IT WAS unforgettable. Just like the magical Nat King Cole song, and the more recent version with Natalie Cole.

We were standing at the door to my hotel room, and I was completely lost in the moment. I had let go of Christine’s hand to open the door-and I was lost. I fumbled the key slightly and missed the lock. She gently placed her hand on mine and we glided the key into the lock, turned the tumblers together.

An eternity of seconds passed, at least it seemed that way. I knew that I would never forget any of this. I wouldn’t let skepticism or cynicism diminish it either.

I knew what was happening to me. I was feeling the dizzying effect of a return to intimacy. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed it. I had let myself be numb, let myself live numb for the past few years. It’s easy enough to do, so easy that you don’t even realize your life has become a deep rut.

The hotel door slowly opened, and I had the thought that the two of us were giving up something of our past now. Christine turned to me at the threshold. I heard the faint swish of her silk dress.

Her beautiful face tilted toward mine. I reached for her and balanced her chin with my fingertips. I felt as if I hadn’t been able to breathe properly all night, not from the moment she’d arrived at Penn Station.

“Musician’s hands. Piano player fingers,” she said. “I love the way you touch me. I always knew I would. I’m not afraid anymore, Alex.”

“I’m glad. Neither am I.”

The heavy wooden door of the hotel room seemed to close all by itself.

It didn’t really matter where we were right now, I was thinking. The twinkling lights outside, or maybe a boat gliding by on the river, gave the impression that the floor was gently moving, much as the dance floor at the Rainbow Room had moved under our feet.

I had switched hotels for the weekend, moving to the Astor on Manhattan ’s East Side. I’d wanted someplace special. The room was on the twelfth floor, facing out on the river.

We were drawn to the picture window, attracted by the strobing lights of the New York skyline to the southeast. We watched the silent, strangely beautiful movement of traffic passing the United Nations, moving toward the Brooklyn Bridge.

I remembered taking the bridge earlier today on our way to a crackhouse in Brooklyn. It seemed so long ago. I saw the face of Shareef Thomas, then the dead policeman’s then Soneji’s, but I shut down those images immediately. I wasn’t a police detective here. Christine’s lips were on my skin, lightly bussing my throat.

“Where did you go just now? You went away, didn’t you?” she whispered. “You were in a dark place.”

“Just for a few seconds.” I confessed the truth, my flaw. “A flashback from work. It’s gone.” I was holding her hand again.

She kissed me lightly on the cheek, a paper-thin kiss, then very lightly on the lips. “You can’t lie, can you, Alex? Not even tiny white lies.”

“I try not to. I don’t like lies. If I lie to you, then who am I?” I said and smiled. “What’s the point?”

“I love that about you,” she whispered. “Lots of other things, too. I find something else every time I’m with you.”

I nuzzled the top of her head, then I kissed Christine’s forehead, her cheek, her lips, and finally the sweet hollow of her throat. She was trembling a little. So was I. Thank God that neither of us was afraid, right. I could feel the pulse tripping under her skin.

“You’re so beautiful,” I whispered. “Do you know that?”

“I’m way too tall, too thin. You’re the beautiful one. You are, you know. Everybody says so.”

Everything felt electric and so right. It seemed a miracle that we had found each other, and now we were here together. I was so glad, felt so lucky, that she had decided to take a chance with me, that I had taken a chance, too.

“Look in the mirror there. See how beautiful you are,” she said. “You have the sweetest face. You are trouble, though, aren’t you, Alex?”

“I won’t give you too much trouble tonight,” I said.

I wanted to undress her, to do everything for and to Christine. A funny word, strange word in my head, rapture. She slid her hand over the front of my pants and felt how hard I was.

“Hmmm,” she whispered and smiled.

I began to unzip her dress. I couldn’t remember wanting to be with someone like this, not for a long time anyway. I ran my hand over her face, memorizing every part, every feature. Christine’s skin was so soft and silky underneath my fingers.

We started to dance again, right there in the hotel room. There wasn’t any music, but we had our own. My hand pressed just below her waist, folding her in close to me.

Moonlit choreography again. We slowly rocked back and forth, back and forth, a sensuous cha-cha-cha next to the broad picture window. I held her buttocks in the palms of my hands. She wiggled into a position she liked. I liked it, too. A whole lot.

“You dance real good, Alex. I just knew you would.”

Christine reached down and tugged at my belt until the prong came free. She unzipped me, lightly fondled me. I loved her touch, anywhere, everywhere. Her lips were on my skin again. Everything about her was erotic, irresistible, unforgettable.

We both knew to do this slowly, no need to hurry anything tonight. Rushing would spoil this, and it mustn’t be spoiled in any way.

I held the thought that we’d both been here before, but never like this. We were in this very special place for the first time. This would only happen one time.

My kisses slowly swept over her shoulders and I could feel her breasts rising and falling against me. I felt the flatness of her stomach, and her legs pressing. I cupped Christine’s breasts in my hands. Suddenly I wanted everything, all of her at once.

I sank to my knees. I ran my hands up and down her soft legs, along her waist.

I rose to my feet. I unzipped her black sheath the rest of the way, and it trailed down her long arms to the floor. It made a shimmering black puddle surrounding her ankles, her slender feet.

Finally, when there were no more clothes, we looked at each other. Christine watched my eyes and I watched hers. Her eyes shamelessly traveled down my chest, past my waist. I was still highly aroused. I wanted to be inside her so much.

She took a half step back. I couldn’t breathe. I could hardly bear this. But I didn’t want to stop. I was feeling again, remembering how to feel, remembering how good it could be.

She pulled her hair to one side, behind one ear. Such a simple, graceful movement.

“Do that again.” I smiled.

She laughed and repeated the movement with her hair. “Anything that you want.”

“Stay there,” she whispered. “Don’t move, Alex. Don’t come closer-we might both catch fire. I mean it.”

“This could take the rest of the weekend,” I said and started to laugh.

“I hope it does.”

I heard the tiniest click.

Was that the door to our room?

Had I closed it?

Was someone out there?

Jesus, no.