28. Chapter 28
Chapter 28
Sabrina
I savored the moment, pouring the morning’s first cup of coffee from my French press into my favorite mug in my own kitchen. Sigh. I missed my house. It had only been a few days, but when I’d left, I didn’t know when I’d come home.
I’d slept like the dead last night. This morning’s strong brew chased away a few of the cobwebs fogging my brain. It was almost like a sleep hangover.
Falling asleep last night had been a challenge.
Even after my giant bowl of homemade carbonara and a few glasses of wine, I’d been jumpy. Alone, I’d walked the house twice, checking the locks, cameras, and alarm system. The new tech was great, but also awful. The glaring red lights on the cameras and sensors were a constant reminder of what might happen.
I’d draped a tee-shirt over the softly glowing alarm control panel in my bedroom to try to block its existence from my mind.
Even my favorite pillow and oldest, softest sleep shirt hadn’t helped me get comfortable. If I’d had Michael in the house with me, I’d either already be asleep or having a screaming orgasm. Either way, it would have been better than lying alone in bed looking at the ceiling fan, jumping at every small noise. It was past midnight before I finally fell into a dreamless sleep.
Ugh, I should have said something to encourage him. He’d wanted to talk, but everything moved so fast yesterday and I’d been in charge of nothing. John Smith orchestrated it all. I’d drifted along, not wanting to make waves that might screw something up.
I perched on the bar stool in my kitchen, enjoying another delicious sip of morning coffee. A little caffeine was all I needed to get moving and clear the fog from my head so I could tackle the day. It promised to be a doozie.
I yawned and stretched.
“Shit.” The knock on my front door made me jump. I sloshed coffee on my clean countertop. It was only seven. I guess the Smith Agency’s idea of first thing in the morning and mine were different.
With a groan I trudged to the front door, grabbing a discarded cardigan from the back of the couch as I went. Somehow, I pulled it on without spilling my coffee. There was no way I answered the door in my million-year-old near transparent New Kids on the Block concert tee shirt and sleep shorts. A braless nipple poking out of young Donnie Wahlberg’s forehead at seven am would surely send any man running.
“Coming!” I shouted.
“No rush,” Michael yelled back, and a flush of excitement rushed through me. He’d beaten Simon and his crew to my place.
I stopped in front of the main control panel for the new alarm system. Michael smiled up at the camera. The video displayed on the little screen next to the keypad in my hallway. I had to think for a moment to recall the code Simon had programmed to disarm it. The front door’s new deadbolt turned easily and made a reassuringly solid sound as it disengaged. I wrapped my sweater tight to hide the faded NKOTB shirt and my unfettered boobs before I pulled open the door.
“I didn’t wake you, did I?” Michael had a crooked smile on his lips that made me want to kiss him, but morning breath was a real concern.
“No, I’m up.” I hoisted my coffee mug in his direction as proof I’d been up long enough to brew coffee.
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.
His chuckle caught me by surprise, and I wrinkled my forehead. “What?”
“Is that New Kids on the Block?” He jutted his chin at my threadbare shirt.
“Ah, yes.” I wrapped the cardigan around me to cover the scandalized pop icons and my dangerously hard nipples.
“I think I had this fantasy in junior high school. Will you let me get to second base?” He tried to slip a hand under the hem of my shirt. I scooted out of his reach. My cheeks were hot with a combination of laughter and mortification.
“Oh no. Do not defile the New Kids. Make your bagel. We have places to go, and I want to get dressed before Simon gets here with his team and the new back door.”
“I’m not finished with you. With us.” He’d turned serious, searching my face for any trace of doubt or misunderstanding.
“Good, me either. I want to see what happens to us in real life.” I gave him a wide, genuine smile that made me feel a little like a clown, but it couldn’t be helped. It had been a long time since I’d dated; maybe this time it would be fun. Or at least not a complete shit show.
“Me too.” He pulled a bagel from the bag and the last hint of tension in his shoulders eased. His smile was almost as goofy as mine. It was embarrassing for two people at our age to be so smitten with each other.
I skipped around the kitchen getting plates, knives, and a cutting board. The deranged clown smile stayed on my face. We chatted about nothing more important than the weather and how good it was to be home as we built our perfect breakfast sandwiches.
Wow, these were amazing bagels and some of the best cured salmon I’d ever had. Totally worth all the hype.
I was chewing the last bite when the next knock on the door came. “What time is morning for you people?”
“I’m in the gym at five with Derek most mornings.” He shrugged and popped a wayward caper off his plate and into his mouth.
“The gym? At the office?” My night owl tendencies ingrained by years in the restaurant business rebelled at the thought.
“Yep. It’s a great way to clear your head. Although this morning I was in line for bagels instead.”
“A delicious trade. I approve.” I stood and tugged my shorts down and wrapped the cardigan over my chest. This outfit wasn’t exactly how I envisioned welcoming people to my house this morning, but the bagels and Michael were distracting.
“Hold up. You change. I’ll let the team in.” Michael’s eyes were lingering on my bare legs. I shifted from foot to foot, feeling prickles of awareness race over my exposed skin.
“Okay, I’ll disarm the system from the bedroom.” I sounded breathless. God, I was ridiculously attracted to him.
“Perfect.” He stood up and crowded into my space, his hands slipped under my shirt. I gasped as his thumbs grazed my nipples. “One day, I want to push up this shirt and suck on your tits until you forget your name. Seriously, every hot girl in eighth grade had this shirt.”
The knock at the door came again, and Simon called my name. Michael moaned.
“Hold that thought, you teenaged horn-ball.” Laughing, I twisted free of his hands before I ended up bent over the countertop. His touch made me forget about all the responsible adult things on my agenda, and there were too many of them to ignore.
I turned off the alarm and rushed through getting dressed. All the while, I listened to the rumble of male voices coming from outside my bedroom. It was strange to hear men in this house. For years, this home had been filled with the feminine sounds of me and Hailey. Our laughter, our music, and our voices.
When I emerged dressed and as ready as I’d ever be to face the mess at Viande the men were hard at work adding the finishing touches to the security system. The new back door that would replace the old one in my bathroom lay in the middle of the living room floor.
“Who picked that?” I pointed at the beautiful mid-century-style hurricane-impact glass door.
“Is it okay?” Simon asked.
“Gorgeous and way too expensive.” I’d priced doors like that; they were around ten grand installed. It was why I still had the old one.
“Don’t worry about it. Smith said to buy the best.” Simon ducked his head and nodded to one of his helpers to pick up the other end so they could carry my beautiful new door through the bedroom and into the bathroom.
“He’s got good taste,” I told Michael, who’d moved to stand next to me.
“Simon is an interesting guy.”
We watched Simon and his helper disappear into my room. I’d bet my new door that Simon’s story was as intriguing as the history of the other employees at the Smith Agency.
“Want to get going to the restaurant? We can take my bike.” He temped me with a slow, sexy smile that had me rethinking all the times I said bikers and tats didn’t get me hot and bothered.
“I haven’t been on a bike in a million years.” There’d been a brief moment in culinary school when I dated a guy with a crotch rocket. He’d been an idiot. It didn’t last, but the motorcycle was fun.
“I have a helmet for you and everything.”
A few minutes later after I gathered my things, I joined him outside next to his massive bike. The jet black machine gleamed in the morning sun. It was all obscene curves and raw power. It seemed to vibrate even when it was at rest.
He fitted my helmet, then threw a leg over the seat and beckoned for me to join. The feral smile on his lips made my panties damp. He looked straight-up sexy on the Harley.
I slid onto the seat behind him. As I wrapped my arms around him, I bumped something cold and hard hidden under the hem of his shirt.
A gun. Shit.
He must have had it stashed in one of the compartments on the motorcycle.
The memory of Sandoval with a knife in one hand reaching toward me flashed in my head. I clung to Michael and willed it away. That was over. The gun was only a precaution. I forced myself to relax and enjoy the speed of the bike and the perfect Florida weather as we rode through town.
Mentally, I congratulated myself for doing as he’d asked yesterday and waiting for him to join me on my first visit to Viande. I’d be happy to have him and his weapon at my back. I’m brave, but not stupid. Sandoval’s organization, even in disarray, wasn’t anything I wanted to face on my own.
The roar of the bike’s engine amplified as we turned down the narrow streets in the Design District. We rolled past the sleek modern storefronts, upscale art galleries, and luxurious stores. Nothing was open this early other than a fancy gym, so Michael could park close to Viande.
My small restaurant space was tucked down a side street, not on the main drag. No way I’d have been able to afford that kind of rent. But the quieter location had an advantage: there was space for sidewalk seating.
I hopped off the bike and gave him back the helmet. I hated the uncomfortable knot growing in my stomach that made me want to retch already.
Michael was looking at his cell, typing a text. “A few Miami PD buddies came by a little while ago to check in. All’s quiet.”
I tried to smile but failed. “And you’re armed.”
“Better safe than sorry.” He brushed his hand over the concealed weapon.
I nodded. But lacked the will to move. “It’s probably worse in my head than in real life, right? I’ve seen the photos and read the police report. How shocked can I be?” I hated how nervous I sounded.
“There’s no rush. I’m here on your schedule.” He put our helmets on the back of the bike.
“Are you on my schedule? Or is this work?” I wanted a distraction. This was as good as any.
“It’s partly my job and partly because you shouldn’t have to face this alone. You deserve some support. But today is officially a day off. Tomorrow too. So do with me what you will.” He offered his arm.
I mulled over his words and willed my feet to move. The walk wasn’t far. A few small boutiques separated our parking spot from Viande’s boarded-up windows. Once we started to walk, I let Michael drag me along so I wouldn’t chicken out.
From the sidewalk, it wasn’t too bad, but that was because of the plywood that covered the mess like some hideous construction Band-Aid. The gaping wound was underneath.
The marble-look five-foot-tall porcelain tiles that clad the building facade were chipped. Small round bullet holes pockmarked them like acne on a teenager’s face. Fuck, those tiles were a special order from Italy.
Michael reached for the padlock dangling from a chain that secured the makeshift door and spun in a combination. He told me the numbers as he worked. They went in one ear and out the other.
“Ready?” He gripped the sheet of plywood with both hands, waiting for my go-ahead.
I closed my eyes, clenched my jaw so tight my teeth hurt, and exhaled. Dithering on the doorstep wouldn’t change what was on the other side. “Rip the Band-Aid off.”
Inside was awful. My work boots crunched on broken glass as I tried to take it in. Everywhere my eyes landed there was a beautiful detail I’d hand-selected that had been destroyed or damaged.
It hit like a kick to the gut. I bent in half, my hands on my knees as I gasped in air filled with dust and the faint hint of smoke. Oh, fuck there’d been a fire too . I was about to sit down before I fell down when Michael wrapped an arm around me and pulled me to him.
This was the low point. Any semblance of a badass strong woman I had left disintegrated. I cried. Huge ugly sobs into his big muscular chest. Not my finest moment, but it was the release I needed. Five minutes to fall apart, then I’d get to work.