I laughed Out loud. “That's true.”

I could see over her shoulder that the hotel's concierge, Harold Larsen, had done a goodjob for me. Rose petals were scattered in a swath of red, peach, and white. I knew therewere a dozen long-stems on the bedside table, a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc in theminifridge, and a couple of carefully chosen CDs in the stereo - best of Al Green,Luther Ingram, Tuck and Patti's Tears of Joy, some early Alberta Hunter.

“I guess you really did miss me,” Jamilla said.

Suddenly the two of us were like one body, my mouth exploring hers, my hands holdingher up from the rear. She already had my shirt half unbuttoned, and then I was reachingdown her side for the zipper on her skirt. We kissed again, and her mouth was so freshand sweet, like it always was.

“'If lovin' you is wrong, I don't want to be right,'” I sang in a half-whisper.

“Loving me isn't wrong.” Jamilla smiled.

I danced her backward toward the bedroom.

“How do you do this in heels?” I asked along the way“You're right,” she said, and kicked off her shoes even as her skirt slid to the Hoot“We should light these candles,” I said. “You want me to light them?”

“Shhh, Alex. It's already warm enough in here.”

“Yeah, it is.”

There wasn't a whole lot of talking for a while after that. Jamilla and I always seemed toknow what the other was thinking anyway - no conversation required at certain times.

And I had missed her, even more than I thought I would.

We pressed hard against each other, chest to chest, breathing in a nice rhythm. I rose andhardened against her leg, and I could feel moistness on my thigh. Then I reached up andheld Jam's lovely face in both of my hands.

I felt as though she could hear my thoughts. She smiled, drinking in what I hadn't evensaid. “Is that so?” she finally whispered, then winked. We had shared the mind-readingjoke before.