Love in the Air (12 page)

Sullivan was on a makeshift stage at the north end of the arena everyone in Denver referred to as “Big Mac.” A huge blue-satin banner with “Q102” emblazoned in gold draped the platform. Sound men and engineers were working with a tangle of cables for the sound system. The huge hardwood floor, used for basketball in the winter, was already filling with people, all dressed in various ensembles of an era past. Overhead, crepe-paper streamers and hundreds of balloons fell from the high ceiling, giving the massive structure the appearance of a school gym decorated for a prom.

Sullivan, intently flipping through a pile of records stacked on a long table near the microphones, didn’t notice Kay climbing the stairs to the stage. Kay was given the opportunity to carefully study him while he remained caught up in his task.

Her heart, under the fuzzy white sweater, skipped a beat at the sight of him. Sullivan wore charcoal-gray trousers, pegged in at the ankles. His long-sleeved shirt was of bright pink, his jacket of black leather. His coal-black hair had been greased down into the semblance of a ducktail, though it was already rebelling, springing back to its natural fullness.

Sullivan finished separating the records into several groups. He shrugged out of his black leather jacket, tossing it to a chair. Kay watched, fascinated. Unbuttoning his cuffs, he rolled up pink shirt-sleeves over his forearms, glanced at his watch and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his gray wool slacks.

Dressed as a fifties heartthrob, he looked different, but as appealing as ever. Watching him, Kay decided Sullivan would look good no matter what he wore. Or didn’t wear. He was all male. Clothed or naked, his lean body held an animal grace and beauty that couldn’t be hidden.

Sullivan looked up.

His face broke into a grin and he started toward her. Feeling suddenly shy and ill-at-ease, as if she were a teenager at a dance, Kay tugged nervously at the hem of her white sweater and mouthed the word, “Hi.”

He reached her, took her elbow and looking down at her said honestly, “You look so young and cute, Kay. I’d swear you were no more than sixteen or seventeen.”

Blushing, she looked up at him and smiled. “You’re very much a cool cat yourself tonight, Sullivan.”

Sullivan laughed, curled his lip up, à la Elvis, and drew her up to the microphone set up in the middle of the stage. “The mike’s not on yet, Kay, so before I turn it on, I thought we’d go over what we’re expected to do here this evening.” He released her arm and took a seat on the edge of the long table.

Kay stood facing him, hands clutched in front of her. “I guess it’ll just be like doing our show from here, right?”

Sullivan lit a cigarette and smiled. “Yeah, that’s about it. But they may expect us to…to dance with each other a couple of times, and, too, they are going to crown us king and queen of the hop.” Sullivan rolled his eyes upward.

Kay shook her head. “That won’t be so bad, will it?”

“No—” he dropped his eyes “—but—”

“But what?”

Sullivan looked up. “Hell, we’re supposed…they want us…” Sullivan’s words trailed away and his eyes went to Kay’s mouth. “Never mind,” he said, rising to turn on their mikes.

The dance was soon in full swing as couples of all ages filled the hall and laughingly spun around on the polished floor. Sullivan and Kay played the hit records of an earlier decade and stood before their microphones moving their bodies in time to the tunes, and flirted and teased each other to the delight of the crowd.

Sullivan grabbed his microphone. “This next record has got to be one of the all-time oldies but goodies. Remember ‘Jailhouse Rock’ by the King? Sure you do! Come on, you people sitting way up there in the cheap seats. Let’s rock this joint. I want to see everyone down on the floor. Kay, baby,” he continued, speaking into the mike, “wanna show ’em how it’s done?”

“Why, Sullivan,” she said into her mike, “I’d love to dance with you.”

“Well, all right, everybody, let’s dance!” Sullivan shouted. He hurriedly cued the record and grabbed Kay’s hand. He stepped off the high stage, put his hands to her small waist and lifted her down.

Sullivan took Kay in his arms. She laughed and followed his easy lead. He spun her around and watched appreciatively as her full skirt and petticoats swirled out, rising high on long, shapely legs. Lost in the lively spirit of the dance, they whirled in rhythm to the fast-paced Elvis record and Kay tossed her head in abandon, letting the long, silvery hair sway around her face and shoulders until it was a tumbled mass in her face.

It was Sullivan, his eyes flashing, who reached out to push the silvery mane from her eyes just as the record ended and Kay collapsed against him, breathless, face flushed, heart pounding.

“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.”

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.