Page 39 of Wicked Witchmas: Elara & Tripp

“I do now,” she confessed. “At least about the women. You can’t live as long as you have without falling for someone, I imagine.”

His gaze ate her up before settling on her mouth. “I keep telling myself I won’t, but then I do.”

“But you won’t allow yourself to love fully? Why?”

Elara’s question gave Tripp pause. Over the years, he’d told himself it was because gods and mortals didn’t mix. If he were to sustain a severe wound, he’d heal. The likelihood of mortals doing the same was nil. But perhaps Elara was the exception.Her Shaw bloodlines produced extraordinary witches, though she’d yet to tap into her full magic. The Hawthorne side was rumored to be formidable, too, maybe more than the Shaws. However, his theory regarding her father’s heritage was still a work in progress. Soon, Tripp would discover the truth.

Yes, the footwear was enchanted and the catalyst for her recent spells, but the abilities were all hers. Those blasted boots merely tapped into her significant power, which made both her and those damned things dangerous.

“Tripp?”

“Yeah, sorry. You threw me for a moment.” He sighed and brushed a stubborn lock of hair from her brow. Whenever she tilted her head in inquiry, it tended to fall from its mooring behind her ear and obscure her soulful eyes.

“You don’t have to answer,” she hedged.

“I’m considering the question.”

And he was.

Could his reticence be attributed to his mother’s misguided matchmaking? His inability to settle down? The lack of desire to stay in one place longer than a decade?

Elara seemed to give up on a response and tucked her head in the crook of his neck. In the reflection of the patio door’s glass, he saw her watching Hex, or rather, Hermes as Tripp now knew the Trickster to be.

“That’s not a regular cat, Elara. You’ll need to come to terms with letting him go,” he said gently.

“I love him.”

Tripp’s gut clenched. Yes, she believed Hermes was a dumb beast, but he knew differently. The knowledge of her caring for his cousin in any capacity tied his guts into knots.

“You don’t truly know him.”

The so-called cat locked eyes with Tripp, hiked up his leg, and began licking his balls.

“It looks like he winked at you,” she said with a contagious giggle.

“He did,” he replied sourly. “Let’s make an appointment for him to get neutered tomorrow.”

Hermes hissed and, with his tail puffed to three times its standard size, stalked from the room.

“Was it something I said?” Tripp asked dryly.

Straightening, Elara shifted her weight, preparing to abandon his lap. Unwilling to release her, he lifted her at the waist and resettled her to straddle him, putting them face to face. Her eyes flew wide, but she didn’t object.

What he didn’t expect was the feel of her heat against his dick, and the damned thing woke, ready to play.

Unable to keep his hands to himself, he wove his fingers into her thick hair, holding her head in place as he gazed deep into eyes that exposed her vulnerable soul.

He wanted to say, “Oh, flitter-mouse, you have no idea what you do to me.” Yet the words stuck in the back of his throat, refusing to be uttered for fear of revealing his deepest desire.

Her.

When had she turned the tables and gained the upper hand? How had he become the flustered one, dodging encounters for self-preservation? Not to mention the preservation of others. Kissing her again could blow the lid off Rainier, and yet, he was tempted by forces stronger than him.

“What do you want from me, Tripp? Other than the boots.”

Her solemn-voiced question struck to the heart of him.

“I don’t know,” he confessed hoarsely.

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