Page 23 of Wicked Witchmas: Elara & Tripp

A knock sounded on her apartment door.

Okay, avoidance was easier said than done.

Should she ignore her visitor?

She paused in drinking her tea.

Maybe Payton was ready to forgive her?

Elara shook her head.

Doubtful. The woman could carry a grudge until doomsday, but the possibility was there, right?

With another sip, she considered her options.

If Paytondidshow up to lecture her, it would result in hurt feelings. Did she dare risk another fight with the only person in the world who once gave a crap about her?

“Elara, open the door.” Tripp’s tone was sweet and coaxing as if he understood her dilemma.

“It’s open,” she called, quickly propping her feet on the ottoman and perfecting a casual pose. No need for anyone to know she was wallowing in misery.

He wasted no time entering or surveying his surroundings, and she belatedly realized he did that a lot, acting as if he were a fugitive or feared attack from every side.

“Why do you check out a room when you enter?” Elara asked, dropping her feet to the floor. “Like you’re expecting something bad to happen?”

All expression left his face, and he gave her a blank look. A very non-Tripp expression. Whatever he was hiding, it was big.

“I want to discuss the boots,” he began. “You?—”

“No.”

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“I know what you’re going to say.” She crossed to the sink, dumped her tea, and filled it with hot tap water to soak. When she glanced up, he was watching her with something akin to speculation. “You’re going to blame every bad thing that’s happened in the last couple of days on them. And I’m going to say you’re wrong.”

“Probably. But I’d like to tell you their origins, and you can decide how to proceed. Fair?”

How could she argue when he was reasonable? Had he been dickish, she’d have kicked him the hell out. She frowned. Maybe the boots had given her more courage than she’d thought.

“Would you like something to eat or drink first?” she offered.

“Coffee would be wonderful if it’s not too much trouble.” He must’ve recognized her dismayed gasp for what it was because he waved her off. “A glass of water would be better.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t stock coffee. Besides my morning latte fromWily Witches, the stuff makes me too jittery to drink.”

He smiled, and in his gesture, she recognized an emotion close to tenderness. Her eyes suddenly stung, and she reached for a glass to hide her emotional reaction. When was the last time anyone looked at her with anything remotely like tenderness? Her dad before he disappeared?

“Ellie, you’re just like your mother, my girl,” he’d say.

But in reality, Payton was a free spirit like their mother, and Elara was a practical one like their father.

“Are you okay, flitter-mouse?” Tripp’s concerned question interrupted her journey down memory lane.

“Fine.” She handed him the water and led the way to the living room.

The instant his mouth touched the rim of the glass, her brain forgot everything but the feel of his lips on hers. Was it possible to be jealous of an inanimate object? Her body grew warm as the tip of his tongue mopped up the excess moisture, and the urge to proposition him again overcame her. If he encouraged her in any way, her thin thread of control would snap, and she’d be on him faster than a starving man attacking a loaded everything bagel.

Her sex-obsessed mind resulted from too many years without a bed buddy. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have opportunities, but why partake of sweet nectar when it didn’t satisfy her hunger? Perfect-shouldered men were hard to find.

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