An information hotline began to deliver data to Sunny's brain so quickly she could hardly comprehend one message before another came tumbling forward.

The first item to register was the fact, she realized dismally, that she'd just made a complete idiot of herself. This was not a mass-murderer who had decided to make himself a sandwich before killing her deader than a post, he was Esther and Bill's nephew.

The next news that slammed into front row center was that he was the most handsome male specimen she had ever seen.

His features were rugged, as though chiseled from stone, then bronzed by the sun.

His shoulders were wide, the material of the knit shirt stretching across them and the broad chest beneath.

His legs were muscular, his blond hair thick and sun-streaked and just begging to have feminine fingers sifting through it.

His eyes, which had seemed to burn a heated path over her as he'd scrutinized her, were so blue they would make the most gorgeous summer sky appear anemic.

The last bulletin to reach Sunny caused her cheeks to flush.

She was standing there in all her glory in her Donald Duck nightshirt that fell to midthigh and was made of soft, clinging material, clearly defining, she didn't doubt for a minute, her full s.

She had to get out of this kitchen!

"Well," she said brightly, "won't this be a great story to tell Esther and Bill? It's so funny...just...hysterical. I mean, here I thought you were a murderer or...and it turns out... My, my, what a hoot." She yawned and patted her hand against . "I must get some sleep. Enjoy your pickle. Good night."

Sunny spun around and made it all the way to the doorway before a deep voice boomed and halted her in her tracks.

"Hold it right there."

Sunny sighed and turned to face the man again.

"We've established who I am," he said. He set the fork with the pickle on the counter and leaned the golf club against the lower cupboard. "My name is _____, by the way, but I don't have a clue as to who you are or why you're here. I have a key to the house and I bunk in whenever my company assigns me an advertising contract in Seoul." He swept one arm through the air. "Your turn. For all I know, you're a murderer wanted by the FBI."

A flash of fury coursed through Sunny and she planted her hands on her hips. In the next instant she whipped her hands around her elbows as she realized how tightly the material of the nightshirt was being pulled across her s. She lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes.

"You have just given a whole new meaning," _____ said, his voice very deep, very rumbly, and very, very male, "to the cliché 'she's beautiful when angry.'"

To be continued...