Waterlocked

by Elizabeth Hunter

  He walked back in the library just as his brother-in-law was finishing a story.

  “—always seems so proper. If I hadn’t seen it myself, I’d never believe it. But then, you’d know all about that.”

  Gemma gave him a slightly guilty glance before her eyes darted away, and Daniel’s laughter trailed off.

  Who could you have been talking about, darling? I just can’t imagine…

  Daniel smiled at Terry. “All finished with work, then?”

  “For now. How long are you staying, Dan?”

  “Just a week or so. I really need to get back to the house. I’m sure the sheep miss me.” Daniel—well, Daniel’s day man—ran a small organic farm that catered to high-end restaurants in Southwest England and Wales. He’d recently begun making cheese. Terry shook his head at the thought. Ridiculous occupation for a vampire, in his opinion, but it made the young man happy and left him enough time and money to roam the world whenever he liked, which was really all Daniel cared about.

  Plus, it was fairly good cheese.

  “You’ll stay with us, then.” Gemma grabbed his hand in a squeeze. “I’ll have your room prepared.”

  “Already done, Gem. And you might want to speak to Wilhelmina. There’s a few changes to the schedule for tomorrow night. Dinner party.”

  Her eyes tightened in disapproval. “I have a meeting with the mayor’s people tomorrow night.”

  “You’ll have to reschedule.” He flicked a glance at Daniel, then looked back into her eyes. “This is a priority.”

  She wanted to argue with him, but wouldn’t in front of her brother. And that was only one of the reasons that Terry was marrying her. Gemma knew the value of a united front. They might have fought like cats and dogs behind closed doors, but in front of anyone else, they were ever in agreement.

  Still, her eyes were frosty when she said, “I’ll speak to Mina. I’m sure something can be arranged.”

  “She has all the details. So does Carl.”

  With a regal nod, she stood. “Danny, I imagine you want to clean up before dawn. You know where everything is. Make yourself at home, of course.” She didn’t spare him a glance when she walked out of the room.

  Daniel waited until the hall was silent before he snickered. “You’ll hear it later, mate.”

  Terry shrugged. “I always do. How many times did she ask about the bloody Italian?”

  Daniel paused, watching as Terry poured another whisky. “She didn’t ask—”

  “Yes, she did.”

  “Not directly.”

  Terry humored the man with a lazy smile. “She’s too smart for that.”

  “She’s not in love with him. Not really.”

  At that, Terry let out a hearty laugh. “Oh really?”

  “She’s in love with the idea of him. He’s cultured, sophisticated. Values education and music and all those things Gemma thinks she needs to be happy.”

  Terry handed Daniel another drink and clinked his glass. “Cheers. In other words, he’s the complete opposite of me.”

  Daniel continued as if Terry hadn’t spoken. “Which is ridiculous, of course. You’re exactly the kind of man she needs. You’re not too polite to call her on her bullshit, and you’re smart enough for her. She respects you, Terry.”

  She respected Giovanni Vecchio, too. Hell, Terry respected Vecchio; the man was a formidable ally and he certainly never encouraged Gemma’s attentions. Well, not in the last hundred years or so. Terry cleared his throat. “Aye. We’ll make a very good partnership, Gem and me. Good for us both. Good for London, too.”

  Daniel grinned. “So pragmatic, Mr. Ramsay. You’re in love with her, aren’t you? How terribly inconvenient.”

  Terry said nothing, flicking his tongue over a long fang as Daniel watched him with an amused expression.

  “Well, you’ll just have to convince her to be in love with you, too. You’ve certainly never lacked chemistry. That much is obvious.”

  Terry had to smile. “Chemistry, my boy, has never been the problem.”

  “Then what?”

  If he knew the answer to that, Terry wouldn’t be chatting with the annoying earth vampire in his study, would he? Once again, Daniel plowed on, obviously amused with his older sister’s romantic entanglements. “How long have you been engaged now?”

  “Ten years.”

  The boy almost looked offended. “Why on earth so long?”

  Terry shrugged. “Never pressed the issue. She’s here, ain’t she? She’s mine. I’m hers. Ten years isn’t that long in the grand scheme of things. You have to remember, she’s a bit older than the two of us.”

  “Still, high time you two wed, in my opinion.” Daniel nodded firmly. “That’ll nail her down, then you can work on the love bit.”

  Terry shook his head. “How do you get as many women as you do, Dan?”

  “Stunning good looks.” It was true. The young man had been turned in his early twenties and had a roguish beauty that women fawned over. “In fact, you should marry this week! While I’m here. Use it for leverage. I’d absolutely hate to miss my favorite sister’s wedding, and I’m always jaunting off on wild adventures. You just never know when I’ll be around.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. Now that idea had potential. “I suppose I could speak to a judge I know—”

  “No! What are you thinking?” Daniel’s eyes widened. “A church wedding, you daft man. Or at least a proper man of the cloth. She’ll renege on a civil arrangement the minute things don’t suit her. But a church wedding…”

  Terry scoffed. “Gemma’s never been devout.”

  “Ah…” Daniel slid forward with a glint in his eye. “But she is our father’s daughter. Trust me, if you want her to stick around, a church wedding is a must, my friend.”

  Terry narrowed his eyes. “Why are you telling me this? What do you have to gain?”

  The teasing glint left his eyes and Daniel smiled sincerely. “The happiness of my favorite sister, Ramsay. Because, I think you’re good for her. And honestly? She’s half in love with you already, she just doesn’t realize it.”

  “Thank you so much, gentlemen. What a pleasure it was to see you all.” Gemma graciously saw their guests to the door the next night. “And Guillermo, please tell Leonor I’m looking forward to seeing her on our next holiday.”

  “Of course, Señora.” The Spaniard bent over her hand. “It would be my honor.”

  “You’re too kind.”

  “Your hospitality honors me and my patroness.”

  Gemma batted her lashes at the handsome man, who had made every effort to charm the leading woman of London immortal society all night. He’d simpered and flirted, shooting Gemma deep, meaningful looks every time Terry opened his mouth or one of the guards did something he interpreted as vulgar.

  ‘How tolerant you are,’ his dark eyes said, ‘to put up with such loutish behavior.’

  Terry didn’t know why the Spaniard was complaining. Kincaid had only fumbled the silverware once. If it happened to be a steak knife through one of the Spanish guards’ hands… well, accidents did happen.

  Gemma was wearing a slim burgundy suit that hugged her ass and showed off her trim waist and figure. She wasn’t a tall woman. In fact, she was delicate-looking, if you didn’t know better. And she was stunning. Gemma had classic features that were beautiful no matter what the current fashion was. He’d caught more than one of their guests giving her the eye before they caught Terry’s possessive glare.

  He watched her with a predatory stare as she made all the polite noises necessary to make their guests leave. He was leaning against the wall leading to their basement chambers as Gemma conferred a few moments with her assistant, then with the housekeeper. Terry muttered the usual goodnights to Carl and Roger before he managed to pull her through the door and secure it so they were truly alone.

  She let out a deep breath, crossing her arms and biting her lip thoughtfully. “This is not good. Did you notice how many times Guillermo mentione
d the Portuguese coast? What’s going on there?”

  “Don’t give a shit at the moment.” He strode toward her as her mouth dropped open in protest.

  “Terry, this is impor—”

  He cut her off as he pulled her in for a possessive kiss, branding her mouth with his. He reached down and grabbed a handful of her backside, bringing her up hard against him as he spun them around. He guided her backward down the steps. She gave only one muffled protest before her nails were digging into his shoulders and ripping away the silk tie she’d forced him to wear.

  Terry lifted his head, grinning around his fangs. Political machinations always stirred her blood.

  “You were brilliant,” he said as he tugged at the buttons on her jacket. “Fucking brilliant as always, Gem.”

  “Of course I was. Mmm…” She kissed him again, nipping at his lips. Not enough to draw blood though. Oh no, they were quite careful about that, weren’t they? “Kincaid couldn’t have timed that knife better. You were about to explode.”

  Damn buttons. There were too many of them on her shirt. “If that bloody Spaniard had batted his fucking lashes at you one more time—”

  “I was playing with him, Terry.” She lost patience and ripped his shirt down the middle when they were half-way down the stairs. “Don’t you like to see me toy with my prey?” She reached down and cupped him in his trousers, stroking through the tailored wool as he groaned.

  “You can play with that any time you like, luv.”

  She gave a throaty chuckle and licked up the center of his chest. Damn her silk shirt. He took it by the collar and tore it away. Then he reached down to the slit at the back of her skirt and rid her of the bottom half, too.

  “I liked that suit.” She crossed her arms, pouting as she stood in nothing more than a set of frilly lingerie at the foot of the stairs.

  “So did the Spaniards. I’ll buy you another.”

  He picked her up as if she weighed nothing, taking her to his room at the far end of the basement where he threw her on the bed before he went back to secure the door. Turning around, he could see that Gemma had already stripped off the last of her lingerie. Terry flicked the tip of his fang and smiled. She always had been admirably efficient.

  “Now,” she purred, “where were we? Oh yes, we were talking about the Portuguese coast—and what is probably a smuggling problem—while you got rid of those pants.”

  Terry slid the belt from his waist as he slowly walked toward her. “You’re the one who picked out this suit. Don’t you like it?”

  “Not at the moment.” She leaned back in the pillows, stretching her arms over her head and arching her breasts up. He hissed and quickly rid himself of his pants, socks, and shoes before he crawled over her.

  He started at the back of her knee, trailing his tongue up and over the inside of her thigh as he whispered, “Smuggling, eh?”

  Gemma let out a slow breath. “It’s been a problem for years. But it’s gotten worse in the last six months or so, from what I’ve been able to find out.”

  He bent down, flicking his tongue for a quick taste before he continued up the crease of her thigh, circling her navel as he murmured, “Then why hasn’t she come to us before? Leonor knows we have shared interest along that coast.”

  She grasped his head as he bent to lick first one breast, then the other. “No woman wants to appear weak. Certainly, not to her allies or those under her aegis.”

  Terry reached down, positioning himself at her center as he kissed her and drove in with one hard stroke. “Is that so?” He held still for a moment, until the haze cleared from her eyes and she wrapped her legs around his waist.

  “Yes,” she moaned. “That’s so.”

  He began a slow, steady rhythm, a maddening one he knew would drive her out of her mind. Whatever problems his heart faced, in his bed, Terry had always known how to master her. He was an ardent pupil of Gemma’s pleasure, an expert at reading her body, even if he couldn’t read her mind. He locked his eyes with hers as she tried to push him to move faster.

  Terry smothered a smile. It was a night for scheming, and he had plans of his own.

  “Gemma, luv?”

  “Yes!” She clutched at his neck, arching closer as he lifted the small of her back to change the angle.

  “It seems as if our lives are about to get more complicated.”

  “I… agree. There, right there.”

  “Is that so?” He slowed and bent down to kiss along her collarbone as she gave a tortured moan. “It seems like it might be best to get a few things taken care of then. Before things get… distracting.” He circled his hips in a practiced motion he knew she loved. Particularly when he was slow.

  “Take care of… things. Yes. Good idea.” Her tension was building again; he could feel it in every nerve as she clutched him closer.

  Terry let his mind drift to the pure pleasure of their joining. The one place they had always made sense. Maybe it wasn’t clear to her, but Terry knew with every drop of his immortal blood. Gemma Melcombe was the love of his life, the only woman he had ever wanted with this kind of fierce desire. And he didn’t just love her, he needed her. More, he needed her to love him back. He wanted it with the same burning ambition that had caused him to seize power when others hesitated.

  And Terrance Ramsay got what he wanted.

  “Gemma,” he groaned, forcing himself to slow again.

  “What?” She ground her hips into his and dug angry fingers into his biceps.

  He pressed his body down until they lay, skin to skin. His hands framed her face and he stared into her eyes as he thrust slowly. They moved in sync, and the water in the room drew to his skin. His amnis caressed hers, twining around her limbs.

  “Marry me, Gemma.”

  “Yes,” she said. “I’ve already said yes.”

  He could see tears in the corners of her eyes, the pleasure held at bay for too many torturous minutes.

  “Next week?”

  She blinked rapidly. “What?”

  He ground into her and his hand tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck. She cried out in surprise as he captured her lips again, swallowing the groan that wanted to escape his lips. “Marry me next week. I’m tired of waiting.” And so are you, my love.

  “Next week?” He could see her trying to object, so he pushed up and drove into her with another hard stoke. Her back arched in pleasure as she cried out.

  “Yes. Next week.” Sweet lord, he was about to explode. He clenched his jaw, keeping his eyes locked on her face. There it was. The hitch in her throat. The quiet gasping breath. He could hear the rush of the blood in her veins. “Yes, Gemma?”

  “Yes.” She let out a harsh breath as the tension drove her to the edge.

  “Yes?” He wasn’t quite sure what he was asking at that point, but a ‘yes’ from Gemma in his bed was never a bad thing.

  Her eyes rolled back. “Yes!”

  “Oh yes.” His hips thrust one more time as he felt her climax with a spectacular scream. It shattered the last of his control, and he let himself come with a shout, closing his eyes and letting the amnis spark around their bodies. He slowed, then bent down to whisper a kiss across her mouth. It was slack with pleasure as he rolled to the side and curled his body around hers, trailing his lips along her shoulders, which were damp with water from his power. Finally, hidden from her keen eyes, he let himself grin.

  Gotcha.

  Chapter Two

  “Gemma, the plans for the new shelter need approval from the architectural firm.”

  She nodded at her assistant, still paging through the proposal from the charity in Birmingham that was petitioning for funds. “Put them on my desk, Mina. Then call Carl. He had some questions about security matters for the… wedding.”

  “Of course.” She pretended not to notice the satisfied smile on Wilhelmina’s face. She’d employed the woman for almost thirty years and had utter and complete faith in her professionally. She was also probably the closest
thing that Gemma had to a friend. Her sisters, Deirdre and Isabel—as close as they were—did not count. “Have you finished your shopping? How about your dress?”

  “The designer brought the finalized design to the house the other night. The fitting went well.” At least she assumed that it did. The designer had cooed over the cut and drape of the satin, not complaining once about the rush of the order. Gemma had not even looked into the mirror. She hired the designer she normally used for her professional wardrobe. As a rule, he did not coo. Like others she employed regularly, she appreciated his professionalism and had come to trust him. If he said she looked stunning, she did.

  “Any last minute details I can help with before the weekend? The officiant? Has that been sorted out?”

  “Terry is taking care of it. He has some human acquaintance who can take care of the legal matters.”

  “Ah. He must have been planning this for some time, then.”

  “Mina, you really ought to try to keep the smug tone from your voice. It’s distracting.”

  “I’ll try, dear, but it’s hard when you’ve been proven right.”

  Gemma tried not to roll her eyes. It was an annoying habit she endevored to avoid. Her assistant had told her only months before that her long-time fiancee had seemed… restless. Gemma thought he’d probably try to have an affair, which disappointed her on a level she didn’t want to examine too closely. After all, she liked Terry. Maiming him and leaving London were hardly options she relished.

  Wilhelmina, on the other hand, suggested that the foolish vampire had truly wanted to wed her. Ridiculous.

  And apparently correct.

  “So, you never did tell me how he managed to convince you down the aisle.”

  And I never will. “We had a conversation. He expressed his wishes. I expressed mine. We came to an agreement.” And a rather fabulous climax.

  Gemma tried not to curl her lip. She was still irritated with him. She’d been angry at first, so angry she didn’t even linger in his rooms once the orgasmic haze had worn off. She hadn’t yelled, either. She didn’t need to. Terry knew how furious she was. They never slept together during the day, but she usually indulged in a brief respite of chatting and a second go, if things between them were pleasant. That night, she’d stormed out of his bedroom and hadn’t touched him since.