Nan Ryan by Kathleens Surrender Page B

can’t go away.” She was shouting now.
    “Don’t, Kathleen. I’ve a terrible headache.”
    “Headache? Have you lost your mind completely? You … you’re drunk. That’s it. You’re very drunk and you don’t know what you’re saying.”
    “I’m not drunk, Kathleen, though I’m working on it and plan to get that way real soon.”
    “Dawson, darling, I …”
    “Kathleen, I want you to go. I didn’t invite you here and I would like to be alone.”
    “Dawson, please, I love you and … you love me.”
    “No,” Dawson said coldly, “I don’t love you, Kathleen. You amused me for a while, but not anymore. You see, women are like champagne. Fresh champagne is bubbly and it tickles your nose and makes you giddy. But then the champagne goes stale. Our relationship has gone flat, Kathleen. It’s over.” Dawson removed her hands from his shirt.
    She was terribly hurt and confused, but she would not give up. She moved closer to him, stood on tiptoes and whispered, “You love me, Dawson Blakely,” and kissed him on the mouth. “I know you love me.” Her lips traveled over his hard brown face and came back to his full mouth. She pressed against him and prayed his strong arms would come around her. Dawson’s teeth stayed tightly clenched and his cold lips moved not at all under her trembling mouth. She looked up at him and his eyes were still dark and cold. In desperation, she threw her arms around his neck and pulled his head down, kissing him wildly, whispering his name. Still she got no response. His arms remained at his sides and his body stayed completely rigid.
    “Please don’t Kathleen. It won’t work,” he said in a tired voice.
    Undaunted, she moved her arms from around his neck and put her fingers to the white shirt front. She slowly pulled the shirt apart and leaned to him and kissed his brown chest, murmuring, “You love me, you do, say you love me.” She couldn’t see Dawson’s eyes softening. Nothing else about him changed. Slowly, Dawson raised his hands and jerked her away, pushing her back a step or two.
    “It’s no use, Kathleen, you’re wasting your time. I don’t love you, I never did, really.” He pulled out a straight-backed chair and sat down, his feet apart, arms folded across his chest. “Why don’t you leave?”
    Kathleen stood looking at him, hurt and unbelieving, bewildered and shocked that her kisses meant nothing to him, did not arouse him at all. Perhaps he doesn’t love me, I should leave, that’s what he wants. He wants me to go. But she couldn’t, she loved him too much. “It can’t end like this, I won’t let it.”
    Slowly, Kathleen raised her fingers to the brooch at her neck and unfastened it, tossing it on the desk. “I will make you love me,” she said defiantly and started unbuttoning the top buttons of the white lace blouse. Dawson’s eyes never left her, but he said, “Don’t do it, Kathleen.”
    She continued unbuttoning the blouse and looking at him. He tried to lower his eyes and found it impossible. “She’s teasing me, she’ll stop in a minute,” he thought. She did not stop. She unbuttoned the last button at the waist, took off the blouse, and threw it on the desk. She stood before him in the sheer batiste camisole with its dainty blue ribbon and Dawson’s breath caught in his throat.
    “For God’s sake, Kathleen, don’t shame yourself. Stop it; where’s your pride?”
    “Pride?” she looked at him sadly, tears now overflowing from the big blue eyes. “I have none left. I love you and I will not let you go.” Her shaking fingers untied the little blue bow at the top of the camisole and then the top hook was opened.
    “Stop,” Dawson shouted, “I mean it!”
    Kathleen paid no attention to his command and continued to look him in the eye. She undid the last three hooks and stood with the camisole seductively open.
    “Please,” he whispered hoarsely, but she let the camisole slide down her arms and to the floor. Still