After the restaurant they went dancing, following the pattern of their dating days. During the fast dances, she was the hummingbird, spinning around and darting in and out. David was the oak, standing still waving his hands and nodding his head in time to the music. But she could always depend on a clutch to his arm to steady herself or change her direction. The fast dances were artistic fulfillment.

During the slow dances, his lead was direct. She could dance with him or lean back in his arm and merely raise and lower her feet in time to the music. He'd move them both where they had to go. This, down where it was concealed from everybody else, was arousing.

During one of those dances, she'd leaned back and looked up at his face. His arm on her waist must have carried a third of her weight, and their groins were pressed together. She grinned as she felt him harden. She wasn't the only one aroused. "Tease," he said. "Getting enough dancing?"

She would never get enough dancing, not dancing with him. Still, this wasn't the last act of this evening. "Let's make this the last dance," she said.

The weather had cooled when they came out, and he draped his jacket over her before he waved for a cab. Although she kept the jacket, he sheltered in his arms during the ride. He automatically moved upwind of her on the walk down the courtyard to their building. His height and breadth partly shielded her from the wind and the spattering of rain.

She ran up the last flight of steps, out of breath as much from laughter as from exertion. When he was two steps down and pulling his keys out of his pocket, their heads were level. She clasped his face to kiss him. He stopped there for a minute, enjoying the kiss as much as she did.

When they got inside, he took back his jacket and hung it up. She kicked off her shoes, and headed for the bathroom. She took off her pantyhose rather than pull them back up, and she did the cleansing ritual, being too old to sleep in makeup. Forgetfully, she reached for her diaphragm. Then she stopped herself. Not tonight; not ever again. They were going to make a baby.

His own trip took longer than usual. She could smell his aftershave and feel his smooth cheek when she kissed him. "You shaved again!" she said.

"It's a special night." He held her while he returned her kiss. Where hers had been flirtatious and laughing, his was slow, deep, serious. His mouth no longer toyed with hers; his lips drew hers open while his tongue drove into her mouth. When he broke the kiss, his eyes were no longer laughing back at hers; they were piercing, possessive, ardent.

She shivered. David had never hurt her during sex, not even the first time. He'd never hurt her at all. She wasn't truly worried that he would, although that seemed to be a worry of his. Still, when he looked at her like this, she felt vulnerable. He was so large, so strong, and -- right now -- so hungry.

He had worried when she'd mentioned it, so she had stopped mentioning it. "Never fear me," he had said. And, really, she didn't. Just this little frisson as she thought of all that muscle and bone beneath his skin, all that desire focused on her.

Careful not to mention it, she still felt vulnerable when he looked at her. She trusted his gentleness. He'd been the gentle husband she'd expected; she was sure that he would be the gentle father her children would need. There was no reason to fear him, and no rational fear.

There was only that one shiver, that and the dampness she could suddenly feel at her center. More than the dancing - sexy as dancing was with him, more than the kiss on the stairs - fun as his kisses were, his predatory stare turned her on. Still, there was only so much of that stare she could take. She rested her head against his chest.

"Do you know how beautiful you are," he said. It wasn't a question. She could have answered a question. She looked healthy and pleasant enough. But she'd turned no heads in the restaurant, let alone the dance club. She'd never been beautiful, except in his eyes.

He held her like that for a minute. Then he kissed the top of her head and reached for the snap at the neckline of her dress. It took two hands, but he'd done it before. He lowered the zipper. After brushing the dress off her shoulder with his chin, he kissed her there while he took the zipper the last few inches. She shivered again at the licking and sucking.

He didn't straighten until she had raised her arms. Then he lifted the dress over her head. He followed her into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. He dropped his cufflinks and tie clasp on his dresser, slipped out of his shoes, and hung his tie in his closet while she got her dress just right in hers.

More self-conscious in only bra and half-slip, she glanced away from his gaze. Her brush caught her attention. Did she have time for the hair ritual tonight? Not really, and he would insist on doing the brushing while looking at her reflection.

She turned and pulled back her shoulders; he unsnapped the bra and spread the sides before dropping them. Topless, she shivered again, feeling even more exposed. It was his turn now. She reached up to unbutton his shirt.

When his shirt was hanging loose, he took off shirt, trousers, and socks in a few efficient movements. If her naked torso made her conscious of her vulnerability, why didn't his naked torso even the balance? But it didn't. The sight of the muscles flexing, the tight jockeys tenting, didn't expose him to her eyes. It exposed her to his body. His hard abs burned her nipples as they hugged.

Then he bent to kiss her. He shoved the elastic of the half slip down over her hips as he did so. He picked her up without breaking the kiss. The half slip fell away; his tongue took over her mouth; his chest was scratchy against her breasts; she was moving and swinging through space. When those sensations ended, she was lying about two feet from the bottom of the bed and parallel to it.

He turned on the dim lamp on her dresser and turned off the bright overhead. He stripped off his shorts on his way back to bed. He knelt on the floor, arching over the foot of the bed to kiss her. As his tongue explored her mouth, his hand explored her body. He cuddled her breast, smoothed down to her belly, stroked upward again to tease her nipples. When both these were so full of blood that they ached, he stroked downward once again. He tickled her thighs and drew them apart.