Page 17 of Just a Little Wicked (Wicked Sisters #2)

“Fine.” She went to open her door but spun back to him.

He was still waiting patiently, like he knew she had more to say.

“It works for me, being in charge. But that doesn’t mean I’m afraid to be vulnerable.

Let me guess, you play Viking conqueror with your partners and hoist them over your shoulder like some big, alpha beast? ”

He threw his head back and laughed. Winter’s eyes fell to the strong column of his throat, and her ears soaked in the way his joy sounded.

His laugh traced over her skin like soft fingertips, pulling goosebumps from her flesh.

She liked making him laugh. Really liked it.

Winter never made anyone laugh. She wasn’t bubbly Missy, or funny Holly.

She was cold and closed-off Winter. So to be the source of his happiness because she’d said something amusing, and not because he was laughing at her .

. . it made something tumble inside her chest.

Erikson tugged the brim of his hat lower over his forehead and gave her such a boyishly charming smile that she tensed. It was free of his usual teasing. It was just Erikson radiating open joy, and at the sight of it, she felt another crack appear in her shell.

“I’ve never role-played a Viking, but I’m not opposed to it. I do have a tendency to be demanding in bed.” He lowered his voice. “But I’m also very generous.”

Winter’s entire core clenched at the heat in his tone, and it sent warning bells jangling across her nervous system. No, nope, nope. She refused to let this new attraction to Erikson Grimm continue.

“Let’s go,” she said, her voice sounding a little too rusty for her liking, and jumped out of the cab before she could do something she’d regret for the rest of her life, like flirt with him.

It wasn’t until he joined her on the sidewalk that she realized where he’d taken her.

A small white sign swung from the brick storefront, and on it were a set of dancing musical notes and the words Al’s Music Store .

Hanging in the windows were a variety of guitars and violins, and through the glass door she spotted a set of drums, a line of flutes and other woodwind instruments, and racks of music.

“Come on,” Erikson said, cupping her elbow and guiding her inside. A little bell chimed as he pulled open the door. “Let’s look around.”

“Why are we here?” Did he still play the guitar?

He gave her a strange look. “For you.”

She halted and gazed up at him. “You came here for me ?”

“You play the violin. I thought you might like to look through the music or something. But if not, we can go?—”

“No! No, I mean, yes, I would like to look through the music.” She was just having a hard time wrapping her head around the fact that with their time to kill he’d chosen to go to a place she’d like instead of somewhere he’d like.

She’d tried the whole dating thing before she’d given up and settled for hookups, but not once had any of those dates so much as asked her where she wanted to eat, much less planned the date based around her desires.

But Erikson had brought her to the music shop like it was second nature to consider her happiness, like it hadn’t even occurred to him to do anything else once he’d spotted the store.

She wasn’t quite sure what to make of that.

As the property manager of Wicked Good Apples, she was busy from dawn to dusk taking care of the trees, fixing broken machinery, and dealing with watering systems and other chores.

Even if she did have a ton of free time, there were very few physical mom-and-pop music stores around anymore, especially not where she lived. This was an incredible treat.

She wandered over to the music section while Erikson answered the owner’s greeting and took up the onerous task of small talk so that she could enjoy herself.

Winter instantly lost herself in the sheets of music, pulling out songs and scanning the musical compositions.

Most of them she knew—violin was her one true outlet, the one thing that allowed her to express everything she kept locked inside.

It blanked out her sorrows and transported her to a place where she could manifest her visions without harm.

It was, without a doubt, her lifeline. She’d sooner starve than go without her violin.

Winter lost track of time, eventually emerging from the stacks when the light was beginning to fade, her arms piled with a number of compositions she wanted to purchase.

Erikson was leaning against the wall staring out the window, his hands in his pockets and his phone tucked away. When he spotted her, he grinned. She probably looked like she was awakening from a daze. “Got what you wanted?”

When she nodded, he joined her at the counter, and while the owner rang up her purchases Winter asked, “How long have we been here?”

“About an hour.”

She grimaced. “Sorry. You must’ve been bored out of your mind.”

“Nope. I find downtime extremely useful for thinking. Besides, you were like a kid in a candy store. You were smiling to yourself the entire time.”

For some strange reason that embarrassed her, like she’d been caught without clothes in public or something. “No I wasn’t.”

He gave her a patient look, like he knew what she was feeling, and she didn’t like that any better. She fumbled in her bag for her wallet, and he quickly tapped his phone to the card reader, paying for her music.

“Erikson!” she hissed. “No! That music is for me.”

“I know.” He took the paper bag being proffered by the owner, and bid the woman goodbye as he strode toward the door. He pushed it open and gestured Winter through.

“We’re going to the bank,” she said sharply.

“I’m paying you back.” Geez, she knew she ran an apple farm with her family and they weren’t exactly rich—even if business had picked up since the Grimm Reality episode had aired—but did he think she was poor or something? “I can afford to pay my own way.”

“I know you can.”

“Then stop doing that. Stop paying for my stuff.”

“No.” He opened the truck door for her and she climbed in. He dropped the bag in her lap and rounded the hood of the truck.

“Just because you have money, it doesn’t mean you need to spend it,” she continued as he buckled in. She absently scratched her arm. She didn’t need him or anyone else to provide for her. She was entirely self-sufficient, and it irked her that he couldn’t see that.

He sighed deeply, spinning his cap backwards again now that the sun was setting.

“Has it occurred to you that I enjoy spending money on other people? That, despite what I can clearly tell you assume about me, I’ve made a number of wise investments and I am not a spendthrift, which means that even with the money I donate I still have far more than I need?

Have you ever thought that it gives me pleasure to pay for your things, and that it has absolutely nothing to do with you, and everything to do with me? ”

She scrutinized his profile. Was he telling the truth? Was it possible that growing up poor had made her a little sensitive about money?

“Thank you for the music,” she choked out.

He reached for her curl again, but instead of tugging on it, he wrapped it gently around his finger. “You’re welcome, Warrior.”

That nickname she didn’t mind so much.