t's not heatstroke," Marsh said quietly to Simon as they stood outside of Leila's bedroom door. "Her temperature's not that severely elevated. But she does seem dehydrated. All her symptoms make me think it's heat exhaustion. And that could, of course, be a precursor to heatstroke. I'm going to sit with her awhile, force fluids."

Simon nodded. "Need any help? Forcing anything on Leila is next to impossible."

"Actually, I don't think it'll be a problem. She's been alarmingly acquiescent so far. Of course, she's mostly been asleep."

Leila was going to be fine. Marsh was the one who was going to need a week or so to recover. When Simon's phone number had come on his beeper along with the emergency code 911, Marsh had experienced sheer panic. He'd done a one-eighty on two squealing tires and prayed that it wasn't Leila who was injured—or worse.

When he'd seen Leila lying on the deck surrounded by Simon, his friend Amanda, and Nancy Sullivan, Marsh had known the true meaning of fear. It filled him from the inside out—a dark, deadly black cloud of terror that threatened to choke him. He knew then how much he loved this woman. He loved her enough to take a chance with her—to take on and prove wrong the prophecy of unhappily-ever-after that his parents' failed relationship had instilled in him.

Except, dammit, he was too late. Leila had found her dream lover in Hayden Young. And last night Marsh had come close to flat out telling Leila that he loved her. He had told her that he wanted her, that he desired her. And what did she do? She invited her friend Nancy over for dinner in an attempt to fix him up. That stung, like a hard, cold slap in the face.

Still, he'd nearly wept with relief as Leila roused slightly. Marsh had carried Leila up to her bedroom and set to work cooling her down.

He stood talking to Simon now, shaking slightly from the adrenaline that had pumped into his system the second the message had appeared on his beeper.

"Call if you need help," Simon said.

Marsh nodded and went back into Leila's room with a bottle of Gatorade and a glass he'd brought upstairs from the kitchen.

Leila was asleep in the middle of her double bed. She was sweating and restless and dangerously beautiful. He was there as her doctor; she was his patient. He was going to have to remember that.

Her blond curls were clinging to the sides of her face as Marsh lightly touched her cheek. She was still far too warm and damp.

He set the bottle and the glass on Leila's bedside table, then pulled the sheet off of her. Crossing the room, he turned on the fan in the far window, which sent a rush of cool ocean air across her body.

She was still wearing shorts and an oversized T-shirt. The shorts had an elastic waistband, and Marsh easily pulled them off, trying to make her a little cooler. It would have been better to take off her T-shirt, but he knew that she had nothing on underneath it.

Her panties were a deep, vibrant shade of blue, a mere wisp of silk and lace cut high on her legs. It figured she wouldn't be the demure white cotton type. Doctor, he thought. Not lover. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

He sat down next to her, determined to ignore both his sudden despair and the bright blue splash of color.

She stirred again, and he touched her gently, pushing her hair from her face.

"Leila. Wake up for a bit, will you?"

Her eyelids fluttered open, but it took several seconds for her to focus on his face.

"Marsh." She gave him a sweet, warm smile that made Marsh's stomach hurt. Why couldn't she smile at him that way when she was fully conscious?

"Leila, you need something to drink," Marsh said as her eyes closed again. "I need you to sit up for a sec and drink this."

"Fine," she mumbled, not moving. "That's fine, Marsh. Thanks."

"I'm going to help you sit up." Her only response was another weak smile.

"Right." He pulled her up and propped her back against his chest. She sagged like a rag doll. A hot rag doll. The body heat radiating from her was amazing. "Come on, love," he coaxed, holding the glass to her lips. "Drink up."

She took one sip and then another as he murmured encouragement. When she would have fallen back into bed, he still held her up. "A little more."

She took another long, deep drink, then turned her head to look up at him. "I am thirsty."

"That's splendid. Have some more."

"You know, I didn't invite Nancy for dinner." She was finally awake enough to hold the glass herself, and took another sip. "I mean, I did, but I didn't mean—"

"Shh. We don't need to talk about that right now. I forgive you, all right? Have some more—"

"No." She set the glass down on the bedside table. "There's nothing to forgive. Nancy stopped by. It was time for dinner. I asked her to stay. I didn't plan it. And as far as Hayden Young goes, I—"

"Leila, it's fine. Everything is fine, so stop worrying—"

"You stop patronizing me." She tried to pull away, but he held her tightly in place. There was no way he was going to let go of her. She'd fall directly on her head again.

"I'm not being patronizing."

"Yes, you are—"

"Right. You win. Now drink more of this. Please."

"You won't even let me explain." Tears filled her eyes, and Marsh knew he didn't stand a chance. One tear escaped and began to roll slowly down Leila's cheek.

"I'm sorry. I'm listening now, all right?"

"Nancy was here when I got home from the beach." Leila wiped at the tear. But another replaced it on her other cheek. "She wanted me to go out to dinner with her, but I was too tired. Simon said you were bringing home pizza, so I asked her to stay. I didn't stop to think you might jump to conclusions and get angry with me."

"Leila, love, I'm sorry. I thought … well, you know what I thought." Of course that didn't change what he'd overheard Mary Lou Tennison telling Helen Burke. His stomach still hurt to think about it.

Marsh poured more Gatorade into the glass and handed it back to her. "Drink," he ordered.

She took a sip, looking at him over the top of the glass. She was so enticingly beautiful. He could picture her with Hayden Young, his size-forty arms around her, two sets of blond hair moving gracefully in the breeze. She'd smile up at Young, her own violet-blue eyes sparkling with pleasure, and he'd bend his head to kiss her perfect, tantalizing lips—

"Do you want me to give Young a call?" Marsh worked hard to keep his voice even.

Leila frowned. "Who?"

"Hayden Young," he repeated, clearing his throat. "Your new boyfriend."

She handed Marsh the glass and sank back onto her pillows, eyes closed. "He's not my boyfriend. He wasn't my ninja, either."

"But—"

She opened her eyes and smiled drowsily at him. "I kissed him to make you jealous. He's nice, but he's not you."

Jealous? Marsh stared at Leila, trying desperately to process what she was telling him. She wanted to make him jealous? Good God! Did that mean…?

She spoke again, but so softly that he couldn't hear the words.

"What was that?" Marsh leaned closer so that he could hear her.

"Did it work?" she breathed.

"Yes." He managed to speak despite the fact that his heart was lodged tightly in his throat.

"Good." Leila sighed, and Marsh leaned even closer to hear her. "I'm so tired… I'm going to sleep now."

"All right. I'll be here if you need me. Just … I'll be here."

Leila smiled.

Her mouth was mere inches from his own. He was close enough to see the individual freckles that decorated her nose, close enough to smell the clean, sweet fragrance of her hair with each breath he took. One tear lingered on her cheek.

Marsh couldn't stop himself. He leaned forward, lightly kissing that last tear away.

But Leila turned her head and before he even realized what was happening, he was kissing her. He was kissing her sweet lips. Her mouth was warm, too warm. Her tongue was shockingly hot as she opened her mouth and—

Marsh's eyes flew open and he looked directly into the violet-blue swirls of Leila's eyes. He pulled back. "I'm … I'm sorry. I—"

"Don't stop, Marsh," she murmured, even as her eyes drifted shut.

Marsh's heart was pounding. She'd kissed him. She'd kissed him.

He made himself back away from the bed.

She'd kissed Hayden Young to make him jealous. She didn't think Young was her ninja.

He pulled the armchair next to her bed and sat down. He turned off the light and waited as his eyes grew accustomed to the soft moonlight streaming in through the windows. It bathed Leila with its silvery light, making her look angelic.

Marsh smiled. He still had a chance. He had a chance, and he was going to do his damnedest to win Leila's heart. He had to. Because tonight he'd had a very clear look at what losing Leila meant. And he was damned if he was going to let that happen.

Leila spent the afternoon in the shade alongside the swimming pool. She'd slept away the morning, waking up well past noon.

Simon was out of town all day on business, but he called every few hours or so, checking in on her.

She was, she told her brother repeatedly, fine.

She had a very slight headache and was a little bit shaky, but other than that, she felt fine. Still, she followed the directions Marsh had scribbled on a piece of paper in his big blocky handwriting. Rule number one: Stay out of the sun. Rule number two: Push fluids. Rule number three: Take it easy.

And then there was rule number four: Have dinner with me tonight.

It wasn't a request. There wasn't a "please" in sight. That should have pushed all of the wrong buttons in Leila, but it didn't. As she looked at the message from Marsh for the tenth time that day, she didn't feel indignant or defensive. She felt only anticipation.

She remembered bits and pieces of her interaction with Marsh the night before. She remembered leaning against him as he coaxed her to drink cups and cups of that vile greenish juice. She remembered explaining why Nancy Sullivan was visiting. She remembered Marsh asking her if he should call Hayden Young. She remembered wanting to erase the grim look from his eyes, and telling him the truth about Hayden. She remembered him leaning forward to kiss her…

But she didn't remember the kiss. Try as hard as she might, she could only recall up to the moment that his lips had met hers. Then it seemed to blur and blend with a dream she must've had the night before—a dream about her ninja.

Leila dove into the swimming pool, letting the water surround her, cocooning her in its cool stillness. She swam the length of the pool and back, and when she surfaced, the sunshine seemed unnaturally bright and the sound of her breathing and the splashing noises she made seemed too loud.

Why couldn't she remember Marsh's kiss?

She shook her wet hair back out of her face, and…

Leila froze—and dunked herself in the deep end. She came up sputtering and spitting water, and grabbed the side of the pool.

What if her memory of Marsh's kiss blurred and blended with her memory of her ninja's kisses because … Marsh was her ninja? No. No, he couldn't be. Could he?

Leila did a slow backstroke across the pool, staring up into the brilliant blue of the sky, trying to slow her racing heart.

If Marsh was her ninja, why hadn't he told her? Why had he let her go on this wild-goose chase? Why…

Leila suddenly became aware of a dark figure silhouetted against the sky at the edge of the pool. She stood up—the water was a little more than waist deep on this side. She shaded her eyes from the sun.

It was Marsh standing there.

His tie was loosened and the top button of his shirt was undone. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. He held his sports jacket by one finger over his shoulder.

Despite the fact that it was nearly eighty degrees in the shade, he looked his regular cool, collected self.

Except for his eyes.

They skimmed down the length of her body, lingering on her barely covered breasts, then even diving beneath the surface of the water. It was a wonder that the entire pool didn't begin to boil from the heat of his gaze.

Leila wrung the water from her hair, and his eyes followed her movement. He looked at her hands, her upraised arms, her breasts, her mouth, and then finally, finally into her eyes.

"You look like you're feeling much better."

She had been feeling better, but now she felt positively dizzy again. But it wasn't from heat exhaustion. Leila moistened her lips, and his eyes flickered to her mouth again. "I am." Her voice sounded husky.

Marsh nodded. "Good."

"You're home early." He was making her nervous. She sank down so that the water covered her to her neck. "Or are you still working? Is this a house call?"

Marsh swung his jacket off his shoulder and carried it over to one of the lounge chairs. "No." He turned back to her. "I'm quite done for the day. I left my black bag in the jeep." He glanced at his wristwatch. "As of five o'clock, the doctor is out. He can only be reached via beeper in the direst of emergencies."

"You have a beeper."

She was looking at him with the oddest expression on her face. Marsh watched as she swam gracefully toward the steps.

Water fell off her body in a sheet as she came out of the pool.

She was indescribably gorgeous. Marsh had never seen her wear this bathing suit before. It was black and tiny and it glistened from being wet—as did her tanned skin. It was remarkable—yesterday's sunburn had already turned to a delectable golden tan. She wore no makeup, and she looked clean and fresh and young.

But her pretty face and incredible body were all just decoration, wrapping for the vibrant, warm, amazing woman that Leila was. Marsh loved her so much at that moment, he couldn't speak.

She walked directly toward him.

Marsh had passed his anatomy classes at Harvard Med School with a 4.0 average. He'd learned the names of all of the muscles that tightened and relaxed and moved and flexed as Leila came toward him. But for the life of him he couldn't remember any of them right now.

All he could say was her name. "Leila…"

He'd fantasized all day, in between appointments, about coming home and pulling her close and kissing her until she melted in his arms. He'd fantasized about carrying her upstairs, into her bedroom, and making love to her as the sun set over the Gulf.

He'd fantasized about it, but knew it wasn't likely to happen. Leila probably had no idea what the sight of her in that skimpy bikini did to his blood pressure. She probably didn't realize that the look in her eyes was faintly predatory and made him nearly hum with desire.

Any second now, she'd get close enough to drip on his shoes, flash him one of her magnificent smiles, and head for her towel.

But she didn't stop until her arms were around his neck, and her wet body was pressed tightly against him. He put his arms around her, too—he was no fool. He ran his hands up and down her back and arms, touching her, pressing her even closer to him.

She gazed up at him, and he knew she could see the shock in his eyes. She could probably see his desire, too, and if she couldn't see it, she could feel it from the proximity of their two bodies.

"Well," he said breathlessly, "this is quite a welcome home."

Leila gently pulled his head down and lifted her mouth to his and…

It was better than any of his fantasies. She kissed him slowly, sweetly, coaxing his mouth open with her tongue. Not that he needed coaxing. He met her tongue in a slow, sensual dance that made him feel drugged, intoxicated.

He heard himself moan, dizzy with emotion, and suddenly something flashed and the kiss was no longer slow, no longer languorous. The sweetness turned instantly to fire. Marsh could feel her body against his, white-hot and molten, her mouth granting him access, inviting him in. It was fierce and explosive, passionate and wild.

The entire world spun crazily as Marsh kissed Leila feverishly, deliriously. She angled her head to kiss him even harder, deeper. He thrust his fingers through her wet curls, burning with desire, giddy with love.

He loved Leila without reservation, without restraint. And he had to believe that she felt something for him, too. Because this time he wasn't wearing a mask. This time, she knew bloody well whom she was kissing. And she was probably realizing right about now that he was…

Leila pulled back. Her breasts moved with every rapid breath she took, but Marsh couldn't look anywhere except into her eyes. She knew.

"You're my ninja."

Marsh nodded. "Yes."

"Oh, God."

He saw her hesitation, read the indecision in her eyes. She couldn't decide whether to yell at him or kiss him again. He took the decision out of her hands, pulling her back into his arms and covering her mouth with his.

He would kiss her. He would kiss her until she forgot about being angry or hurt or upset or whatever she was feeling. He would kiss her, and then he would explain why he hadn't told her, and she would understand.

But she stiffened in his arms and pulled away.

"Leila," he started to say, and she pushed him, hard, into the swimming pool.