Dockside by Susan Wiggs Page A

tipped back her head, welcoming the faint breeze over her face and neck.
    “It’s so hot tonight,” she murmured, feeling wicked and powerful and filled with a crazy need to touch and be touched.
    “Thirsty?” He held out a bottle of Snapple. “It’s spiked with vodka.”
    “I’m cool with that.” Boldly she tipped back her head and drank half of it, forcing herself not to gag on the sharp taste.
    They walked together down to the darkened golf course and left their shoes at the edge of the eighteenth green. The perfectly groomed grass felt like a cool carpet beneath their bare feet. A hush of luxury and privilege seemed to pervade the atmosphere.
    Laurence chuckled appreciatively. “We’re not in Kansas anymore,” he said.
    “How do you mean?”
    He explained that he grew up in public housing—a hulking project on the south end in a part of town you didn’t see in Hudson Valley tourist brochures. He’d been raised by a single mother who worked for the welfare department. “Demographically speaking, I’m the kid most likely to be doing time by now.”
    “And look at you,” she said. “You’re a star. You’re going to West Point. In four years, you’ll be an officer.”
    “It doesn’t even seem real.” He grabbed her and kissed her then, and it was an amazing kiss, sweet and sexy at the same time. “You don’t seem real, either,” he said.
    “Maybe I’m not,” she said. “Maybe it’s all a dream.” She looked back at the brightly lit clubhouse. The ballroom was dark, flashing with the occasional strobe light. In the opposite wing, the dining room glowed golden, filled with genteel people ordering things Nina had learned about by reading fancy magazines, like Steak Diane and mashed potatoes with truffle oil. She could easily pick out the six members of the Bellamy family, who were known to dine at “the club” every Sunday evening in summer. There were Mr. and Mrs. Bellamy and their four grown kids—Philip was the eldest, followed by two sisters in the middle, and finally there was Greg. Impossibly good-looking in khakis and a crisp Oxford cloth shirt, a tie worn slightly loose at the throat, he exuded an easy charm, looking completely relaxed, as though posing for a country-club brochure.
    “…come here often?” Laurence was asking her.
    “Sure,” she lied breezily. “We’ve been members for years.”
    Holding hands, they strolled to the middle of the fairway, and Nina was consumed by a curious certainty—she was going to go all the way with this boy. They both wanted it. She could tell. The knowledge and the anticipation breathed from their skin.
    He turned to her and bent down and kissed her, and she felt herself lighting up with a burning need. She silently reviewed all the information she had from her sisters. Sex was natural, it was fun with the right guy…but a girl should never leave safety up to the guy. Nina had a tri-fold pack of condoms in her purse. She was fully, embarrassingly prepared to whip them out if necessary.
    The starlit night surrounded them with magic. Then Nina heard a quiet popping sound, followed by a staccato hiss. A slap of cold water hit them.
    “Hey,” she yelled.
    “The sprinklers just turned on.” Laurence grabbed her hand and they tried running for cover, but the sprinklers had sprouted everywhere, forming a gauntlet of arching fountains along the fairway. By the time they escaped the spraying water, they were completely drenched. Ducking the sprinklers, they made their way to a gazebo between two fairways.
    Nina got the giggles, and couldn’t stop until Laurence kissed her again. These were new kisses, imbued with a searing intimacy, almost a desperation. It was a relief when he stepped back and peeled off her soaking wet dress, spreading it across a privet hedge. She needed this, needed to be close to him, skin-to-skin with nothing between them, nothing at all.
    He laid his blazer on the deck of the gazebo and they sank down together,