Page 23 of Just a Little Wicked (Wicked Sisters #2)
Connor
How’s the lover’s retreat?
Erikson
Blissful. Winter is a doll.
Connor
Geez, I was just asking. No need to be sarcastic.
T heir motel room had two queen-sized beds, and once Erikson had tucked Winter into the bed farthest away from the door, he stripped off his shirt and laid down on the second bed with a grunt of displeasure. Apparently, the motel had commissioned concrete slabs in lieu of mattresses.
Sleep evaded him, and it wasn’t solely because of the uncomfortable bed.
His brain wouldn’t turn off, and whenever he did fall into a fitful sleep, his dreams were consumed by Winter’s music.
At one point, his subconscious must’ve latched onto her vision of the past and expanded on it, because in his dream they were together in an Irish green meadow, Winter’s eyes as wild as her unbound curls.
He was rucking up her tunic, a heavy ax strapped to his back, and she was kissing him with an urgency that set his blood on fire.
When sunlight streamed through the cracks of the motel drapes, Erikson had a raging hard-on and was so tired that he thought he would have been better off staying awake the entire night.
He started the tiny, two-cup coffee maker and took a shower.
When he emerged, his towel slung low on his hips and his hair only marginally rubbed down, Winter was hovering over the coffee machine, watching its torturously slow drip with her lower lip caught between her teeth.
She’d tugged a pair of yoga pants over the hot-pink boyshorts he’d desperately tried not to notice last night.
But despite all his noble intentions, he had noticed them, and now he couldn’t get the sight of the delicate pink lace against her lightly freckled skin out his mind.
Its sticking power aggravated him, so he said, “I would have thought all your panties would be black and covered with tiny skulls and daggers, not hot pink.”
Winter exhaled and tipped her head back in exasperation. “I can always count on you to bring up awkward moments. Listen, about last night, I appreciate your help, but I?—”
She turned to face him, and her words died on her tongue.
He was leaning against the door frame in his towel, his arms crossed over her chest. His blood heated when he realized she’d been momentarily struck speechless by the sight of him.
Her eyes were focused on his chest, her pupils slightly blown, before her gaze drifted over his six-pack and then lower, to where she’d get more than an eyeful if she kept looking at him like that.
A bead of water dripped between the packs of muscle on either side of his stomach, and she visibly swallowed.
“Like what you see?” he asked lightly, even though he was picturing that throat working to take his—nope. He definitely needed to quit that line of thought. He was not going to lust over his brother’s future sister-in-law.
“What?” Her gaze jerked upward and her cheeks flushed guiltily. “No, I wasn’t—I . . .”
“It’s okay. You can ogle all you want. I work hard for this body; someone ought to see it.”
Her cheeks brightened further and she dropped her gaze to the slowly filling carafe. “I wasn’t ogling.”
“You were two seconds away from licking my happy trail.”
“Oh my God, Erikson!” She stomped past him, apparently willing to forgo her coffee fix in order to escape him, and slammed the bathroom door behind her.
He let out a soft exhale. He’d resorted to irritating her because the alternative had been to fist those red curls in his hand and plunge his tongue into her mouth.
He rubbed his palm over his unshaven jaw and quickly pulled his clothes from his duffle, reminding himself that this rapidly growing attraction he felt toward Winter was not only inadvisable, but stupid.
He had no interest in being one of her hook-up-and-forget buddies, and he was pretty sure that was all Winter was willing to give anyone.
And why was he even thinking about Winter and whether or not she’d be into a relationship?
It wasn’t like he was looking to settle down.
He lived his life as he pleased. He worked hard, traveled, made friends, and had lovers.
One day he might find the woman for him, but it sure as hell wouldn’t be the Wicked soaping her naked body in the shower right now.
“You asshole,” he hissed to himself, adjusting the semi-erection beneath his jeans at the thought of her under the hot water.
He hadn’t been with a woman since he’d set foot on Wicked Good Apples nearly seven months ago, and his body knew it.
That was the only acceptable explanation for the lust licking up his nerves as he imagined Winter peeling off those silky pink panties and stepping into the shower, water dripping between her breasts and sluicing over her soft skin.
He yanked a gray cable-knit sweater over his head and was adjusting his watch band when Winter emerged.
He refused to look at her towel-clad form as she snatched her duffle bag and hurried back into the steamy bathroom.
Only when she re-appeared again, outfitted in black jeans and a black sweater, did he allow his eyes to rest on her face.
I wonder what color panties she’s wearing under all that black?
He ground his molars together and cursed his wayward hormones.
Clearing his throat, he gestured to the coffee, which was hissing in the corner like a feral cat. She quickly poured a half cup and grudgingly offered him the other half. “No, you have it,” he said.
She sighed in relief and filled the rest of her paper cup, downing it without a flinch even though he knew it had to be near-scalding.
“You have a serious caffeine addiction.”
“How about you keep your observations to yourself,” she sniped as she walked to the nightstand and picked up her phone. “I never would—oh! Stacy texted me back!”
Everything else was instantly forgotten as he strode to her side and peered over her shoulder. He smirked when he saw how she’d labeled Stacy in her phone.
Sabrina the Teenage Witch
You owe me big time, Winter. I had to listen to Mable Parker talk for three hours to get this information.
Winter
Consider me in your debt. What did you find?
Erikson waited with bated breath as three dots appeared. Thirty seconds later, a paragraph in a blue bubble popped up on the screen.
Sabrina the Teenage Witch
No one that I talked to recognized the name you gave me, but I swore I’d heard it before.
I finally reached out to Mable Parker, since she’s like ninety-eight years old and remembers everything.
She knew right away who he was, but she kept me in suspense for HOURS talking about her cats before she’d tell me.
Sabrina the Teenage Witch
HOURS, Winter. *Hours*
Sabrina the Teenage Witch
The reason no one recognized the name is because Atlantes goes by his middle name, Alaric, now. His full name is Atlantes Alaric Blackwood.
Sabrina the Teenage Witch
He’s a big deal in our world.
Winter
How so?
Sabrina the Teenage Witch
He’s a Pillar Witch. Like, THE Pillar Witch of the Northeast.
Winter
A Pillar Witch is . . . ?
Sabrina the Teenage Witch
Sorry, I have to go. A customer is 3 seconds from punching another customer. Text you later.
Sabrina the Teenage Witch
343 Station Road, Great Wass Island
Winter immediately copied the address and popped it into Google maps. Great Wass Island was next to Sealand, less than half an hour away. She flashed Erikson a grin of naked excitement, and he couldn’t help responding in kind.
“Let’s go pay this Pillar Witch a visit,” she said.
“You have no idea what a Pillar Witch is?” He asked as he shoved his dirty clothes into his duffle.
“No.” When she shook her head, damp curls clung to the shoulders of her black sweater.
“Witch communities are so different than ours—as in, they have a community. Since they were never erased from history, awareness of them has generally stayed in the open, and there are a lot more of them. That means they have a very organized government and laws in place. My guess is a ‘Pillar Witch’ is some type of big-wig government position, but I’m really not sure.
” She slung her bag over her shoulder and gave one last longing glance at the empty coffee pot.
“It’s good for us if he’s a big deal, because if he’s the key to stopping the Shadow Council, he’ll need to be powerful. ”
They checked out, and within minutes were back on the road with Winter driving again.
“Coffee first?” he asked as she merged onto Route 1.
She chewed her bottom lip, her desire for coffee warring with her desire to reach Atlantes as soon as possible.
“It’s only 7:30. It’s best you don’t show up in your monster form.”
She snarled at him, but since that only added to her vicious charm, he simply smiled.
“Fine. Drive-through coffee.”
She pulled over at the first Dunkin’ Donuts, and once the cab was filled with the scents of coffee and egg sandwiches, they lapsed into silence, watching as the low light of the rising sun gilded the bare landscape and harsh ocean waters.
It was a quiet morning, although more and more cars passed as they turned onto the bridge that would take them onto Beals Island and continue across several more islands before ending on Great Wass.
Erikson checked the latest basketball scores and then pocketed his phone to stare out the window.
“For some hot-shot TV star, you’re not really on your phone much,” she commented.
Her hair had dried, and he’d bet it would be frizzing if she hadn’t pulled it back into a low, curly ponytail.
She lifted a cup of coffee to her pert nose, took an appreciative inhale that was just this side of sexual, and sipped.
Her eyes fluttered closed with pleasure, and he was so wrapped up in the view that he didn’t even worry about the fact that she was driving with her eyes half-closed.
“Grimm?”
“Hmm?”
“I asked you a question.”