Love on the Air (13 page)

"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 long 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.

She stood upright from the door where she'd been
leaning, and Rick's jacket fell to the ground. They
both dove for it. Christie got it first, handed it to Rick,
then spun around to look into the shop window they'd
been oblivious to just moments before. Behind her, she
could hear Rick hastily shrugging his jacket back on.

The window held a display of expensive-looking
antique furniture. "I love the Victrola," she said,
amazed at the normalcy in her voice.

"Probably a reproduction," Mr. Arboghast's voice
said behind them.

Whew. It didn't get any closer than that. Christie
turned, and there the boss stood with his wife. Both
of them were smiling benignly. No sign that either one had seen anything amiss. "What are you kids doing
out here?" Mr. Arboghast said.

"Window shopping," she said.

"You picked out a great place, Ed," Rick said. "It
sure beats the Ramada Inn last year."

"Oh, Francis gets the credit for that." Mr. Arboghast
patted his wife's hand, tucked through his arm.

"I told him about it," she explained. "I was here for
a luncheon this summer."

As the small talk went on, Christie had time to calm
down and start mentally kicking herself for her stupidity. Finally Mr. Arboghast walked away, his wife
on his arm.

"It's windy out here, Rick," he called back over his
shoulder. "You should give the lady your jacket."

Christie stood next to him, staring into the shop
window until the boss was out of earshot. Rick had to
hand it to her for a quick recovery. After that embrace,
he'd forgotten the store was there. Even now, he didn't
think his heart rate was back to normal. Whether that
was from kissing Christie, or from the close call afterward, he wasn't sure.

When Ed was safely out of earshot, Christie said,
"I imagine it would look better if we went back in
separately." She turned around without so much as
looking at him, and headed back toward the banquet
room.

"Christie, wait." Rick fell into step beside her.
Those high heels were making remarkably good time
for someone who was trying to be so casual. Why was
she in such a hurry now? They hadn't gotten caught,
and it was a little late to cover up. "Christie, it's not
like we killed someone."

"Isn't it?" She kept walking, eyes straight ahead.

Whoa. Time for a little perspective here. "Listen to
yourself for a second. And slow down." They were
covering the cobblestone sidewalk much faster than
they had coming the other direction, and they both
needed to get a grip before they went back into that
room.

"Don't you see, Rick?" She was trying to sound
conversational, as if they were talking about the
weather. In case someone was eavesdropping behind
the shrubbery? "What would have happened if he'd
gotten there a little sooner?"

He honestly wasn't sure. "Well, it wouldn't have
been good. But I don't think we would have been sent
to the gallows. Maybe a written reprimand?"

"The first thing in my personnel file after my W-2
form."

Ten minutes after kissing him until his legs nearly
quit, all she could think about was her own neck. The
trouble was, he was thinking about her neck, too, and
the way her perfume had smelled. If their embrace had
just come from the heat of the moment, it was taking
a long time to fade.

But he could be as practical and cold-blooded as
she was. "Now, hold on," he said. "You're not the
only one with something at stake here."

"No. But who's going to come off worse?" Christie
stopped and turned so suddenly he almost stepped on
her foot. The look on her face was one of desperate,
unadulterated panic. "You've been with the company
what, five years? And you're a man. I'm a woman who came out of nowhere a couple of months ago. Some
professional. They'd never take me seriously again."

The words had a certain logic to them. "You've
thought about this." When? he wondered. Ten minutes
ago, he'd been doing anything but thinking.

She started walking again. "I can't believe I was so
stupid."

Now, that was a little insulting. But she'd made her
point. It would look worse for her, and she couldn't
afford that. If that wasn't enough to make him stick
to company rules and keep his hands to himself, nothing was.

They crossed over the little wooden bridge, where
things had begun so innocently half an hour before.
Just a little moonlight stroll between friends. Yeah,
right. As if he couldn't have seen this coming. She
was right. It had been a mistake. A big, fat mistake,
and the sooner they put it behind them, the better.

They walked the rest of the way to the banquet
room in silence. Before he opened the door, his ego
still smarting, Rick couldn't resist one parting shot.
"Christie?"

"What?"

"If you're concerned about the way things look, you
might want to fix your lipstick."

Momentarily pleased by her horrified look, he went
inside ahead of her.

It had been a snappy line, but Rick had plenty of
time to regret it in the next two hours. Sometimes a
clever quip wasn't worth the trouble it caused.

Both of them sat at the table where the rest of the jocks had already settled in. Anything else would have
looked out of place. Rick watched as Christie sandwiched herself next to Yvonne, apparently trying to sit
as far away from him as possible. She wound up
straight across from him, and he was sure that wasn't
what she'd had in mind. Instead of avoiding him, she
was in a spot where the opportunities for eye contact
were endless.

It was quite a view, actually. Christie's troubled expression wasn't enough to detract from the way she
looked in that green dress. It brought out the green in
her hazel eyes, which looked achingly soulful whenever they met his by accident. So she did have a heart.
His annoyance faded. Before guilt could take over,
Rick replaced it with self-justification. All right, so
he'd started it. He just hadn't expected her to transform herself into a siren for the night. Maybe that was
why he'd lost his head. Easy enough to blame it on
the dress.

Except that Yvonne, on Christie's right, was wearing a black dress every bit as stunning. And Rob's
date, on her left, was wearing something so silver and
sequinny it was practically blinding. The one Rick
couldn't stop looking at-try as he might-was the
redhead in the middle. She may have recovered more
quickly under the eyes of the general manager, but
now she looked sicker than she had when she left the
room earlier.

But if it was keeping up appearances she cared
about, he was giving her that in spades. He chatted
and laughed his way through dinner, barely aware of
what he was saying. Detachment. It was an old sur vival mechanism. It was how you got through an air
shift the night after your wife left you. It was how you
avoided getting seriously involved with anyone in all
the years after that. Until the one woman you had absolutely no business getting involved with came along
and-

"My first live broadcast," he said, "was for this little
station in Lancaster. A Fourth of July fireworks display. And the entertainment before the fireworks-I
swear I'm not making this up-was an eight-year-old
boy in a gold lame Elvis suit ..."

He wasn't the only one looking at Christie. Rob was
doing it too, although Rob's eyes always got around,
date or no date.

"...the kid's lip-synching to songs on a CD boom
box..."

Rick threw another quick glance at Christie. She
didn't seem to notice Rob's stare, but she wasn't looking at Rick, either. Or eating her chicken.

"...so of course the power goes out on the boom
box..."

Out of the blue, Yvonne asked, "Is that a new fashion statement, Rick?"

He looked at her blankly, then glanced down. The
little pink blossom, now slightly crushed, was still
tucked into the buttonhole of his lapel. Across the table, Christie looked aghast, as if Yvonne had pointed
out a bleeding corpse on the floor at Rick's feet.