Page 40 of The Playboy and the Widow
As far as looks went, the blonde won over Diana, hands down, Cliff decided. He smiled at the sleek beauty who clung to his arm, and tried to look as though he were enjoying himself. He wasn’t. In fact, he’d been miserable from the minute Diana had walked out of his condominium. At first he’d been furious with her. For a solid hour he’d driven around, searching for her, desperate to locate her. Only heaven knew where she’d run off to—it was as though aliens had absconded with her.
Twice he’d broken down and phoned her house, nearly frantic with worry. Joan had assured him, on the third call, that her mother was home and safe. It was then that Cliff had decided that whatever was between Diana and him was over. She was a crazy woman. One minute she was melting in his arms, and the next she was as stiff as cement, hissing accusations at him.
Two days later, after he’d had a chance to cool down, Cliff changed his mind. He’d behaved like a Neanderthal. The remark he’d made about being a sexual person returned to haunt him. It was no wonder she was angry, but she’d played a part in their little misunderstanding, leading him on, letting him think there was a green light in her eyes where it was actually a flashing red one. He didn’t possess ESP—how was he supposed to read her mind? Okay, he’d make the first move toward a reconciliation, he decided, and then leave the rest up to her. On his instructions, his secretary ordered the roses with an appropriate message. Cliff had sat back and waited.
When he hadn’t heard from Diana by the end of the week, he was stunned. Then shocked. Then angry. All right, he’d play her game—he was a patient man. In time she’d come around, and when she did, he’d play it cool. If anyone was sitting home nights, alone and frustrated, it wouldn’t be him. He’d make sure of that.
Hence Marianne—the blonde.
“Who are you going out with tonight?” Joan asked her mother as she sat at the kitchen table and glued on a false thumbnail.
“Not Mr. Freeman again,” Katie groaned, and reached for an apple.
“He’s a nice man.”
“Mom, if you wanted nice, I could set you up with Mr. Rogers or Captain Kangaroo.”
Diana hated to admit how right Joan was. Owen Freeman excited her as much as dirty laundry. He’d brought her candy, escorted her to a classical music concert and treated her with kindness and respect. He’d even supplied her with letters from his colleagues attesting to his character, just in case she was worried about being alone with him. Maybe Cliff wasn’t so out of line to have mentioned magic. She felt it with him, but she certainly didn’t with Owen Freeman. There were so many frogs out there and so few princes.
“Have you read through his references yet?” Joan asked.
“Honey, that was a very nice gesture on Mr. Freeman’s part.”
“He’s a geek.”
“Katie, I want you to stop calling him that.”
Her younger daughter shrugged.
Joan spread contact cement across the top of the nail on her little finger. A pile of fake fingernails rested in front of her. “It’s your life, Mom. You know how Katie and I feel about Mrs. Holiday’s cousin, but you do what you want.”
“Well, don’t worry about it—you’re not having dinner with him. I am.”
Joan rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Lucky you.”
Owen arrived a half hour later. He brought Joan and Katie a small stuffed animal each and a small bouquet of flowers for Diana. He really was an exceptionally nice man, but, as Joan had said, so were Mr. Rogers and Captain Kangaroo.
When Owen headed toward Des Moines and the restaurant at the marina, Diana tensed. Of all the places in the south end to eat, he had to choose this one.
“I understand the food here is excellent,” Owen said once they were seated.
“I’ve heard that, as well,” Diana said, looking over the top of her menu. Her heart was pumping double its normal rate. She was being silly. There was absolutely no reason to believe she would run into Cliff Howard simply because this restaurant was close to his condominium. No sane reason at all.
Owen ordered a bottle of wine, and Diana nearly did a swan dive into the first glass. Alcohol would help soothe her jittery nerves, she reasoned. After tonight, Diana decided, she would tell Owen that it simply wasn’t going to work. He was such a nice person, and she didn’t want to lead him on when there was no reason to believe anything would ever develop between them. Her mind worked up a variety of ways to tell him, then she decided to take the coward’s way out and leave a voice mail message after he dropped her off following dinner.
“You’re quiet this evening,” Owen said softly.
“I’m sorry.”
“Are you tired?”
She nodded. “It’s been a long week.” Diana turned her head and looked out over the rows and rows of watercraft moored in the marina. Without much trouble, she located Cliff’s forty-foot sloop.
“Do you sail?” she asked Owen, without taking her eyes from Cliff’s boat.
“No, I can’t say that I do.”
“Fish?”
