That was the first time that I'd been frisky so soon after seeing a death. I realized that I needed someone to hold me and kiss me, to tease me with a little squeeze now and then.

"Let's go to bed," she whispered after sticking her tongue in my ear.

We kissed for a few minutes more.

"I'm married," I said, a timid bookkeeper on holiday in Atlantic City.

"So? I am, too."

"Where's your husband?"

"Not here."

The kissing got passionate there for a bit and then I leaned away.

"I don't want to do this," I said. "Not right now."

In a brazen gesture she laid a hand on my pants where the erection strained.

"It sure feels like you want to."

I stared into her eyes and she increased the pressure.

I barely moved.

"You know, I never bring men home from work."

"Uh-huh."

"I like you."

"I like you, too. I just need a little while to get over a couple'a things. Can you give me that?"

The question made her smile. She lifted the hand from my pants and caressed the side of my neck.

"I like it when a big strong man asks so sweetly," she said. "But I need some more of those lips before you can go."

I DIDN'T GET HOME until two-thirty in the morning, my virtue still pretty much intact.

By then Katrina should have been in bed, lulled by the chatter on one of her favorite TV channels. At that hour there would probably be some kind of health or exercise infomercial playing, but Katrina wouldn't know; she just needed the background noise to comfort her natural restlessness.

My wife was not in bed, however. She was sitting at the dining room table in her pink pajamas and turquoise robe.

"Where have you been?" she asked when I walked into the room. There was no friendliness in her voice.

"I told you. The job got more involved than I thought."