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pillows, breathing in his masculine scent.
    His bedroom looked even nicer from this angle.
    There was a small clock radio sitting on an elegantly simple bedside table, and Marisala reached for it, switching it on.
    She’d been looking for a radio for the entire hour that Liam had been gone.
    His condo was much too quiet.
    There was a complicated home electronics system down in Liam’s enormous living room, but the only thing she’d managed to turn on was the television. But TV bored her. She’d wanted music to help fill the empty rooms of this ridiculously huge condominium that Liam called home. How many rooms did one man need? Liam had eight, not counting the three bathrooms. Three! What a decadent, luxurious, incredible waste of space for a man living alone.
    And he did live alone. There was nothing in any of the other rooms that even remotely suggested that another person—that a woman—lived with him.
    As the sound of jazz filled the room Marisala turned the radio’s dial, searching for a Spanish station. She found a familiar merengue beat and lay back against the pillows.
    Yes, she liked this room.
    She would like it even better if Liam were here, in this bed with her.
    He wanted her. He wanted
her
. The thought still made her want to laugh aloud. But she knew it was true. She’d seen it in his eyes.
    She wasn’t in love with him. Not anymore. Too much had happened. Too many years had passed.
    But wanting and loving weren’t even close to being the same thing. And love was far too complicated and binding, anyway. But the heat of desire was an entirely different matter.
    Especially since Liam Bartlett was the sexiest man she’d ever known. He was quite possibly the sexiest man in the entire world.
    And Marisala was here, living with him in his house until she found her own apartment.
    With any luck, it wouldn’t be that easy to find an apartment. With any luck, she’d have to stay here for days. Weeks, even.
    And sooner or later the fire she’d seen in Liam’s eyes would consume them both.
    Sooner. She hoped it would be sooner.
    Restlessly, she stood up and prowled around the room. The blue carpet under her bare feet was impossibly soft and thick. The dark-stained wood of his dresser was as smooth as satin beneath her fingers.
    She gazed at the pictures scattered across the dressertop, picking up a wedding portrait. The groom was Liam’s brother, Cal. Half brother, she remembered. Cal was dark-haired, dark-complexioned, and intensely serious, as different from Liam as he could possibly be, with the exception of his rather startlingly blue eyes. In the picture, Cal gazed intently at his bride, his mouth curling in only the slightest of smiles.
    As she set the photo back down a picture of Liam sitting astride a horse caught her eye. Mother of God, he couldn’t have been much more than seventeen years old when that photograph was taken. His face was impossibly young and intensely beautiful. He wore a cowboy hat pushed way back on his blond head, and he was laughing. In the background were the gorgeous mountains that surrounded his brother’s Montana ranch. Marisala recognized them, even though she’d never been to Montana. Liam had described their beauty to her countless times in both English and Spanish as they lay in the jungle, hiding from the soldiers who were searching for them both.
    She opened the top drawer of his dresser, knowing that she shouldn’t, but unable to stop herself.
    It was filled with a jumble of gleaming white briefs and socks of all colors. She’d found Liam’s underwear drawer.
    Giggling, Marisala quickly shut it, chastising herself as she turned away.
Make yourself at home
definitely didn’t include poking through Liam’s underwear.
    She moved quickly across the room to turn off the radio. She shouldn’t have come in here. Not uninvited. Of course, if she had anything to say about it, it wouldn’t be long before she
was
invited in.
    As she switched off the music she saw the