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DID THE MAN have to be so good-looking?That was Claire's first thought as she stared at the color photograph of Ethan Seaver.It wasn't fair. He'd been approaching Greek god status a decade ago, with his deep-set green eyes, sexy mouth and well-defined cheekbones. He'd only improved with age.The picture on the Web site was a head and shoulders shot, a professional portrait of a professional man. She could just make out the knot of a tie and the collar of a snowy-white shirt. She tried to concentrate on these innocuous details rather than the leanness of his cheeks or the sculpted line of his jaw. Even so, as she unscrewed the cap from a bottle of spring water and took a swig, she was wishing for something with a little more kick.Locating her ex had proved remarkably simple. She hadn't even required the services of a private investigator. All she'd had to do was type Ethan's name into the search field on her laptop computer and hit Enter. Within seconds the search engine had spat back several screenfuls of possible matches to her rather broad inquiry.The first couple of hits had provided links to newspaper stories, one from The Detroit Free Press and another from a respected national business journal. She had dismissed both at first, assuming it was a different Ethan Seaver who had been named as one of the thirty American entrepreneurs under forty to watch. But then her gaze had caught on the third entry down: Seaver Security Solutions, Ethan J. Seaver, president. Her heart had thumped and the blood had pounded noisily in her ears. Yet Claire swore she could hear his voice.I plan to own my own company, Claire. A security firm protecting the assets of the Fortune 500. Some day even the likes of your father will be seeking my advice.He'd told her that not long after proposing, as if wanting to assure her that his ambitions reached well beyond remaining a second-shift worker who punched a clock for somebody else.According to the Web site, Ethan was the president and founder of a growing and respected commercial security firm that did everything from installation and monitoring to consulting and product development. Its headquarters was in Detroit with clients all over the Midwest.Including Chicago.Claire laughed out loud. The sound echoed off the bare walls of her apartment, a spacious two bedroom in a trendy section of Chicago that commanded a high price thanks to its sunrise view of Lake Michigan. Only a couple of days had passed since her return from the Himalayas, but she'd certainly managed to shake things up by signing a lease. As a result, her mother had taken to her bed and wasn't speaking to Claire. Unfortunately, her father was. He'd spent the better part of the morning trying to "talk some sense" into Claire as a crew of movers had carried her boxed-up belongings to a waiting van.It had irritated Sumner to no end that this time, no matter how much he blustered or threatened, Claire hadn't budged. The problemhis problem, not herswas that she'd never felt more sensible in her life.Sensible. Yet here she was, sitting cross-legged on the bare floor and laughing like a happily medicated root canal patient because Ethan had essentially been right in her backyard all these years. Not only that, but he'd been providing surveillance and other high-end services to some of his ex-father-in-law's competitors. The pay-back quotient was subtle but there.Of course, even a decade ago Ethan's dogged determination had been obvious. It was one of the qualities she had admired, respected. Claire had never met anyone quite like him in her sheltered life. He'd come from a modest background and yet words like "no" and "I can't" hadn&am