Page 63 of The Witness

Awkward silence descended. He moved left. I moved right, blocking his path. Then we did it all again in the opposite direction. We were doing a weird little dance on my front step and were hardly able to make eye contact the whole time. Epic fail.

With a muttered curse, he took my upper arms and bodily shifted me aside. I giggled into my coffee mug. It was so like him to see a problem and move it out of the way. He stepped inside and I followed, closing the door.

He looked pointedly at the alarm system, one of his expressive eyebrows raised meaningfully.

“I’m awake and you’re here, do I really—” I waved my mug at the control panel.

“Develop the habit. You won’t regret it.”

I felt like a chastised school kid as I reset the alarm with a huff. Admittedly, he was right. Simon had kept saying he could install the best system in the world, but if I didn’t use it, it was worthless. I’d totally agreed with him and had vowed to use it religiously… until Michael arrived, and I forgot all about it.

I blamed the soft gray henley Michael wore. The damn shirt was almost as obscene as my NKOTB sleep tee. It pulled tight over his biceps and hugged his pecs like I wanted to. I knew the waffle weave would be softer than cashmere if I smoothed my hands over his rock-hard abs.

I pulled my cardigan tighter and put thoughts of petting Michael aside until later. Much later.

“Coffee?” I gestured toward the kitchen and then remembered that he’d been here before and knew his way around. I let my arm fall to my side and forced a strained smile.

“Sure. I, ah, brought food.” He lifted a brown paper bag with a familiar logo on it. I had not noticed it in all our trying-not-to-look-at-each-other weirdness.

“Tropical Bagels?” I blinked in delighted surprise. Now we were talking. Michael knew the way to this woman’s heart. My excitement rebounded.

“They are the best.” He shrugged.

“Hell, yeah they are.” Getting bagels from Tropical was a big thing. People in South Beach lined up for these New York style beauties like people in Texas lined up for BBQ. There were customers waiting at the door before they opened and Tropical sold out by ten. These weren’t just bagels, they were the two dozen long-stemmed red roses of the bakery world.

I ushered him into the kitchen and waved him to a stool. I poured him coffee, adding a small splash of cream as I’d seen him do in Cuba. Next, I dug into the bag of carbohydrate treasure. The smells of yeast and everything bagel spice enveloped me. I might have been drooling.

“Mr. Steel, this is above and beyond. A dozen of the most sought-after bagels in Miami, cream cheese, lox, onions, and capers.” I pretended to swoon, waving my hand in front of my face like I’d succumb to the vapors.

“I thought you might want breakfast.”

Our gazes met and tangled together. Any lingering awkwardness evaporated. He reached out and smoothed his hand through my hair. My new cut made me prone to bedhead and in Cuba, Michael had enjoyed playing with the wayward strands in the morning. I smiled at the memory and laid my palms flat on his chest, feeling his heartbeat.

“Thank you for…” I didn’t know words that would encompass all the things he’d done for me in the few short days we’d known each other. It was so much more than bagels.

Instead, I wrapped my arms around his neck and hugged him with all I had.

“You’re welcome. Can’t think of a better way to spend my day off,” he murmured, his lips next to my ear, his arms around my waist.

We stood like that in the middle of my kitchen, our coffees getting cold for a solid few minutes. We’d not had time to celebrate our success in Cuba or talk about our relationship. Since we’d gotten on the go-fast boat, life had been hectic with people and planning. We finally had time to take a moment to relax.

Damn, his arms were heaven.

I burrowed closer to him, melting into his broad chest. The waffle weave of his shirt was even softer under my cheek than I’d imagined. I exhaled. Part of me would have traded all my dreams to stay like this forever, holed up in my newly fortified house wrapped in Michael Steel’s arms.

But I had shit to do. It was time to see if Michael could keep up with real-life Sabrina. Or if my white knight even wanted to try.

I slowly pulled back and looked up at him, staying in the circle of his arms. “Bagels, then a trip to Viande. Sound like a plan?”

“Good plan.” He cupped my jaw and started to lean in for a kiss.

“Wait, I haven’t brushed my teeth.”

“Fuck that. I’ve been waiting since Cuba.”

He pressed his lips to mine, and I forgot all of it. About morning breath, cold coffee, bed head, and alarm systems. I fell into the kiss. I melted like butter spread on hot toast. Damn, my toes curled, and I clutched his shirt to keep from oozing onto the floor. He cupped my ass, daring to slip his fingertips under the hem of my very short shorts.

“Damn, Siren. I missed your mouth.” He slowly let me go. His hands brushed up my low back and around my waist, unwrapping my sweater.

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