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there?”
    “A little seaweed. A few fish. Nothing to worry about.”
    “Maybe you don’t consider having barracuda nibbling at your toes to be risky, but I’m not all that enchanted with the idea.”
    “I doubt there are any barracuda lurking down there.”
    “Not good enough,” she said. “I want conviction in your voice or my toes stay on land.”
    “Ah, Molly. Where’s the romance in your soul?” he murmured, just close enough to her ear to give her goosebumps. His finger trailed along her neck, then over her bare shoulder.
    Molly shivered and halfheartedly wished she’d selected a gown with more fabric. She was entirely too responsive and Michael was entirely too skilled at this seduction stuff. Another five minutes and the society grandes dames truly would have something to shock the daylights out of them. As an alternative, Molly practically dived for the ledge. She stuck her feet, outrageously expensive stockings and all, into the bathwater-warm bay.
    Michael’s amused chuckle was entirely too predictable. As he sat down next to her, she considered—for no more than an instant—tumbling him into the bay so he could cool off his … libido.
    As if he guessed her thoughts, he grinned at her. “Don’t even think about it,” he said.
    “What?” she inquired innocently.
    Suddenly something brushed past her foot, ending all thoughts of retaliation. As it made contact again, it became clear that it was something considerably larger than a guppy or even a damned barracuda, she thought as a scream rose up in her throat and snagged.
    “What—” she asked in a choked voice. “What is that?”
    “What is what?” Michael said, instantly alert to the change in her voice.
    She was already standing, water pooling at her feet as she pointed at the murky depths. “There’s something in there.”
    “Probably just some seaweed.”
    “I don’t think so. It felt …” She was at a loss for an accurate description. “Slimy.”
    “That’s how seaweed feels,” he said, sounding so damned calm and rational she wanted to slug him.
    “Does it also feel big?” she snapped.
    “Big like a manatee?” he said, obviously refusing to share her alarm. “Maybe one is tangled in the mangroves.”
    Molly wasn’t sure exactly how she knew that Michael was wrong, but she was certain of it. “Maybe we should go get a flashlight.”
    “By the time we do, I’m sure whatever it is will be gone.”
    “Michael, humor me. If it is a trapped manatee, we ought to free it or Liza will never forgive us. If it’s …” She swallowed hard. “If it’s something else, we ought to do, hell, I don’t know. Just get the flashlight. I’ll wait here,” she said before she realized that she’d be left alone with something that every instinct told her was very human and very dead.
    Michael had taken two steps back toward the house, when she grabbed his arm. “Never mind. I’ll go for the flashlight. Give me the car keys. You stay here.”
    His expression suddenly serious, he handed over the keys without argument, either to humor her or because his own highly developed instincts for trouble had finally kicked in. “Don’t say a word to anyone, Molly. There’s no point in alarming everyone unnecessarily.”
    She nodded, then took off across the lawn, oblivious of the stares she drew as she raced barefooted through the guests, across the central courtyard of the house and down the driveway to the parking lot. It could have taken no more than ten minutes, fifteen at the outside, but it felt like an eternity before she made it back to where Michael was waiting. She’d grabbed a glass of champagne and chugged it down on the way. She had a hunch she was going to need it.
    Michael took the flashlight from her trembling grasp and shone it onto the water in front of where they’d been sitting. At first it seemed she must have been mistaken as the glare picked up no more than a few strands of seaweed, a tangle of mangrove roots, a