They strolled through the quiet brick courtyard and into the intimate, European-style lobby. On the fourth floor, they went to their room, a corner suite that had a sweeping view of the Sound. Bainbridge Island looked almost purple; the water was steel-blue; the distant mountains were back-lit by pink light. On a table by the window a bottle of champagne stood tilted in a silver ice bucket, a plateful of strawberries beside it.

Kate smiled. “I see someone wants to get laid in the worst way.”

“What you see is a man who loves his wife.” He swept her into his arms and kissed her.

When someone knocked, they broke apart like teenagers, laughing at their own passion.

Kate waited impatiently for the bellman to leave. The second he was gone she began unbuttoning her blouse. “I’m not sure exactly what to wear tonight.” When Johnny looked at her—he wasn’t smiling now; he looked as hungry as she felt—she unzipped her pants, let them fall to the floor. For the first time in months she didn’t worry about her weight gain. Instead she let his gaze be her mirror.

She unhooked her bra, let it dangle from her fingertips and drop to the ground.

“No fair starting without me,” he said, wrenching off his shirt, throwing it aside, then unbuttoning his pants.

They fell into bed together and made love as if they hadn’t done it in months instead of weeks, with every part of their minds and bodies. Sensation carried Kate away. When he finally entered her with all the pent-up longing of too many passionless nights, she cried out at the joy of it, and everything inside of her, everything she was, melded with this man she loved more than her own life. By the time she came, shuddering hard, holding him against her damp body, she was utterly spent.

He pulled her against him. Naked, panting, they lay entwined, the expensive hotel sheets tangled around their bare legs.

“You know how much I love you, don’t you?” he said quietly. They were words he’d said hundreds of times, so often that she knew how they were supposed to sound.

She rolled onto her side, instantly worried. “What is it?”

“What do you mean?” He eased away from her and went to the table, where he poured two glasses of champagne. “Do you want some strawberries?”

“Look at me, John.”

Slowly—too slowly—he turned, but he wouldn’t meet her gaze. “You’re scaring me.”

He went over to the window and stared out. His profile looked sharp suddenly, distant. Damp, tangled hair obscured his cheek. She couldn’t tell if he was smiling. “Let’s not do this now, Katie. We have all night and all day tomorrow to talk. For now, let’s—”

“Tell me.”