"So you're standing there, in the middle of the road with the sheriff." Simon put his feet up on the top of the railing that surrounded the deck. "Then what? What did you say? 'Excuse me, Sheriff, would you mind giving me a kiss?'"

"Well, yeah." Leila stood across from him, looking out through the night toward the beach. The moon was out, and it was bright enough to see that the beach was deserted. No sign of Marsh.

Simon sat forward, pulling his legs back down. "You're not serious."

"Yes, I am. Simon, have you seen Marsh?"

"You told Halliday the whole story?"

"Not the whole story."

Simon pointed to a chair. "Sit," he ordered her. "I've got to hear this."

"I'm kind of in a hurry," Leila said. "Have you seen him?"

"Him who?"

"Marsh."

"Marsh?"

"Your friend? The doctor? Fairly tall, English accent, brown hair…?"

Simon rested his elbows on his knees and his chin in one palm as he gazed up at her. "I know who he is. I'm just wondering why you're so hot to find him."

"We were supposed to go over his financial records." Leila finally sat down across from her brother.

"He's not here."

She gave him a piercing look. "Would he be here if I were looking for him for another reason?" she asked.

Simon laughed. "No. Believe me, I want you to help him organize his accounts. I tell you, Lei, for a guy with a medical degree from Harvard, Dev absolutely stinks at math. And it doesn't worry him. The man doesn't care." He shifted back in his seat. "So. Tell me about Halliday. What did you say, what did he say? I want details."

Leila closed her eyes. "I walked up to him and said, 'You know, I've been thinking. Maybe we did meet.' See, he'd asked me earlier if we'd met before. Then I asked him if he wore a ninja costume to your party, which of course I already knew."

"Brilliant move. Testing him to see if he was going to tell the truth or lie most heinously."

"No, you idiot," Leila said lightly. "He's the town sheriff. I didn't expect him to lie. I needed to have something to talk about, to break the ice, so to speak, so I asked him about his costume."

"Of course. You broke the ice. He said, yes, he was a ninja. Then what?"

"I told him I had been wearing a Cinderella costume, and I asked him if he happened to remember if I was the person he'd kissed at midnight."

Simon laughed, thoroughly enjoying himself. "I can't believe you actually had the nerve to ask him that. Go on. What'd he say?"

"Well…" Leila began. "This is where it got a little tricky. Apparently Liam wasn't a designated driver that night, and he'd had a little too much to drink—"

"His usual truckload of whiskey and beer," Simon interjected. "What else is new?"

"The end result being, much to poor Liam's embarrassment, that he doesn't remember exactly what he was doing at midnight. The evening all became one rather out-of-focus blur for him."

"He admitted that?"

"He did, although he spent about ten minutes trying to convince me—and himself, it seems—that this doesn't happen to him all the time. He said it was New Year's Eve and he let himself cut a little more loose than usual."

"Hmm," Simon said.

"Yeah."

"Then what?"

"Then we stood there for a few more minutes and both tried not to be embarrassed as he denied he has a drinking problem. He's never missed a day of work, he never touches the stuff when he's on duty, he only drinks to relax, blah, blah, blah. I heard it all. Every excuse in the book."

Leila took a deep breath, looking up at the moon and the stars in the inky blackness of the night sky. "So then," she continued, "when he stopped to take a breath, I interrupted him and told him about the man who had kissed me at midnight—who incidentally, certainly didn't act as if he were blind, stinking drunk."

"You told him? About the kiss?"

"Kisses. Plural. I gave him the G-rated version." Leila glanced ruefully in Simon's direction. "I told him I was looking for this man, that I wanted to find out who he was. I didn't go into detail as to why."

"Good thinking."

"Then I asked him if he would mind kissing me."

Simon nodded. "So what did you do when he said no?"

Leila tried to swat her brother on the top of the head with the palm of her hand.

"I was kidding." He ducked out of the way. "So he kissed you. Was he the guy you're looking for? Did you see fireworks, et cetera and so on?"

"No." Leila stared back at the stars. "No fireworks. Definitely not." She sighed. "And then, when I got back to the jeep, Marsh was gone."

Simon sat up. "Marsh was there? With you? While you were kissing Halliday?!"

Leila glanced over at him. "We were driving back from the Beauchamps'. I thought we were heading back here to have dinner and then go over Marsh's books. But he just disappeared. He left the keys in the jeep. I waited for a while, but he never came back. So I drove home. You're sure he's not here?"

"Oh, Leila. Oh, no." Simon buried his face in his hands. "No, he's not here. I should go look for him." He glanced at his watch. "But I've got a date in about fifteen minutes."

"Who's the unlucky woman?" Leila asked.

"You wound me," Simon said. "Her name's Amanda. She's the new waitress over at the Pier."

"Poor thing. Be gentle when you break her heart." Leila stood up. "If you see Marsh, tell him I'm looking for him. You can also tell him that one way or another, I will see his books. He's not going to get away from me this easily."

The sound of the telephone ringing woke Leila from a deep sleep.

"'Lo?" she rasped into the phone, pushing her hair out of her eyes, and reaching over to turn on the bedside table lamp.

"Leila?"

"Yeah." She squinted at the clock in the sudden brightness. "Frankie? Is something wrong? It's two-thirty in the morning."

"You got that right," Frankie drawled. "I'm working the late shift for the cab company, and I got a call to pick up a customer over at the Rustler's Hideout, 'cause it's closing time. I got here a few minutes ago, and guess who that customer turned out to be?"

"Simon?"

"Good guess, but no cigar. You're on the right track though. Think a little thinner, a little shorter, brown hair instead of blond—"

"Marshall?"

"Bingo. Bartender says he's been here for hours. He doesn't really seem juiced, but he says he wants me to drive him home."

"Well, bring him on over." Leila swung her legs out of bed. "I'll put on a pot of coffee and—"

"His home," Frankie interrupted. "He wants me to drive him over to his burned-out house on the point, Leila."

Leila stood up, carrying the telephone with her as she went to her bureau and pulled out a pair of shorts, a T-shirt, and a clean pair of underwear.

"I wasn't sure what to do," Frankie continued as Leila pulled her nightie over her head and got dressed. "I mean, I can't drive him up there and just leave him. The house is wrecked. It's dangerous to go near it in broad daylight, let alone the middle of the night. And that's not even taking into consideration the man's blood-alcohol level. But he's insisting that's where he wants to go."

"I'll wake up Simon and we'll meet you up at the point. Drive slowly, though. It's going to take us a few minutes to get over there."

Frankie sighed with relief. "Thanks, Leila. Sorry I had to wake you."

"I'm glad you did." Leila hung up the phone and slipped her sneakers onto her feet.

Out in the hallway, the house was dark.

She walked softly down the hall toward Simon's room. His door was ajar, and she pushed it the rest of the way open. Moonlight streamed in through the windows onto his made-up bed.

Her brother wasn't home. And if she knew Simon, he probably wouldn't return for a while. Like not until sometime tomorrow afternoon.

She was going to have to do this alone.

Leila arrived at Marsh's house before the taxi. She pulled into the driveway and parked, then got out of the jeep to look at the ruins of the house in the moonlight.

It was in awful shape. Apparently, the house had burned for quite some time before anyone saw the smoke and sounded the fire alarm. The roof was gone, and three of the outer walls had caved in. The brick chimney stood alone, listing slightly to one side. It wouldn't take much more than a strong wind off the ocean to send the bricks tumbling down on top of the pile of ashes and charred lumber that used to be Marsh's house.

Strips of yellow police tape, printed with bold black letters, warned Danger, Keep Out! They'd been placed as a kind of barrier, encircling the ruined building. They had long since sagged and torn, and now flapped rather uselessly in the cool night breeze.

Leila heard the sound of a car engine and turned to see headlights approaching. She walked down the drive toward the taxi as it pulled up. The inside light went on. Marsh was sitting in the front seat. He gave Frankie the fare, then opened the door.

He clearly wasn't expecting to see Leila standing there. A wide range of emotions crossed his face, including pleasure and surprise before he settled on wariness.

"Well." He climbed carefully out of the taxi and closed the door behind him. "My word. This is a rather interesting surprise."

Frankie leaned across the front seat so she could see Leila. "I've got to run. I've got another fare to pick up. Must be the full moon. You gonna be all right?"

"Everything's under control," Leila said with far more confidence than she felt. In fact, the mere sight of Marsh—in particular that flash of uninhibited pleasure that had lit his eyes when he'd first spotted her—made her feel as if she were careening off the side of a mountain.

"Ah, I'm so glad to hear that," Marsh said. "I do hate it when things get out of control."

"You want me to swing past here later?" Frankie called.

"No, that's okay," Leila told her. "Go on. We'll be okay."

Marsh turned to watch the taxi slowly roll down the street, leaving them in the moonlight. The moon was nearly full, and so bright that it cast shadows around them.

Marsh still wore the white shirt and navy blue pants he'd changed back into at the Beauchamps'. At the time, his shirt had hung open, but now it was neatly buttoned and tucked into the waist of his pants.

He didn't look like a man who'd spent the past seven hours in a bar.

His hair was messy, but that was nothing new. His hair was nearly always messy. As he turned and caught Leila watching him, he self-consciously pushed it back, out of his eyes.

"So. You've come to rescue me, have you?"

Now that she could see his eyes, Leila wished that he hadn't pushed his hair back. He was watching her much too intently, hungrily even. In the moonlight, she could see heat in his eyes, heat from desire. Desire. He wasn't trying to hide it from her. In fact, she could have sworn that he stepped closer, tilting his head slightly, so that she would have a better chance to see it there in his eyes.

"That depends." Leila wet her suddenly dry lips. "Do you need rescuing?"

"More than you would believe."

Leila's pulse kicked up higher as she stared at him, trapped by the magnetic pull of his eyes. Oh, my God. Everything about him—the way he was standing, his body language, his smile, that unmistakable glint in his eyes—said "come and get me."

If she were eighteen again, she would've leapt at the chance to play this game with him. But she wasn't eighteen anymore. And games usually ended with a winner and a loser. One of them was bound to end up hurt, and it would probably be her. After all, she wasn't the one who'd spent the entire night drinking in order to lose his inhibitions.

Leila crossed her arms. "Oh, I'd believe you need rescuing. While you were out, I took the opportunity to look at your financial records."

Marsh scratched his chin. "Funny, I thought I'd locked my bedroom door. Don't tell me you've taken up picking locks in your spare time."

"Our rooms are attached by a balcony," she reminded him. "And you didn't lock that door. It was wide open. So of course I went in."

"Of course," Marsh murmured.

"Your records are a mess. I'm not sure which is worse—your handwriting or your organizational skills."

"Rumor has it I'm a very good doctor." Marsh pushed himself up so that he was sitting on the hood of the jeep.

The heat in his eyes hadn't let up despite her attempt to discuss his least favorite subject—money. He'd purposely left space for her to sit next to him. He didn't pat the spot or gesture in any way, but his invitation couldn't have been more clear.

"That's one rumor I'd believe," she replied, moving several steps away from him. "I didn't realize that you'd specialized as a surgeon during your internship and residency. You gave up more than a high salary when you turned down that job in Boston, didn't you? You gave up an entire career."

Marsh finally looked away from her, lifting his chin to gaze up at the moon. The whitish blue light bathed his face, playing delicately over his high cheekbones and lean jawline, making his upturned eyes look oddly crystal clear and strikingly beautiful. Leila stood, almost spellbound, just watching him. She would have given just about anything to know what he was thinking.

And then, he spoke.

"Every choice you make in life, every decision you come to, means you're giving something up." He turned his head to look directly at her. "I gave up a chance of probably ever owning a Porsche. I gave up a career that probably would have made my name familiar to physicians all over the world. But what I gained is far more valuable. I gained a life that I'm happy with. I do a job that I'm proud of. Boston is just another city, another impersonal place where I have no ties, no roots." He shook his head. "I know you probably can't understand that. I don't know what I can tell you to make it any clearer. I know you don't feel the way I do about Sunrise Key. If you did, you wouldn't have left. But this island is my home now. I love it here."

Leila was astonished at Marsh's openness and the eloquence of his words.

"This island could be your home again, too," Marsh said softly. "You don't know what I'd give, Leila, to have you down here year-round."

Leila was staring at him as if he were speaking in a foreign language. God, she was beautiful in the moonlight. Her hair looked almost silvery instead of gold, and her skin seemed to glow.

A strong breeze occasionally gusted in from the Gulf, pressing her oversized T-shirt tightly against her slender curves, outlining her breasts in exquisite detail. She wasn't wearing a bra. She'd probably thrown her clothes on, assuming that he'd never know the difference. She was wrong. Marsh always knew.

Her cutoff jeans were the same kind of shorts that had driven him nearly crazy back when she was a teenager. Had she worn them on purpose? No, from the way she kept backing off, it was clear that she hadn't come to seduce him.

But she had come.

What had Frankie told her? It had to be Frankie who called Leila. Did Frankie tell Leila that Marsh was at the Rustler's Hideout, sitting at the bar, drinking? And did Leila come because she thought that Marsh was half-seas over and unable to get home on his own?

The truth was, he'd had three gin and tonics all night. Six hours plus six ounces of gin did not add up to intoxication, despite the fact that he'd had his third drink right before the bar's last call. It was true that he wasn't a drinker. And it was also true that he nearly fell off his bar stool on the way to the men's room, but that was from light-headedness due to lack of dinner, not from the drinks. He was, quite honestly, only very slightly anesthetized. Very slightly.

Still, it was likely that Leila thought he was sozzled.

He opened his mouth to inform her otherwise, but then shut it again. Why tell her? This way he had the edge. This way he could say things he might not normally say. This way he could play the role, if need be.

"Look at this place," Marsh commanded her.

Leila turned and gazed at the ruins. "The house looks awful. God, Marsh, you're lucky you weren't inside—asleep. Can you imagine if—"

Shaking his head, he cut her off. "No, I didn't mean the house. I meant the island—the ocean, the beach, the moonlight, the trees." He took in a deep breath through his nose. "Something's blooming. This is the time of year when the island is covered with flowers. It's gorgeous. It's paradise. How could you possibly have traded this for Manhattan?"

Leila sighed. "Marsh, I lived here for ten years."

"And you don't miss it? Not even a bit?"

She faced him. "Of course I miss it. But…"

"But what?"

The breeze blew again, and she hugged herself as if she were chilled. Marsh watched her stare sadly at the ruins of his house. "I was going to say that I love living in New York. But…"

Marsh waited, willing her to go on.

"But I don't know anymore," she said. "I see this road ahead of me, this future, and all I can feel is detached curiosity, as if it's someone else's life, not mine. I try to imagine myself spending the rest of my life with Elliot, living in the city, making all the right career moves, going through the motions. It should be so perfectly right, but to me it feels wrong. At the same time, giving it all up seems wrong, too."

"Maybe it's time to come home," Marsh murmured.

She turned to look at him and her eyes were so sad. "I spent every waking moment for nearly four years planning and scheming to get off Sunrise Key. Coming back here would feel like quitting."

"It's not—"

"I wish that I loved him." She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. "But I don't."

She was talking about Elliot.

"Coming back to Sunrise Key wouldn't be quitting," Marsh said.

Leila shook her head. "Living here drove me nuts, Marsh. Everyone knows what everyone else is doing all the time. There's no privacy, no secrets, no surprises. I remember when my parents decided to start a vegetable garden. Doesn't seem like much of a topic for gossip, does it?" She laughed, and there were traces of despair in her voice. "But it was. I rode my bike down to the hardware store to pick up some chicken wire for fencing, and Mr. Lanigan had already set a roll aside for us … along with a tray of tomato seedlings, some wood stakes, and a garden trowel that had gone on sale."

Marsh leaned forward slightly. "But that's nice. If Mr. Lanigan hadn't set those things aside for you, they might've been sold to someone else."

"But I didn't tell him I was coming. My parents didn't tell him. He assumed, because someone had told him about our garden."

"Leila—"

"It was worse when I turned sixteen," she continued hotly. "I couldn't make a move without everyone in town knowing where I was and what I was doing there. Frankie and I tried to hitchhike off the island. Who picks us up? Sam Zimmer, the manager of my father's store." She rolled her eyes. "He drove us home and told us if he ever heard even the tiniest whisper of a rumor about us hitching again, he'd tell my father and I'd be grounded for the rest of my life." She snorted. "The big joke was, I was already grounded—I was stuck here on Sunrise Key."

Marsh realized he'd been holding his breath, and he exhaled swiftly. "Thank God for Sam Zimmer." He slid down off the jeep. "Can you imagine what might have happened if some off-islander had picked you up?"

"Of course," Leila said. "Now I know better, but—"

"I remember what you looked like when you were sixteen." Marsh ran his hand down his face. She'd looked like an angel, half child, half woman, pure temptation. "Christ, Leila, you could have wound up in a ditch. You might have disappeared, for good."

"I was a kid, Marsh. I needed freedom. I felt so suffocated and overprotected here." Another blast of chilly air came in from the water, and Leila shivered. "That's why I went to New York."

"So you could be raped and murdered whenever the mood struck?" Marsh asked, reaching into the back of the jeep for the sports jacket he'd left there earlier in the evening.

"Of course not."

"I can't believe you tried to hitchhike off the island. If I had known, I would have wrung your little neck!"

"Simon would have beat you to it." Leila sighed. "I can't come back here, Marsh."

"Yes, you can." Marsh opened his jacket. He'd intended to wrap it around Leila's shoulders, but she backed away, wary of his next move. Instead, he held it out to her. "You aren't sixteen anymore, Leila."

"Rub it in," she muttered, taking the jacket, careful not to touch him. She slipped her arms into his jacket and closed the front.

"I'm serious." Marsh pushed himself back onto the jeep. "You have different needs now. What you saw as nosiness or lack of privacy when you were younger will turn into neighborliness, friendliness, concern, and caring … if you let it."

His jacket hid the bottom edge of her shorts, casting the illusion that she wore nothing underneath. It was a very nice illusion.

"You went to New York," Marsh continued, forcing his gaze away from her long, bare legs. "You tried it out. But I don't think the experiment worked. It sounds to me as if you don't like it there."

She didn't deny it. She just stood there staring at him with her luminous, beautiful violet-blue eyes.

"Don't go back," Marsh whispered. "You don't have to go back."

Leila turned away from the hypnotic warmth of Marsh's eyes. Her heart was pounding, and she was suddenly aware of her lack of oxygen. She laughed, because it covered her sense of unease. Was it possible that she was actually considering everything he'd said?

"What am I supposed to do?" she asked. "Fax all my clients, let 'em know my new address and phone number?" She met Marsh's gaze in the moonlight. "Send for all my things?"

"You could." His gaze was hot and piercingly relentless. "You could do it tomorrow. I'd help you, Leila. You can count on me for anything."

"Anything?" she repeated with a laugh. This whole discussion was getting out of hand. "Watch out. You may not realize what you're offering."

"I'm offering everything," he said simply. He held out his hands, palms up. "Unconditionally."

Leila crossed her arms. "Oh, really?" She hoped he didn't hear the way his words made her heart beat faster and louder. He'd been drinking, she reminded herself. In the morning he probably wouldn't even remember what he'd said. "Then after I move down here and tell Elliot I'm not going to marry him, you'll volunteer to father my children?"

Marsh's eyes turned molten. "Father your children? Help with the fun part and leave you to do the rest?" He shook his head. "But don't misunderstand, love. It's not because I'm averse to the fun. On the contrary. That particular activity is one that I've longed—rather desperately, I might add—to do with you for years and years now."

Leila felt her face flush. He was talking about making love. He'd just admitted that he wanted desperately to make love to her. Any second now, he was going to slide off the jeep and walk over to her, and take her into his arms and…

And there was no one around to interrupt them. This time, he'd succeed. He'd kiss her and…

"It's not the idea of having children that doesn't appeal to me," Marsh continued. "I would like to have a few of my own. I just don't want them growing up without me."

He'd kiss her, and then, God help her, they'd probably end up making love right there on the lawn above the beach, out in the moonlight, under the stars.

Because that's what she wanted. She wanted to make love to Marsh Devlin. And knowing that scared her to death.

Leila forced herself to turn away from the warmth in Marsh's eyes. "Your children wouldn't grow up without you." Her voice sounded unnaturally loud in the night's silence. "Considering that we'd all be living in the same place. If I moved back to Sunrise Key, we'd all be sponging off Simon, wouldn't we?"

She had, undoubtedly, succeeded in destroying the mood, in deflating the bubble of desire that had surrounded them both and drawn them closer and closer together.

Marsh slid off the jeep. "My word, I thought I was properly anesthetized and quite comfortably numb. Apparently I was wrong. It seems to have worn off. Or perhaps that barb had a particularly sharp point." He pushed his hair back from his face and stood for a moment, staring at the ruins of his house. "I don't suppose you brought along anything potent to drink?"

"No."

"No, of course you didn't. Pity. God, this place is a mess, isn't it?"

Leila felt awful. She hadn't meant for her comment to be quite that cruel. "Marsh, I'm sorry, I—"

"I changed the subject, Leila," he said quietly, not meeting her eyes. "That conversation was apparently going nowhere. Let's move on, shall we? I came out here to have a look at the house, try to decide what to do."

His face was shadowy in the moonlight. "See, I gave the building inspector a call tonight. I told him to tear the place down, get the mess cleaned up. Now what I need to decide is whether or not to leave the foundation intact. Whether to rebuild or sell."

"Sell?"

"Believe it or not, there's actually something you don't know." He turned to look at her. "I received an offer for this land … an offer well above market value."

"From Preston Seaholm." Leila pulled Marsh's jacket tighter around her shoulders as another cool breeze blew in from the Gulf. "I do know about it. There was a letter from him in your room."

"So much for privacy," Marsh muttered. "For someone who cares so much about it, you certainly don't honor it, do you? I suppose you went through my underwear drawer while you were at it."

"The letter was stuffed into a file marked Received," Leila said indignantly. "It was among a pile of insurance checks … that you haven't cashed, I might add."

"You always do have something to add, don't you? So what's your advice? Let's hear it, Leila. Should I sell or not?"

She felt like crying. All of the warmth in Marsh's eyes was gone. He leaned back against the jeep and gazed at her with that mocking glint that was part amusement and part disdain.

"I think it would be wise to sell, particularly for what he's offering."

"His offer is really little more than charity," Marsh said flatly. "It's Seaholm's way of helping me out of this financial bind."

"He does get the land."

"The same way I get watermelon and zucchini when I trade the Hopkinses for all that pork."

"Pres Seaholm has a vested interest in keeping you here, on the key," Leila pointed out. "You're the only doctor in more than forty miles. Besides, if that kind of trading doesn't bother the Hopkinses, why should it bother you? You said it yourself. That's just the way things work down here. People look after each other. Is it so terrible if someone does a little looking after you?"

"You didn't like it when people looked out for you." Marsh stared at the burned shell that was once his house, his home. "I like this particular view of the ocean. I don't want to sell." He looked at Leila. "I've decided. I'm going to rebuild." He smiled. "There. That was easy, wasn't it?"

"Even with those insurance checks I found, you're still forty-four thousand dollars short," Leila warned him. "But if you want, I can help you organize your financial records. You'll stand a better shot at getting a bank loan and—"

"I can rebuild without borrowing any money from the bank," Marsh said.

"What, you're planning to win the lottery?" Leila crossed her arms.

"Sort of." Marsh went around to the passenger side of the jeep. "Drive me back to Simon's. It's time for me to sponge off the bastard a bit more."

Leila sighed with exasperation. "Marsh, I don't know why I said that."

"Forget about it." He climbed into the jeep. "Come on, the sooner we get back, the less hellish I'll feel in the morning."

But she did know why she'd said such a cruel thing to Marsh. She had been terrified. Marsh had been talking about making love to her. He'd as much as confessed that he wanted her, desperately. That word still echoed in her head. Desperately. Desperately…

And Leila wanted him, too. She wanted him to make love to her. She wanted it badly, desperately. Desperately… Forget about the ninja. Forget about Elliot. Forget about her job as an accountant back in New York City. Forget about everything but Marsh and the way he could make her heart pound with just a look and a smile.

It was terrible, it was awful, but it was undeniable. Leila had it bad for Marshall Devlin.