Page 22 of Season of the Witch (Toil and Trouble #3)

fifteen

Erika, their wine expert for the evening, didn’t have a surname that went with a massive amount of wine. Tia knew this because every time she thought of it, a snigger bubbled up her throat. But seriously.

Erika Koch .

She inhaled the aroma of their next wine, dizzy in the head. After owning a bar for…more years than she could remember after six mulled wines, she’d assumed she was no lightweight. Ms. Koch proved her wrong.

She laughed softly as Erika moved in front of the group, talking about the depth of the mulled white wine.

“What’s the joke?” Henry asked next to her, voice low and a touch slurred. He’d been as vigilant as her about using the bucket. Meaning, not at all.

“Hmm?”

“You laughed.”

She leaned in, putting her lips to his ear. “Koch.”

He turned his head, nose grazing hers. “I have one,” he answered solemnly.

It made her giggle. She, Tia Hightower, giggled. If she could find her face, she’d slap it.

“Ahem.” The pointed cough from their German expert had both turning guilty gazes her way.

Tia mumbled an apology. She tapped her glass. “Delicious.”

“What do you taste?” Erika probed.

Wine. But Tia figured that wasn’t the answer Erika was looking for. She took another gulp.

“Sip it!” Erika exclaimed, hands flying up. “Then spit it.”

“Oh.” Too late. “Sorry. I taste…” Her mind whirled.

Henry shifted, whispering.

“Elderflower!” she exclaimed.

Erika lifted an eyebrow as she crossed her arms. Her German accent clipped the words. “Correct. You should also taste cinnamon and vanilla, but perhaps Lord Henry hasn’t had chance to whisper in your ear that information.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” She batted her lashes too fast before slowing right down.

A hint of amusement shone in the German witch’s face before Erika walked back to Annaliese. “And you, what is your favorite?”

The spellmaker’s daughter deliberated but selected the amber wine with flaked almonds and raisins.

“The Swedish glogg.” She lifted her shoulder.

“I like that they thought outside the box. That’s how the best spells are created.

” She slid a look at Siddeley, who was fairly ruddy in the face himself.

When he didn’t comment, her shoulders slouched, but she still smiled at Erika.

A slow signal of interest. “What’s your favorite, Erika? ”

Color formed in two blotches on the pretty blonde’s white cheeks. She held Annaliese’s gaze for more than two beats. “I like thinking outside the box, too.”

“Oh, it’s on,” Tia whispered to Henry.

“On what? Me?” He batted at his sweater.

Tia swatted him on the arm. “No, the German and Annaliese.”

“How can you tell?”

“It’s all in a look.” She let her head fall to the side, feeling like a puppet whose strings had been cut. “You can tell everything about a woman by the way she looks at you.”

* * *

Henry’s head was buzzing softly, a curtain of warmth blanketing him. It turned into a wall of flame as he took in Tia next to him, pressed up close enough so he could’ve angled his head into the crook of her neck and inhaled. He blinked, wondering what she’d do, if she’d welcome him. She seemed…

A hand grabbing at his hair, tugging his head back, lips colliding with his until he felt the mattress beneath him.

“Tia,” he groaned, the weight of her breasts pushing into his chest. He was desperate to feel them, thought she might let him finally unbutton her shirt and slide his hands over them now they’d been dating for three months.

Her hips writhed over his as a sexy noise hummed in her throat.

His parents weren’t home and he hoped she’d be louder, scream for him, if she’d agree to let him under her skirt.

He’d never been this desperate for a girl before but with her, everything felt ten times brighter.

“Henry,” she moaned against him. “Touch me.”

Henry blinked, disoriented. As his gaze fell on Tia, an adult Tia, her words came back to him.

“You don’t look at me like you hate me anymore,” he said, vision sliding from his mind, lubricated by alcohol. He liked how she looked at him. He really liked how she’d looked at him that morning, sleepy and riled, with arousal swirling in those hazel eyes.

Tia pursed her lips, more thoughtful than irritated. He wanted to kiss her. “Because I don’t,” she said. “I don’t know how I feel about you.”

Triumph surged in his wine-sloshed brain.

He’d known she’d made a choice last night to be “on his team,” but that was a long way from liking him.

This was one more step. He didn’t know what the steps were leading to, only that he wanted her to…

not hate him. It made his stomach twist every time he thought about it.

Being the focus of Tia’s attention was addictive, even more so when she smiled.

He imagined being the center of her world would be a hard drug to give up, if you’d ever even want to.

Right now, he thought you’d have to be an idiot to give Tia up. Which meant eight years ago, somehow, someway, he’d been a fucking idiot.

Henry inched closer, ignoring Erika, who was talking to Sawyer about the wine he’d tried in Europe. “I can help,” he informed Tia. “We can figure out how you feel. Close your eyes. Think about me.” She ignored him, so he ignored that she didn’t follow his instruction. “Do you get good feelings?”

Tia eyed him.

He frowned. “Bad feelings?”

She grazed her bottom lip with her teeth. “Define bad .”

Shit. Heat bloomed, so quick and sudden that he started, staring at the fiery sparks flickering around his hands. When he looked back, Tia’s pupils were blown, hazel eaten by the black. His mouth went dry and he leaned closer.

The little moth drawn to the fire warlock.

“I think we have lost our lovely couple again,” Erika said wryly.

Henry dragged his gaze from Tia. His body felt flushed, tight. Familiar.

He cleared his throat. “Are we trying more wine?” He could use a liquid.

Erika considered him, moving to Tia and back. He wondered what she saw as a smile tugged at her lips. “Have you heard of a champagne kiss?”

“I have,” Mina volunteered from next to Griffith, who was slumped in his chair, another victim of swallowing. “Traditionally done in France, right?”

Erika nodded. She gestured to the seventh glass in front of each of them, a bubbly white wine. “I am afraid that only the young couple in love can demonstrate the proper technique, if you both don’t mind?”

Tia shrugged, draining her existing glass and placing it stem up like a shot glass. “Hit me, Teach.”

“Traditionally, this might be done at a wedding, but one of you takes a sip of the wine.” Erika waited until Tia picked up the glass. “Right and so. Next, Lady Tia will take a small sip of the mulled cocktail.” She sent a stern look at her. “But do not swallow.”

Tia did as ordered, turning inquiring eyes on the expert.

Who gestured at Henry. “And now you kiss.”

Tia choked, wheezing as the wine went down the wrong way. Henry helpfully pounded her on the back, lingering to rub in slow circles as she caught her breath.

He couldn’t catch his.

A kiss. Her lips. On his. Her taste. His mouth.

Excitement prickled, followed by nerves. Maybe it wouldn’t match her memories. Maybe it was stupid to think he’d be in with a shot.

She blinked fast and furious and his heart plummeted.

Maybe kissing him was the last thing she wanted.

His breath whispered against her ear as he leaned in. “We don’t have to… I mean, if you don’t want.”

Her body stilled, eyes swinging up to his. One heartbeat faded into two as they stared at each other. He heard each one in his ears as he waited for her to make the decision.

The awkwardness of the others watching faded as, still holding his stare, Tia slowly took another sip of wine. His pulse accelerated as she shifted closer, setting her hand on his shoulder to balance herself. That one touch sent a shiver through him as he braced.

Their lips brushed. Clung.

A second hung suspended for long beats of his heart. He inhaled as her tongue teased along his bottom lip.

He made a reciprocating noise, a small groan as recognition sparked. His hand curled around her nape, strong fingers gentle against her skin. She sank against him and opened her mouth.

The mulled champagne bubbled and fizzed, sliding along their tongues.

The familiarity of this burned into him.

Her taste—he knew it. It lived inside him, the feel of her body close to his, the same.

Behind his closed eyelids, he knew he could shape her body with his hands. They knew this woman, this witch.

Tia.

She curled her fingers into his sweater, meeting him, slow kiss for slow kiss, her breathing ragged as the champagne disappeared and all that was left was them.

So fast it almost hurt, thousands of visions slapped into him, a million kisses in a million ways.

Soft and shy, sweet and searching, hot and wild and angry and desperate.

A roar drowned out everything as gaps in the invading memories cast out drops of her laughter, of her moans, of her voice calling his name.

“Henry,” she murmured against his lips.

Yes. Just like that. Forever.

A ripple of laughter jerked him back. He breathed hard, keeping close to her as he stared at her face.

Her mouth was damp, her eyes wide. Haunted.

The memories swirled inside, rough and confused.

He strained, needing to know more, remember more.

But only slivers of kisses remained, settling like fractured pieces into a jigsaw with a multitude of gaps.

He felt it all, the echoes of that aching want, the clawing need. The adoration that underpinned everything.

It pulsed as he smoothed a thumb over her cheekbone.

“Well,” Mina said wryly in the background. “Sign me up for a French wedding.”

* * *