CHAPTER 12

Madder than she’d ever been in her entire life and hating Mondays with a passion, with a vengeance, Dianna drove furiously, madly, recklessly, across Baltimore. She had it all worked out. Once she got to Chris Adams’s penthouse, she would calmly ask the security guy to ring Chris and then he’d tell her to go on up and she would, and then Chris would let her in—and then she would kill him. It was as simple as that. Maybe she’d drown him in his marine tank. Or throw him off his own balcony. Or hit him repeatedly over the head with one of those especially fine pieces of sculpture he had sitting around the place.

And then, following that, she would be prosecuted by the late Chris Adams’s girlfriend—whoops. Sorry. His bereaved fiancée. Whatever. And then, after a fair trial, she would spend the rest of her life in prison. Seemed like a good trade-off.

So, with her bright future mapped out for herself, Dianna knew she first had to make it alive through this Monday-afternoon rush-hour traffic. Why the city had to declare rush hour at the same time of day when everyone was trying to get home was beyond her. The mobs of cars forced her to drive like Batgirl through Gotham. Horn honking, tires squealing. Lane changes. Cussing. Gestures. It all helped.

It also got her stopped by the police. And so, of course, here she was, caught on the radar and pulled over to the side of the road. Near to tears and embarrassed, she sat there with cars whizzing by and with her hands shaking and her heart pounding. Behind her, the long arm of the law—in this instance a big uniformed officer—sat in his patrol car with the glaring, throbbing lights. He had yet to approach her. She knew what he was doing. He was checking her license number and her for wants or warrants. Dianna hadn’t watched all those hours of America’s Most Wanted without learning something of police procedure.

As she dug through her purse for her wallet and then in her car’s glove box for her proof of insurance, she intoned, “OhGodohGodohGodohGod.” One big long word. Then her chant changed. “Mom is going to kill me. Oh, shit, Tommy is going to kill me. No. Wait. Tommy. He’s a cop. I’ll mention Tommy. It pays to have a cop in the family. Thank you, Tommy.”

A tap on Dianna’s driver’s-side window made her cry out. She jerked around. It was the policeman’s crotch. Hey, this was a big guy. No. Change that to a tall guy. Tall. Not big, that other porno way. Well, maybe he was. He could be. She had no way of knowing. Yet all she could see of him was his zipper and hips and thighs. Of course, he had pants on, too. It wasn’t like the guy was some kind of pervert—Stop it. Dianna’s brain finally kicked in, telling her to lower the window’s glass. “Yes. So he can talk to me.”

She hit the little electric button and heard the soft whirring—but nothing happened, i.e., the window didn’t go down. But, and this was strange, the sounds of the traffic were suddenly a lot louder. What the hell?

Then the tall policeman did the oddest thing. He twisted to his right and leaned down and peered in the back—hello!—rolled-down window. She’d hit the wrong button. What a goof. “Sorry, Officer, sir. I guess I’m just nervous.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Dianna couldn’t tell too much about how he looked—whether he might be nice or more like “Book ’im, Danno”—because he had on a hard, wide-brimmed hat and his face was in shadow. He also wore those same kind of silvered sunglasses that Chris Adams wore.

“I need to see your driver’s license and proof of insurance.”

“Yes. I’ve got them right here.” She twisted in her seat, handing them to him over her left shoulder. “Here you go. Everything’s in order.”

He didn’t say anything. Just took the paperwork and straightened up. No doubt he was … making a list and checking it twice? Then, at the exact moment Dianna’s fear foamed up into a horrible need to confess every wrong deed she’d ever committed, the officer leaned down again to peer at her from the back window. “You know why I stopped you, Ms. West?”

And then, there was no stopping her. “I’m hoping it’s because maybe my taillight’s out. Well, not my taillight. That would be silly because I don’t have a tail, much less a light on it, so how could it be out, right? Or even a heart light. Like ET. Some people would tell you I don’t even have a heart light, but they’d be wrong. I do. I have a heart light. And I donate regularly to police charities. You’re my heroes.”

“Ma’am, are you all right? On any medicines I should know about?”

“No. I’m fine. And I haven’t been drinking. Or taking drugs. I don’t do that. Well, the occasional drink. Socially. But if I have a drink, I certainly don’t drive. That would be just plain wrong. Why do you ask?”

“I stopped you because you were speeding.”

“Oh. That was going to be my next guess.”

“Yes, ma’am. But you were also engaged in some other, more serious violations, as well. Excessive lane changes. Not signaling. Tailgating. But after that speech, I’m going to have to ask you to step out of the car and submit to a field sobriety test. Do you agree to do that?”

“Of course. But remember, I haven’t had time to study. Ha-ha.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Dianna got out of the car, submitted, evidently passed, and was allowed to get back in her car. Whereupon the nice policeman peeked at her again through the lowered rear window and continued with his lecture. “I could run you in to jail for all your infractions”—Dianna’s breath caught and her heart pounded—“but since your record is clean and I think you’re just nervous, I’m going to write you a ticket. A pretty big ticket, though. And I’m also going to recommend that you go to traffic school.”

No, no, no, no, no, Dianna wanted to shriek but wisely didn’t. Instead she smiled for the officer. “Traffic school. Good. I was always good in school. And thank you for not taking me to jail. Oh, can you put on my ticket there that I was wearing my seat belt? That counts for something, right?”

“Yes, ma’am. Now, do you suppose I could get you to roll down that front window, please?”

“Oh. Of course.” Though her hands were still shaking, she managed to work the correct button and get the driver’s window lowered. “There. Much better, huh?”

“Yes, ma’am.” The big policeman leaned to his left this time, now peering at her through the front and open window. Then he pointed at her. “Hey, wait a minute. It’s starting to come back to me now.”

That didn’t sound good. “Uh, what is, Officer?”

“Where I know you from. Have we met before?”

Oh, this was what she needed: a cop on the make during a traffic stop. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.” Still, given all the traffic-fine trouble she was in, she considered flirting with him. Well, I don’t know, big boy, we might have met before. But I think I’d remember a big, handsome, strapping man like you. Or maybe Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just glad to see me? Totally discarded that route. For one thing, she wasn’t good at Mae West impressions. And for another, he did have a gun.

“Yeah,” he persisted. “I do know you. I’ve seen you before. Somewhere recently.” He turned her driver’s license over and over, looking at it as if for clues. “West. Dianna West. Hey, you got a brother or something named Tommy who’s a cop?”

I love you, Tommy. I am getting you the biggest Christmas gift ever this year. Big grin, lots of charm. “Why, yes I do. Tommy’s my brother. You know him?”

“Oh, yeah, I know Tommy. You don’t recognize me?” The policeman removed his silvered shades. “You’re the lady from Tamborello’s. The one with the wacky business for guys to ask their girlfriends to marry them, aren’t you?”

Well, she didn’t know about wacky, but … “Yes, I am!” And then she remembered him. No, no, no, no. Despite the sinking feeling in her stomach, she cheerily said, “Oh, hey, you’re the cop who hates Tommy, aren’t you? The West-family-hating policeman. Of course.” Tommy would get no present from his sister this year. She offered the big policeman her hand to shake. “Nice to see you again. How are you?”

He shook her hand readily enough. “I’m good. And you?”

“Oh, fine. You know, zipping around here and there. Busy.”

“Yeah, I saw that. Listen, you got a business card or something? See, I’ve got this girlfriend. And we, well, we’re getting kind of serious—”

“Say no more.” Dianna rooted through her purse until she located her calling-card holder. She extracted one and handed it to him. “Here. Call me any time. And congratulations.”

“Thanks. I’ll do that.” He tucked the card in his shirt pocket and smiled down at her. Dianna dared to believe she’d catch a break. “Just let me write this ticket out and you can be on your way, Miss West.”

No break today for her. She slumped down in her seat. “Yeah. Thanks. Take your time, Officer. I’m in no hurry.”

*   *   *

Chris held down the button on his security intercom. “Yeah, Steve, what is it?”

Stephen Row—the building’s blond, muscled, and friendly security guard extraordinaire—said, “Sorry to bother you, Mr. Adams, but are you expecting anyone this evening? There’s a lady here asking for you, and I don’t have her on my list.”

Chris frowned. Couldn’t be Mom or Ronnie. They had their own electronic passkeys, so they’d zip by Steve, pretty much. Then who could this be? A face with dark hair and golden eyes popped into Chris’s mind. He grinned. Like he didn’t know who this was. “So, what’s this lady’s name, Steve?”

“She says she’s Dianna West, and I should know her because she’s been here before. But I don’t remember her, Mr. Adams.”

“No reason why you should. It was couple weeks ago. That rainy Friday night, and I had you wave her car through.”

“That explains it.”

Chris chuckled, knowing he was in for a bumpy evening. Scary how exciting that felt. “So, is she mad, or what?”

“I’d go with mad, Mr. Adams. In fact, she says she’s here to kill you.”

Chris had to smile to himself, thinking how calm and matter-of-fact Steve was about this, well, death threat. “Wouldn’t be the first woman who wanted to. So, sounds interesting. Let her come up.”

“You sure? She sounds pretty serious about killing you.”

“Trust me, Steve, she has every reason to be.”

“All right. It’s your neck, Mr. Adams. I’ll let her in. Oh, and have a nice evening. Call me if you need backup.”

“I’ll do that. Thanks, Steve.” With that, Chris took his finger off the intercom button and stepped away from the panel.

Grinning, excited, his blood thrumming through his veins, he turned and leaned against the wall behind him. He crossed his arms over his chest and, in his mind, calculated and visualized, in real time, how long it would take her to find a visitor’s parking space. Okay, getting out of her car; walking to the express elevator that went only to his penthouse; okay, she’s there, now pressing the call button and waiting for the doors to open; getting in and riding up to the penthouse … Chris hummed a tuneless ditty, giving the express elevator time to levitate itself here; now waiting for the elevator doors to open; taking the few steps required to cross the narrow hall, standing in front of my beautifully carved and polished double wood doors … Chris paused … And right about now—

The buzzer to his double front doors sounded. Grinning, triumphant, Chris punched the air with his fist. “Bam! Am I good or what?”

Proud of himself, he pushed away from the wall and stepped over to the doors. But before he opened them, he ran a hand through his hair, tugged at his knit shirt, messed with the waist on his jeans, settling everything around. Ready now, he plastered a big smile on his face and opened the doors … and there she stood. Chris felt his heart take a joyful leap. “Well, hello, Dianna—”

“I almost got in a fight with your security guy. He takes his job seriously, doesn’t he?” Totally pissed, in a frowning brew of black temper, Dianna blew past him.

Chris watched her go … very appreciative of the nice bounce of her backside. “Nice to see you, too. And I mean that.”

“You won’t for long, mister.” In one hand, she clutched her purse tightly by its straps. And in her other, she had wadded up some kind of form. She stalked back over to him and shoved the paper into his hands. “You have to pay that. I’m certainly not going to.”

He spared the official-looking document only a cursory glance before closing the door behind him. “So, what is it—my bill?”

No answer. He turned around to see he was alone. Dianna had stormed off across the tiled gallery entryway—he’d heard that part—but apparently she’d proceeded down the narrow carpeted hall that led to the living room. “Come in, Dianna,” he said, grinning.

“No, it’s not your stupid bill,” she yelled back. “And would you please come here?”

Chris chuckled softly before yelling back to her: “Depends. Do you have a gun?”

“Lucky for you, no.”

“Good. Are you going to hit me with something heavy?”

“I might.”

“Then I don’t think I’m going to come in there.” He grinned, waiting for her to explode. It didn’t take long.

“Who knew you were such a chicken?”

“I am not,” he called out.

“You are so. I’m one woman, Chris, and you’re twice my size.”

“True. But ask me nicely.”

A shriek of frustrated rage came from the living room. “I am so going to kill you.”

“I don’t think that falls under the category of nice.”

Silence met this. Then, “All right, fine. Will you please come here?”

“Sure,” he said amiably. “I’m on my way.” He walked the hall’s length and stepped into the raised space that contained the dining room/kitchen/wet bar. This area overlooked the long living room with its wall of lightly tinted windows. Outside, the late-May evening was going down softly. “And here I am. Hi, Dianna. Nice to see you.”

“Oh, shut up. Your bill will be a lot bigger and longer than that.” She pointed to the form he held. “What you have there in your hands, my friend, is a speeding ticket I just got.”

“Ouch. That had to hurt.”

“Worse than you think. Remember the policeman who was at Tamborello’s when Lenny capsized? The one who was questioning me when you grabbed my arm? Big guy, big gun? Well, this was the same guy. He rotated his duty to traffic cop, he told me. Lucky me, right? And he still hates my stupid brother Tommy. So, not only did I not get a break for being a policeman’s family member, but he really socked it to me on fines. And then—and then he asked me for my business card because he wants to ask his girlfriend to marry him. Can you believe that?”

Absolutely mesmerized by her, Chris was barely aware of what she was saying. He knew this was important and he should be listening, but, damn, she had no idea of the picture she made just now. Her color high, her chestnut hair as wild as her eyes, which were suffused with piercing points of light, she reminded Chris of some untamed avenging goddess. She was magnificent. Passion personified.

He knew he was grinning stupidly at her—and that would probably only make her madder—but he couldn’t help himself. Wow. Look at her. She stood flat-footed in his living room, her purse nowhere in sight, her hands clamped to her waist … like some pirate on her ship’s main deck. However, she’d obviously come straight here from work in the real world, given the early evening time and the way she was dressed—like a successful executive in a tailored two-piece olive-toned suit.

“Chris, look at me and not my breasts. The girls won’t talk to you.”

Caught, and embarrassed, Chris gave his head a subtle shake, as if that would take the froth out of his suddenly carbonated hormones. “I am listening.”

Dianna’s arched eyebrows said she clearly didn’t believe him. “Oh, really? Then what did I just say?”

Oh, hell. The ticket still in his hand, Chris stared at it a moment. He then gave himself away by rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand as he unhappily sought her gaze. “Uh, something about breasts and the girls not talking to me?”

“God! Men.” Dianna actually stomped her foot. She pointed to the thing he held. “I was talking about the ticket. I am giving it to you, and you have to pay it.”

“Oh, that’s right. But, again, why do I have to pay it?”

“Because it’s your fault I got it, that’s why.”

“How’s it my fault, Dianna? I don’t know—”

“You sure as hell do.” She advanced two steps on him.

Chris stiffened his knees against the crazy urge to back up. “I sure as hell do not.”

“Oh, right. Two words, Chris.” She held up two fingers. “One is ‘Mrs.’” She bent a finger down. “And the other is ‘Windhorst.’” She bent her second finger down. “Any of this coming back to you now?”

“Not really. I know the lady, of course. But in relation to this ticket, I haven’t got a clue.”

“You talked to her today. Now put two and two together.”

Oops. Obviously his phone call had garnered results, but not good ones. “So, you want a drink?”

She did a double-take. “Do I— No, I don’t— Wait. Yes I do. Rum and Coke. Make it a double.”

“Whoa. You sure you don’t want to start slow, like with maybe a white-wine spritzer?”

She made a face. “Total sissy drink. No. I want a double rum and Coke.”

Chris stared at her. “I’ve created a monster. But … yes, ma’am.” He put the speeding ticket on the formal dining room table and headed for the bar. “Kick your shoes off—and don’t throw them at me. Then come over here and talk to me while I mix up our magic potion.”

“Forget that. I’m staying right here, and I’m keeping my shoes on. I don’t feel like being nice and friendly and chatty with you right now. I’m mad at you.”

“Amply demonstrated.” Chris turned around to see Dianna had her arms crossed over her chest. “So you didn’t come over here to talk. What did you come over for, then—to give me this ticket and drink my liquor? Or are you here to place blame and maybe assign damages—”

“All right, all right, I get it.” She stalked toward him, signaling for him to precede her. “Go on. I’m right behind you.”

“And that’s the part that worries me.” Chris punched his fists to his waist and raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have a knife, do you?”

She stopped and held up both of her hands, palms toward him. “Do you see a knife, Chris?”

He grinned at that opening. “No. But I think I should frisk you just to be sure.”

“Ha. You wish.”

“Actually, I do. But since it ain’t gonna happen, come on over here and tell your favorite bartender what’s wrong.”

Managing to look like someone had just licked the stripes off her candy cane, she nodded and followed him. Chris went behind the bar and spoke to the denizens of his marine tank. “Behave, guys. We have a lady here.”

“Do you always talk to your fish?” She squinted, looking again. “And starfish and squid or whatever that thing is?”

“Not always. Just sometimes. They’re not great conversationalists.”

“I guess not.” She perched herself atop one of the tall stools that fronted the granite-topped bar. Her elbows on the bar, she cupped her chin in her fisted hands and stared at him. “You need to get out more, Chris.”

“Maybe.” Amused, aroused, just totally fucking happy that she was here, Chris said: “So, what’s up, doc?”

Dianna exhaled a huge sigh. “It’s Monday. That’s what’s wrong. God, everything just blew up.”

He pulled out the makings of two Cuba Libres. Bacardi Light. Coke. Wedges of lime. Crystal tumblers. “Such as?”

“Do you believe things come in threes, Chris?”

Filling the tumblers with ice from the compact refrigerator under the bar, he nodded his agreement. “Seems like it sometimes. What’s your three?”

“I got that speeding ticket—”

“Which I will pay, by the way.” Picking up a shot glass, he measured the rum into each tumbler.

“No. You don’t have to do that. I was just mad.”

Chris opened a Coke and poured it back and forth between the two glasses. He looked up, met her always-entrancing eyes. “So you’re not mad now?”

She shrugged, her slender shoulders bouncing her thick, shining dark hair. She flipped it back over her shoulders. “It’s hard to stay mad at your bartender.”

Topping the drinks with a wedge of lime each, Chris grinned. “I know. Smart of me, huh? So, the speeding ticket is the first thing in your three. What’s the second thing?”

“Dr. Yakahama called.”

Frowning, Chris placed her drink in front of her, telling her: “It’s not a double, by the way. So who’s this doctor? What’d you say his name was?”

“Yakahama. He’s a dentist, and one of Melanie’s clients.”

“I see. So what’d he want?”

She sipped at her drink—her eyes instantly rounded and she coughed behind a hand. “God, that’s strong.”

“And you wanted a double.” He tasted his own drink. “Good stuff. So, Dr. Yakahama and Scarlett?”

“Had sex in the National Museum of Dentistry.”

Chris thunked his drink down atop the bar. “You’re shitting me.”

“Wish I was. But they did it right there in that big oversized dentist’s chair in one of the displays.”

“Damn, they’ll let you do that? I have to get to that museum.”

“Shut up. The dentist was a client, Chris.”

She looked so miserable that Chris sobered. “I think I see where you’re going with this. That’s a big no-no, right? Professional reputation. Potential lawsuits. Et cetera.”

“Exactly. Fortunately, their … indiscretion went undetected, the hour being late and the chair being in a pretty secluded part of the museum. So at least the people there won’t be suing. But the rest of it? I cannot believe it. The implications alone. If we start seducing the attractive men who come in—” She stopped herself to stare meaningfully at him.

Totally taking her meaning, Chris raised his drink to his lips without giving up eye contact with her and swallowed back a swig. “I see your point. And I have to confess that I hadn’t thought about that. But you’re right. You boff some guy and then take payment from him for, uh, professional services rendered, then that would pretty much make your business a house of ill repute, right?”

Dianna desultorily raised her glass to him. “Hi. Nice to meet you. I’m a madam. Not that your mother and Veronica don’t already think that or worse about me.”

Chris waved that away. “They don’t know anything. Go on.” He couldn’t believe they were having this intimate conversation. And it was intimate. Like a loving couple at home after work, telling each other about their day. Very sexy, somehow. “So, Dianna, what are you going to do about Melanie?”

She exhaled. “Well, I was going to fire her.”

“You were? But you didn’t?”

“No.”

“That’s good. I like Melanie. She’s, well, eccentric, but she seems like a good soul.”

“She is. Completely harmless.” Dianna frowned. “Or so I thought before this museum thing. Anyway, I didn’t fire her. Dr. Yakahama saved me from having to do that.”

“Yikes. He didn’t fall on his sword or anything noble like that, did he?”

“No, but I was about ready to tell him to go ahead. Still, he made it okay.”

“Meaning?”

Grinning, shaking her head, Dianna said, “Get this: He told me that he didn’t ever have a girlfriend he wanted to propose to. Can you believe that?”

Surprised, Chris drew back. “What the hell?”

“Exactly. Apparently, he attends the same church as Melanie does. And they’d met there at some functions. Just superficial stuff and only occasionally. So, anyway, he fell for her but was too shy to speak directly to her about his feelings. So he made up this lie about having a girlfriend.”

“Get outta here.”

“I’m serious.” And yet she was still clearly amused. “So, anyway, as you know, he and Melanie hit it off at the museum.”

Chris nodded. “Understatement of the year.”

“Totally. Long story short, he called me today after Melanie left to confess and apologize. And get this: He wants me to help him make it right with her. Can you believe that?”

Chris thought about it. “Yeah. In some sick, romantic way. But you’re not sure you should? Am I right?”

Dianna shrugged again and took a pretty good-sized swig of her drink without apparent aftereffects. “Yes. What do you think I should do?”

She cared what he thought. More warmed by that realization than he cared to admit, Chris adopted a contemplative pose … arms crossed, frown on his face. “Well, I guess you could talk to Melanie and see how she feels about the guy and then go from there. Just tell her he called. If she’s still interested, then I don’t see any harm in your brokering their next meeting. After that, it would be up to them how it went.”

Dianna grinned. “See? I knew I came to the right bar. You’re pretty smart, you know. That’s exactly what I was thinking I’d do.”

“Then, good for me. Okay, so we dealt with number two. What’s number three in your cluster of disasters that happen all at once?”

She wrinkled her nose, and Chris was won over. Could she be cuter? Hell, he’d already had to put a slab of granite—the bar—between them to keep from sweeping her up in his arms and kissing the hell out of her … for starters. “Out with it, Dianna. You’ve come this far.”

“Well, okay. Number three is why I’m so mad at you. Or was. I don’t think I am now. Anyway…” Dianna heaved a heavy sigh. “Mrs. Windhorst came in at closing time to give me two weeks’ notice that she’s quitting.”

Surprised and upset, Chris stood up straighter. “What? Why?”

“Computers. She said you called and talked to her about computers. I don’t know what you said—”

“Nothing that should have upset her. It was just off-the-cuff things to lay some groundwork, get her thinking about them.”

Dianna laughed. “Well, it worked. She definitely thought about them and apparently decided that she was going to be replaced by R2-D2 or some such thing. Still, that was the absolute last thing I needed today.”

“I guess.” Chris reached across the bar to give her arm a reassuring squeeze. It always surprised him how slender and fragile her bones felt. “Hey, I’m sorry. I should have let you bring up the subject with her.”

Dianna nodded. “That would have been nice. But, anyway, there’s more fun stuff if you want to hear it.”

“Are you kidding? Let’s have it.”

“Okay. In a word: Paula.”

“Well, you did say fun,” Chris said, his tone wry. “What’s she done, I shudder to ask?”

“Nothing … maybe. Well, she could have by now, I don’t know.” Dianna companionably crossed her arms atop the bar and leaned in toward Chris, who couldn’t have been happier with her proximity. “What I mean is she just found out that Melanie has ‘old family’ money. A ton of it. And is like the richest under-twenty-fiver on the whole Eastern seaboard.”

Dumbfounded, Chris stared at Dianna. “Melanie? Our Melanie? The one I know? Scarlett O’Hara Melanie?”

“One and the same. Lots and lots of old-family money.”

Chris made a helpless gesture. “Hell, I don’t even know where to go with that.”

“Paula sure as heck did. She dragged Melanie off to Towson Town Center. I’m sure the economy will soon feel the good effects of that little outing. So I was dealing with that when Mrs. Windhorst came in to tell me that she had Dr. Yakahama on hold, and he wanted to talk to me. Then she lays that on me about quitting. Which brings me to my mad dash to come here and strangle you, which is when I got the ticket. So. Three things.”

“Damn. That’s some afternoon, all right, you poor kid.” In his mind, Chris was already trying to think up ways of keeping her here longer, even though he knew all the reasons why he shouldn’t. “Maybe it’s over now, Dianna. Maybe things will be good from here.”

“I don’t think so because we—you and I—still have some unfinished business between us to discuss.”

“We’re not back to you killing me, are we?”

She waved that away. “No. I’m over that.” Then she switched emotional gears, sobering and lowering her gaze to her rum and Coke in front of her. She ran her fingertip around the glass’s rim. Chris felt the dull thudding of his heart as he awaited her. She started off with “I’m talking about, well, last Saturday night and you and Veronica—”

“The answer is ‘I don’t think so.’”

Dianna jerked her head up. Her amazing gold-colored eyes looked like twin moons. “Really? You don’t think so?”

Chris shrugged. “I don’t think so. It doesn’t look good. But she’s going to think about it.”

“Think about it? She has to think about it? Chris, you’ve been together for years. How can she not know?”

That old defensiveness came back. “Hey, I owe her that much. And precisely because of all those years and what we’ve had. But in my book, right now, I think it’s toast.”

Dianna’s deepening frown produced two tiny, vertical lines between her eyebrows. “I’m sorry to hear that … if you are.”

Chris shrugged. “I don’t know what I am. But what choice do I have? I can’t force an answer from her. And if I have to, then what does that tell me?”

“I see your point. Kind of a tough spot.” Dianna looked away from him, concentrating on a painting that hung on the far wall.

All Chris could do was watch and wait her out. A fine tension, like that of a drawn bow, thrummed throughout his body. The truth was, he wasn’t any happier about the state of his love life than Dianna was, and for two cents, or just one sign from her, he would tell—

“So, you actually did ask her? You went through the whole thing? ‘Will you marry me?’ All that?”

This was the last thing he wanted to talk about. But, given that it was literally her business … “No. Not really. I never asked her. In fact, we had a pretty big fight. Turns out that private room was a very good idea. By the way, I tipped Roman the European Waiter very generously. He earned his money that night.”

Dianna made a sympathetic face. “Poor guy. And, Chris, I’m so sorry it happened like it did. It was like one big disaster that shouldn’t have happened. A comedy of errors, or something.”

He nodded. “That’s pretty much what it was.”

“Still, what’s she got to think about, if you didn’t ask her?”

“Just let me tell you how it went down. She was carrying on about you and who were you.”

Dianna sat up and grinned. “She was jealous of me?”

“Women. You don’t have to look so happy. But yes, she was. So I just told her. No point in keeping a secret now, right? So, she didn’t believe me. Pissed me off. I pulled the ring out to prove to her what Saturday was all about. And—big finish here—she snatched the ring from me and told me she’d think about it for a week, and not to call her, she’d call me. And then she left.”

Looking amused and appalled, Dianna clapped a hand over her mouth and stared at Chris. After a few seconds, she lowered it and said: “Chris, that’s almost funny, if it weren’t so painful. What a scene.”

“It was that. And it all took less than fifteen minutes. Probably seemed more like three hours to Roman. He kept popping in and running out.”

“Well, at least he has a story to tell. Oh, I should have stayed.”

It was Chris’s turn to lean in over the bar between them. “Yeah, why did you leave? As it turned out, you could have shared a limousine ride with me. And supper. That’s twice I’ve had supper ordered with you around and it never got eaten.”

Dianna raised her eyebrows. “Do I actually have to call you Dr. Yakahama to get you to understand why that couldn’t happen?”

Feeling sour, Chris stood up and finished off his drink. He plunked the tumbler on the granite bar. “No, I guess not.”

“Anyway, there didn’t seem any point in staying last Saturday. I was mad. You two were mad. I was at the bar alone, and then these two guys there … Well, don’t get me started on them.”

“What two guys? What’d they do?” Surprising Chris was the sudden burst of jealousy and fear and protectiveness toward Dianna that welled up in his chest. He’d kill the sons of bitches if they’d so much as—

“Nothing. Calm down. They didn’t do anything.” She’d reached across the bar to lay her hand on his arm. She so rarely touched him. Chris’s breath caught … and his libido perked its ears up alertly. “They were just staring,” Dianna assured him. “You know what they had to think after hearing all that prostitute talk.”

“I know exactly what they thought. What did they look like?”

“Your standard yuppie larvae. Why? What are you going to do—go find them and beat them up, Mr. Dragon Slapper? Forget them, Chris. They don’t matter.” She sat back, taking her warm, soft hand with her.

Chris wished he’d put his hand over hers to hold it there on his arm. Sure, it was probably all in his mind, but he seemed to burn where she’d touched him. But after hearing her Melanie story and knowing what was at stake for Dianna, and with him still being technically a client, he could do nothing. God, he hated this. He’d never felt so impotent before in his whole life. It wasn’t a feeling he liked at all.

“So, Dianna,” he said, scrubbing a hand over his jaw, “you said those guys at the bar don’t matter. And you’re right. But what does, then?”