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didn’t love him. She didn’t even like him. She hadn’t known whom she was kissing.
    Sitting there in Simon’s kitchen, watching Leila, Marsh finally figured out what to do.
    He had to court Leila. Slowly, carefully. He had to let her get to know him—
really
know him.
    Marsh had to let down all of his defenses and let her truly see him. And he had to pray to God that she would like what she saw.
    It was, quite possibly, going to be the hardest thing he’d ever done. Of course, this was Leila, not some stranger he’d just met. In some ways, that made the whole thing easier. But in others, it made it infinitely harder.
    What if Marsh opened up to Leila and she rejected him? What if he told her something personal, something private, and she used it to tease him, to ridicule him? He might never recover.
    Still, he had to try to show her that the fire that sparked their frequent arguments and disagreements could be harnessed. True, their relationship tended to be volatile. They’d probably never stop quarreling entirely, they were both too sharp-tongued for that. But think how sweet making up could be. And just thinking about redirecting the heat and sparks that snapped between them—redirecting them into the bedroom—was dizzying.
    Sooner or later, Marsh was going to have to reveal that he was the man who’d kissed Leila last night at midnight. Sooner rather than later, since she was only going to be on the key for the two short weeks of her vacation.
    But two weeks were better than no weeks, and he was determined to use as much time as he had available to make Leila like him. And he
would
make her like him. Because she had to like him before she could fall in love with him.
    He couldn’t shake the feeling that his house burning down had been some sort of signal from a higher deity. It was the end of one part of his life and the beginning of another. A new beginning. Time to rise from the ashes and make a fresh start. Take a chance.
    Across the room, the phone rang. Simon’s stir-fry was sizzling and he was cooking with both hands, but he reached out and punched a button on the telephone that was attached to the wall. “Hello?” he called. “You’re on the speaker phone. Keep it clean.”
    “Yes,” said a male voice. “I’m looking for Leila Hunt?”
    Leila leaned forward, a frown creasing her forehead. “Elliot?”
    “Yes, it’s me,” he answered.
    “This signal’s awfully clear. Are you calling from the plane?” she asked.
    There was a pause before he replied. “No, I’m sorry, I’m not, Leila.”
    Elliot
wasn’t
on the plane? Marsh didn’t let himself smile. At least, not outwardly. Inside, he was turning cartwheels.
    “I’m sorry,” Elliot’s voice continued, “but I’m not going to make it down this weekend after all.”
    Leila stood up, her chair scraping across the kitchen floor. “Simon, I’m going to take this in the other room.” She started out the door, then turned back. “Make sure you hang up when I pick up the extension.”
    “What, do you think we’d eavesdrop?”
    “Yes. Don’t.” With a stern look that included Marsh, Leila swept out of the room.
    As Marsh watched, Simon took three plates from the cabinet and spread them out on the kitchen counter.
    “Hello?” Leila’s voice came out of the telephone’s speaker.
    “Hey, kiddo. I’m really sorry about this—”
    “Simon, hang it up!” Leila shouted from the other room.
    Simon reached over and pushed a button. “Okay,” he shouted back.
    But Marsh could still hear Elliot’s voice over the speaker. “Simon…” he said warningly.
    “We can hear them,” Simon said with a grin, “but they can’t hear us. She’ll never know.”
    “I stand to make seven figures on this deal alone.” Elliot’s voice was tinny over the speaker. “I just can’t pass that up.”
    Marsh crossed the kitchen, gazing at the telephone as if that would shut it off. “Leila wanted privacy.”
    Simon shook his head. “Aw,