Page 20 of Wicked Witchmas: Elara & Tripp

“Elara, I swear to Zeus?—”

Thunder rumbled, long and loud, causing him to glance skyward.

She would’ve sworn she heard him mutter, “Sorry, Uncle.” But of a certainty, he couldn’t be related to the king of Gods, right? Her eyes, naughty and possessing a mind of their own, leisurely traveled the length of his body before making a slower return trip north.

Or perhaps hewas.

Envisioning his body chiseled in marble and displayed at some museum was easy.

A random thought popped into her head. “How oldareyou?”

“Pardon?” His black brows shot to his hairline so fast she was surprised they didn’t launch themselves off his forehead.

“Sometimes your speech and mannerisms tell on you. We all know witches don’t age like mortals. The more magic a person has, the slower their aging process.” She shrugged. “The few times we kissed, I tasted the suppressed power.”

He remained silent, confirming her suspicions.

Taking a step forward, she traced a heart on his chest. “That old, huh?”

His sudden chuckle rumbled, causing Elara’s fingers to vibrate wherever they made contact. A warming sensation shot through her, landing squarely in her FuFu Land. The flood of heat to her vagina made her uncomfortably wet.

A first, for sure!

Lovers in the past had left her disappointed, but instinct told her Tripp wasn’t like them. If he set out to do something like give her a Holiday Hallelujah, he wouldn’t quit until she was screeching “Gloria” in a high-soprano C-note at over a thousand hertz.

“Earth to Elara,” he teased, recalling her from adding things to her naughty-would-definitely-be-nice list. Wouldn’t Santa be shocked?

“Right, so you’re ancient, and you like younger women. Got it.”

He laughed. “I’m not ancient, not for what I am.”

“Which is?” she prompted, drawing out the “zzz” sound.

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with, little girl,” he growled. The sparkling humor in his eyes belied his fierceness, and she laughed.

Why was she freer with him, in this moment, than she had ever been in her entire life? Never before had she felt seen, much less interesting. How could she, dumpy and shy Elara Elizabeth Hawthorne, hold his attention for longer than two minutes? Was it the wish she’d made? Was he only attracted to her because of the boots he claims are magical? Or was he using her to get them for himself? Maybe he intended them for another.

“Your aura darkened,” he said in a gentle voice. “What’s wrong, flitter-mouse?”

Avoidance was her go-to; she always played that card when things turned too introspective. At least outside of her therapist’s office, she did.

“I’m fine,” she said with a breezy smile. “I’m just wondering if I’ll have a job tomorrow.”

She’d bet money she didn’t have his sharp-eyed perusal saw through her, but he was too polite to call her on her bull chips, which was another indication of his age. No one under the age of forty would let it go. They’d badger her until she lost her shit or confessed to everything from lusting after Tripp Nightshade to steaming open Christmas presents, beginning at age seven. The steaming, not the lusting. That she hadn’t done until she’d first seen him two and a half years ago. Although it could be argued he’d made her hot enough to put off steam.

“You’ll have a job,” he assured her. “Florence isn’t going to dismiss you for setting fire to the dildos.”

She was preparing a pithy response to his first comment when the second sunk in. “I didn’t set them on fire! I wasn’t anywhere close to the bookstore. Why would you blame me?”

Tripp narrowed his eyes and considered Elara’s question. If she hadn’t set the box on fire, then who? The Trickster’s signature had been there, and he’d swear it resulted from those blasted boots. Hadn’t he experienced more than one epic fire in his lifetime? If not the fraught-with-danger footwear, then what?

“My mistake,” he countered smoothly. “I believed Florence would’ve had you inventorying and pricing them for sale.”

The distaste on Elara’s face was priceless, and he couldn’t resist commenting.

“You don’t like dildos?” he asked with every ounce of innocence he could muster.

Scarlet-faced, she glared. “I’m sure it’s no business of yours, Tripp Nightshade.”

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