"Yes," was all she could say.
She rolled onto her side, slid her naked leg over him. "Is it always like that?"
When he turned to her, she saw something in his blue eyes that confused her: fear.
"No, Katie," he said after a long time. "It's not."
Kate woke in Johnny's arms. They both lay on their backs, with the sheets puddled around their hips. She stared up at the planked ceiling, feeling the heavy, unfamiliar weight of his hand between her naked breasts.
Dawn's pale glow slanted through the open window, collecting in a buttery smear on the hardwood floor. The endless slapping of waves against the pilings echoed the slow and steady beat of her heart.
She didn't know what she was supposed to do now, how she was supposed to act. From their first kiss, this had been a magical and unexpected gift. They'd made love three times during the night, the last time only a few hours ago. They'd kissed, they'd made omelettes and eaten in front of the fire, they'd talked about their families and their job and their dreams. Johnny had even told a series of extremely stupid jokes.
What they hadn't talked about was tomorrow, and it was here now, as much a presence between them as the soft sheets and the sound of their breathing.
She was glad she'd waited to make love, even though waiting for the right guy was unfashionable these days. Everything about last night had rocked her world, just as the poets predicted.
But what if Johnny didn't think she was the right girl? He hadn't said he loved her—of course he hadn't—and without those words, how was a woman to put passion in context?
Was she supposed to get dressed and sneak out and pretend it never happened? Or should she go downstairs and make breakfast and pray to God that last night was a beginning and not an ending?
When she felt him stir beside her, she tensed up.
"Morning," he said in a gravelly voice.
She didn't know how to play coy or act indifferent. She'd loved him too long to pretend otherwise. What mattered now was that they didn't just get up and go their separate ways. "Tell me something I don't know about you."
He stroked her upper arm. "Hmmm. I used to be an altar boy."
It was surprisingly easy to picture him like that, a young, skinny boy, with his hair slicked back from his face with water, walking carefully up the aisle. The image made her giggle. "My mother would love you."
"Now tell me something about you."
"I'm a science fiction geekess. Star Wars, Star Trek, Dune. I love them all."
"I would have pegged you for a romance reader."
"That, too. Now tell me something that matters. Why did you quit reporting?"
"You always go right for deep water, don't you?" He sighed. "I think you've figured it out anyway. El Salvador. I went down there like some kind of white knight, ready to shine my light on the truth. And then I saw what was happening . . ."
She said nothing, just kissed the curl of his shoulder.
"My folks had hidden so much from me. I thought I was prepared, but you can't be. It's blood and death and body parts being blown off. It's dead kids in the street and boys with machine guns. I got captured . . ." His voice faded away; he cleared his throat and reinforced it. "I don't know why they let me live, but they did. Lucky me. I tucked my tail between my legs and ran home."
"You didn't do anything to be ashamed of."
"I ran like a coward. And I failed. So now you know it all, why I'm in Seattle."
"Do you think it changes how I feel about you?"
It was a moment before he said, "We need to take this slow, Katie."
"I know." She rolled over, so that she was pressed against him. She tried to memorize everything about his face and how he looked first thing in the morning. She saw the shadow of a beard that had grown in their sleeping hours and thought: Already, changes.
He tucked the hair behind her ear. "I don't want to hurt you."
She wanted to say simply, Then don't, but this wasn't a time for simple answers or pretense. Honesty mattered now. "I'll take the risk of getting hurt if you will," she said evenly.
A hint of a smile played at the edges of his mouth, but she didn't see it in his eyes. In fact, he looked more than a little worried. "I knew you'd be dangerous."
She didn't understand. "Me? You must be joking. No one has ever thought I was dangerous."
"I do."
"Why?"
He didn't answer; instead, he leaned forward just enough to kiss her. She closed her eyes, waiting for it. She wasn't sure, but maybe, just before his lips touched hers, he said, "Because you're the kind of girl a guy could fall in love with."
He didn't sound particularly happy as he said it.
Outside her front door, Kate paused. Only moments before she'd been flying high, reveling in the night spent in Johnny's arms, but now she was back in the real world, where she'd just slept with a man her best friend had slept with first.
What would Tully say?
She opened the door and went inside. On this gray, rainy morning, the apartment was surprisingly quiet. She tossed her purse on the kitchen table and made herself a cup of tea.
"Where the hell have you been?"
She turned, flinched.
Tully stood there, her hair dripping wet, wearing nothing but a towel. "I almost called the cops last night. Where—You're wearing the suit from yesterday." A slow, knowing smile crept across her face. "Did you spend the night with someone? Oh, my God, you did. You're blushing." Tully laughed. "And I thought you were going to die a virgin." She grabbed Kate's arm and dragged her over to the sofa. "Talk."
Kate stared at her best friend, wishing she'd come home after Tully had left for work. This needed thought, planning. Tully could ruin it all with a word, a look. He's mine, her friend could say, and what would Kate do?
"Talk," Tully said again, bumping her.
Kate took a deep breath. "I'm in love."
"Whoa there, Penelope Pitstop. Love? After one night?"