Page 12 of Season of the Witch (Toil and Trouble #3)

Shit, this was painful. He was wondering if he should go wait outside when—

“You are not sneaking off without saying goodbye!” came a very welcome Southern trill and the tip-tap of heels on marble. Henry didn’t know who was more relieved.

Maybelline barreled into him and wrapped her arms tight, making an mmm sound. “Don’t forget to have fun.”

“It’s business,” her husband reminded her.

She scoffed as she drew back, a flick of her eyes telling him what she thought of that. “Can’t have business without some pleasure.” Her smile was sly. She’d made no secret of her ambitions for Tia and Henry to bond on this trip.

Maybe if he had his memories, he’d have been embarrassed or annoyed, but he just found it amusing.

A horn honked outside.

“That’ll be Tia.” Maybelline put her hands on his cheeks. “You sure you have everything?”

He nodded dutifully, feeling like that child again.

She beamed. “You’ll be fine. Pearlmatters breed tough.

But we also love with all our hearts, so if I don’t hear from you at least once every few days, I’ll be portaling over to check you’re still alive.

” She clapped him lightly on his cheeks as he snorted.

“Now, go have fun and charm their pants off.”

“Whose pants?”

She winked. “I was thinking Lord Siddeley’s, but Tia’s would be good practice.”

A second, elongated honk made his eyebrows skim up. “You could be right about that.”

* * *

They’d been flying for over an hour when Tia started fidgeting.

Across the table from her in the jet’s cabin, Henry looked up from the papers she’d ordered him to read, his attention going to the fire-red nails she tapped on the tabletop. Catching him, she stopped, sliding the hand into her lap.

“Nervous?” he asked casually, finishing the page and placing it facedown on the stack of other reports she’d made for him. He’d already read the information—Richard had been working with him for weeks—but it’d seemed easier to agree than argue over a seven-hour flight.

She made a noise somewhere between a scoff and a hum. “What do I have to be nervous about?”

“That I’ll lose control and set the plane on fire, sending us crashing into the ocean?”

She paused. “Okay. Now I’m nervous.”

He smiled to himself, pretending to read the report. He opted not to tell her that his control over his fire magic was shaky at best. Magic was often linked to their emotional state, and Tia obviously made him emotional in some way. Another mystery to solve.

She left it another few seconds before clearing her throat. “We need to talk. About things.”

“We have been talking. Well,” he corrected, still skimming his eyes across the page, “you’ve been talking. Grilling might be a better word.”

He sensed more than saw her raise her chin. “I need to know you can answer basic questions.”

She hadn’t even waited until the wheels were up before launching those “basic questions” at him, like he should be sitting under a white light with bamboo shoots under his nails— who is our CEO? What is our bestselling potion? What recent businesses has PH Inc. taken on?

“I didn’t even get a lollipop for getting all the answers right,” he commented.

“You don’t like lollipops.”

Interesting how confident she was. “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.”

“You’re saying your tastes have changed?”

He took in the woman sitting across from him, haughty and hot as hell in her soft sweater and ripped jeans. She was lithe and lovely, touchable light brown skin with curves in all the places a man wanted them. “Not every taste,” he murmured.

Catching the intent, she folded her arms, glaring. “Don’t even.”

“Don’t even what?”

“Try charming me. Save it for the English, buddy.”

“I’ll do that,” he said, amused. He put the papers down and sat back, watching her closely. “Is that why you’re nervous?”

“I’m not nervous.” Her eyes pulsed with annoyance, green, then brown.

He bit back his smile. “Okay. You wanted to talk.”

“Yeah.” She let out a breath, shifting in her seat. Threading her hands together, she set them on the table. “We should get our story straight.”

Interest snared, Henry extended his long legs so they brushed hers. “It would help to know how our story ended.”

She snarled at him, yanking her legs back. “Get out of my space, Pearlmatter.”

“You don’t like me,” he observed, the fact an itch he couldn’t scratch. “Which means I must have done something.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me.”

“Then that’s a you problem,” she shot back. “All they need to know is we got back together.”

Stubborn, he thought. So fucking stubborn. But funny thing—so was he.

He’d circle back. “How long has it been?”

She paused. “Since we were together?” At his nod, she said, “Eight years.”

“And how long were we dating?”

“About four.”

They’d dated young. First loves, maybe. The realization made something like smugness pulse through him. You never forgot your first.

The irony hit and he almost laughed. Unless you were him, apparently.

Instead of going that route, he chose a different question. “Have we seen each other a lot since?”

“Not really. We keep out of each other’s way.” She spoke firmly over his next question. “We’ve been working in the same office for the past couple of months. We’ll just say the flame —” she grimaced like the word tasted bad “—was rekindled.”

Somewhat enjoying her discomfort, Henry tapped his flat belly. “When I kissed you after hours?”

She gaped.

“Or did you throw me onto a desk?” he mused. “You seem like you’re a take-charge kind of woman. I might’ve enjoyed that.”

Her mouth closed. Opened. Closed. Then, “Stop. Talking.”

He pressed his lips together to keep back a smile. Already, her polite facade had disappeared. All right, he was a bit of a dick to make her uncomfortable, but he knew, on a gut level, rolling over for Tia wouldn’t get her respect in the long run.

Besides. He kind of liked winding her up.

She went back to the matter in hand. “They won’t ask details. All they need to know is we’re a couple.”

He doubted that but let it go. “So, how long have we been back together?”

“I don’t know.” She relaxed in her seat but stiffened when her legs brushed his. She pulled away. “A few weeks.”

“Honeymoon phase,” he ruminated with wicked intent.

It earned him a curse.

He lifted his hands innocently. “I’m just saying, people who’ve only been hooked up a few weeks are all over each other.”

“Like you’re an expert?”

Shrugging idly, he tapped his finger to his lips. “Just so you know… I’m willing to go method on this. Feel free to touch me anywhere.”

A muscle feathered in her jaw. “You’re not taking this seriously.”

“I’m trying to figure out the ground rules,” he replied, keeping his amusement bottled. “You’re the one who won’t set them.”

“Fine.” She tossed him a filthy look. “No touching.”

He made a noise.

“ What? ” she snapped.

“Siddeley picked us because we’re the next-gen couple—who had to sneak away to get our hands on each other.” He enjoyed the hint of growl that came from her throat. “He’s clearly a romantic. He’ll want to see us coo a bit.”

“It’s business,” she said stubbornly.

“You won’t even hold my hand?”

“No.”

“Scared?”

Her mouth dropped before she blustered, “Fuck you.”

“Language, Celestia.”

Hazel eyes boiled. “Don’t you call me that.”

He held his hand out, palm up. “I dare you.”

“Oh, for the Goddess’s sake.”

“It’s a show,” he told her. “Holding hands is bare minimum. I’m not saying all day but sometimes you might have to take one for the team.” He wiggled his fingers. “Unless touching me is too much temptation.”

Her palm slapped his with so much force, it stung. And yet, it felt like victory.

He weaved their fingers together, unable to hide a grin. Her skin was warm, soft. The opposite of her expression.

He rubbed his thumb along her palm, enjoying her hitch of breath. The way his own heart thrummed a bit faster as if in recognition. “See? Easy.”

“For you.” She stared at their hands as if it was surprising. It probably was, if they’d barely been around each other for eight years.

“Did we used to hold hands?” He couldn’t stop that question, didn’t want to, intrigued by what kind of couple they’d been. Tia didn’t strike him as the PDA type but the way she was staring, as if memories were blinding her, had him wondering.

Her eyes rose and she blinked before tugging her hand out of his. She made a production of wiping hers down the front of her sweater and he chuckled.

She tucked her arms around herself and sat straighter, gaze shuttered. “We’ve been back together a few weeks. We keep the PDA to a minimum and are taking things one day at a time. That’s all they need to know.”

If she thought she had final say on that, she was deluded, but for now, he inclined his head. “Luckily,” he drawled, encroaching on her space under the table a little more, “one day at a time is my current specialty.”