Love in the Air (17 page)

That was to be an entirely free day for the tired, happy travelers.

Saturday night rolled around and Kay, her slim body browned by the hot Bahamian sun, dressed for the dinner dance she and Sullivan were to host in the elegant ballroom. Kay stepped from the tub and patted her body dry, fighting the sinking, sad feeling she’d been experiencing all afternoon. How could it have all gone by so fast? And how could she have spent all this time in one of the most beautifully romantic spots in the entire universe and with the only man she would ever want and not have elicited so much as a good-night kiss from him?

Kay sighed, tossed the towel aside and slipped on a pair of silky panty hose. From the closet she took the new, slinky white crepe dress, slipped it over her head and hooked the halter-type top in back of her neck. Turning to the mirror, she evaluated herself with objectivity. The dress, completely backless, zipped from midhip to waist. Her slender back, with its newly acquired tan, curved gracefully. Her hips gently flared and the long dress fell to the floor in soft swaying folds. Braless breasts pushed provocatively against the lush fabric covering them. Kay nodded her approval and opened an expensive bottle of perfume she’d purchased at one of the duty-free shops. She tipped the small vial up to a forefinger and let that finger go into the shadowy valley between her breasts. A dab inside each elbow, and Kay stoppered the bottle and set it back in its place.

She grabbed a brush and gave her hair one last vigorous stroking, letting it swirl around her tanned bare shoulders. “Sullivan,” she said into the mirror, “it’s now or never!”

A string orchestra was on a stage in the marble-floored ballroom. They were tuning up in the still-empty room; strange chords filling the room where red-jacketed waiters were busy depositing glasses of ice water, silver bowls with pats of butter resting atop crushed ice and silver salt and pepper shakers on round white-clothed tables lining the dance floor.

“Am I late?” came the velvet voice from behind her.

Kay turned. Sullivan, elegantly handsome in a tuxedo as black as his hair, was smiling at her. Lean fingers worried his black bow tie. The stiff French cuffs of his cloud-white shirt were set off with onyx links.

“No, I’m early.” Kay brushed his hand aside, reaching up to straighten the worrisome tie.

“Thanks,” Sullivan said, jutting his left wrist out from under the shirt’s cuff for a glance at his gold watch. “You’re right, it’s just now 8:30 p.m.”

Every member of the happy Denver group attended the dinner dance, all dressed in their finest, laughing, talking, finding they’d made close friends here in this island paradise with people who’d lived in the same city with them for a lifetime.

Sullivan and Kay dined at the head table with eight travelers who considered themselves extremely lucky to be the table companions of their charming hosts. Before the last of the diners had finished with their dessert, couples drifted to the dance floor. Kay, eagerly anticipating being swept around the big room in Sullivan’s arms, shot a daggerlike look at the brazen redhead who came to tap him on the shoulder, bat her long eyelashes at him and say in a voice filled with honey, “Sullivan, I’m just dying to dance with you. My girlfriend—” she nodded toward a smiling brunette two tables away “—bet me I didn’t have the nerve to come over and ask you.” She smiled prettily and leaned so close to him, Kay was unable to see his face or hear his reply.

The answer was clear enough when the woman giggled happily, straightened and stepped back. Sullivan pushed back his chair and guided the redhead to the floor. The smitten woman lifted a bare arm around his neck and pressed herself so close to him that Sullivan colored visibly. Kay, her blue eyes turning green, watched intently while the swaying couple moved around the room. The woman’s eyes were closed in ecstasy.

Relieved when the song ended, Kay bit the inside of her lip in frustration when she saw the pair walking to where the brunette girlfriend was seated. Sullivan was speaking, and the woman got up, tugged on his arm and dragged him onto the floor while her redheaded friend dropped down into her chair and took a big sip of wine.

So went the evening. It wasn’t Sullivan’s fault. Kay knew that. In fact, she, too, found herself being pursued and spun around the polished floor in the eager arms of more than one boisterous male who was intent on having a grand time. Sullivan gave Kay knowing looks when their eyes met as they graciously danced in the arms of the partyers.

It was nearing midnight before Kay, her feet beginning to swell in the silver high-heeled sandals, smiled gratefully and stepped into the commanding arms of Sullivan Ward.

“Tell you what,” he whispered near her ear, “when this song ends, you slowly, but surely, make your way toward the door. I’ll follow in exactly five minutes. They’ll never know we’re gone.”

“I’ll be in the casino by the first row of slot machines,” she murmured, and felt all the listlessness leave her body.

Neither spoke for the remainder of the dance. The orchestra was playing an old romantic ballad and a smooth-voiced, young black Bahamian was singing. The roomful of chattering, laughing people faded away and there were only the two of them, moving as one, swaying around the floor. Sullivan held her very close. She was tingling from his nearness. His hard chest and muscled thighs were pressing against her and his hand upon her bare, sensitive back was spread, the tips of his fingers like fire upon her cool skin.

Kay would have sworn that his smooth, warm lips were scattering tiny little kisses on the wispy hair beside her temples. A slow, spreading coil of desire began to build in her lower stomach, pleasantly stirring sleeping pulses throughout her body. Kay closed her eyes and wondered if it were possible to actually die from wanting someone too much.

Shaken by the emotions the romantic dance had evoked, Kay felt Sullivan’s breath against her hair. “Okay, carry out our plan.”

She could only nod as he released her. In a daze, she sidled out of the ballroom, down the carpeted corridor and into the lively casino. Stopping at the row of slot machines where she’d told Sullivan she’d meet him, Kay leaned against one of the tall one-armed bandits and cast her attention to a dice table twenty feet away.

Drawn by the shouting, excited players standing around the big, green felt table, Kay walked over, took some bills from her evening bag and bought some five-dollar chips. She dropped one on the pass line and squealed when, on the come out, the shooter, a short, stocky man with a cigar clamped firmly between his teeth, tossed the red dice the length of the table and they rolled over onto eleven.

Childishly clapping her hands, Kay picked up her won money, leaving the original chip. A charming, British tuxedoed croupier standing to her right turned toward her and said softly, “Not only beautiful, but lucky, too, sweetheart?” His green eyes flashed at her, and he added very quietly, “I get off at 4:00 a.m.”

“Good for you.” Sullivan’s deep voice sounded clipped. Stepping in between Kay and the croupier, he said possessively, “‘Sweetheart’ here will be in bed long before then.” He took Kay’s elbow and drew her away from the table.

Kay loved Sullivan’s obvious flash of jealousy, but said, “My money, Sullivan. I’ve got five dollars riding on the pass line.”

“I’ll reimburse you.” He looked pointedly at the impudent croupier. “If she wins, the take’s yours. It’s all you’ll ever get from her, understand?”

His features hard, Sullivan guided Kay through the busy casino and out a pair of French doors at the side. Down marbled steps and into a tropical garden they strolled, the full moon lighting the lush, manicured grounds.

His hand was holding her upper arm and he continued to walk her farther from the hotel, past the lighted empty swimming pool, down more steps and to the beach.

Finally he spoke. “Let’s walk on the beach.”

“I’d love to,” Kay said and immediately amended, “but I can’t, I’ll get sand in my shoes.”

“Take ’em off.”

“It’s not just the shoes, Sullivan, what about my hose?”

Sullivan unbuttoned his jacket and thrust a hand into his pocket. “So take them off, too.”

“But they’re pantyhose and I’m not wearing—that is—” Kay felt herself blushing hotly.

“Look around you, Kay. There’s no one on the beach. I’ll turn my back. You slip out of your pantyhose and we’ll walk along the sand in the moonlight.” The tightness had left his mouth and he was smiling.

“Turn around,” she said, handing him her shoes. Sullivan, the shoes over a thumb, turned away from her, looking out over the restless sea. Kay, nervously casting worried eyes all around her, slid the silky pantyhose down over her hips and legs, hopping on one foot to take them off. Letting her skirt drop, she stood with the wadded hose in her hands and felt dangerously exposed. She wore nothing but the white crepe dress, and the breeze coming in off the ocean gently molded the filmy dress to her slender body.

Debating already how she could get back to her hotel room without relinquishing all modesty, Kay heard Sullivan say, exasperated, “I could have undressed completely by now.” He turned around, saw the strained look on her pretty face and assured her, “Kay, you will not see anyone tonight.” He took the hose and stuffed them in his suit pocket. “When we get back to the hotel, we’ll use the entrance nearest your room and I’ll run interference for you, so relax.”

She did. It was a gorgeous, perfect night. Waves crashed in on the shore with lulling repetition. The moon turned the white sands to crystals of shiny silver. Soft, tickling breezes lifted strands of Kay’s long, feathered hair, making her raise her free hand to push it from her eyes. The other small hand was held securely in Sullivan’s.

They walked for a long way down the deserted beach, talking little, drinking in the beauty surrounding them, enjoying each other’s company and the unspoken closeness between them. Kay felt her heart lurch with happiness when finally Sullivan said, “It’s time we go in.”

“Yes,” she said breathlessly, the soft, filmy dress, driven by the night winds, caressing her naked body, arousing her, teasing at flesh that craved the tall, dark man beside her.

They were at the door of her hotel room. Kay fumbled with the key, eager to open the portal to complete bliss. She turned and looked expectantly up at Sullivan, dropping the key back into her evening bag. Sullivan picked up her hand, raised it to his lips and kissed the warm palm.

“Kay.” His voice was husky.

“Yes?” Hers was breathless.

“Good night,” he said. And handing her the silver shoes, he turned and walked away.

Stunned and unbelieving, Kay stood motionless, feeling her stomach knot painfully beneath the soft crepe of her evening dress. Hand cold and stiff, she slowly closed the door, dropped the shoes and valiantly fought back the sob welling up in her throat. She crossed the floor to the opposite side of the room.

Kay drew open the slatted double doors leading onto the private balcony that overlooked the white sand beach and the restless sea beyond. She stepped, barefooted, out onto the high balcony and made no effort to lift her hand when flower-scented breezes tossed her long, loose hair into her face. Kay stood alone in the moonlight, her slender body trembling with need. Tears of hurt and pain stung at the backs of her eyes.

The breeze off the ocean was cool. It gently stroked her, as though generously offering its soothing, healing help to the sad young woman clinging to the iron-lace railing, her body afire, her longing a real and painful ache, her frustration and heartache unbearable.

Kay whirled and went back inside, anxiously stripping the soft dress from her heated body. She turned on no lamps. None were necessary. Through the open balcony doors moonlight sliced the big room exactly in half. The room’s bed, its covers turned down by the maid, rested half in, half out of the penetrating light. While the fluffy pillows at the headboard were barely visible in the dark shadows, the lower portion of the bed with its folded-back white sheets lay in silvery light as bright as day.

It was the darkness that Kay sought. Tears now sliding down her cheeks, she stood in the shadows and discarded the beautiful white dress, letting it slide down her naked breasts and hips to the floor, discarding it along with her dreams. Ignoring the yellow knee-length terry-cloth robe draped across the foot of the bed, Kay walked into the adjoining bath, snatching a plastic shower cap from the hook by the mirrored medicine cabinet.

Hastily shoving her hair up under the cap, caring little that a few heavy strands remained clinging to her neck, unprotected, she stepped into the shower, jerked the curtains closed and twirled the cold-water faucet full open. Cold, pelting water hissed upon bare, heated flesh.

It did little good.

When Kay stepped from the cold shower ten minutes later, her body temperature may have been a little lower, but the clawing need deep in her stomach remained. She was listlessly patting at her wet body when she heard the soft knock on her door. Sudden confusion mixed with panic and hope. Body still damp, Kay grabbed for the robe while the knock came once again.

“I’m coming,” she said, heart pounding in her chest, and rushed to the door. She was turning the knob when she remembered she still wore the drenched shower cap. She pulled it from her head, rushed to drop it in the lavatory and realized in despair that her long hair lay in damp, untidy disarray around her shiny face.

Running nervous fingers through the tangled mane, she lowered her hands, jerked frantically at the sash of her robe, took a shallow breath and said, “Who is it?”

“Sullivan,” was the firm, one-word response.

Stifling a gasp, Kay opened the door.

He stood there, raised hands clasping either side of the door frame. The elegantly tailored tuxedo jacket was gone. The white shirt was unbuttoned down his chest, the long tail hanging outside his trousers, sleeves rolled up over his arms. His feet were bare. Unruly black hair looked as though a nervous male hand had been raking repeatedly through it.

Sullivan said nothing. One hand finally left the door-jamb, went to his pants pocket and brought out a pair of silky pantyhose. He slowly held them out toward her.