Page 26 of Season of the Witch (Toil and Trouble #3)

seventeen

“Did we ever have a one-night stand?”

Henry winced as the scissors slipped out of Tia’s hand, telekinesis barely catching them before they punctured the parquet floor.

Incredulous, she threw a pointed look at the group occupying the other end of the great room.

Siddeley was a warlock in his element, beaming at the red berries Annaliese added to her wreath, commenting on the design of Griffith’s even as he fiddled with his own creation.

Next to him, Sawyer rolled his eyes and upturned a flask into his cocoa.

At their end of the room, Henry gave Tia a shrug.

He doubted anyone was listening, partially because a good ten feet separated them but mostly because the soundtrack to the UK film Nativity provided loud cover.

“Sparkle and Shine” blared in all corners as Siddeley continued the wreath-making task he’d declared the perfect afternoon activity for them all.

All…except for Tia, and him by default. Henry’s lips twitched as she cast a sour glance at the wreath-makers before twisting back to the paper snowflakes Siddeley had tactfully suggested might be more her thing.

Not hard to go wrong with a snowflake, though judging from the paper corpses littering the floor, maybe that was pushing it.

Henry didn’t mind being relegated to the corner. At least he got to be alone with her.

They sat by the huge hearth, the fire low in the grate, on two plump pastel couches opposite each other. The carved wooden table between them held sheaves of paper and two mugs of cocoa, candy canes peeking over the rims.

His question also sat between them but she didn’t make any move to acknowledge it. It’d probably been stupid to corner her here, in front of witnesses, but ever since the possibility occurred to him, it refused to budge.

“Well?” he prompted.

In front of the fire on the faded patterned rug, Rudy grumbled and rolled to his back, legs kicked up in the air. A hissing sound came from his back end.

Yeah, Henry could’ve waited for a more intimate atmosphere.

Tia’s jaw clenched as she concentrated intently on the paper she was cutting. “No.”

“Not even once?” he persisted. Past attempts at snowflakes crumpled under him as he shifted forward.

“I think I’d remember.”

The fire in the grate crackled, calling to the magic under his skin, and he held out a finger absently, making the smallest flame dance in place. “Not once in all that time,” he murmured, trying to wrap his mind around that. Around how someone could feel this much need and not act.

“It’s not like we were drinking pals,” she muttered, the long slide of the scissors accompanying the troubled words. “We’ve barely spoken. Or interacted.”

Huh. “Did you want to?”

The paper split and the snowflake was ruined. Tia scoffed, shoving it away. “Jeez, cocky much?”

Hope rose like the flame he toyed with. She was always defensive when he got close to something.

He took the chance. “ I wanted to, though. Right?”

Everything about her went still, except for her eyes, which flew to his. “You’re remembering?”

Kisses and snippets of random conversations. Emotions in waves so strong they buckled his knees. More and more every day since that kiss.

But he couldn’t tell her that. She’d already recoiled; what if this made her run? It made his heart beat faster, something cold and thick in the back of his throat.

So he shrugged. “Just feelings.”

“And you feel…” She drew in a quick breath that lifted her breasts in the soft sweater she wore. “You feel something for me?”

The song ended and Siddeley’s laugh fell into the gap like a roll of thunder, shaking the room.

Henry barely heard it as he slowly nodded.

She pressed her lips together and didn’t speak. She was so hard to read; he wondered if she always had been or whether he’d once picked up her thoughts as easily as any book plucked from a shelf.

“You did.” Her voice was quiet but the confirmation made his breath catch. She put down the scissors carefully, blades closed and at rest. “You never said outright. We always danced around it.”

A memory surged, blinding him, his voice rough and her fingers touching his jaw.

If we could go back… Do you ever wish…?

“But we were inseparable once.” Her eyes gleamed in the firelight, a hint of pleasure in the shadows. “I know you. And you still wanted me.”

“Want,” he said without much thought. “I still want you.”

Her lips parted, color rising.

He should shut up but couldn’t stop the words.

“The man that knew you. The man that loved you. The man I am. It’s all the same, Tia.

The wanting never leaves. I think—no, I know .

I know that I’ve always wanted you.” He’d just needed her to confirm it so they could move forward. If that was what she wanted, too.

Silence replaced words, tension breathing into the air.

His nerves jittered, urging him to push her. Get her to admit she’d wanted him then, that she wanted him now. Their bullshit aside, it was clear to anyone they were still drawn to each other.

Little moth . Irony. He might’ve called her that but flip it around and it was just as true. Always had been. Always would be.

And still, he was goddamn nervous. His stomach tightened into a hard ball as he watched her silently freaking out, waiting in tense anticipation of her withdrawal.

She was proud—fucking understatement. Whether it was memories he was regaining or if he was simply relearning her in the present, he was getting to know how she thought.

She’d see admitting that she wanted him as a surrender.

She needed to save face. She needed something simple.

Or he was full of crap and blinded by his own desire.

One way to find out.

Be bold.

He cleared the remaining nerves out of his throat. “You know,” he said, making her start as he got to his feet. Paper tumbled from his lap. “I still owe you a kiss.”

He held out his hand.

He had no plan, no real idea where this could go, but it was simple enough. If she wanted him. His heart beat a jagged rhythm, skin tight under his clothes as he willed her to take a chance.

For one moment, he thought she’d refuse and his stomach dropped. Then with a toss of her hair, Tia grasped his hand and pulled herself up, the heels she wore putting her closer to his mouth. Her own wore a half smile as she tugged. “C’mon, then.”

They made it past the knowing looks, into the quiet hallway, up the stairs. They didn’t speak but the air practically hummed. His breath was coming in quick little pants, desire gripping him by the throat, until he couldn’t imagine taking one more step without tasting her.

And then he saw it: the perfect excuse.

He pulled her to a stop. “Wait.”

She turned, eyes questioning before they followed his to the small spiked green leaves and round white buds hanging above their heads. Mistletoe.

“Can’t mess with tradition.” He steered her back against the wall, watching carefully as he slid his hands to bracket her wrists before pinning them above her head.

Her pupils blew out, her breath shaky. “Play nice, Henry.”

He leaned in so their bodies brushed. She felt new and yet familiar and so goddamn perfect, he could’ve licked her all up. “I don’t think you like nice .”

“Me? I’m sweet all over.”

His cock jerked and he almost groaned. “Let’s see, shall we?”

He knew she expected him to conquer. It was why he did the opposite.

The kiss was slow and it was soft and it was wicked as hell. This wasn’t speed; this was seduction. He used his tongue in lazy caresses, his body settling into hers, teasing, until her hips rocked against him.

Her teeth sank into his bottom lip. He jerked, breathing roughly against her lips.

“I thought you said to play nice,” he managed.

“And when have you ever done what I said?” She nipped his lip again. “I don’t want romance and slow kisses.”

He caught her chin in two fingers, holding her gaze equally firmly. “But you want me?”

Challenge sparked, defiance in every line of the spectacular body tight against him. Fighting herself more than him.

He took pity. “Shall I tell you what I want?”

He moved even closer, letting go of her chin so he could put his mouth to her ear.

“I want to slide my tongue over every inch of your skin. Here.” His hand barely touched her collarbones.

“Here.” He drifted to where shuddering breaths swelled her breasts.

Then farther down, skating along her hip bones diagonally until a choked gasp met his triumphant ears.

“Especially here,” he said wickedly. His heartbeat thundered in his head and his cock hardened with every sharp inhale.

“I want to watch you as I taste you,” he murmured, teeth scraping her earlobe.

Making her jerk. “I want to watch your face as I make you come.”

“Fuck,” she moaned, head falling back. Her hands clutched his hips so tight, he thought he might have bruises.

He swallowed hard, a slight edge sharpening the brutal desire. “So, the question is do you want the same?” Do you want me?

It took a century for her to lift her head, the hazy flush of lust sharpening her features. And she nodded.

Heat and triumph flashed down his spine as she caught his hand, walking backward to their room, flinging the door open with her telekinesis so hard, it banged off the wall. Neither of them gave it much of a glance as they pressed it shut behind them.