Page 8 of Just a Little Wicked (Wicked Sisters #2)

Winter

Missy, that was . . . a lot of texts to read. Like, hundreds.

Missy

YOU’RE BACK OH MY GOD. That must mean Erikson found you and gave you your phone. Where are you? When are you coming home?

Missy

Winter?

Missy

Dammit. Not again.

W hen Winter woke, she was clinging to the edge of the bed, a solid two feet of space separating her from the giant sharing the mattress.

She swore she could feel the heat radiating from his body even at a distance.

She slowly turned over and watched his chest rise and fall beneath the thin cotton of his navy t-shirt.

Light was just beginning to creep between the curtains, throwing a stripe of gold across his face.

His eyelashes fanned across his cheeks, and his jaw was shaded with a day’s growth of beard.

She was surprised to see that it was almost reddish instead of blond.

Even in sleep, relaxed and defenseless, Erikson was an imposing sight.

She let her gaze travel over the thick column of his neck, and the biceps that saw enough gym time to keep him prime-time-tv-playboy attractive.

“You snore like a sailor,” he grumbled. She’d been studying him so intently she hadn’t noticed his breathing quieting as he woke. His voice was rough with sleep, and the sound of it, so rumbly in the silence of the room, did something strange to her belly. She didn’t like it one bit.

“I do not.”

“I thought the roof was going to collapse.”

“You’re such a liar.”

“Pretty sure your former occupation was lumberjack, since you know how to saw wood so well.”

She threw the covers off and stormed toward the bathroom.

When she was almost there, she finally thought of an insult to toss back, back when she looked over her shoulder, she found his gaze glued to her ass.

She was wearing flannel pajamas and a faded gray Wicked Good Apples t-shirt.

Nothing about the outfit was sexy, but if she wasn’t mistaken, the look in his eyes was filled with heat.

She had to be mistaken.

He slowly lifted his gaze, unbothered at being caught staring, and smirked. “Let me know if the shower’s caved in, or if it’s still usable.”

She slammed the door.

After taking a long, hot shower, she dressed and emerged to find Erikson gone. The phone and keys he’d set on the bedside table the night before were missing. Could he have changed his mind and taken off after all?

Even as a sliver of her hoped he had, in her heart she knew he hadn’t gone anywhere, not when his brother’s safety and happiness were on the line.

For all of his many, massive faults, Erikson was unwaveringly faithful to Connor.

He would move heaven and Earth for him. Plus, Winter really did need Erikson to help trigger visions, so she squashed the tiny bit of relief she’d felt at finding the room empty.

Five minutes later, when she was pulling her still-damp and curly hair into a ponytail, Erikson returned. He was so silent that she smelled the coffee before she heard his footsteps.

She turned toward him, her nostrils flaring.

His hair was mussed and he was dressed in the same clothes from last night, a black duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

The rumpled clothing and just-rolled-out-of-bed hair should have made him look like a slob, but instead it only made him appear aggravatingly handsome in an effortless sort of way.

In his hands were a paper tray with two coffee cups and a white bakery bag.

“Breakfast?” she asked.

“For me.”

“You bought yourself two coffees?”

He shrugged. “I like coffee.”

She had yet to see him drink a cup of coffee, meanwhile, she practically injected the stuff. Her veins were one part blood, two parts coffee. At the best of times Winter had trouble being cheerful, but without coffee she was downright frightening.

“You look like a vampire about to attack.” Erikson dropped the bakery bag on the desk and his duffle on the floor before holding out one of the paper cups. “Fine, it’s for you.” When she started to reach for it, he lifted it out of her reach, and Winter considered kicking him in the shins.

“Wait, you little hellion. It’s all yours— both of them—if you make me a promise.”

“Are you bribing me with coffee ? I could drive to a coffee shop and have my own in fifteen minutes.”

“Yes, but you would have to wait fifteen more minutes, when you could have this warm, caffeinated beverage sliding down your throat in thirty seconds or less. I’ve seen you around coffee at Wicked Good Apples.

You’re feral. I’ll bet right now you’re contemplating stabbing me just to get your hands on it, aren’t you? ”

She despised him. How dare he think he had a read on her after only a few run-ins? She was going to tell him to fuck off and then get her own coffee. She was . Except the smell was so tantalizing, and the room was chilly, and her brain was foggy and . . . “What do you want me to promise?”

“Promise you won’t ditch me, run off without me, or leave me behind—purposely or accidentally—until the wedding.”

“I already told you I wouldn’t.”

“Promise it.”

She bared her teeth. “Fine, Erikson, I promise .”

He lowered the coffee cup and her hand circled around it, but before she could pull it free, he clasped his other hand around her wrist, trapping her.

He stared deeply into her eyes. “A vow means something, Winter,” he said softly, the words whispering over her skin like velvet.

“I’ve never broken a promise, and I never will. I take them to heart.”

“What makes you think I don’t?”

“Just ensuring we’re on the same page.”

She wrenched her hand—and the coffee—out of his grasp. “If you think you care more about stopping the Shadow Council than I do, then you’re nuts. We’re in this together for the next few days whether we like it or not. So get over yourself, Erikson.”

He flashed her that trademark, magazine-cover grin. “There’s a bagel in the bag. I’m going to shower now. You better be here when I get out.”

She sipped her coffee while he showered and thought about packing her bag and waiting for him outside, just to give him a little scare, but decided against it.

They didn’t have time for games, and she wasn’t in the mood for them anyway.

She’d already verbally volleyed with him more than she did most people.

When she was growing up, her twin, Missy, had been so bubbly, so likeable, that Winter hadn’t been able to compete, and so she hadn’t.

It wasn’t in her personality, anyway. She was often in her head, and for good reason.

When a person caught glimpses of the future—horrific glimpses that she had to keep to herself—she needed thick mental barriers.

And yet Erikson Grimm managed to aggravate more responses out of her than most people. She didn’t know why she let him get under her skin so much. He was an empty-headed TV star. He wasn’t worth the two minutes she was even thinking about him now.

Winter packed her belongings, and by the time she’d eaten through half the bagel, Erikson was emerging from the bathroom, steam billowing behind him.

His blond hair was damp and dark, and he’d shaved, once again revealing that chiseled jaw.

Dressed in a thin olive t-shirt, worn jeans, and work boots, he could have passed as any other Mainer, especially when he spun a worn Red Sox hat in his hand and tugged it on backwards.

Winter dropped her eyes and zipped her sweatshirt with more force than necessary, almost smacking her chin with her fist. “You’re going to freeze in nothing but a t-shirt.”

“You worried about me, Winnie?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Elf it is.”

“Or, you could be radical and call me by my name.”

He walked past and tugged on the end of her ponytail, dipping his mouth to her ear to say, “But your ears are pointed.”

Winter reflexively lifted her hands to touch her ears before she could think better of it. Laughing, he held open the door. “After you.”

She was going to murder him. If only she could see his future, then she’d know exactly how and when she had the pleasure.

Their trucks were parked on a side street, hers an old rusted Ford with a standard gear shift, his a brand-new black F-250 that probably cost more than she put in her checking account the entire last year.

“Whose truck should we take?” he deadpanned.

“You’re really getting on my nerves.” She stormed around the hood of his truck and yanked open the driver’s side door.

She threw her bag in the back seat before going back to her truck to collect her violin case.

She settled that far more gently in the cab of the truck, and then held out her hand. “Keys.”

“You don’t need them.”

“Why? Does it emasculate you to let me drive? You worried I’m going to scratch your precious baby?”

“No, it’s because this truck is from the twenty-first century and has a keyless ignition.”

Oh yeah. She forgot that was a thing.

“As for emasculation and scratching the truck—it’s just a vehicle, Elf. Stop being weird.”

Winter closed her eyes in exasperation and adjusted the seat while he swung into the passenger seat. When he was buckled, she started the engine and they sat there, the seats humming beneath them.

That was when Winter realized she had no idea where to go. She held out her hand. “Touch me?”

The look he gave her was inscrutable, but he reached over and clasped her hand in his.

Despite the chill in the air, his hands were warm and calloused—from what she didn’t know.

Probably from lifting weights. The guy yapped on TV for a living and everyone loved him for it.

He probably wouldn’t know a hard day’s work if it dropped on his head.

Nothing passed between them but another mild shock.

She ripped her hand away and said, “Any luck with your co-host finding Atlantes?”