by Nan Ryan
Throat tight, she nodded and wondered if her vocal cords would work with him standing so close. She looked up at him and he must have read her thoughts.
“Forget it, Kay, you’ve done your part. I’ve seen the lovable little rascals tugging at you all evening. There’s been so many tiny hands on that dress, I’m surprised it’s remained white.” He grinned engagingly and released her waist.
Relaxing a little, she smiled and agreed. “I know. I’ve been pulled at all night, but I haven’t minded, really. They think I truly am a fairy princess, I suppose.”
“Aren’t you?” Sullivan teased and Kay felt her pulse grow erratic. Before she could respond, he left her side. The party continued and more little hands, some with traces of chocolate cake on them, grasped at Kay’s shiny dress. She talked to the children, held them on her lap, hugged them and enjoyed every minute.
By the time the guardians were lining up the children to load them back onto the waiting buses, Kay was exhausted. Rubbing her neck, she dropped into a deserted chair and jumped when Jeff touched her bare shoulder, jerked a chair around near hers and straddled it.
“Will you look at that?” he said, directing her attention to the far side of the room, near the entrance. Sullivan sat in an overstuffed chair against the wall. On his lap, a child of three or four was held in his long arms. The child, as fair as Sullivan was dark, was sound asleep, his golden head resting on Sullivan’s broad chest. Sullivan’s arm supported the boy’s back and his dark cheek was atop the child’s head. Sullivan, too, was sound asleep. The pair slept peacefully, unaware of the loud commotion going on all around them.
The maternal instinct in every female surfaced grippingly as Kay stared, transfixed, at the two. Sullivan looked as much the innocent little boy as the child in his arms. That he loved children had been in undisguised evidence all night. He handled them with an understanding and tenderness that was beautiful to witness. Her chest aching with love for him, Kay, completely forgetting Jeff seated beside her, trembled a little, thinking how fulfilling it would be to have Sullivan Ward’s babies.
“You really ought to give him one of those some day.” Jeff drew her attention back to him.
“What?” Kay blinked at him.
Jeff grinned. “You know what I said, C.A.”
“Jeff, it’s too late,” Kay said sadly.
“Is it?” He grinned, his eyes sparkling. He rose. “In that case, I’ve got three little monsters at home I’ll loan out to anyone that’ll take ’em. Night, hon.”
Jeff walked away and Kay’s eyes drifted back to the sleeping pair across the room. Knowing her deepest, most private feelings must be written all over her face, Kay shoved back the chair and hurriedly fled the room. Retrieving her coat, she turned up the collar around her cold throat and rushed out into the snowy night alone.
The November issue of Mile High magazine hit the newsstands on the first day of the month, the very day the Arbitron rating period began at Q102 and at every other radio station in town. On the magazine’s slick cover, a handsome couple smiled into the camera.
A fair young woman with deep blue eyes and with silver hair feathered around her small, oval face stood directly in front of a strikingly handsome man. Since he was much taller than the woman, the man’s strong chin rested lightly atop her head, ruffling her hair. A long sweatered arm was wrapped around the woman’s shoulders in front, reaching completely across her. The woman’s hands were raised, holding that muscular arm.
Both wore warm, happy smiles.
Beneath the photo, the caption read, “Denver’s hottest duo.” Inside, a well-written story about the pair spread over six pages with more photographs of Sullivan and Kay.
Arbitron audience ratings soon got underway, and Sullivan and Kay outdid themselves to make their morning show entertaining. To further insure success, they increased their personal appearances, sometimes doing as many as three a week. It was great for the show; everywhere they appeared, be it the opening of a new nightclub, an expensive ski shop or a pro basketball game. They were mobbed by eager fans, many carrying a copy of Mile High magazine, which they thrust anxiously at the good-looking couple for autographs.
Sam Shults was fully approving, urging the pair to get out and be seen at every opportunity. Kay was more than eager to make the needed appearances. Not only was it beneficial for the station, it constantly threw her and Sullivan together. She kept hoping that in time, if she were very, very patient, he’d come around. She had decided that she’d never again push him or plead with him. He was a proud and stubborn man and she knew her Sul well enough to realize that he, and he alone, would be the aggressor should he change his mind. There was little she could do but try to show him, by her actions, that she could be trusted. She could prove that she wanted no other man, that she would not try to press or bully him.
She could do nothing but wait.
As though he could sense the unspoken change in Kay, Sullivan seemed to relax. There were no more kisses, no tortured glances, no evidence of strain and stress written on his features. Kay wasn’t sure if that was good or bad, but she reasoned that if they were to ever recover the closeness that had once been theirs, they’d first need to become friends. That’s how it had happened all those years before. They’d been good friends, going to lunch together, talking for hours, selecting new music, discussing everything under the sun. Until that cold morning she’d rushed into the control room and Sullivan had smiled, risen and kissed her for the first time.
Thanksgiving came and Kay, Sullivan, Jeff and the rest of the crew took part in what was referred to as “Cowboy Bill’s Annual Thanksgiving Dinner.” A big, burly man with a heart as large as his person, Cowboy Bill had organized and given his time and money to this worthwhile project for over twenty years.
Grateful, hungry people showed up by mid-morning outside a spacious leased warehouse. There, dozens of turkeys were being sliced, tubs of dressing being stirred, and the aroma of freshly baked pumpkin pies permeated the air.
Kay, Sullivan and the Q102 crew, white dish towels tied around their waists, acted as waiters. They were joined by other area radio and television personalities and by the time the last slice of white meat had been enjoyed, hundreds of diners had been served.
It was a lovely day for Kay. Sullivan, in a jovial mood, hurried between the long tables with platters of food on his arm. More than once, he’d caught her eye across the room, and smiled as if to say isn’t this fun? Isn’t this like old times?
After the big meal had been served and the crowd had departed, the working media teams sat down to eat. Sullivan, a plate piled high with turkey, dressing and all the trimmings, was the last to come to the table. Kay, already seated, felt her heart speed just a bit when he came to stand directly behind her and said teasingly, “Is this seat taken?”
“Damn straight it is,” said the devilish Jeff Kerns, scooting closer to Kay. He shot a look up at Sullivan, daring him.
Sullivan, carefully balancing his full plate in one big hand, bent close to Jeff’s ear. “Move over, Kerns, you’re in my spot.”
Kay said nothing, but she smiled warmly at the man who gracefully slid over the bench and took his place beside her, gently nudging Jeff aside. “You don’t mind, do you?” Sullivan’s eyes were on her face. Those expressive eyes held a warm, shining light.
Kay smiled at him and made no reply. None was necessary. He knew very well she didn’t mind.
It was nighttime when they all exited the warehouse. Kay remained silent when Sullivan possessively took her arm and guided her to her waiting Porsche. Calling their good nights to the others, they walked across the crunchy ground. Sullivan, the collar of his tan cashmere coat turned up around his cold ears, smiled down at Kay, and she gave fleeting consideration to inviting him over for coffee or a drink.
“Kay,” Sullivan said as they reached her car, “you drive carefully.”
She turned to face him. “Sullivan, I—”
“Yes?” he was lookin
g down at her, standing very close, his dark hair blowing in the cold winter wind.
“Happy Thanksgiving.”
“It was, wasn’t it,” he said, turned and went to his Mercedes.
Rating period ended on December fifteenth, and at ten o’clock on that date, Sullivan Ward turned off his mike, rose from his chair and let out a loud shout of relief. Kay, laughing, stood up, stuck out her hand and said merrily, “Shake, partner. We did it!”
“We sure did, baby,” Sullivan said, and ignoring her outstretched hand, wrapped his long arms around her and crushed her to his tall frame. He rocked her back and forth in uninhibited glee and Kay thought she would surely die of happiness. Instinctively, she molded her small body to his, loving the warmth and strength of that very male physique pressing against her. Tentatively lifting her hands, she put them to Sullivan’s trim waist. The rocking ceased. The laughter died. Sullivan, as though coming fully to his senses, eased her away from him.
“Okay, you guys—” Jeff stuck his head in the door “—it’s time to celebrate. Be at Leo’s in fifteen minutes for champagne brunch.” He was gone before they replied.
“Hungry?” Sullivan smiled down at her.
“Famished,” she replied.
“Shall we?” He took her hand in his.
“You bet.” She clung to his hand and they both laughed and giggled like children when, in their elation, they completely forgot to don their coats and almost froze crossing Broadway in the frigid December air.
Betty Shults, Sam’s happy wife, insisted on having the station Christmas party at their impressive home in the foothills of West Denver. Begging Kay to come over early and help out, Betty really wanted the opportunity to visit with Kay before the other guests arrived. Kay agreed, and shortly before six o’clock on the appointed date, she arrived at the Shults home dressed in a long, lush, figure-hugging dress of jet-black velvet.
She’d bought the dress for the occasion and she didn’t try to fool herself: she picked it with Sullivan in mind. She wanted to draw his attention. To make him notice her. To appear sophisticated and alluring.
“My stars.” Betty clasped her plump hands together and stared at Kay. “You are breathtaking; how can he possibly go on resisting you?” She took Kay’s coat.
“Who?” Kay asked innocently.
Betty hugged her velvet-clad slender arm and drew Kay toward the big, cheerful den. “Don’t be coy. Sullivan Ward. That’s who!”
Kay sighed wearily. “Betty, does the entire world go around speculating on the relationship of Sullivan and me?”
“Why, no, dear, only those of us who love you both. I know I shouldn’t tell tales out of school, but…well, Kay, when you left here before, Sullivan was like a wounded animal. I mean he was—”
“Please, Betty,” Kay entreated. “That was a long time ago. I assure you that Sullivan Ward is completely whole again.”
“Is he now?” Betty put her hands to her hips and tilted her head to one side.
“Is who what?” Sam Shults came into the room pulling on his suit jacket.
Betty furiously gave Kay eye signals indicating that to reveal what she’d just said would put her in hot water with her husband. Kay, more than relieved to let the subject be dropped and forgotten, said diplomatically, “I was just telling Betty that Sullivan is almost sure we’re going to be getting the best rating book ever.”
“No question about it.” Sam Shults shook his head decisively. “And I lay the success all at your pretty little feet, Kay.”
Soon the doorbell chimes were ringing out the first eleven notes of “Jingle Bells” as guests began arriving. With each chiming of the bell, Kay, a glass of eggnog in her hand, looked anxiously toward the doorway, awaiting Sullivan’s entrance.
Jeff Kerns and his attractive wife came in with the Kitrells. Sherry Jones, her auburn hair dressed dramatically atop her head, was proudly clinging to the muscular arm of Ace Black, and it was evident by the pleased look in her big green eyes that she was more than thrilled that the shy, boyishly handsome disc jockey had finally fallen under the spell she’d been vigorously weaving around him.
Laughter and loud talk soon filled the room as guests arrived in an unending stream. The chief engineer, the salespeople with their spouses and dates, the news team. Almost everyone from the station was there. Yet for Kay, no one was there because Sullivan Ward had not yet arrived.
Switching from eggnog to pink champagne, Kay laughed and talked and kept a nervous watch on the door. Finally she heard the warm, deep voice like no other on earth and she drew a sharp breath, took a big swallow of champagne and casually turned around.
He stood across the room, towering above the crowd. His thick black hair was carefully groomed, his dark jaws freshly shaven and shiny clean. He was smiling easily, his teeth starkly white in his swarthy, handsome face. He wore a well-tailored jacket of black velvet, his snowy white shirt set off with a black silk tie. He was breathtakingly handsome. He was ruggedly male. He was cocksure without being arrogant. He was all a woman could want.
On his arm was Janelle Davis.
Sullivan, his arm bent for Janelle’s hand to rest inside, unbuttoned his black jacket, pushed it back and slid his other hand into the pocket of his gray wool slacks. He looked across the room. Then he saw her.
His dark gaze came to rest on Kay. She, and she alone, saw his eyes widen minutely. Kay, clinging to the crystal champagne glass for dear life, inhaled, unconsciously swelling her breasts to strain against the snug black velvet.
Sullivan’s hand clenched inside his pants pocket. She was across the room looking directly at him and never in all the years he’d known her had she looked more desirable than she did on this cold December night. She leaned casually against the cocktail bar, which stretched the length of the den’s far wall. Her dress was of velvet as black as the jacket he wore. Long tight sleeves covered her slim arms, reaching almost to her delicate knuckles. Fleetingly, Sullivan thought the sleeves were the only modest part of the gorgeous dress. Supple velvet barely covered creamy white shoulders. A daring neckline plunged well below the valley of her full, lush breasts and it was there his heated gaze was drawn. Rounded mounds of alabaster curved seductively. Should she move too suddenly, Sullivan was certain she’d cause a scandal.
Tearing his eyes away from the promise of what lay just inside that tight bodice, he leisurely assessed what remained. The skirt, long and tight, was slit up past her knees on both sides. He got a glimpse of a long, stockinged leg, bent at the knee, a small foot in a black satin pump. He jerked his eyes back to her face. She was not smiling, but she was still looking directly at him.
She’d worn her hair swept up off her neck. It was arranged in a too-professional-looking array of curls interlaced with little black velvet bows. The dancing blue eyes were on him, the delicious lips were slightly parted.
Sullivan wanted to choke her.
Sullivan wanted to make love to her.
“She does look lovely, doesn’t she?” Janelle’s voice held a sad note of resignation.
Sullivan tore his eyes from the vision in black velvet to look down at the attractive face turned up to his. “Who?” he said, color suffusing his face beneath the darkness of his smooth skin.
Janelle squeezed his arm. “Get me a drink will you, Sullivan?” Lowering her voice to a mere whisper, she added, “and you needn’t rush to get back with it.”
Sullivan patted the small hand resting in the crook of his arm. “I’ll be back in five minutes flat. Champagne? Eggnog?”
“Make it Scotch.” Janelle smiled sweetly, released his arm and turned to talk with Jeff Kerns’s wife.
Sullivan made his way leisurely to the bar, greeting friends as he went. Kay watched him approach, took another healthy sip of champagne and pretended a calm she didn’t feel. Then he was standing beside her. To Sam Shults, tending bar, he said, “Sammy, a Scotch mist for Janelle and I’ll have—” his head turned and he was looking down at Kay “—a coronary from
that dress.” He smiled lazily and Kay never noticed his hands clutching the polished wood of the bar.
“Does that mean you approve or disapprove?” Kay could feel heat rising to her throat as his eyes brazenly went to her breasts and stayed.
“Here’s the Scotch for Janelle.” Sam Shults set the glass on the bar. “Now, Sullivan, what was it you said you want?”
Sullivan’s eyes reluctantly came back to Sam. “I don’t think what I want would be good for me, so I’ll pass for now.” He cut his eyes at Kay and her heart plummeted. His message had been clear. She lifted her small chin, leaned close to his ear and said, “It would be very good for you, so don’t pass forever.”
Before he could respond, she turned and walked regally away, and she could feel his eyes follow her as she went.
Kay wanted to choke him.
Kay wanted to make love to him.
Two days prior to Christmas, Kay flew to Phoenix, Arizona, to meet her parents at her uncle’s home in Scottsdale. Before she left, she knocked lightly on Sullivan’s closed door and went inside. In her hand she carried a slim box wrapped in silver paper.
Sullivan looked up, rose and said, “So you’re off to the airport?”
“My plane leaves in an hour,” she confirmed. “I just wanted to give you your present before I go.”
“Kay,” he said, grimacing, “you shouldn’t have. I didn’t want you to—”
She thrust the package at him. “I wanted to. It’s not much, please open it.”
Sullivan took the box and patiently worked the ribbon and paper away. “Just what I needed.” He smiled warmly at her, looking at the gold pen inside. He lifted it out and turned it in his thumb and forefinger.
“No, Sullivan,” Kay said softly, “there’s no inscription.” He looked at her, knowing she was referring to the inscribed gold lighter she’d given him that other Christmas. “I must run, I’ll—”
“Wait, Kay.” He laid the pen aside, pulled out the middle drawer of his desk and lifted out a small box. Shyly he handed it to her.