"And Leila honestly doesn't know who kissed her?" Marsh asked.

Simon looked closely at his friend, and Marsh smiled wryly, knowing without a doubt that he'd just given himself away.

"My God, it was you," Simon said.

Marsh sat down wearily in the deck chair next to Simon's and stared out at the ocean. "It was me," he admitted.

"But, Dev, that's great."

"Was great," Marsh corrected him. "Past tense. Right now it's not so great after all." All of his elation, all of the euphoria that had come from having Leila—lovely, brilliant, sparkling, gorgeous Leila—in his arms had long since vanished. True, he'd kissed her at midnight, but she hadn't kissed him. At least, not knowingly. "What the hell was she doing anyway, kissing a total bloody stranger like that?"

Simon poured himself another cup of coffee from the thermos next to him on the table. "Don't be so British. The important thing here is that Leila's not going to marry that bozo, Elliot."

"Oh, and what?" Marsh didn't hide his skepticism. "I suppose you think now she's going to marry me."

Simon took a long sip of his coffee. "Is that what you want?"

Marsh looked into his friend's clear blue eyes and found not a trace of recrimination, prejudgment, or blame. There was only trust … and friendship. Years and years of true friendship.

The truth was, Marsh wanted—desperately—to make love to Leila. He wanted to love her in the very physical sense of the word. But … marriage? The thought was extremely appealing. Leila—permanently his. But it was also terrifying.

"I don't know," he said finally. "All I know is, I'm in love with your sister, Simon. I think I have been for years. It's just…"

Even with Simon, who knew him better than anyone on earth, it was so hard to open up. And what was he supposed to say? That he was scared to death? Scared that Leila wouldn't love him … and scared to hell that she would? Scared she'd actually marry him … and then turn around and leave him someday, the way his father and mother had left each other?

"I'm terrified," Marsh admitted.

Simon handed Marsh the coffee mug. "I know. I would be, too."

Marsh stared down into the steaming brown liquid.

"Shouldn't you be offering me something a bit stronger?"

Simon grinned. "Trust me. It's in there."

Marsh took a sip. The coffee itself wasn't that hot, but whatever it was that Simon had added to the brew burned all the way down to his stomach. He handed the mug back and they sat for a few moments in silence.

"Leila's angry at you," Marsh said. "She thinks you let slip her secret."

"Well, that'll get taken care of soon enough. As soon as she realizes it was you, as soon as you tell her—"

"No." Marsh sat forward. "She can't be told. I can't tell her—"

"Oh, come on, Dev—"

"No, Simon, really." Good Lord, if Leila found out that he was the one who kissed her last night, it would be an absolute disaster. "What am I supposed to do? Walk up to her and say, 'Oh, by the way, it was I, the one man in the universe you're most likely to argue with, the man you don't even like, who kissed you so soundly at midnight'? Is that what I'm supposed to say?"

"I guess you've got a point."

"I don't want her to feel as if I've made a fool of her, or to hate me," Marsh said quietly. "In fact, I want quite the opposite."

"And you think by not telling her the truth, you have a better shot at that?"

Marsh sighed and rubbed his hands across his face. "You make it sound so bloody dishonest."

"Just tell me what you want me to do," Simon said.

"Don't tell her it was me," Marshall answered. "Please? I'll tell her. I promise. Just not yet."

Simon nodded. "You better not blow this. I don't want some bozo for a brother-in-law." He laughed. "At least not any bozo besides you."

"That's Doctor Bozo, to you."

Simon grinned. "Happy New Year, by the way."

"Right. It's new, anyway."

Leila sipped a glass of soda and watched as Simon prepared one of his stir-fried vegetables-and-tofu concoctions for dinner. He was actually a better-than-decent cook, and the tofu stuff he made always tasted very good, but Leila hated seeing it in its precooked phase—a white brick of soy protein, all pale and quivering on the cutting board.

"What time is Elliot's flight coming in?" Simon asked as he cut the tofu into neat little bite-sized squares.

Leila glanced at her watch. "Eight o'clock. Two hours."

Simon looked up at her. "I'm surprised you didn't call him and beg off. You know, tell him you don't want him to come. Politely, of course."

Leila pulled her legs up to sit cross-legged on the kitchen chair. "Actually, I'm looking forward to seeing him."

Simon stopped cutting and stared at her. "You are?"

"I lost it last night," she admitted. "Number one, I kissed a total stranger, and number two, those kisses apparently meant nothing to this stranger, because he left the party without a single look back." She took a deep breath. "He obviously doesn't care about a few silly little kisses, and neither do I."

Simon grinned. "Is that why you carried the portable phone down to the beach this afternoon? Because you didn't care whether or not this mystery guy was going to call you?"

"I thought Elliot was going to call," Leila said with great dignity. It figured that Simon would notice that she had carried the phone around all day.

Seeing Elliot would do her good, she tried to tell herself. He was so down to earth, so … well, unromantic. But that was okay. She knew his limitations. She wouldn't have to worry about becoming disappointed with him twenty years down the road. Because he was already so disappointing.

Leila looked up at her brother as he chopped broccoli into small pieces. That last thought, although it sounded quite a bit like something Simon might say, had come from some dark, disenchanted corner of her very own mind.

The honest truth was, Leila didn't want to see Elliot. In fact, she was dreading his arrival. She'd spent the entire afternoon frustrated and restless, and the last thing she wanted right now was to listen to Elliot drone on and on about his latest business dealings.

What she wanted to do was find that man who'd kissed her. And then what? Well, she'd probably start by kissing him again.

Out in the hallway, the front door squeaked open and then shut. "Identify yourself," Simon called cheerfully.

"It's only me." Marsh carried his briefcase and doctor's bag into the kitchen, his jacket over his arm. "Are you expecting someone else?" He glanced at Leila. "You got some sun today."

"You look awful," she said.

Marsh was positively drooping with exhaustion and heat. His hair was damp, curling slightly at the ends. He'd taken off his tie and was unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt as he sank down into a chair on the other side of the kitchen table. "I give you a compliment, and you tell me I look awful?"

Leila made a face at him, then stood to pour him a glass of iced tea. "Since when is 'You got some sun today' considered a compliment?"

Marsh frowned. "Is that what I said?" he mused. "Sorry." He took the glass from Leila, and their fingers accidentally brushed. "Thanks." He set the glass down in front of him. "I meant to say you look lovely this evening. More so, even, than you usually do."

He smiled, and Leila knew he was smiling at the astonishment he could see in her eyes. Since when did Marsh give her such lavish compliments?

Simon added a variety of spices and sauces to the already sizzling stir fry. "Are you here for good, or are you going back out again?"

Marsh took a long sip of his iced tea. "I've got one more trip over to the Kavanaugh's, to check on the new baby, but not till later tonight." He took a deep breath and let it out quickly. "Good Lord, I can't get by on two hours of sleep any longer. Remind me to go to bed before dawn tonight."

"Why don't you take a nap?" Simon suggested.

"And miss what's-his-name's arrival? Definitely not."

"Elliot," Leila said. "He has a name, and it's Elliot."

Marsh gazed across the table at Leila, who was drawing circles in the condensation from her glass. She glanced up and met his eyes, and to his surprise, she blushed and looked away. Blushed? Since when did Leila get embarrassed around him? Angry, yes. Annoyed, most likely. But embarrassed? That was strange.

Lord, but she did look lovely tonight. Her wild array of golden curls were cut in a short cap around her face, creating a perfect frame for her eyes. And what eyes! They were a beautiful violet shade of blue Marsh had never seen before on a living, breathing human being. And those eyes could hold the warmth of the sun, dancing and sparkling with a happiness that was truly contagious. They also had the power to freeze him with one crystal, icy look. But filled with tears, laden with sadness, Leila's eyes could bring him to his knees.

Her smile was the same. Wide and infectious, her smile embraced everything and everyone around her, letting the entire world in on the joke. It seemed amazing to Marsh that lips so delicate and elegantly shaped could curl upward into such an unabashedly joyful smile.

Of course, he'd always imagined that kissing Leila's lips would be rather like kissing a fairy princess—exquisitely light and delicate. And kissing her had been exquisite, but in a different sort of way. It had been deep and rich and sensual and utterly, thoroughly soul shattering.

One kiss, and all of the secrets he'd been hiding from himself for so long had been exposed. He loved her. He was in love with this wonderful, gorgeous, maddening woman. Yes, he was in love, and he had been for years.

Two kisses and Marsh knew the true meaning of the word euphoria. Because she loved him, too. Leila had to love him, too. There was no way on God's green earth she could kiss him like that and not at least feel something for him. But he had been wrong. She 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 clean. 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, you're no fun now that you're in love with her."

Marsh winced, looking quickly toward the other room. "Shh!"

"She can't hear us."

"We shouldn't be listening," Marsh insisted. "How do you turn this thing off?"

"How about next weekend?" Leila's voice asked. "Will you make it down here next weekend?"

"Say no." Marsh stared at the speakerphone, willing Elliot to answer with a negative. His desire to hang up the phone and give Leila privacy was forgotten. "You're far too busy. You can't possibly find time to visit."

There was a pause, then Elliot said, "I'm looking at my calendar, and I don't know…" He sighed. "Right now, I've got to say no, Leila. I'm way too busy. It's a bad time of year. But I'll tell you what. If you can get back to New York a few days early, I promise that we can have lunch."

"Of all the pompous, condescending, outrageous, pompous—"

"You already said that." Simon carefully balanced and carried all three of the plates toward the sliding doors that led to the back deck. "Hit the kill switch on the phone, will you? It's the button on the top left."

"I'll call you in a few days," Elliot's voice was saying as Marsh pushed the button and the speaker clicked off.

"He's dreadful." Marsh followed Simon onto the deck.

"He's not quite as bad as I imagined," Simon said, "but he's close."

"She's not going to marry him," Marsh said hotly. "I'm sorry. I simply won't allow it."

"You won't allow it?"

Marsh turned to see Leila standing in the doorway.

"What was that odd click I heard just as Elliot was saying good-bye?" she asked.

Simon shrugged. "Probably just the telephone line making noises. Interference."

"You are such a lousy liar," Leila said. "Why do you even bother?"

"Dinner's ready. Who wants wine?" Simon vanished into the kitchen.

Leila turned to face Marsh. "And you. You're not going to allow me to marry Elliot?"

"Lei, I gotta agree." Simon came back out onto the deck carrying three glasses, a bottle of white wine, and a bottle of soda. "Elliot's … well … he's…"

"He's an ass," Marsh said flatly.

Simon grinned, pouring a glass of wine for himself and Leila, and a glass of soda for Marsh. "Two extra days in sunny Florida in December … in exchange for lunch with Elliot. Is that supposed to be some kind of fair trade?"

"That click was just interference on the phone line, huh?" Leila crossed her arms. "You guys listened in on that whole conversation, didn't you?"

Marsh shifted his weight guiltily. They had. They'd eavesdropped, fulfilling all of Leila's dark expectations regarding her privacy—or lack of privacy—on Sunrise Key.

But Simon just sat down and started to eat his dinner. "This is getting cold. You guys should eat."

Marsh knew that he should tell Leila he was sorry. They'd violated her privacy, and that was wrong. But the words that came out of his mouth were not at all apologetic. "I have to warn you. If you insist on marrying Elliot, I intend to stand up and loudly proclaim my unhappiness when the reverend says, 'Speak now or forever hold your peace.' And for an encore, I will throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of there, kicking and screaming if need be."

"You wouldn't dare." Leila's voice dripped with disbelief. "You'd never create such a scene."

"Just try me," Marsh threatened.

"Fine, I won't send you an invitation." Leila crossed her arms.

"Oh, that will surely keep me away."

"Yo, guys?" Simon interjected. "Food's getting cold."

"What could Leila possibly have been thinking?" Marsh said. "I mean, did she actually sit down and think, 'Golly, I'd like to have some children. Let me see if I know any idiots I can join in a loveless marriage in order to conceive them."

Leila's eyes flashed with anger. "I happen to know that Elliot's IQ is a great deal higher than the average—"

"Leila, I have that copy of the party's guest list that you wanted," Simon interrupted.

Leila's mouth shut as absolutely as if Simon had pressed a button and turned her off. She stared at Simon, glancing once at Marsh, as if hoping he hadn't heard her brother's words.

"Guest list?" Marsh's anger and frustration instantly evaporated. Why would Leila want a list of guests for a party that had already happened?

"You might at least have waited until we were alone," Leila said to Simon through clenched teeth.

"Yeah, well, I figured both Marsh and I could help you," Simon replied.

"For the New Year's party?" Marsh asked, looking from Leila to Simon. "That guest list?"

"She wouldn't tell me why she wants it," Simon said. "But my guess is that she's going to try to track down this guy who kissed her." He grinned at Marsh. "Remember, the guy I told you about?

"Argh." Leila sank into her seat at the table and buried her face in her hands.

"Simon," Marsh began. The last thing he wanted was to embarrass Leila. But Simon held up his hand, stopping him.

"Look, Lei," Simon said. "It's too late to pretend that Marsh doesn't know what happened last night. I'm going to help you, right? He might as well help, too. If two heads are better than one, think of how terrific three will be."

"Terrific," Leila muttered.

"Do you really want to find this man?" Marsh asked, hardly daring to hope.

She looked up at him. "Yes," she admitted with a sigh. "Yes, I do. I know it sounds crazy but—"

"That's great," Marsh said. "It's not crazy, it's great."

"I need to find this ninja," Leila continued, "so that I can prove to myself he wasn't real. I didn't even know who he was. Whatever I felt from kissing him had to have been the result of too much champagne, or I don't know, lust, or the phase of the moon. It just wasn't real. I mean, I'm probably going to find him, and he'll turn out to be someone I absolutely hate, right?"

"So why bother going to all the trouble of tracking this bozo down?" Simon asked.

"Ninja," Marsh corrected him. "Not bozo."

Leila looked out into the starry darkness of the sky. She was quiet for several long moments. "Doubt," she finally said. "Just the barest, smallest sliver of doubt." She glanced back at Marsh and he saw there were actually tears in her eyes. "I just keep thinking, what if…"

"That's not doubt," Marsh told her. "That's hope. Hope that there really is one special person out there just waiting for you to find him."

Leila blinked back her tears. "God, I wish you were right."

"Are you so sure I'm not?"

"John McGrath?" Leila read from Simon's long, hand-scribbled list of names.

"Cross him off, too." Simon tipped his chair back and rested his bare feet on the highly polished antique dining room table. "I saw him with some kind of Roman toga thing on."

"Very original, old John is," Marsh commented.

"How about Paul Casella?" Leila asked.

"Didn't see him," Simon said.

"He brought a date," Marsh volunteered. "A young woman he's been seeing for the past few months, lives on the mainland. They came as Bonnie and Clyde."

"Oh, yeah," Simon added. "Big plastic submachine guns."

"That was Paul."

Leila crossed Paul's name off.

"Preston Seaholm?"

Simon and Marsh looked at each other blankly.

"Was he even at the party?" Marsh asked.

"Dunno," Simon responded. "I didn't see him."

"Frankie said she saw his car," Leila said.

"I guess that makes him a suspect," Simon said. "Seaholm's tall enough, right?"

Leila nodded. "But remember, I don't know exactly how tall the ninja was. I just had this sensation that he was taller than me."

"And that he was strong," Marsh reminded her. Simon coughed.

"And that he carries a beeper," Leila added. "Does Pres Seaholm have a beeper?"

"I don't know," Simon said. "But that wouldn't be too hard to find out."

Marsh looked over Leila's shoulder, quickly skimming through the list of names. His own name was up at the top of the page. Leila had apparently skipped him. He wasn't sure whether to feel insulted or relieved. "Who's next? Keith Banner? I don't remember seeing him at the party."

"Same here," Simon said. "And I know he's got a beeper."

"Nope." Leila crossed Keith's name off the list. "It's not Keith."

"Did you see him, then?" Marsh asked.

"Nope."

"How can you be so sure?" Simon asked.

Leila carefully laid her pen down on the table. "If you must know, I've had the dubious honor of being kissed by Keith Banner before. He's an octopus. My ninja was not."

"Octopus?" echoed Marsh, frowning slightly.

"Eight hands," Simon explained.

"Oh," Marsh said. "Right. Of course. Octopus."

"My ninja was a gentleman."

"Your ninja." Simon lifted his eyebrows as he glanced at Marsh.

"There were three other ninjas at the party," Leila pointed out. "I don't want to get mine confused with the others. Sean Green. How about Sean Green?"

She looked at Simon and he smiled happily back at her. He was actually enjoying himself, the wretch.

"Sean came as Dracula." Simon watched as Leila crossed that name off the list.

"The final name is—drum roll please!—Liam Halliday," Marsh announced. "The esteemed sheriff of Sunrise Key. I, for one, didn't see him last night."

"Neither did I," Simon said. "But isn't he way too tall?"

"He is rather tall," Marsh agreed.

"I'm going to include him among the suspects anyway," Leila decided, "because although I don't remember my ninja being extremely tall, I don't remember him not being extremely tall."

"So, how many does that give us?" Simon asked.

"Six." She counted them off on her fingers. "Hayden Young, Robert Earle, Alan Lanigan, Bruce Kimble, Preston Seaholm, and Liam Halliday. Except for Robert Earle, whom we know nothing about, they're all single, they all RSVP'd they'd be coming, and they all possibly carry a beeper."

"Are you sure you got everybody?" Simon asked.

Leila flipped through the pages, scanning the list of names.

Marsh. She'd missed Marsh.

Was it possible?

She glanced over her shoulder to find him watching her. One elegant eyebrow rose slightly as he evenly returned her gaze, and she turned away. No. No way. She just couldn't see Marsh kissing her the way that ninja had kissed her. Those kisses had been pure rocket fuel, relentlessly combustible and unrestrained. That was hardly Marsh's style. She could imagine Marsh kissing her carefully, sweetly, without managing to mess up her hair or even smear her lipstick.

"Now what?" Marsh asked. "Do you intend to line them all up and kiss them, then?"

Leila twisted her head to look up at him again. "Line them up, no. Kiss them, yes."

"You're kidding," Simon said flatly.

"How else am I going to prove to myself that what happened last night was just an aberration or a fluke?"

Simon exchanged another look with Marsh.

"What if it wasn't?" he asked.

"I don't know," Leila admitted. "I haven't really considered that possibility."

"You better," Simon said. "You better be ready for anything. What if this guy is Mr. Wonderful?"

"That's unlikely."

"Assuming he's Mr. Wonderful is reaching a bit," Marsh interjected. "I mean, 'Mr. Wonderful' is expecting too much, don't you think?"

"What if he is?" Simon persisted.

"First things first, all right?" Leila said. "And first I've got to narrow this list down. There were only four ninjas at the party. Only four of these six guys could be real suspects."

"What are you going to do?" Simon asked. He pulled his feet off the table and leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand as he studied his sister's face. "Call them up and ask what they wore to the party?"

Leila shook her head. "No. I'm going to hire Frankie. She's a private investigator."

Simon hooted with laughter. "Frankie? Get real, Lei. What did she do, get a fedora and a trenchcoat from the Private Eye Store? And now she thinks she's a real PI?"

"She got her license, Simon. You told me that yourself."

"I could get a piece of paper that says I'm president of the United States," Simon retorted. "That doesn't make it true."

"She did find Becca Tennison's retainer," Marsh pointed out.

"Sherlock Holmes is shaking in his shoes," Simon said.

"Everybody has to start somewhere." Leila stood up and stretched. "Do you remember how everyone scoffed when you decided to become an art and antiques dealer?"

"Yes. And I also remember that Francine Paresky scoffed particularly loudly. It's payback time."

"Speaking of payback time," Leila said, "you guys owe me an apology for eavesdropping on my conversation with Elliot."

"I am sorry," Marsh murmured.

"I'm not." Simon leaned back in his chair. "And I still think the guy's a jerk for standing you up this weekend. He said he was coming down here with you. He shouldn't have let business get in his way."

"The deal he's working on is worth a million dollars." Leila crossed her arms. "If you can sit there and tell me that you wouldn't have blown off a weekend with your girlfriend for a chance to earn a million bucks, then, yes, you're a better man than Elliot."

"There was one night," Simon mused, "when I would have given a million bucks to find my car keys. I had a Saturday-night date with Gloria, and I stayed a little too long. By the time I remembered I was meeting Susan for Sunday brunch, I couldn't find the keys to my car. What a mess."

"You would not have traded a million dollars for your car keys," Leila scoffed.

"Oh yes, I would. You didn't know Susan."

"No way." Leila shook her head in disbelief. "If someone had come up to you and said, 'Here's a million dollars. You can have that or your car keys,' you honestly expect me to believe you would have turned down the money?"

"Well, maybe not," Simon admitted. He scratched his head. "I guess there are a very few things someone would choose over a cool million bucks."

"That's rubbish," Marsh said evenly.

He'd been quiet for so long, Leila had almost forgotten he was standing there.

"I can think of dozens, right off the bat," he continued, sitting down across from her. "World peace. The end of hunger and starvation, a cure for cancer and AIDS. Shall I go on?"

"But that's all unrealistic," Leila protested. "Situations like that never arise. Sure, even Elliot would probably trade a million dollars for world peace. But he doesn't have to worry about it. He's never going to have to make that choice. It's theoretical."

Would Elliot trade a million dollars for anything? Leila wasn't absolutely positive. He'd grown up in a middle-class suburb of New York City, raised with the belief that money could buy the answer to any problem. He strove for, and achieved, the financial security his parents had never had. Money was his god and the monkey on his back. He both worshiped and cursed it, and no matter how much of it he had, he always wanted more.

Marsh, on the other hand, had been born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He had the attitude of the very wealthy. He'd always had money to burn, so he never hesitated to burn it. His lack of concern over financial matters had always infuriated Leila.

Marsh glanced at her as if he felt her studying him. His brown eyes were cool, his eyelids half-lowered as if he were relaxed, laid-back. Outside the window, on the beach, the quiet rush of the gentle Gulf waves murmured in the darkness.

"I'd gladly trade a million dollars," Marsh said quietly, "for one—just one—of my mother's smiles."

His gaze swept in Leila's direction, and this time he didn't look away. She suddenly realized that he wasn't relaxed at all. His eyelids were half-lowered to hide the inferno that was churning inside of him. She watched as Marsh leaned forward in his chair. In the bright overhead light, his angular face looked sharper, harsher, but no less handsome.

"I'd choose fertility for every couple in the world who want desperately to have a child," he continued. "I'd choose a brand new pair of legs that walk and run and jump, instead of that damned mechanical chair I ordered for little Billy Monroe. I'd choose life … or just another chance to save the life of every single patient I've lost in the ER." His voice shook slightly, and he stopped, looking down at the table in front of him. He took a deep breath, and when he spoke again his voice was steady.

"And if you want even more realistic choices, how about this: I'd choose the opportunity to live and work in the one place in the world I think of as my home, to have patients who are also my neighbors and friends, to know that when I walk down the street I'm respected and cared about by the people I pass. And yes, you're right, this was an actual choice I made several years ago. I turned down a job with a private practice in Boston that would have earned me quite a bit more than that million dollars by now. Down here on Sunrise Key, I may be living hand-to-mouth, but no one owns a piece of my soul." He smiled at Leila. "Perhaps my heart, but not my soul."

Leila was shocked. She hadn't known any of that. She'd never stopped to consider what Marsh had given up to live on Sunrise Key. And she'd never heard him speak so openly, so honestly. She hadn't realized he was capable of such heartfelt words.

Silence. Outside in the bushes, locusts chirped and whirred. On the beach, the waves continued their soft ebb and flow.

"Well," Marsh said with a soft laugh, "I certainly killed that conversation, didn't I?" He stood up, glancing at his watch. "It's getting late. I have to head over to the Kavanaughs' to check on Kim and the baby once more before bed."

Marsh watched as Leila turned away and began straightening the papers on the dining room table. Well, that hadn't gone too badly. He'd said some things he never would have dared say to her before, and she hadn't run screaming from the room—or ridiculed him. She'd just stared at him in surprise, her eyes wide and violet blue and infinitely bottomless. He could have been pulled into her eyes and floated there for an eternity, and for several heart-stopping moments he had.

Do you want to come along to the Kavanaughs'? Marsh wanted to ask her, but he couldn't. It seemed a too blatantly obvious come-on. A moonlit night, a ride in Simon's jeep along the quiet island streets…

"I'm going upstairs," Leila announced, finally gathering up her notes. Her hair was charmingly rumpled, her blond curls mussed. "After I call Frankie, I'm going to bed." She gave both Marsh and Simon a long, hard look. "You guys say one word about this ninja thing to anyone, anyone, you're dead men. Got it?"

Simon and Marsh nodded solemnly.

That seemed to satisfy Leila. "See you in the morning."

"Good night," Marsh said. She turned to leave the room, but he had to stop her. "Leila?"

He hadn't been entirely honest. There was one more thing he would gladly trade a million dollars for.

She looked back at him, a question in her eyes.

"True love."

She frowned, clearly confused.

"I'd choose true love," Marsh said again, "over a million dollars. In fact, I'd trade a million dollars for even the mere hope of finding true love." He smiled at the look of sudden comprehension on her face. There was more, but he couldn't bring himself to say the words. "If I were Elliot, I wouldn't have stayed in New York this weekend. I would have gladly traded a million dollars to spend the weekend with you."

She nodded. "Good night," she murmured.

As she left the room, he turned to find Simon watching him.

"I'm dying to see where this is going to go," Simon said.

Marsh took a deep breath, letting it slowly out. "I'm just dying."