“Well, now, little sis,” Jansen responded, his voice soft but firm. “I could ask you the same question.” He assumed his favorite wide-legged stance, crossed arms across a massive chest, and noted Eden’s eyes were larger and more almond-shaped than he remembered. And were her lips always so full and luscious?

Jansen’s arm-folding action caused Eden’s heart to flutter a bit as she watched his pecs ripple with the movement. Her eyes slid to the wide, muscled shoulders, down the six-pack to a narrowed waist, inverted navel, and over the strong powerful legs that held up a man she determined had gotten finer with age. And why was she imagining what lay just beyond the beige-colored towel shielding his manhood? Eden closed her eyes and licked suddenly dry lips.

A lazy, knowing smile crept across Jansen’s face. “Liking the view?” he asked cockily as he leaned against the stair banister. “I can part the, um, curtain, if you’d like.”

“Still arrogant, I see,” Eden said, turning away from him and reaching for her suitcases—just for something to do.

“Arrogance is when a person thinks he’s all that,” Jansen shot back. “Confidence is when he knows it.”

Eden ignored Jansen’s comment. Dang, I was looking at him like he was a piece of chicken, and I was the colonel getting ready to fry. She picked up the ball cap from the floor and placed it back on her head, feeling a semblance of composure coming back. After all, this was her brother’s best friend, the one she’d known since she was five years old. The one who had stuttered as a child, squashed bugs, and then picked up their remains and chased her with them. Who had collected the most Halloween candy but still stole the mini Snickers bars Eden received. Who had refused to take off his “Thriller” jacket Christmas gift for a whole week, but later scared the bejeebers out of her by donning a monster mask and jumping out of her bedroom closet. This was “germy Jansen”—the name she’d called him when they’d gotten older and Jansen and Michael had begun to play sports. They’d come home sweaty and funky, and Jansen would insist on nabbing a hug, giving Eden the willies. This was Jansen all grown up ... but Eden tried not to think about that now.

“What are you doing here?” she asked again. “Where’s Michael? And can you put that ... thing away?”

“Are you sure you want me to?” Jansen asked, wriggling his eyebrows. Eden huffed. “Oh, you mean the gun.” The Glock was almost an extension of himself. Jansen had forgotten he was holding it. He placed it on the third step, where Eden couldn’t see it. “Is that better?”

Eden nodded. “A little. Where’s Michael?”

“Out of town. Actually, out of the country.” Jansen tightened the towel around his waist. “He asked me to watch the place.”