The door clicked shut behind them, sealing out the ocean’s roar. Inside, the silence pulsed differently, warmer, more intimate. Andrea’s arms still wrapped around herself, though not from cold anymore.
Michael leaned against the doorframe, watching her peel off her light cardigan. His eyes glinted in the dim glow from the wall sconces. “You lasted longer out there than I thought,” he said.
Andrea shot him a sideways glance. “What, you expected me to run shivering inside at the first breeze?”
“Maybe not the first breeze,” he allowed, lips quivering. “But the third one. Tops.”
She rolled her eyes, heading toward the kitchen. “Shows what you know. I can handle worse.”
“Oh?” He followed, slow, predatory. “What’s the worst you’ve handled?”
Andrea reached the counter, bracing her hands on
