Love at First Flight (6 page)

She closed her eyes tight against the
burn of tears and held him close to her as the sun set over the beach.

CHAPTER
7

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
satis-fied 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 as her eager mouth opened under his.

Long, passionate minutes passed before a
group of 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
superintendent'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?

***

A second round of applause pulled
Michael back to the engagement party. He looked down at Paige and was surprised
by a flood of tenderness. Thinking back to the day they met reminded him of why
he was here tonight celebrating their engagement. He had loved her since that
first day, maybe even from that first moment when their eyes met across the
crowded room at the dean's house.

He kissed her as the orchestra played
the final notes of the song he quoted in his proposal when he'd asked her what
she was doing the rest of her life.

Responding to his unexpected kiss, Paige
seemed almost startled.

The Admiral's booming voice ended the
moment. “Don't they make a fine-looking couple?”

Their guests applauded.

Eleanor, lovely in a mauve evening gown,
stood next to her husband.

“Paige's mother and I would like to
propose a toast to our daughter and future son-in-law. I'm proud to say I was
with Paige when she met Michael four years ago. He's a fine young man, and we
look forward to welcoming him into our family. Eleanor and I were delighted by
their engagement, and we're pleased you all could join us tonight to celebrate.
Now, you know Paige is our only child, so we've been known to dote on her a
bit.”

That's
putting it mildly
,
Michael thought, keeping an arm around her.

“The idea of her getting married and
moving away breaks our hearts, especially when there are sure to be
grandchildren before too long,” the Admiral said with a guffaw. The guests
applauded again.

Michael looked down to find Paige's
cheeks pink with embarrassment.

“Anyway, I think we might have a
solution to this geographical problem, but before we get into that, I ask you
to raise your glasses in a toast to Paige and Michael. We wish you a long and
happy marriage that's blessed with many, many children!”

“Hear, hear,” the guests chimed in.

Because he knew he was expected to,
Michael touched his champagne glass to Paige's and kissed her. His stomach took
a nervous dip when the attorney general joined Admiral and Mrs. Simpson on the
stage.
What's this?

Derek Gantley shook hands with the
Admiral and stepped up to the microphone. “Congratulations to the happy couple.
Michael, I've been impressed with your work in Maryland, especially on the
Benedetti case. There's an assistant attorney general position opening up in
Jacksonville, and I'd love to have you come to work with me. What do we think?
Wouldn't Michael make a fine addition to the Florida team?”