Chapter 7
Seven
The Amelia Island Country Club sparkled with white lights, crystal champagne glasses, chandeliers, and candles floating in elaborate floral centerpieces. A small orchestra provided background music while the Simpson’s guests mingled over cocktails.
When Michael was introduced to the governor of Florida, the attorney general, and the state’s senior senator, he realized the Admiral was killing several birds with this party. A staunch Republican, he was considering a run for the House of Representatives from Florida’s fourth district.
“Meet my future son-in-law, Michael Maguire,” the Admiral said to the governor and the attorney general as he slapped Michael on the back. “He’s a prosecutor on Tom Houlihan’s team up in Baltimore. Michael’s first chair on a murder trial that starts next week.”
The attorney general, Derek Gantley, clasped Michael’s hand. “Gang shooting?”
“Yes, sir,” Michael said.
“I’ve read about that case. Looks good for conviction.”
“We like our odds.”
“Best of luck,” Gantley said.
The Admiral whisked him and the governor away to meet other guests.
Michael grabbed a glass of champagne off a passing tray and had downed half of it when he located Paige across the room surrounded by her high school friends.
Before the Admiral transferred to the Pentagon and then the Naval Academy, she attended the exclusive Bolles School in Jacksonville while her father served as the commanding officer of Naval Air Station Jacksonville.
Many of her friends still lived in the area, which was one of the reasons she had been so anxious to move back to Florida when her father retired from the Navy.
Michael was working on a third glass of champagne when Paige came to find him.
“Having a good time?”
“Yes,” she answered without looking at him. “They’re ready to serve dinner so we need to be seated.”
Michael followed her to the large head table where they sat with her parents, the bridesmaids, and their dates. He attempted to make conversation with the matron of honor’s husband, a big blond guy named Brad.
“You know how it is in marketing,” Brad was saying when Michael tuned back in minutes later. “You’re lucky to stay one step ahead of the changing times. That’s why focus groups are so critical.”
“Uh huh.” Michael preferred to focus on his prime rib. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Paige pushing shrimp around on her plate without actually eating anything.
Brad prattled on about market influences, direct mail, and the latest consumer buying trends. He seemed satisfied with Michael’s occasional nod.
After the waiters cleared the dinner dishes from their table, the orchestra leader called Michael and Paige to the dance floor. “Please join me in a round of applause for the happy couple—Michael and Paige.”
The applause embarrassed Michael. This whole thing was so over-the-top. But he took Paige into his arms and went through the expected motions as the orchestra played “What Are You Doing the Rest of Your Life?”
Paige looked up at him with a sad smile. “Remember?”
After they had dinner in a Georgetown bistro the night they met, they walked slowly back to his apartment to get his car. In just three hours with her, he felt like he’d known her forever.
She tucked her hand into the crook of his arm as they strolled through the quaint, eclectic neighborhood.
“Oh, look, Michael! They’re dancing. Can we go in?”
He gazed into the jazz club. “Don’t you need to get home? It’s a long ride to Annapolis,” he said, trying not to think about the two hundred pages he had planned to read that night.
She grinned. “I don’t have an official curfew anymore.”
He was already beguiled by that hint of mischief in her eyes and could feel himself drifting into something that had the potential to be important.
Powerless against the urge to frame that flawless face with his hands, he hadn’t expected the desire to roar through him when her breath hitched in the instant before he kissed her.
He felt her arms go around him and her eager mouth open under his.
Long, passionate minutes passed before a group of passing college kids brushed against them, reminding Michael of where he was and what he was doing. Someone muttered, “Get a room.”
Paige giggled.
Still trying to get his head to stop spinning, Michael decided that no kiss had ever affected him quite like that one.
“Does that mean you want to dance, or what?” she asked with a teasing grin.
“Yeah.” He opened the door to the club for her. “Let’s dance.”
On a dance floor packed with couples swaying to the jazz band’s sultry sound, Michael took her into his arms like he had done it a million times before. He couldn’t help but notice how well she fit against him.
After they danced for a long while, a woman who sounded just like Ella Fitzgerald stepped up to the microphone to sing “What Are You Doing the Rest of Your Life?”
Michael looked down at Paige, wanting more than anything to kiss her again.
She tilted her face in invitation.
Swamped with tenderness and need and a kind of wild desire totally unfamiliar to him, he touched his lips to hers.
“Paige,” he whispered when the song ended. “We should go.”
She nodded and followed him through the crowded club.
Back on the street, he took a deep breath of the cool winter air, hoping to regain control of his rampaging hormones.
They were quiet on the short walk to his building where he helped her into his Toyota Camry for the ride to Annapolis.
He got in next to her, looked over, and wondered what it was about her that had him so bewitched after spending just one evening with her.
She reached out to caress his face. “Michael,” she said in that breathy voice of hers.
This time when he kissed her neither of them held anything back, and the punch was twice as powerful as it had been on the busy sidewalk. He hauled her into his arms and plundered.
Her fingers tunneled into his hair as she responded with equal ardor.
“Paige,” he sighed after what seemed like a lifetime had passed. He kissed her neck and throat while his hand found the soft skin of her back under her sweater. “This is crazy.”
“Uh huh.”
“I want to take you upstairs and—” She traced his bottom lip with her tongue, and his mind went blank.
“And what?” Her innocent expression was in sharp contrast to the way she had kissed him.
He whispered in her ear all the things he wanted to do with her—and to her.
She shuddered. “Oh God. I want you so much. I’ve never behaved like this before, Michael. This isn’t like me.”
“It’s not exactly my usual routine, either.” He kissed her again and caressed her back. “But I should get you home. It’s getting late, and the Admiral isn’t going to be happy with me.”
She chuckled. “The Admiral would kill you if he could see us right now.”
“Well, isn’t that as effective as a cold shower?” With great reluctance he removed his hand from her back and drew her sweater down.
She shifted into the passenger seat to put on her seatbelt.
Michael opened the window to let in the cold air to clear both his head and the steam on the windows. As they drove out of the District on Massachusetts Avenue, he reached for her hand. “I’m glad your mother had a meeting today.”
She smiled. “So am I.”
He merged onto Route 50 and headed east to Annapolis. “I want to see you again.”
“I think that can be arranged.”
“How often are you in the city?”
“I have class on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday this semester, and I volunteer at the Smithsonian on Thursdays.”
“You’ve made me forget what day it is today.”
She giggled. “Friday.”
“That’s what I would’ve guessed. What are you doing tomorrow?” A mental alarm sounded, reminding him of the studying he planned to do all weekend.
She groaned. “I have to study. I have two exams on Monday.”
“I do, too. Maybe we could study together?”
“I don’t know. I think you’d be too much of a distraction.”
“You’re probably right. I can’t imagine tort law would hold my attention if you’re in the room.”
“There’s a compliment in there somewhere.”
He laughed. “What about Sunday?”
“My parents and I go to brunch at the officer’s club on Sundays. Would you like to come with us?”
“Will they mind?” Michael asked.
“Of course not.”
“Okay, but I don’t think I can wait that long to talk to you again.” He let go of her hand to reach for a piece of paper and a pen. “Will you write down your number?”
She smiled. “Sure.”
At the gates to the Naval Academy, Paige showed the guard her identification card.
“Good evening, Ms. Simpson,” the guard said, waving them on to the base.
“Did we just get V.I.P. treatment?”
“Sort of. You’re supposed to get a pass for your car, but they’re good to us.
I’ll have my dad put you on our guest list so you can come in on Sunday.
” She directed him through the campus to the commandant’s large white house on the banks of the Severn River.
A light over the front door cast a glow over the sweeping front porch.
“Military housing is so pathetic,” he joked.
“We make do,” she said with a smile as she turned to him. “Thank you for dinner.”
“You’re welcome.” He brushed his thumb over her cheek. “I’ll walk you in.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Yes, I do.” He went around to open her door.
Before they reached the bright lights of the porch, he stopped her and could tell he caught her off guard with the gentle, easy kiss.
When she expected flame, he gave smolder.
And when she reached for more, he held back, leaving them both breathless by the time he finally pulled away. “Good night,” he said.
Her eyes were wide, her lips swollen, and it was all he could do not to drag her back against him for more.
“Good night.”
He waited until she was inside before he returned to the car. Arriving at home nearly an hour later, he could still taste her on his lips. What was it about her?