Page 19 of Wicked Witchmas: Elara & Tripp

Tripp Nightshade.

Elara didn’t know what the hell to think. One second, he rejects her, and the next, he kisses her like a soldier returning home from war, ignoring an entire town of onlookers.

She worried her fingernails between her teeth until he exited the building. The mammoth ginger-haired man next to him bent double, laughing, as Tripp scowled and rubbed a penis-shaped mark in the center of his forehead.

His stormy gaze locked with hers across the distance, and an anticipatory thrill ran the entire length of her body, causing her nipples to tighten in response. Those wonderfully long legs of his ate up the distance between them, and he never lost focus as people tried to speak to him or praise him for his heroic deeds.

When he arrived before her, he held out a hand, which she dutifully clasped. His stride was brisk, and she was forced to trot to keep up.

“Tripp! Slow down! I can’t run in these things.”

He stopped short and gave her boots a considering look. “Then take them off.”

“There’s snow on the ground, in case you hadn’t noticed.” She scoffed and shook her head. “So, no. Not a chance.”

“Take them off and hop on my back. I’ll carry them to your place.” A roguish grin bolstered his gallant offer, but something about his expression was wrong, and it took a moment to realize what.

“The dimples are missing,” she murmured.

His brows rose in question. “What?”

“Your dimples are missing, meaning you’re being fake.Again.”

Appearing to fight a jaw drop, he won, but only just. Rounding on her, he crossed his arms over his chest, accidentally or purposely drawing her eyes to those magnificently sculpted pectoral muscles outlined beneath his black sweater. Forgetting anything but the sheer perfection of his body, she let her gaze linger on those delicious shoulders she wanted so desperately to nibble.

He snapped his fingers.

“My eyes are up here,” he said dryly.

“Yes, but I’m ogling your shoulders. I’m in lust with them,” she admitted. Once she’d realized what she said, horror sent blood rushing to her face, and her desire to escape was profound. But a sudden calm pervaded, halting her embarrassment.

Were her feet tingling?Odd.

“Oh, Elara Elizabeth Hawthorne, you are clueless. There you are, toying with the lid of Pandora’s box.”

His use of her full name did what nothing else could’ve and caught her wayward attention.

“How do you know my middle name?”

Was it weird he did? What the hell did it mean?

A muscle worked in his jaw as if he were undecided or angry. Call it instinct, but she doubted it was the latter.

“Tripp? How do you know my middle name?”

“I may have googled you when we first met,” he admitted. His reddening neck spread into a flushed visage, and she detected ahint of chagrin on his face. But he didn’t meet her gaze, and the avoidance was telling.

“But I’m not special, am I?” she concluded. “I’m not the only one whose information you gathered. Who else? My sister? Other women?”

His color deepened.

“Ohmygawd! You’re a pervert!”

“I’mnota pervert!” he shouted.

Nearby, startled birds took to the skies, and tiny, city-dwelling creatures stopped foraging for winter food to seek safety. But Elara wasn’t scared of him. Quite the opposite. The idea of an imperfect Tripp Nightshade was positively delightful.

Lifting a brow, she smirked. “You are!”

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