are many women who no longer think well of him.”
“Give us their names and we’ll begin an investigation.”
Piers leaned close and whispered into Lucio’s ear. “Remember what Ilsa Knauss said to you at the airport?”
Lucio nodded, sighing. “How could I forget?” he whispered back. “She threatened to cut off two critical parts of my anatomy! And then, there was the rat…”
Piers leaned into his ear again. “You really should give them her name,” he suggested.
“But we haven’t spoken in two years,” Lucio said. “Don’t you think she’d be over it by now?”
Piers looked at Lucio as if he were crazy.
“Yes, yes, all right,” Lucio said. He supposed the gift-wrapped package that had awaited him upon his arrival in the northern Chinese city of Yinchuan nearly five months earlier was proof that she hadn’t forgotten. “The thing was so … the word…?”
“Desiccated.”
“And smelly.” Lucio swallowed, recalling how the accompanying gift card had been signed: “All My Love, Ilsa.”
“Well?” One of the magazine’s lawyers looked impatient. “I’m waiting.”
Lucio nodded, but he took a moment to think this through. Was he capable of siccing investigators on Ilsa, or any of the women from his past? What if that just heaped further hurt onto innocent women who had nothing to do with this? But could Lucio live with the idea that he’d never get to the truth that would clear his name?
Before he could even confer with Bill Voyles, the magazine’s lawyers shoved another document across the table. It was an agreement that Geographica magazine would forgo criminal charges if Lucio repaid the fifty thousand within ninety days.
“But I cannot,” Lucio said, looking to Bill and then the magazine attorneys. To Sydney he said, “I won’t get the Erskine prize money until December—if I get it at all.”
“Would you consider six months?” Bill Voyles asked the lawyers.
“We’re afraid this is the limit of the company’s compassion,” was the reply.
The rage built in Lucio’s chest until he could not suppress it. “¿Hostia! ¿Besa mi culo!” he shouted, slamming his fist on the conference table.
The room got quiet. All eyes turned to Piers, who shrugged. “It means, ‘The Host! Kiss my posterior!’”
Bill Voyles shook his head in disapproval.
“I did not take your damn money,” Lucio said, pointing at the attorneys. “This is how you treat one of your best photographers? ¿Absurdo! ¿No me jodas! ”
His lawyer elbowed Lucio in the side. When everyone’s eyes turned to Piers for a clarification, he shook his head, opting not to translate “don’t fuck with me.”
“If you decline the offer, Mr. Montevez, we will have no choice but to press charges.”
Lucio sat still for a moment, his mouth ajar with disbelief. Eventually, he looked into the faces of the lawyers and nodded. He would pay the idiots their money—money was not the real issue. The issue was that someone had ruined his reputation, and that was unacceptable. In silence, Lucio promised himself he would find out who had done this to him, no matter how long it took.
“Please relay to my former employer that their compassion overwhelms me,” Lucio said, accepting a pen from his attorney.
He signed the agreement, then motioned to his handwriting. “And just for your jollies, you might want to compare my actual signature to those on the expense reports.”
“We’ll certainly take that into consideration,” was their reply.
The State Department boys were next. They said a review of the facts in Lucio’s case showed no merit to the charges of espionage—the only bit of good news Lucio had had all day. They went on to say that they believed the Chinese were only doing what they did best, diverting attention from a real problem with political posturing. In Lucio’s case, the posturing was the spying accusation. The real problem was the environmental devastation caused by decades of unregulated industrial pollution. They assured him he was off the hook in that regard.
“Thank God!” he said with a sigh.
But he could never return to China, they added, and said he shouldn’t bother trying to get his video footage back. Then they politely suggested that, from here on out, he might try to avoid sexing up the daughters of officials in communist, patriarchal societies.
Once everyone had filed out of the conference room, Sydney shrugged in Lucio’s direction. “I think that was as good as you could expect under the circumstances.”
Piers shook his head in sympathy. “How will you come up with fifty thousand in ninety days? Will you go to Rousseau?”
“Of course not,” Lucio snapped. He could never ask Rick for money. He had some pride. He was already living in his wealthy friend’s chic home and eating his food and driving one of his extra cars. There would be no begging for cash.
“It’s not like he’d miss it,” Piers said helpfully.
“I will not ask.” Lucio turned to his agent. “Get me jobs, Sydney. I don’t care what they are.”
Sydney frowned, the expression on his chubby red face flustered. “What kind of jobs did you have in mind?”
“Stateside. West Coast if possible. Expenses up front. You know, tourism, travel, even commercial assignments—anyone willing to pay top dollar for my name and reputation.”
Sydney cleared his throat. “Uh, I’m not sure who that would be right now, Lucky.”
Lucio shifted his weight back on the heels of his feet, surprised by his agent’s lack of enthusiasm. “What are you saying?”
Sydney shrugged. “I’m saying that your target market is all but extinct—newspapers and magazines are washing up on the shore like dead fish every day. And even if the print market was flaming hot, your name and reputation stink like high tide.” Sydney tilted his head, as if apologizing in advance for what he was about to say. “Your name and reputation are shit right now, Lucky. That’s what I’m saying.”
Lucio’s mouth fell open. “But—”
“Even without criminal charges,” Sydney cut him off. “The damage has been done. I’m sorry, but that’s the truth, and I think you should save yourself some grief and just forget about the Erskine.”
Piers let go with a pained sigh, turning his small, serious eyes Lucio’s way. “That is not right.”
Lucio shook his head. “No, it’s not.”
“We will find the woman who did this to you, all right?” Piers touched Lucio’s shoulder. “We’ll start with Ilsa. She won’t be hard to track down. The last I heard she was still freelancing in Europe. I will help you.”
Lucio appreciated the offer of assistance, but he knew he’d have to postpone traveling the world in search of Ilsa or whoever the guilty party might be. He could not afford it! Besides, Lucio could not help but feel he’d been lucky to escape the wrath of a heartbroken woman for as many years as he had. Perhaps, in some way, he had this coming. Perhaps he deserved it.
Regardless, he needed fifty thousand U.S. dollars, and fast. Lucio sighed at the enormity of the challenge ahead of him. He could not finance a project on spec, hoping to find a buyer. Nor did he have the time for that unpredictable process. He on
ly had ninety days.
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his slacks, where he encountered his ever-thinning wallet. Heat burned his fingertips—he suddenly thought of the business card tucked away inside. He thought of Ginger Garrison and her lapdog. One eyebrow rose high on his forehead.
Perhaps he was going about this all wrong. Perhaps he needed to focus on what he did have as opposed to what he lacked. He had his talent, his imagination, and a treasure chest of top-of-the-line photo equipment. He also had the strongest motivation of all—self-preservation.
“I believe the answer is pet portraits, Sydney,” Lucio announced.
His agent sucked in his cheeks and blinked. “Excuse me? For a second I thought you said something about pets.”
Lucio laughed softly, because what was there left to do but laugh? He had become a penniless squatter on the verge of criminal prosecution, a globally renowned nature photographer who now needed to take pictures of poodles to pay his way. If he did not laugh, he would have to cry.
“Yes. Pets and their owners.” He looked at Piers’s and Sydney’s equally shocked expressions. “Why do you look so puzzled? Think of it—an award-winning Geographica nature photographer is now available to take a portrait of you and your animal friend! Rich people will want to pose with their Chihuahuas and Siamese. I could even Photoshop in a variety of my own landscapes as backdrops—savannas, rain forests, the Himalayas, canyons and rivers, icebergs!”
The men were speechless.
“It will become the ultimate in status.”
“Icebergs…” Sydney mumbled to himself.
“Little dogs! Big dogs!” Lucio waved his hands around, trying to drum up enthusiasm. “Parrots. Kitties. What do you call them, the little furry household rodents’¿los jerbos!”
Piers winced, then translated for a perplexed Sydney. “I believe Lucio wants to take pictures of gerbils.”
Lucio tapped his friend’s arm. “Now that is something I will ask Rick for. He could let me promote my services at Celestial Pet stores. That will bring in some business.”
Sydney collapsed into his office chair, drumming his fingers on the desk. “How much do you suppose you can charge for this kind of job?”
Lucio looked to Piers for suggestions, but his friend shook his pale blond head, clearly having nothing to contribute.
Lucio felt himself break into a hopeful smile. “Thousands! ¿Todo es posible!” He laughed. “I will make the most of these ninety days. Then I will win the Erskine. Is everyone with me?”
Piers produced a dubious glance.
Sydney bit down on the inside of his cheek.
“¿Excelente!” Lucio said. “I will begin immediately. I already have my first client.”
CHAPTER 5
It had been easy to find her address, and Lucio used the brass knocker on the front door of the stately home. He heard a high-pitched yapping, followed by the slap of feet on a hard interior floor. A shadow passed across the frosted glass of the door just before it opened. And there she was.
Ginger Garrison was barefoot, her hair pulled up in a ponytail, wearing a pair of black stretch yoga pants and a tight, nipple-friendly piece of stretchy fabric Americans referred to as a sports bra. Despite the name of the apparel, when Lucio looked at that body—with its pale peachy skin, rosy red-painted toenails, the flat abdomen exposed by the low-waisted tights—sports were the last thing that came to his mind.
“We meet again, Señora Garrison,” Lucio said. He reached for her hand and raised it to his lips, closing his eyes to savor for the instant his lips met her flesh.
She ripped her hand away.
Surprised, Lucio straightened. “I have come at a bad time, yes?”
The beautiful Ginger laughed. Her little dog—a puff of white with two tiny black marble eyes—began sniffing Lucio’s shoe. “May I pick it up?” he asked, hoping that his obvious love of animals would soften whatever irritation he may have caused by arriving unannounced.
“HeatherLynn is not an ‘it.’ She’s a ‘she.’”
“Of course she is,” Lucio said, feeling the now familiar hot shiver moving through his body. Why did this happen when in this woman’s presence? Or even when he thought of her? Why did he seem unable to prevent it?
“Please come in.”
Lucio did as he was told. He stepped inside the house, immediately aware of the shimmering dance of light from a skylight high above the foyer. It was a modern house, obviously custom-built, but had an agreeable warmth to it.
He returned his attention to the dog. “Ah, of course! I now see the full scope of HeatherLynn’s feminine beauty.”
“Right,” Ginger said.
Lucio bent down and scooped up the hairball. He tucked its squirming body close to his side, realizing he hadn’t held a dog since his tía Luisa used to shove her mutt with the runny eyes at him whenever he’d visit her at her home in La Valenciana. He hoped to the Host he was holding Ginger’s little pet correctly.
“Why are you here?” Ginger was either not happy to see him or very successfully masking her pleasure. When she crossed her arms under her breasts, it only served to further enhance the mounds of creamy female flesh. He could not help but glance at her stupendous cleavage. He worried he may have just involuntarily licked his lips.
“Lucio?”
He looked up from his trance. “I am sorry, guapa. Did you say something?”
Ginger shook her head and returned her arms to her sides. It almost looked like she smiled, but he could not be sure. “Why did you come here?”
“Ah, yes.” The dog had begun to lick his hand, a sensation Lucio found vaguely disconcerting, so he put the animal back on the floor. “I have come to discuss your portrait.”
Ginger laughed again. “You don’t say?”
“Yes. This is true. I would like to discuss appointment times, your preferences for the backdrop, and the costs.”
When he got nothing but a blank stare, he continued. “Also, if you would be so kind, I would appreciate your sharing the names of any potential clients, friends or associates with pets you believe might be interested in my services.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Ginger balled up her fists and propped them on her perfectly formed hips.
Lucio’s mouth went dry. He was coming unglued just looking at her, smelling her, feeling the energy vibrate between them. The desire to touch her was so great he feared his arms would begin to shake, revealing the effort it took to not reach out for her, pull her to him, and devour her with kisses.
It boggled the mind. When had a woman ever unnerved him so? When had a woman ever driven Lucio Montevez to such distraction?
And when had he ever put a woman’s welfare before his own pleasure, the way he had that night he delivered Ginger Garrison to the guesthouse door? He’d shoved her panties in her hand and sent her to bed—alone! The Host! What had happened to him?
“No joke, señora,” Lucio managed. “Current circumstances require that I branch out into pet photography, after all. I would be honored to have you as my first client.”
Disappointment fell upon Ginger’s beautiful face, clouding her hazel eyes. It was if a fire had been extinguished. She looked down and away in embarrassment.
Lucio tried to sort out what was happening here. Could it be Ginger had been hoping he’d come to cash in his rain check? The thought thrilled him. The thought scolded him, too. He was no good for this beautiful lady. There were many women who might recommend him as a lover, but of all the women in all the world, there was not one who would recommend Lucio Montevez as a partner. One of them had even tried to destroy him—and might yet succeed at her revenge.
“Unless you had other interests,” he said.
Ginger didn’t look up right away. And in those precious suspended seconds, he studied how the light from the skylight high above glimmered in her rich auburn hair and caressed the apple of her cheek. While he waited for her to say yes or no, he watched how the light gave contrast to her
plump bottom lip and cast a shadow around her downcast eyes. He wanted to photograph her—in this precise moment—and he itched for the heft of his Nikon in his hand. But he wanted to capture more than just the play of light and shadow on a beautiful woman’s face. He wanted to capture the woman herself. And he ached for the familiar feel of her body in his arms.
Ginger looked up then, a pained expression on her face. She shook her head. “Of course I don’t have other interests. Let me get my calendar.”
Lucio grasped her arm as she turned to go. Her head snapped around and her eyes burned into his. He saw it again—the same innocence and vulnerability he’d seen in her expression that evening in the garden. It had softened his heart then—and it stabbed his soul now. He wondered how a grown woman could have come so far in life and yet remain untouched in this way.
Then suddenly, he knew. It could only be one thing.
“You have never known a man’s love, have you?” Lucio heard himself blurt out the words, and was surprised by the brutal honesty in them. But he knew he was on to something. “You have never been deeply and truly loved for who you are, have you?”
Ginger’s lips parted. He could see her pulse banging in her throat. She said nothing, but her eyes filled with moisture and her cheeks with pink.
What was the meaning of this strange desire? It was as if Lucio had no control over his thoughts, his words. It felt as if he were guided by a force outside himself, beyond his understanding. He stepped close, held open his arms, and let the beautiful woman fall against him. She rested her head against his chest as she trembled in his embrace. Lucio’s hands roamed all over the warm skin of her bare arms, her exposed lower back. His hands went to the base of her neck. He felt her body press closer to him, her firm thighs push up against him in need.
Clearly, it would not be enough to provide comfort to her. He wanted her. He had to have her. So Lucio raked his fingers through her hair, tore out the ponytail holder, and tossed it to the floor. In one motion, Lucio grabbed a fistful of all that fiery hair, tilted her head back, and claimed her mouth with his.
The Night She Got Lucky Page 7