Jansen frowned as he slowly eased his finger off the trigger. He’d seen a lot of reactions from suspects in his near-decade of life as a cop, but he had to admit—this was a first. Are you bluffing? Huh? We’ll soon find out. “Stay on the floor. Don’t move,” Jansen commanded, even though it seemed quite clear that the suspect had no intention of changing positions. Jansen moved the coffee table with his foot and, with the gun in his left hand still trained on his target, used his right hand to turn over the intruder so he could see his face. As he did so, the baseball cap came off, and a head of long black hair cascaded over the hand clutching the suspect’s shoulder. Jansen’s frown deepened. He kept his weapon trained on the unconscious female and hurried over to turn on the overhead light. As the harsh, bright light flooded the room, the suspect groaned and opened her eyes.

Eden! Jansen’s heart clutched in his throat. He’d thought often of Michael’s younger sister in the past few days, especially since staying here at her brother’s house. Michael had told him that Eden was moving back to Los Angeles, but he’d mentioned nothing about her staying at the house. In fact, he’d assured him that they’d probably not cross paths at all because the condo she’d found was in a totally different part of town—Santa Monica, an area Jansen rarely frequented. Yet here she was, sprawled on the floor. Jansen hadn’t seen the girl-turned-woman he used to mercilessly harass in at least ten years, and he quickly took in the curves he’d missed in the heat of the moment, and the onion that begged to be peeled. Jansen had to admit ... she looked good lying down.

“Girl, you sure know how to make an entrance,” Jansen scolded to cover his concern and unexpected attraction, even as he hurried to her side to help her up. “Breaking into someone else’s home, even your brother’s, is a good way to get shot!”

Eden’s eyes narrowed as reality dawned. She hadn’t seen Jansen, otherwise known as her childhood tormentor, in ages, probably since marrying her college sweetheart. After the divorce, she’d buried herself in work, and her trips back home became infrequent. Except for the house-hunting trip, Eden hadn’t been back to LA in three years, ever since her mother relocated to Phoenix. The last she’d heard of Jansen, he was married and living in Chicago. She also remembered Michael saying he’d become a police officer. But still ... what was he doing here? And why was he one towel shy of being naked?

“You!” Eden spat, her ire part anger, part chagrin, but mostly relief. “What are you doing here?”