by Nan Ryan
Sullivan’s brooding black eyes went to Kay as he continued. “I’m sure a lot of you remember the beautiful and talented Kay Clark. Kay was my morning-show partner back in the good old days here at Q102. Well, she’s back and I couldn’t be happier. It’s just like old times around here. For those who have moved to Denver in the past five years, I’ll see if I can’t describe Kay for you. She’s about five feet three inches tall and…call it a hundred and two pounds, all in the right places.” His eyes were slowly sliding over Kay as he spoke.
“She has the hair of a Christmas angel, all long and silvery. Her eyes are cobalt blue and so enormous you could lose yourself in them. Her nose is turned up just a bit and her lips are…what can I tell you…they’re soft and sweet and—oh, I can’t go on. She’s Kay Clark, she’s breathtaking, she’s talented and she’s mine. Did I say mine? She’s yours, friends, and she’s delighted to be back here in this glorious jewel of the Rockies, our home and hers, Denver, Colorado. Say hello, Kay.”
Face flushing hotly from his unwavering scrutiny and the overly complimentary introduction, Kay swallowed nervously, leaned closer to the mike and, looking directly into the watchful eyes of Sullivan, said confidently, “Thank you, Sullivan. Hello, Colorado. You’ll never know how overjoyed I am to once again be in my beloved Denver and back on the morning show at Q102 with the talented man who taught me all I know.”
Kay saw the brief flicker in Sullivan’s hooded eyes and quickly amended, “About broadcasting, that is.” Hand trembling ever so slightly, Kay clutched the mike and concluded, “I’ll be seeing all of you old friends real soon, since Sullivan and I plan to be making lots of personal appearances. Keep listening and give us a call now and then to let us know you’re there. Now how about a little music?” Kay pushed a button and music filled the control room.
While the sound of Linda Ronstadt’s voice permeated the air, Kay checked the time, wrote it on the FCC log and turned to hunt for the tape for the first scheduled commercial. Sullivan, once again leaning back in his chair, grudgingly admired her. The correct commercial located, she pulled a record from its jacket and expertly cued it on the turntable. That done, she turned and stole a glance at her partner.
Sullivan looked into those dazzling blue eyes, slowly leaned forward and softly said, “Let me help.” For one heart-stopping moment his big hand covered her trembling one and Kay felt his strength, his warmth.
“Th—thank you,” she stammered when that strong, male hand gently squeezed hers.
“You’re welcome, Kay.” His voice was low, sincere. “We’ll do it together, hon, uh, Kay.” His hand left hers and a long arm shot out behind her to pull several color-coded tapes from the carousel. “These are some of the best, I think. Be good for the first segment of the show.” He smiled at her and Kay felt her heart take wing.
Half an hour later, the phone in the control booth began ringing off the wall. Raves poured in. Listeners loved the easy banter and great rapport between the man and woman talking to each other in a relaxed and often humorous manner. Their timing was perfect, as though they’d never been apart. They could practically read one another’s minds. One would begin a sentence; the other would finish. While they joked, two wide sky-blue eyes were often locked with a pair of blazing black ones.
The fire between them still burned.
At least in the control room of the radio station. Both felt the powerful electricity flowing from one to the other and both experienced a physical charge from it. Pushing each other higher and higher, they delighted in the playful challenge of their verbal duel. Both felt gloriously awake and vitally stimulated by the all-or-nothing contest as each strove to be on par, if not to surpass, the wit and repartee of the other.
Adding to the exciting exercise of keen intellects, an undeniable physical attraction still existed between them. It not only filled the tiny space they occupied, making both Sullivan and Kay feel warm, animated, titillated; it magically transmitted itself over the airwaves and into homes and cars. Listeners felt they were experiencing a very special happening and they delighted in it.
Sullivan and Kay took turns answering the busy phones, cuing the records, logging the commercials and talking into their mikes. The four-hour show flew past and Kay was shocked when Sullivan said, “Lead ’em into the last song, Kay, it’s two minutes till ten.”
Smiling at him, Kay complied and when the last record came up in volume, she turned to him; happy, relieved, longing for his approval.
“You’re good, Kay. Very good, better than ever,” he said, shaking his dark head.
Kay instinctively reached out and put a hand on his dark forearm. “I should be,” she said softly, leaning toward him, “you taught me all I know.”
Feeling the ripple of hard, taut muscles beneath his shirt sleeve, Kay drew a sharp breath when Sullivan, ignoring her accolade, asked casually, “Have you got anything planned for this coming Saturday morning?”
They didn’t work on Saturdays. Kay’s fingers tightened a little on Sullivan’s arm as excitement filled her small body.
“Why, no, I don’t, Sullivan,” she said in a whisper. “I’ve nothing at all planned, nothing to do.”
“Good,” he responded dryly, brushing her hand from his arm. “There’s to be a charity touch-football game Saturday morning at ten between Q102 and channel ten television. Be a good idea if you’d agree to play.”
Disappointed, Kay stared up at him and stammered, “I…why, sure, I’ll be glad to do it.”
Sullivan walked away. “Come by my office and get a T-shirt with the station call letters. You own a pair of white shorts, I’m sure.”
“Yes, but why can’t I wear jeans?”
Sullivan paused at the door. “This is show biz, babe. People listen to you and turn out to see you in person. They want to look at you in a tight T-shirt and a pair of shorts that show off your long, tanned legs.”
“Well—” Kay followed him, saying indignantly “—maybe I don’t want to show off my legs and my…my…”
“Come off it, Kay,” Sullivan said coldly. “You rode in a Los Angeles parade in a damned brief bikini that almost showed your…your…” He slammed out of the door and was gone.
Kay, face pink, hands balled into fists at her sides, gritted her teeth, stormed out into the hall and to the privacy of her small office. It was not until she’d fumed for several minutes, pacing back and forth before the tall windows, that she stopped abruptly and wondered aloud, “How did Sullivan know about a parade I was in four years ago? And why has he remembered it all this time?”
Kay stood on the sunny balcony of her new high-rise apartment overlooking Cheeseman Park and dried her long, silvery hair while sipping a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.
It was Saturday morning. The week had passed quickly; the hours spent on the air with Sullivan had been exciting, fun, like old times. Off the air, it was a different story. Sullivan had little to do with her and his black mood had gone unnoticed by no one. Bubbly Sherry had commented bluntly that she’d never seen Sullivan so bad-tempered. Ever-patient Janelle Davis had once been seen leaving his office near to tears, and even Sam Shults had dropped in on Kay to quiz her about Sullivan’s disagreeable behavior.
Only Jeff Kerns seemed unmoved by Sullivan’s frequent outbursts and long silences. Jeff was in and out of Sullivan’s office just as he had always been, and more often than not shouting could be heard through the closed door. Jeff would exit, smiling as though nothing undue had taken place.
Kay was all too aware that Sullivan’s bad humor was because she was back, but the depth of his displeasure was puzzling. She could understand his being resentful. She’d been young and very ambitious. When she’d been offered a slot at one of L.A.’s top radio stations, she’d been thrilled and flattered. She’d accepted the offer, leaving their successful team show, despite the fact that she was in love with Sullivan Ward.
Over and over again she’d asked Sullivan if she was doing the right thing by taki
ng the offered west-coast job. Each time she’d hoped he’d beg her to stay in Denver. She’d prayed he’d say that he loved her and couldn’t bear to let her go. But he never had. His answer was always that it was a great opportunity and that she should make up her own mind.
Even on that last night, when Sullivan had made love to her for the first and last time, he still did not tell her to stay. Not even when she’d lain trustingly in his arms.
Kay shook her head, rose and went inside to dress for the charity football game. Unaware of just how attractive she looked, Kay, in a snug red T-shirt with “Q102” splashed across it, tight white shorts exposing her long, tanned legs and silver hair pushed up under a crimson baseball cap, swept through the glass double doors of Q102 forty-five minutes before game time.
Other Q102 employees, dressed identically to Kay, were milling around in the reception area, laughing, drinking coffee and eating doughnuts. Sherry Jones spotted Kay and immediately flew over to meet her. “Kay, you look gorgeous.” Sherry’s sparkling green eyes swept over Kay’s trim figure. “I wish I were slender like you. I didn’t eat a bit of supper for the last two nights hoping I’d lose five pounds by this morning so I’d look good in these shorts, but it didn’t happen.” Sherry pouted prettily and twisted a long strand of her auburn hair around a finger.
“You look great, Sherry,” Kay assured her, smiling and let her eyes slide casually around the room, looking for Sullivan. She saw him and her breath caught in her throat. He was at the far side of the room speaking to Jeff and a couple of the jocks. He was dressed like her, except the colors were reversed. His T-shirt was snowy white, his shorts fire-engine red, his cap white.
If ever a man looked disturbingly sexy, Sullivan Ward did this morning. Halfheartedly listening to Sherry, Kay guiltily stole glances at the tall, ruggedly handsome man while he remained unaware of her perusal. Something Jeff said made Sullivan break into a dazzling laugh, his black eyes flashing with amusement.
A hand went up to shove the white baseball cap back on his head, releasing curly raven locks that fell casually over his high forehead. The movement of his arm sent muscles rippling beneath the tightly stretched white T-shirt and no sooner had his hand dropped from the bill of his cap than it went unselfconsciously underneath his shirt to scratch idly at a hard, flat abdomen.
Kay had given up pretending to listen to Sherry. While the young woman’s cheerful voice went on and on, Kay, her breathing at a premium, was drawn by Sullivan’s unintentionally sensual performance. Her eyes were glued to the bare stomach he was thoughtlessly exposing. She was caught.
As though he could feel her gaze, his eyes went over Jeff’s head and came to rest on her. The laughter left his full lips; the light died in his black eyes. The long, lean fingers stilled on his stomach and fell away. A muscle tightened in his jaw as he quietly regarded her. Trapped, Kay smiled weakly at him. He returned the gesture, but it was restrained, indifferent.
“Okay, people.” Sam Shults came out of his office and everyone broke into laughter and applause. Sam was in uniform, too, although not the kind worn by the rest of the team. Instead, the rotund little man wore a chauffeur’s uniform. He stood, face beet-red, being a good sport, while his staff jeered, whistled and clapped. Sam, his double-breasted black suit, tall shiny boots and billed cap making him appear more foolish than if he’d been wearing shorts and a T-shirt, was nodding his head, laughingly acknowledging the absurdity of his appearance.
“I don’t understand,” Kay whispered in Sherry’s ear.
“Isn’t it great?” Sherry leaned close. “Mr. Shults is going to drive the limousine we’re riding in to the stadium.”
“You’re pulling my leg.”
“No, really. It’s all part of the promotion. The team is to ride over in a couple of limos. Channel ten’s team is doing the same thing. Mr. Shults and Sullivan thought it would be a great idea if the general manager played the part of chauffeur.”
Kay smiled and her blue eyes went to Sam Shults. That was Sammy. Anything for Q102 radio.
Sam raised his arms in the air for quiet. “Okay, okay.” He bobbed his head. “You’ve had your laugh. Now it’s time to go. The limos are waiting downstairs.” His eyes swept the sea of smiling faces. “I don’t care who rides where, but I will tell you this, it’ll make me mad as hell if no one climbs into the car I’ll be driving. Let’s go.”
Two long black stretch Mercedes limousines were waiting at the curb outside the Petroleum Club building. Amidst laughter and shouts, the team was piling into the plush seats. Kay was never quite certain how it happened, but she found herself in the very back seat next to a withdrawn Sullivan Ward.
He was beside the door, a long arm draped along the back of the seat. More people climbed into the car and Kay was pushed closer to Sullivan. She could feel his muscles tighten tensely when she stole a glance up at his face from beneath silky lowered lashes. He was staring out the window, a distant look on his face.
“Hey.” It was Jeff’s voice. “Come on in here, Dallas. Sherry can sit closer to me.” He turned and looked at Kay. “C.A., crawl up there on Sullivan’s knees, will you, we’ve got to get some more warm bodies in this seat.”
“But I—” Kay began lamely just as Jeff jerked her up and unceremoniously deposited her upon the unoffered lap of a scowling Sullivan. Sullivan’s dark head turned from the window just as Kay was thrust upon him. Their faces almost bumped; their eyes caught, and Kay shuddered at his fierce expression.
“I’m sorry, Sullivan, I didn’t mean—”
He turned to look back out of the window, mumbling unconvincingly, “Doesn’t matter.”
All the heavy doors slammed shut. “Shall we be off?” Sam Shults said over his uniformed shoulder. Putting the car in gear he jerkily pulled away from the curb. The high-spirited passengers began to sing loudly as Sam headed for the valley highway.
Two passengers did not sing along.
Once on the freeway, Sam accelerated the powerful car. He increased the speed so rapidly that Kay, who’d been perching precariously on Sullivan’s hard knees determined not to touch him any more than was necessary, was thrown helplessly back against him.
Immediately she was apologizing and struggling to sit up. Flattening a hand to his broad chest to push herself away, she said, “Sullivan, I didn’t mean to.” She was up again, perched on his knees.
Sullivan sighed, smiled and gallantly pulled her back down to him. “It’s all right. Get comfortable, we’ve a way to go. Put your arm around me and hold on before you get hurt.”
Gratefully, Kay did. She cautiously draped an arm around his shoulders, lightly clutching his neck. To her surprise, Sullivan’s long arms came around her and he gently settled her close to his warm chest.
It was paradise. It was hell.
Soon they reached the stadium. Together, Sullivan and Kay ran onto the field to the approving applause of thousands of cheering fans. Waving and throwing kisses to a crowd much larger than either had dreamed of, the golden couple, wearing dazzling smiles, slowed to move along the stands, cheerfully signing autographs and shaking hands.
The blowing of the referee’s whistle found the center for the Q102 team bent down over the ball, hands firmly on the pigskin, knees bent, bottom pointed skyward, ready to snap the ball to the waiting quarterback. The quarterback, lean brown hands reaching between the legs of the nervous center, called the play in a deep and commanding voice.
Kay snapped the ball to Sullivan and the game between the Q102 Spinners and the Channel Ten Glossies was underway. Sullivan rapidly backpedaled, the ball held in his strong right hand. Kay, not quite certain what she was to do now that she’d handed him the football, ran toward the opponents, looking back over her shoulder at Sullivan.
Sullivan pumped once, then threw a spiraling pass to Jeff Kerns. Perfectly thrown, the ball landed right on target and Jeff, after catching it, managed to run five yards before he was tagged by a laughing anchorwoman from the channel ten news team.
Kay clapped happily, lined up for the next play and bent over the ball, clasping it on the ground. She let her eyes slide up to the pair of well-tended brown hands in position between her legs. Those hands belonged to Sullivan and he was hunched so closely over her she could feel his body heat, his breath. Kay shivered, bit her lip and looked back down at the ball, determined to keep her thoughts solely on the game.
Sullivan, his lean body bent close to Kay’s, tried just as desperately to keep his mind on the game. It was difficult with that cute rear, clad only in white shorts, pointed in the air. It was agony to put his hands near those creamy thighs, waiting to receive a snapped ball, when what he really wanted to do was stroke and caress the soft and temptingly touchable flesh. It was extremely hard to lean close to her slender back, his eyes helplessly drawn to the fragile nape of her neck where wisps of silver hair, coming loose from under her cap, curled seductively against damp flesh. It was all he could do to keep from lowering his lips to press heated kisses there, mindless of the thousands of people looking on.
The game continued and Sullivan’s performance rapidly deteriorated from brilliant to just plain lousy. His passes missed the mark by a mile. He fumbled the snap more than once. He was tagged far behind the line of scrimmage numerous times. Before the first quarter had ended, channel ten was leading Q102 by a score of seventeen to nothing.
Only Sullivan, and perhaps Kay, knew where the problem lay. When Sullivan unceremoniously informed Kay he was changing her playing position, that she would switch with Rita from accounting, Kay merely nodded, though Rita, disappointed, protested. Unmoved, Sullivan told Rita it was for the good of the team. The trade took place.