by Nan Ryan
“You okay?” Sullivan’s lips were in her hair.
Managing only to nod her head, Kay clung to him, her face pressed to the smooth pink cotton covering his chest. Beneath her ear, his heavy heartbeat speeded. Sullivan’s hands came to her shoulders and he gently set her away from him. Kay looked up at him, licking her dry lips. A muscle in his brown jaw flexed furiously. “Back to work,” he said, leading her to the stage.
Over an hour later, Sullivan said, almost apologetically to Kay, “We really should dance again.” His hand was covering the open mike.
“I can stand it if you can,” she quipped, her blue eyes challenging him.
Ignoring the remark, he moved his hand, leaned to the microphone and said in a deep, resonant voice, “I’m going to change the pace. This next song is slow and romantic, so grab that girl you’ve been dreaming about, this record may do the trick.”
By the time the sweet, soft sound of Rosemary Clooney singing the old favorite “Hey There” drifted through the big gym, Sullivan had again lifted Kay from the stage. She was smiling when he slowly pulled her into his embrace. Taking her hand in his, he draped an arm loosely around her waist. Kay ran her other hand slowly over his shirtfront before lifting it up around his neck. Fingertips rested on his nape as the lights dimmed and the laughter and talking quieted and couples throughout the big hall danced dreamily cheek to cheek.
Sullivan and Kay did not dance cheek to cheek. Sullivan looked down into Kay’s eyes, though neither spoke. Their gazes locked, Kay finally felt the gentle pressure of Sullivan’s hand at her waist, urging her closer. Sighing, she closed the small gap between them as Sullivan dropped her hand and put both arms around her. Kay pressed her face into the warmth of his throat while her hand spread on the wall of his chest. Her lips were almost touching him and she longed to press her mouth to that smooth skin, to open her lips and taste him, to lick away tiny beads of perspiration.
They moved as one body, graceful, effortlessly gliding around the floor, eyes closed, enjoying the wonder of being in each other’s arms. Kay became vitally aware of the strong, throbbing pulse in Sullivan’s throat. Its steady beat so near her parted lips brought a shiver of excitement that was felt by Sullivan. Instinctively, he pressed her closer and Kay felt her sweatered breasts flattening against his hard chest. His knee went between her legs and Kay guiltily wished she weren’t wearing so many clothes; the full frilly petticoats made contact vague and fleeting.
Wistfully wanting this slow, romantic song to go on forever, Kay let her spread hand glide upward to the open V of Sullivan’s shirt. She itched to touch that crisp hair so tantalizingly curling there. Just as the tips of her fingers made contact, the record ended, the lights came up and Kay and Sullivan separated.
“Thank you,” Sullivan said shakily, and Kay, blinking up at him, nodded vigorously.
When the hour neared midnight, the president of the Asthma Society stepped onto the stage, took over the mike and made a short speech. After thanking everyone for coming and assuring them that the proceeds from the successful affair would be put to good use, he announced that it was time to crown the king and queen.
Helpers appeared and to Kay’s delighted embarrassment, she was crowned queen. A rhinestone tiara was pinned atop her hair and a short red-velvet cape was draped around her shoulders. She was handed a dozen red roses and the tall, lanky president stooped and gave her a peck on the cheek.
Then it was Sullivan’s turn. A curvaceous brunette placed a gold-painted crown on his head and draped a purple cape around his broad shoulders. Hooking the white fur collar under his chin, the girl smiled coyly and said, “I’ve always wanted the chance to kiss you, Sullivan.”
She looped her arms around his neck, pulled his head down and gave his mouth a kiss. The crowd cheered as she released him and Sullivan made a short speech of thanks. Kay stood stiffly listening while the girl who had kissed Sullivan stood beside him. Jealousy causing her stomach to ache painfully, Kay found it very hard to continue smiling.
The president was again speaking and Kay heard only the last few words. “…the best king and queen we’ve ever had.” Loud applause from the audience. “And a handsome couple if ever there was one. I think the king should kiss his queen.”
Kay stood statue still, the roses in her arms. She could feel color rising to her face. She cast a wary glance at Sullivan and saw to her surprise that he was smiling easily. Self-assured and gallant, he nodded to the eager faces looking up at them, turned to Kay and brought a hand up her waist, drawing her into the curve of his arm.
Taking the big bouquet of roses from her ice-cold hands, he laid them aside, smiled and whispered against her temple, “This is the part I forgot to warn you about. Relax, I won’t really kiss you.”
He gently turned her to him. A thumb came up to her chin, tilted her face upward and he bent to her. His warm mouth tenderly touched hers, male lips shut, cautiously, carefully fitting themselves to the soft, curving mouth under his. His mouth didn’t stay closed for long. The sweet, honeyed lips beneath his were slightly parted. Sullivan’s mouth opened instinctively and he gently nipped at her bottom lip. Kay’s mouth opened wide in response. Sullivan shuddered. Mindless of the crowd staring up at them, he pulled her closer, fitting her small body to his. Kay sighed and clung to him while a long arm tightened around her and a brown hand came up to cup a delicate cheek. Sullivan, dark eyes closed, breathed into her mouth; Kay swayed and sucked in the hot breath, making it her own.
Sullivan lifted his head. He stood holding her for a moment, looking down into her eyes. Reality crept in and he dropped his hands from her, smiled down at the fans and said, “First time I’ve ever kissed a queen.”
Six
On Halloween, the first snow swirled down from the high country, blanketing the city of Denver. Unable to sleep, Kay rose and dressed warmly, deciding she’d go to the station early and tape some of the records that were beginning to wear.
Casting a look at Cheeseman Park far below, Kay smiled. It was rapidly becoming a glistening winter wonderland, a sight she’d missed terribly when she’d worked on the west coast. Kay drew on a down jacket and left, maneuvering her little red car down the deserted snow-covered streets.
At ten minutes past five, she arrived at the station. Pulling off her jacket, Kay tossed it over the back of her chair, stripped off her leather gloves and stepped out of her tall fur-lined boots. Off came the white wool cap, and Kay shook out her hair. She pulled down on her bulky green sweater and began the search for the blank cartridges.
Kay remembered Janelle moving the new tapes into Sullivan’s office, explaining there was more room for them there than in the control room or the production studio.
Kay hurried down the dim hallway toward Sullivan’s office. Stepping inside, she closed the door and went directly to his big desk, flipping on the gooseneck lamp on its top. She went around the desk, jerked out the bottom drawer and reached in to pick up several blank cartridges. Straightening, she saw him.
Kay closed the drawer without taking anything from it. She was no longer concerned with the tapes because across the room, stretched out on the long leather couch, was Sullivan Ward. White shirt open down his chest, he was sleeping soundly. One long arm was bent beneath his head, the other was folded over his waist. His loafers were on the floor beside the sofa; his feet were crossed at the ankles.
His face looked innocent and peaceful in repose, despite the stubble of a black beard covering his jaws. His eyes were closed, long, sweeping lashes resting on high, pronounced cheekbones. Sensual, wide lips were slightly parted over even white teeth. His hair was disheveled and falling over his forehead.
Sullivan moaned softly in his sleep and turned his head a little. Kay, her heart hammering against her ribs, tiptoed around the desk, drawn helplessly to his sleeping form. How she longed to go to him, to reach out and smooth back an errant lock of hair. How she wanted to trace the fullness of those male lips with a tingling finger. How she ached to
have those long dark eyelashes flutter against her face. How she craved to press a cheek to that warm, furred chest.
The dark, liquid eyes opened. Kay, standing just above him, made no effort to move away. It was too late for that. His eyes, though still glazed with sleep, held a warm inviting look. Slowly he raised a hand from his stomach and held it out to her. Kay, trembling slightly, took the offered hand and, looking only into his eyes, felt herself being gently pulled down onto the long sofa.
She said nothing, nor did Sullivan. She knew only that she was now on the couch with him, her body pressed to its tall back. Sullivan was facing her, lying on his side. As though it were a completely natural, an everyday occurrence, he pressed his long, sleep-warm body to hers and with eyes closing once more, his mouth met hers.
It was a slow, warm, unhurried kiss, as though he had all the rest of the day to do nothing else but this. Kay, her body warmed by the heated, rock-hard frame pressed against her, let those warm, persuasive lips do what they would. Sullivan’s mouth moved languidly upon hers, tasting, enjoying, sleepily exploring and savoring. Not daring to break the spell, Kay, afraid even to lift her arms around him, waited for him to leisurely part her lips with his tongue.
He did and Kay bit back her sigh of pleasure. Sullivan’s tongue swept the dark recesses of her mouth, stroking her with deliberate, lazy, heart-stopping tenderness that was more erotic than any forceful, demanding kiss could possibly have been. Thinking fleetingly that he intended to kiss her forever, so long was the caress, and thinking what a lovely way to spend the cold, snowy dawn, Kay unconsciously sighed into Sullivan’s mouth.
His lips never leaving hers, Sullivan shifted slightly. Kay found she was now on her back, Sullivan above her, his torso pressing down on hers, a jean-clad knee nudging between her own. And still he kissed her.
Kay cautiously slid her hands inside his open shirt, glorying in the feel of the warm, bare skin of his smooth back. It was Sullivan’s turn to sigh into her mouth and a hand went to the hem of Kay’s bulky green sweater. He pushed the scratchy wool up a few inches, stopping short of her breasts. Then his bare torso was back on hers and the three or four inches of Kay’s bare midriff touching his naked flesh made him shudder. His lips left hers and he buried his face in her long tousled hair and inhaled deeply of her sweet fragrance while Kay clung to him and whispered his name.
His heartbeat thudding, Sullivan seemed to be fighting desperately for control, a battle Kay hoped he would lose. After what seemed an eternity of indecision, Sullivan slowly lifted his head and looked down at her. His expressive eyes told her it was she who’d lost, not he.
“I could blame it on being half asleep,” he said tiredly, lithely levering himself from her, “but I won’t.” He stood above her, raking a hand through his hair, his eyes very pointedly avoiding the bare female ribs he’d exposed. Buttoning his shirt, he turned from her.
Kay, slowly sitting up, tugged the sweater back down over her hips and said softly, “Do you have to blame it on anything? Can’t we just admit that it’s what we both want?”
“No,” he turned back to face her. “What are you doing here at this hour?” He glanced at his gold watch.
Kay picked up his loafers from beside the sofa. “Doesn’t matter. What about you, you fill in for one of the jocks?”
Sullivan nodded. “Dale’s wife went into labor. Can I have my shoes?” He held out a hand.
Kay smiled. “Have you heard yet? Has she delivered?”
“A boy. Came around three this morning; they’re both fine. Dale called, elated.”
“That’s wonderful.” Kay motioned him to his chair.
In no mood to argue, Sullivan slid into the swivel chair. “Ace was up listening to the radio, heard me in Dale’s time slot and came in around four-thirty to take over. He’s a good kid. Kay, give me my shoes.”
“Ace is a sweet boy,” she said, circling the desk, his shoes in her hands. “You must be dead; you couldn’t have slept more than fifteen minutes before I interrupted you.”
Sullivan shook a cigarette from a pack, lit it and said, “I’m fine, I—what the hell are you doing?”
Kay, ignoring the unpleasantness in his voice, knelt before his chair. “Lift your right foot,” she commanded and, dumbfounded, he obeyed. Kay slipped his shoe on, biting her lip as she worked to get the stubborn heel to slide into place. That accomplished, she turned to his left foot.
Head bent, Kay sat on her heels between his legs, tugging at the shoe. Above her, Sullivan sat looking down at the shiny silver head bent to her task. “This is hardly necessary.” He did his best to sound disgusted.
“I know.” She tossed her hair back and smiled up at him. “I don’t want you to catch cold.”
With his help, Kay managed to get both shoes on his feet and Sullivan let out a sigh of relief. Now she’d rise and put some distance between them so he could breathe again. But to his shocked surprise, Kay remained seated on her heels between his legs. Every muscle in his long right leg constricted when she impulsively leaned toward him and laid her head upon his bent knee. Sullivan watched in stunned fascination while she brushed her soft cheek against his taut thigh and said softly, “Sullivan, dear Sullivan, can’t we please start over?”
Sullivan crushed out his half-smoked cigarette, sighed and brought a hand to the silvery crown of her head. Kay smiled and closed her eyes. Gently he stroked her hair and said in a choked soft voice, “No. No, Kay, we can’t.”
Kay slowly lifted her head. “But why?”
His hand left her hair. He pushed back his chair and rose. He stood towering over her. Kay, her head thrown back, was looking up at him. “Because, Kay,” he said truthfully, his hard jaw flexing, “I’m afraid of you, as I’ve never been of anyone else in my life.”
It continued to snow throughout the cold, gray day. The annual Halloween party for the Thompson Orphans Home was scheduled for seven o’clock at the Marriott, and all the air personalities were to attend. Kay, dressed as a fairy princess, deposited her heavy camel coat with a smiling bellman and crossed the lushly carpeted lobby, passing a huge rock fireplace, snapping and crackling, its flames shooting high up its tall chimney.
Groups of upholstered couches near the fire’s warmth were occupied by people drinking mugs of Irish coffee while they talked. Kay drew their attention and felt momentarily foolish sweeping past them in a strapless white satin gown with a magic wand in her hand. Their laughter made her ears turn red. She quickened her pace, eager to get down the dark-paneled corridor to the last door on the right. Behind it was the banquet room where tonight’s party would be held.
Kay stepped into the room and her eyes immediately found Sullivan. Freshly showered and shaved, he looked virilely handsome in a pair of snug-fitting beige wool slacks. A soft cashmere sweater of the same hue draped perfectly across wide shoulders and chest. His dark eyes were sparkling and he looked not the least bit tired though he’d not slept, save for the half hour on his office couch.
Kay started toward him. He looked up, saw her and that odd, half glad, half sad expression flitted across his features. It was gone instantly and he smiled warmly and nodded. Kay, again feeling very foolish in the white satin evening gown with its tight waist and bodice, its full gathered skirt covered with an overskirt of silver and white-striped taffeta, smiled nervously. A silver crown was pinned securely on her head and her hair was brushed out, cascading around her bare shoulders and down her back. In her right hand she carried a magic wand. Wishing she could touch it to the wide shoulder of the handsome, dark-haired man looking at her, instantly making him hers, Kay swallowed and went to meet him.
“You look lovely,” he said in a calm, deep voice. “The kids will love you. You look like a real fairy princess.” Without thinking, he lifted a hand to push a charmingly rebellious lock of hair from her cheek. His eyes dropped to the swell of her breasts above the tight, shimmering bodice. Immediately they flicked back up to her face as he shoved his hands into the pockets of hi
s wool pants and said, “They’ll be here any minute now.”
From the double doors at the far side of the room, an explosion of noise made further conversation not only unnecessary, but impossible. Over two hundred kids, aged three to twelve years, poured into the hall, shouting and laughing. Five harried guardians were with the boisterous group, herding the youngsters to the white-clothed tables. The room was suddenly alive with the zest of happy youth and when Kay looked up at Sullivan’s hard, handsome face, she saw that he wore an easy smile of affection for the yelling, squirming roomful of children.
“Excuse me, Kay,” he said politely and disappeared into the crowd, ruffling the hair of a child’s head here, shaking the hand of a grinning youngster there.
The meal was served and two hundred young people ate as though they had never eaten before. After a main course that included roast beef, broiled trout or fried chicken served with mounds of creamed potatoes, green beans, sweet corn, buttered carrots and hot rolls, oohs and aahs escaped young lips as a huge jack-o’-lantern-shaped cake was rolled in. Under sticky orange icing, rich chocolate cake was moist and mouth-wateringly delicious. Ice cream was served with the cake and there was also pumpkin pie, pecan pie and chocolate-chip cookies.
When the hungriest of the boys had had their fill of cake and ice cream, Sullivan rose and clapped his hands for silence. He made a short speech to the full, happy group and drew loud applause when he told them in closing that there was a gift awaiting each of them. The words were hardly out of his mouth before he signaled Jeff, Ace Black and brand-new papa Dale Kitrell to pass out the gaily wrapped packages. Squeals arose as tiny hands tore into big boxes to find warm, colorful down-filled jackets inside.
Sullivan, watching with pleasure, looked up at Kay and inclined his dark head, inviting her to join him at the podium. Kay made her way across the room to him. Smiling easily, he put a long arm lightly around her small waist, lowered his lips to her ear and whispered, “Kay, if you will, they’d love to hear you say a few words, all right?”
