Love on the Air

by Sierra Donovan

  But no one was kissing anyone tonight. She was his employee, and he wasn't an idiot.

  "Thanks," she said as they reached her car. "It was a nice night."

  "Thanks for the M&Ms. You were right. I'm hooked." He assessed her parking spot. The nearest street light was just enough to illuminate the hood of the old Toyota. "I told you to park under a light."

  "That was at the station. What is it with you and the chivalry thing, anyway?"

  "Just the way I was brought up." Although certain women brought it out more than others. He felt the need to say something more, or maybe he just didn't want her to go. He thought of something he'd been wanting to say for some time. "Christie, I know I gave you a hard time at first. I'm sorry for ..." He trailed off.

  "For what?" she said lightly. "Trying to crush my spirit?"

  He laughed. "I don't think that's possible."

  "So why'd you do it?" It was hard to make out her expression in the shadows.

  Oh, come on. Was she fishing, or did she really have no clue? If she'd parked closer to a bloody street light, the way she should, maybe he'd be able to read her face. "Do you really need to ask me that?" he said quietly.

  She was standing just a step away. If she dared to ask, Rick wasn't sure whether she'd be getting her answer in words or not.

  Christie's eyes fixed on his for what felt like a long time. Then she took a step back.

  "Never mind," she said.

  Good. At least one of them had some sense.

  She got into her car quickly, before he could help her with the door, which was just as well. Too many more opportunities to touch. Rick watched her taillights fade away. He tried to shut out visions of an alternate reality where both of them were stupid enough to forget who they were, and try out that kiss.

  He returned to the front door, started to open it, and growled under his breath. Then, reluctantly, he started ringing the bell to wake Jason up.

  He'd locked himself out of his apartment.

  "Go ahead," Yvonne said. "It's only once a year."

  Christie eyed the cranberry red dress on its hanger at the clothing shop. Then she looked at the price tag, and cringed. "Not that one."

  "Come on, it's a splurge. Don't you know what this party is really for? Every Christmas the owner of the station flies into town so we can have a party, which gives us an excuse to buy a new dress. It's tradition."

  Christie shook her head, and Yvonne looked at her with dawning sympathy. She must have remembered that Christie was on an overnight disc jockey's salary.

  "Come over here," Yvonne said, taking her arm. "I just remembered where we should both be looking."

  At the back of the store was a single, round clearance rack. Christie started to flip her way through the mixture of styles and sizes without much hope. And then she saw it. It was dark green velvet, with skinny little shoulder straps.

  "That's a perfect color for you," Yvonne said from over her shoulder.

  "And it's a Christmas color. Evergreen." She held her breath and fumbled in the lining for the size. It was right. Then she found the markdown price tag, and she gasped. "Twelve-fifty?" she whispered, afraid a salesperson would hear her and realize the mistake.

  "Slow down." Yvonne adopted Christie's hushed tones. "There must be a catch."

  They searched until they found it: About one foot of the hem was unstitched. Christie was no seamstress, but even she could fix that. She hurried to the dressing room to try it on before anyone at the store could come to their senses.

  When she stepped out a few minutes later, Yvonne said, "Oh, Christie, that's you. "

  Christie looked in the mirror with some surprise. Her hair had just recently grown to shoulder length; its deep auburn shade made the perfect contrast to the rich green fabric. The dress' simple style made the most of her slim figure. It looked right and it felt right. She tried to reconcile the image in front of her with the skinny, mousy teenager she'd been just a few years ago. Something had happened, and she wasn't sure what or when.

  Christie knew she wanted to look good for all the wrong reasons. Rick would be there, but so what? If she got involved with him-assuming he wanted to get involved with her-she could kiss her job goodbye. Still, being around him had a way of making her forget that. Going back to her regular overnight shift this week may have been a comedown, but it had been just in the nick of time.

  "See?" Yvonne was saying. "With that dress, a little more makeup, and some spangly earrings ..."

  She'd be all dressed up, with no one to dress up for.

  The party was being held at the Santa Moreno Inn. It was an old Spanish mission, renovated into a hotel with banquet facilities. A little shopping district had grown up around it. It was a well-known local landmark, but Christie had never been inside before.

  She walked through the inn's courtyard, with mossgrown stone walls and large cherubs looking down at her from archways above. Christmas lights were strung everywhere, most of them white. Christie slowed to admire them, appreciating the holiday feel. She had Christmas decorations up all over her apartment, although she still needed to get a tree.

  Cocktails at six, dinner at eight, the memo had said. She walked into the banquet room just after six-thirty and immediately decided she'd arrived too early. The room was still sparsely populated, with about fifteen people milling around the half-dozen or so tables. She didn't spot anyone she knew, and no one had sat down yet. Christie felt like a ship without an anchor. She certainly didn't need an hour and a half for cocktails.

  A waiter stopped in front of her with a tray of wine glasses and waited expectantly. She picked one up, and he moved on.

  She sidled toward the long banquet table laid out with appetizers, and tried to decide who all these peo ple were. Advertising sales reps, mostly, she guessed, and probably some office staff as well. She didn't spend much time on that side of the building, and the reps were usually out on sales calls. Christie picked up a tiny plate and started debating between the different colors of cheese squares.

  "Welcome to the party," said a voice to her left. She looked up to see Ed Arboghast beaming brightly at her. "How's the job going?"

  It was the closest she'd been to him since the day she'd first interviewed there. She glimpsed him sometimes in the hallway, going to or from his office, but she still wasn't sure what he did there. She wondered if he'd picked up more weight, lost more hair, or if her memory had simply failed her.

  "It's great," she said. Best pay cut I ever took, she thought, but decided it wouldn't sound right.

  Mr. Arboghast introduced her to his wife, a pleasant middle-aged woman, while Christie politely sipped her wine. She didn't care much for wine and liked red even less, but it gave her something to do with her hands.

  "Try the shrimp," Mr. Arboghast smiled. "It's really good." And he tottered off.

  More people had arrived, and the noise level in the room was starting to come up. Christie was turning back toward the table, in search of the recommended shrimp, when Rick walked in.

  It wasn't just the way he looked in a coat and tie, so soon after Christie had said she'd seen enough suits to last a lifetime. It wasn't just the way the rich gray of the suit matched the color of his eyes, or the care he'd taken tonight to replace his hair's usual appealing, tousled look with an appealing, smooth look.

  It was the look in his eyes when he saw her, from twenty feet away, that floored her. He'd picked her out instantly, just a few steps into the room. His first, undisguised reaction told her plainly that he liked what he saw. To compound the effect, he didn't look away, and Christie felt a dangerous spark somewhere in the vicinity of her heart.

  All the song lyrics she'd ever heard about eyes meeting across a crowded room stopped being cliches. She had to catch her breath. And she had to do it quickly, because now he was walking straight toward her.

  Only to be intercepted by Mr. Arboghast, who led him to a silver-haired, black-suited man she'd never seen before. The station's owner, no
doubt.

  Christie looked away, feeling like a deer rescued from the headlights of an approaching car. Suddenly, she could move again. She took another sip from her glass and instantly felt sorry she had. A warm, queasy feeling took hold, and all at once the room felt very loud and very crowded.

  She looked down at her glass. The wine was nearly half gone. Idiot. She hadn't had anything to eat since lunch, and she'd never gotten hold of any of the appetizers. Her queasiness grew. Christie set the glass down on the banquet table and quickly headed outside for some air.

  She stepped into the courtyard and was hit by the shock of the cool, damp night around her. Christie inhaled deeply and found it did wonders. The fresh, earthy scent reminded her of a recent rain, but it was probably just the moisture from the abundance of plants out here.

  The quiet was refreshing, too. Christie wandered down a walkway that led away from the main hotel complex, toward a wooden bridge over a small pond. Across the bridge, the walkway continued toward the shops. Christie stopped on the bridge and leaned her arms on the waist-high rail to look down into the water. Much better, if a little chillier. She'd checked her coat when she arrived in the banquet room; she rubbed her bare arms against the light breeze.

  Her brief wooziness cleared, and her thoughts went back to what was waiting for her inside the banquet room. She had to be careful. That look from Rick had thrown her off balance, and she couldn't afford to make a fool of herself tonight. Anything beyond friendship was out of the question, and he knew that as well as she did. She'd probably imagined that look on his face, or misread it. He'd probably been coming over to tell her that her slip was showing or something.

  She looked down at the dress. What a waste. She'd spent an unusual amount of time-for her-getting ready tonight, fussing with her hair and makeup. She'd tried to tell herself she wanted to make a good impression on everyone, certainly not Rick in particular, but she knew better.

  And for what? To remind herself she shouldn't be thinking about Rick at all.

  A footstep on the bridge interrupted her thoughts. "Christie?"

  No point in pretending she didn't know that voice. Christie looked up without surprise, as if she'd expected Rick to show up all along. She'd have to have a talk with the back of her mind about these little fantasies. They seemed to have a way of coming true.

  "Are you all right?" he said as he reached her. "You looked a little green when you walked out."

  He'd been flanked by two executive types. How could he have possibly seen her walk out? Yet, obviously he had.

  "I'm okay. I just needed some air. The wine hit me all of a sudden."

  He frowned. "That doesn't sound like you."

  "It's not. I had half a glass. It hit my stomach, not my head." She laughed. "I'm not very used to it."

  "Plus the fact that you weigh about five pounds." He leaned sideways against the rail, studying her. Always that relaxed posture, always those watching eyes. "Sure you're okay?"

  "Fine. It's nice out here."

  Rick nodded. "Very nice." He glanced at his watch. "Want to walk for a little bit? I've already schmoozed the boss and the owner."

  It sounded harmless enough, or so she told herself. It also sounded a lot more appealing than going back inside to mingle. "Sure."

  Rick pointed them down the other side of the bridge, away from the hotel. She said, "I'm surprised none of the other jocks are here yet."

  "Yvonne got here a minute ago. Rob's probably picking up his date."

  "He's bringing a date?"

  "I think so. He's the only one who ever does."

  It hadn't occurred to Christie before that none of the disc jockeys were married. Of course, Rick had been, once. She decided to leave that subject alone tonight.

  They passed under a lattice woven with climbing plants. "This is a beautiful place." Hadn't she said that already? "They really went all out."

  "Trade," Rick said.

  "What?"

  "Station trade. That's how they paid for this party. You'll be hearing a slew of commercials soon. It's a lot cheaper than real money."

  "Cynic."

  "Just the truth. I cut the commercial myself this afternoon."

  "That's no reason not to enjoy it."

  "I didn't say I wasn't enjoying it." His eyes were on her again. There was a warm note in his voice, and Christie felt it like a physical touch. She realized she'd unintentionally been walking closer to Rick, as if the space between them didn't belong there. She widened the distance, and reached up to snap one of the little pink flowers from the latticework overhead. "Look," she said. "Bougainvillea."

  "Gesundheit."

  They reached the cobblestone block of shops. Christie was about to suggest turning around, but a window display of Christmas decorations caught her eye, and she hurried forward. One Victorian angel with a trumpet reminded her of the tree-topper her mother used to put on the tree all the years Christie was growing up. She'd given it to Christie before she moved away to Colorado.

  "Have you decorated your place yet?" she asked when Rick caught up to her.

  "A little."

  She looked at him suspiciously. "You're not one of those Scrooges, are you? I'd be playing a lot more Christmas music on the station by now if I were you."

  "Some people complain if we do."

  " `Some people' isn't everybody," she said. She couldn't imagine the holidays without Christmas music. "What about you?"

  "Nothing against Christmas," he said. "It just doesn't have the best associations for me."

  She was starting to recognize that tone of voice. It was the one he used whenever his divorce came up. Christie looked up in time to see his eyes darken under the street light. "I walked into it again, didn't I?"

  "With both feet."

  The woman left him at Christmas? "I'm sorry," she said again.

  "It's okay." His eyes went back to the window. "Any particular songs you want me to add?"

  "For Christmas?" She looked up in surprise. "What, you're taking requests?"

  "It's a one-night offer."

  "Well, any of the old carols. And `White Christmas,' by Bing Crosby."

  "You would use Christmas for an excuse to make me play Bing Crosby."

  They walked on in companionable silence. The shops were closed, so they had the area almost to themselves. The loudest sound came from Christie's heels on the cobblestones. Her new height brought Rick a little closer to eye level. She caught herself veering toward him again, and veered away, rubbing her arms again. The breeze was getting stronger, and nippier.

  "Cold?"

  "A little."

  "Why do women wear dresses without sleeves this time of year?"

  "Why do men wear heavy suits in the summer?"

  "Women make us."

  A fresh breeze blasted hard enough to send the remaining fall leaves skittering around them. Christie shivered. Rick pulled her toward the doorway of one of the shops, where a window display jutted outward, providing a shelter from the wind. "Here." He slipped his jacket off and draped it over her shoulders. "You wear the suit for a change."

  The jacket was warm from being on him. It smelled like Rick, too, a scent she recognized without being able to define it. He studied her for a moment with a look of mock appraisal, and Christie felt more dizzy than she had half an hour ago from the wine.

  He took the bougainvillea blossom from her hand and tucked it into the button of the jacket's lapel. "There," he smiled. "Perfect."

  He patted down her shoulders, and slowly the smile faded.

  In his eyes was a replay of the look from across the room, only this time at much closer range. Even the crickets seemed to get quieter. Then Rick muttered something under his breath that Christie couldn't quite make out, and brought his mouth down to hers.

  It never occurred to her to stop him.

  First kisses weren't supposed to be like this. There was no fumbling, no hesitation, just an immediate connection, as if he'd thought about this for a lo
ng time. It was gentle at first, but not quite tentative, building slowly as she responded. And it was thorough. She hadn't believed a kiss could literally make you weak in the knees, until now. The only problem was that it ended.

  He raised his head, but his hands stayed on her shoulders. "I shouldn't have done that." His mouth was still close to hers.

  "No," she agreed, not moving. "It was a terrible idea." She put her arms around his neck, and he moved forward, closing the rest of the space between them. His mouth covered hers again.

  She knew this couldn't go anywhere. She knew there was no point. But she'd already thrown reason out the window. All she could think of was making the moment go on as long as she could. What was it her mother said? Might as well be hanged for stealing a sheep as a lamb? Whatever it was, she wasn't acting on mother's advice right now. If this was temporary insanity, she wanted it to last.

  "This is crazy," Rick whispered, echoing her jumbled thoughts. Then he kissed her again, and she stopped thinking at all.

  She leaned back against the door frame behind her, drinking in the warmth of his closeness. Slowly, his hands left her shoulders, one going up to wind his fingers through her hair. The other slipped under the jacket to circle her waist. Christie couldn't believe she'd been cold a few minutes ago.

  He finally raised his lips from hers, and for a moment she was afraid he was going to let go. Instead, he bent his head down to the side of her throat. "I knew you'd be trouble," he murmured. There was a huskiness in his voice that she'd never heard before. His lips brushed over her skin, and a tiny moan escaped from the back of her throat. She felt Rick's arm tighten around the small of her back. Christie sighed. This temporary insanity thing would have to-

  Suddenly Rick froze and took two steps back, as if she were a live coal. A moment later Christie understood why. Footsteps. The muffled sound on the cobblestones was like a burglar alarm.

  What had they been thinking? Work wasn't miles away; it was yards away.