Chapter Seven
CHAPTER SEVEN
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 a hint 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’m not a 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!”
“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 he was .
Envisioning his body chiseled in marble and displayed at some museum was easy.
A random thought popped into her head. “How old are you?”
“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.”
“I beg to differ.” Her jaw sagged, and he gave in to the urge to tap her mouth closed. “You’ve been undressing me with your gorgeous eyes for quite some time now, Elara Hawthorne. You’ve even gone so far as to proposition me earlier today. That’s to say nothing of the kisses we’ve shared. Seems to me, I should know the preferences of a future lover.”
She sucked in a breath so fast she choked, and Tripp lightly thumped her back, taking wicked delight in her coughing fit.
Elara knocked his hand away with a growl. “I’m getting coal for Christmas.”
His brows snapped together as his annoyance spiked. “Who’s Cole?”
“Coal. C-o-a-l, not C-o-l-e.”
Feeling like a colossal idiot for his spontaneous jealousy, Tripp shrugged.
As she stomped away, he remained where he was, appreciating the angry swish of her hips.
“You forgot to get the boots.”
He yelped his surprise and spun, searching for Payton Hawthorne. Only, she wasn’t easily visible. With a furtive glance around, Tripp stepped into the alley between Wily Witches Brew-Ha-Ha and The Cook’s Cauldron , both popular spots for Elara. By extension, they had become his, though he’d never admit to stalking. If they happened to be in the exact location at the same time, it looked coincidental, right? And if her flustered appearance gave him a small thrill, it was a secret he’d take to the grave.
“They’re difficult to remember when I’m with her,” he told Payton.
“I’ll say. Maybe if you could keep your mind on the objective and not on seducing my sister, you’d be able to get them back.”
He didn’t dare inform her that if seducing Elara was necessary to get those fucking boots, he’d do it without a second thought—or even a first. Deep down existed the knowledge that if he did, he’d be forever fucked. And not in a good way. The guilt would probably eat him alive, yet the memory of holding her would live with him for eternity.
“What about you?” he asked Payton. “Can you play up the sisterhood card and see if she’ll let you try them on?”
“It might work if we were the same shoe size. She’s a six and a half. I’m a nine.”
“Okay, we’ll need to get them while she’s sleeping,” he said with a definitive nod.
“I’m not sure I want to take part in this. You still haven’t convinced me they’re anything more than a confidence booster.”
Payton was about to say something else but clammed up the second Dailey Cobb stepped into view. Their eyes connected across the distance, and storm clouds gathered on the officer’s ruggedly handsome face. Payton, on the other hand, looked like she’d eaten live eels and was about to regurgitate them back up.
“What’s going on here?” Dailey demanded. “When did you return to town?”
Finding her backbone, she squared her shoulders, exactly like Tripp had seen Elara do a hundred times. Two abandoned sisters against the world.
“None of your business, Dailey Cobb,” she replied stiffly. “You can go back to enforcing your mommy’s rules.”
The Hawthorne women were fond of using the NOYB phrase, and it seemed it didn’t sit any better with Dailey than it had with Tripp.
“Everything is fine, Officer Cobb,” Tripp said with a friendly smile. “Payton and I were discussing the incident at Never Too Many . It’s shocking, isn’t it?”
Dailey’s gaze never moved from Payton, but he addressed Tripp. “I can’t say it is if the Hawthornes are around.”
“Oh, so you’re pulling the ‘girl from the wrong side of the tracks’ routine?” She scoffed, fisting her hands on her hips. “Good one.”
One had to listen closely to hear the hurt in her voice, but it existed. Hers was the attitude of a rebel but underneath her sassy exterior beat the heart of a wounded girl.
Dailey had the grace to blush. “I didn’t mean it that way, Payton. You know I didn’t.”
“Then you’re implying my sister and I are bad luck?” she asked an octave higher with rage brewing in her aquamarine eyes.
“Officer Cobb, I’m sure you have better things to do now that you’ve ascertained everything is fine here. If it worries you that we’re in the alley, we’ll gladly move to the main street,” Tripp said, hoping to defuse the explosive atmosphere.
“Nah.” Dailey’s drawl was dismissive. “I don’t give a damn one way or another other than to keep this town safe from trouble . Have a nice evening, Nightshade.”
“You don’t give a damn about my sister?” Elara asked from the mouth of the alley. “What the hell kind of thing is that to say, Dailey Cobb?”
Her anger brought with it a thick line of dark thunderclouds. Everyone but her glanced up at the first rumblings.
“You were engaged , and she loves you,” she continued, oblivious to the brewing storm.
“Elara! Please leave it alone.” Payton was frantic, and Dailey watched her through narrowed eyes.
“No. He can’t treat you like that. None of them can!” Elara stalked to her sister’s side and gripped her hand. “Aren’t you sick of it? I know I am. What do you want, sissy?” she asked softly.
“To take away the love he feels,” Payton said in a low voice. “I don’t want him to hurt anymore.”
The heavy scent of cloves filled the air, and on the current, Tripp detected a faint purple light. Before he could put a stop to the spell, it encircled Dailey. His expression blanked, and his eyes turned from their brilliant silver to a dull cement color. For a heart-stopping moment, the officer’s face grayed, and Tripp thought maybe Elara had accidentally stolen the man’s life force. But with a deep, gasping breath, Dailey’s color returned to the sunkissed tan it was prior.
“Go away, Dailey,” Elara ordered. “Leave my sister alone.”
Still dazed, he tipped an imaginary hat in her direction, then wordlessly strode away.
The incident assured Tripp that Elara had a fundamental understanding of what her new magical footwear could do. Retrieving them, however, just got a whole lot trickier.
“ Fuck .” He wanted to bang his head against the wall. His mother had a lot to answer for, and although not Tripp’s primary problem, he had to remove the curse Elara activated for Dailey.