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Cliff’s answer was to turn her in his arms. She looked up at him, and her hair fell away from her face. He raised his hands to touch her cheeks and stared down at her. His fingertips slowly glided over each feature. Such smooth skin, warm and silky, and eyes that could rip apart a man’s heart. Slowly he lowered his mouth to hers, denying himself the pleasure for as long as he could endure it.

Their mouths gently brushed against each other’s like rose petals caught in a breeze. Velvety smooth. Soft and warm. Infinitely gentle, but electric. Again he kissed her, only this time his mouth lingered, longer this time, much longer.

Diana felt her knees go weak and she swayed toward him, slipping her arms around his neck. A debilitating sensation overcame her. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move.

Cliff groaned and his grip tightened and moved to the back of her head. He slanted his mouth across hers, sampling once more the pure pleasure of her kiss. He’d been right; she tasted incredibly of sweet butterscotch. Hungrily, his lips devoured hers, again and again, unable to get enough of her. Diana felt the tears well in her eyes, and was at a loss to know where they came from or why. One slipped from the corner of her eye and rolled down the side of her face, leaving a shiny trail.

At first her tears were lost to him, he was so involved with the taste of her. When he realized she was crying, he stopped and drew away from her.

“Diana?” he asked tenderly, concerned.

Embarrassed, she tucked her chin against her shoulder, not knowing what to say.

“Then why...”

“I don’t know. I am such an idiot.” She jerked her hand across her face and smudged her carefully applied mascara. “I don’t know, Cliff. I honestly don’t know.”

He tried to hold her, but she wouldn’t let him.

“Because it was good,” she offered as an explanation.

“The kiss?”

“Everything. You. The dinner. The stars.” She sobbed once and held her hands over her face. “Everything.”

“I didn’t have anything to do with making the stars shine,” he teased softly. Although she didn’t want him to hold her, Cliff kept his hands on her shoulders, seeking a way to comfort her.

Diana knew he was attempting to lighten the mood, but it didn’t help.

“Come on, let me take you home.” This wasn’t what he wanted, but he didn’t know what else to do.

Miserable, she nodded.

“I have to admit this is the first time my kisses have caused a woman to weep.”

She attempted to laugh, but the sound that came out of her throat was like the creak of a rusty hinge. No doubt this was a switch for him. Women probably swooned at his feet. Tall, handsome, rich men were a rare species.

He draped his arm around her shoulders again as he led her back to his car. When he opened the door for her, he paused and pressed a finger under her chin, lifting her face so that she was forced to meet his gaze.

“It was just as good for me,” he told her softly.

Diana longed to shout at him to stop. All this wasn’t necessary. The last thing she wanted was for him to sweep her off her feet, and already she was so dangerously close to tumbling that it rocked her to the bottom of her soul. They weren’t right together. Cliff was wonderful, too good to be true. His tastes leaned toward someone young and sleek, not a widow with two daughters whose lifetime goals were to grow up and succeed Katy Perry.

All the way back to the house, Diana mentally rehearsed what she planned to say at the door. He’d ask her out again, and she’d tell him in hushed, regretful tones that she had to decline. She had to! The option had been taken away from her the instant he’d pulled her into his arms. Shirley was right—this man was more dangerous than fire!

Only Cliff didn’t give her the opportunity to refuse him. Like the perfect gentleman, he escorted her to the door, thanked her for a lovely evening, gently kissed her forehead and walked away.

Diana was grateful he hadn’t made her say it, but her heart pounded with regret. Cliff had realized there could be no future for them, and although she would have liked to find a way, it was impossible.

A week passed, a long, tedious week when life seemed to be an uphill battle. Joan went through two packages of press-on nails, and they turned up in every conceivable corner of the house. Katie’s allergies were acting up again, and Diana spent two dreary afternoons sitting in a doctor’s office waiting for the nurse to give Katie her shot.

Shirley was over daily for coffee and to reassure Diana that she’d made the right decision about not seeing Cliff again. It seemed Cliff had recovered quickly and was said to be dating Dana Mattson, a local television talk show hostess. Diana thought of Cliff fondly and wished him well. In many ways she was grateful for their one evening together. She’d felt more alive than at any other time since Stan’s death. She was grateful that he’d shown her the light, but now she didn’t know if she could be content with living in the shadows again.

The Thursday afternoon following their dinner, Diana planted marigolds along the edges of the flower bed in the backyard. The huge old apple tree was in bloom and filled the air with the sweet scent of spring, but Diana was too caught up in her own thoughts to notice. All day she’d been in a blue funk, depressed and irritable. Every time she saw the wilted bouquet of roses and carnations in the center of the kitchen table, she felt faint stirrings of regret. Friday there wouldn’t be any choice but to toss the flowers. It was silly to allow a lovely bouquet to mean so much.

After depositing her garden tools in the garage, she stepped into the bathroom to wash her hands. Joan was standing on top of the toilet, leaning across the sink and staring in the mirror. Her young mouth was twisted in a grimace.

“What are you doing?” Diana demanded.