Dockside by Susan Wiggs

had no right—”
    “I had no right?” Now, that pissed him off. He gave a disgusted laugh.
    On the ground, the cadet moved his jaw from side to side. Okay, thought Greg, so at least he hadn’t done anything permanent to the guy. He wasn’t sure he was relieved by that or not. He nudged the guy with the toe of his shoe. “Get up,” he said.
    The guy frowned, blinked in confusion until he spotted the girl. “Nina? What’s going on? Who the hell is this?”
    Greg made a mental note of the girl’s name. Then, treating the guy like a recalcitrant camper, he said, “Party’s over, pal. So get your ass up and go back inside.”
    “Laurence, I’m really sorry,” the girl—Nina—said in a small, horrified voice.
    She was sorry. Sorry. Greg rounded on her. “Do you have a ride home?” he demanded.
    She hung her head, turned away from Laurence and mumbled, “I rode my bike.”
    He almost laughed. A bike. She’d ridden a damn bike to the country club to get laid. “It’s pitch-black outside,” he said. “Were you planning to find your way home by radar?”
    The guy called Laurence climbed to his feet. Damn, he was tall. And still a little dazed. Or drunk. Or both. “Nina?” he asked again.
    “Shut up,” Greg snapped, ready to be done with the whole drama, and eager to send the guy on his way before he decided to fight back. “Get back inside, now, and pray I don’t report you. I’m taking her home.”
    “Are not,” Nina snapped back, then grabbed Laurence’s hand. “He’s not taking me anywhere.”
    Greg ignored her and glared at Laurence. “She’s fourteen, you moron. What the hell were you thinking?”
    Laurence dropped her hand as though it was a red-hot coal. He even stepped back, hands up, palms facing out, as though Greg had a gun pointed at him. “Shit—”
    “Fifteen,” she said defiantly. “I just turned fifteen last month.”
    The guy’s panic was genuine. He truly hadn’t known, the same as Greg hadn’t known that day in the dining hall. Until someone had clued him in, Greg, too, had been fooled by her impossibly curvy body, her smoldering eyes that pretended to know things she had no clue about, her full lips that made reckless promises to morons like this one.
    “Go back inside,” he repeated. “Like I said, the party’s over.”
    The guy took a step back. “I’m sorry,” he told Nina. “I didn’t know, I—Girl, you should have been straight with me.”
    “I said,” Greg reminded him, “it’s over.”
    “Laurence, no,” Nina protested. “This…this person has no idea what he’s talking about.”
    The cadet offered a wordless look of helpless regret, then turned and hurried back to the clubhouse. Nina started after him. Greg grabbed her arm and held her back.
    “Let go of me,” she said. “I have five brothers, and I know how to defend myself.”
    Greg relinquished her. “How many of those brothers would approve of what you’re doing here?”
    “None of your business.” She began to stomp toward the clubhouse, which was still bubbling over with golden light and music, as though nothing had happened.
    “You go after that kid now,” Greg called to her, “and you’ll end his chances at West Point before he even starts.”
    She was young, but she was far from stupid. She stopped walking and turned to him, and he could see the understanding rise in her eyes. An incident like this—fraternizing with an underage girl—was more than enough to get a guy dismissed or worse. Reluctant acceptance softened her face for a moment. Then, with a haughty sniff, she marched past him, grabbing a bicycle from a rack at the edge of the parking lot. The thing didn’t even have a light, just a cracked reflector on the rear fender.
    “Hey,” he said, “you’re not riding that home.”
    “Watch me.” She threw her dancing shoes into the basket and expertly pushed off, swinging her leg up and over the back. The skirts of her party dress fluttered around her bare