She couldn’t. Touching Terry was her weakness. It always had been.
“Well, everyone I speak to is excited about it. If nothing else, it’ll be a fantastic party.”
“It certainly will be.” Gemma flipped through the estimate from the florist. By God, this wedding was going to cost a fortune, but they couldn’t avoid it. In their position, they had to make a statement, and the union of one of the oldest clans in Britain with the young vampire leader of London was the event of the decade. Planning events had never been a problem for Gemma, but dealing with the particular needs of some of Britain’s most… unusual citizens would have given her a headache if it was physically possible.
“Who knew it was so difficult to find lightly scented flowers this time of year?” The florist was shipping most of their stock in from hothouses in the Netherlands. That was only one of the special accommodations Gemma had to make. Delicately spiced food for sensitive taste buds. A string ensemble would take care of the task to not offend any preternaturally acute hearing. The aforementioned flowers…
All in less than a week. Bloody irritating water vampire.
She clipped through two more piles of messages, one having to do solely with the wedding, the other with the myriad business interests, charitable foundations, and family obligations that Gemma handled. It was less since Carwyn and Deirdre were splitting the load, but it still seemed like one of their clan or their extensive progeny was always in need of something. At the bottom of the family pile, there was a note written in a distinctive gaudy red ink.
‘Can’t wait for Friday night, luv.’ —T
Gemma couldn’t quite stifle the small snarl that erupted.
Daniel propped his hand on his chin, looking at her indulgently. “I just don’t understand why you’re so irritated, Gem. You’d agreed to marry the man anyway. You’ve been engaged for ten years now.”
“Exactly.” She sipped her pint and relaxed into the quiet corner booth at the pub where Daniel had dragged her. She was wearing denim pants and a snug t-shirt. Her regular heels had been replaced with a pair of casual boots. Only for Daniel. “There was nothing wrong with our relationship, in my opinion. Why on earth he had to go and complicate that by actually getting married is beyond me.”
Daniel threw his head back and laughed. “You’re such a control freak, Gemma.”
“And that’s why I’ve remained alive for as long as I have.”
It was something she worried about with her brother. He had the same joyous disposition as their sire, but little of the wisdom or caution. Daniel was reckless.
Daniel winked. “Besides, isn’t it time you married and settled down, old girl?”
“You’re just asking for a beating. And what makes you think I haven’t already?” She took a longer drink of the dark ale.
“What, married?” Daniel blinked in surprise. “You were married?”
Gemma shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”
“Well?” Daniel leaned closer and grinned. “What happened? You kill him when you got tired of him?”
She couldn’t stop the instant rush of pain. Heartache. Regret. Even after so many hundreds of years. Daniel must have seen something in her eyes, because he pulled her a bit closer. “Gemma?”
“I don’t like talking about it,” she said.
“Please tell me. I can tell it bothers you, and knowing you, you’ve kept it to yourself. Does Father know?”
She gave a stiff nod. “Father and Ioan. They knew. It… it was a long time ago.”
“Well?”
A laugh roared from the bar as a group of men heard the punchline of a joke. Laughter. It seemed like William had always laughed when he spoke her name. At least he had at first. “He was human. Didn’t want to turn. We married anyway. We were married for fifteen years.”
“He died?”
“Yes. There was an accident. We were out riding at night. I’d asked him to come. He fell off his horse. He was a good rider, but at night—“ She broke off. “There was no one else there. His neck was broken, and I couldn’t… I couldn’t let him go.”
Her brother let out a low breath, knowing exactly what had happened. The moment Gemma had saved William’s life and turned her lover, the unique blood magic that tied them as sire and child had ravaged their feelings as husband and wife. Gemma would never forget it. She was weeping bloody tears when her husband had woken that first night. Ioan had been there, trying to comfort her, but nothing could. Everything about the man she had loved—had adored—had been utterly destroyed. William was still himself, but he could not look at her without shame. He had met the morning sun within months.
“I don’t like talking about it,” she said in a low voice. “That is the only time I married. I didn’t need to follow the ridiculous customs of humans after that. I took whatever lovers I chose.”
“You loved him. Your husband.”
She cleared her throat. “Deeply. But I don’t love Terry, so that’s a relief.”
“Gem—”
“Young.” She turned and placed a hand on his cheek. “You are so young. Do you know how old I am, Daniel?”
“No. Younger than Ioan was.”
“And older than Deirdre. We’ll leave it at that. I do not fear solitude or the shifting tides of power. I take care of myself and those I am responsible for. My family, most of all. Marrying Terry is a good decision for me and our family.”
“You should not marry for that reason.” Poor Daniel looked as if he had tears in his eyes.
Gemma tried to comfort him. “I thought once there was someone I could love again, but he was not for me. I tried, Daniel. Terrance Ramsay is a wise choice.”
“Wise?” he scoffed. “What of love? Passion? Romance? A mate to spend eternity—”
“Marriage and mating are two very different things. You should know that by now.”
As often and as intense as their lovemaking was, Gemma had never offered her blood to Terry and he had never offered his to her. To offer and accept would bind them far more permanently than any trifling legal terms the humans set.
He sighed. “I just want you to be happy.”
“And I am.” She smiled. “I’m very pleased with Terry, even though he’s irritating me at the moment. And if, in a hundred years I feel differently, then we’ll go our separate ways. That’s the benefit of marrying someone for practical reasons, Daniel.”
“Isn’t marriage supposed to be for the rest of your life?”
Gemma almost snorted. “We’re not marrying in the church. This is a civil arrangement, that’s all.” Still, the thought of speaking vows—even civil ones—caused her stomach to clench. Then she pictured Terry saying them back and took a longer drink, ignoring the rush of blood that suddenly churned her veins.
She straightened the lace along the collar, stubbornly refusing to look into her reflection in the full-length mirror behind her.
“You look stunning, Gemma.” Deirdre stood behind her, smiling wistfully. “I’m happy for you.”
“Don’t, Deirdre. It’s not the same.”
“You care for him, I can tell.”
“Of course I do. He’s an excellent companion. Trustworthy. Smart—”
“Yes, trustworthy and smart were exactly what your eyes were saying last night at dinner. You looked like you wanted to tear him to pieces or have him on the Chippendale buffet. I couldn’t decide which.”
“Neither could I.” Did she say that out loud? She was distracted. She usually indulged in Terry’s very ardent attentions every other night or so, but since he’d wrangled the marriage promise out of her as he had, she’d been avoiding him. Idiotic, infuriating, stubborn, attractive, mouth-watering… why was she mad at him?
Gemma caught a glimpse of cream satin in the mirror. Wedding. Right.
Deirdre and Wilhelmina fussed with her simple dress. She hadn’t wanted a veil or bustle. She’d lived when both were necessities of society and she found the fashions irritating and borderline insu
lting. No one would walk her down the aisle. In fact, she and Terry were walking in together. Equals in every way. Partners.
It was a marriage of practicality. An alliance of shared interests. Nothing more. She had no reason to feel nerves.
His mouth at her breast, worshiping her body as she writhed in pleasure.
She batted back the stylist who was hovering over her hair.
His arms braced over her, moving in that hard, steady rhythm.
At the last minute, she decided she didn’t want to carry a bouquet. She left it dangling in Deirdre’s hands.
His eyes as they focused on her, darkening as the tension built. Closer. Closer…
Rising, Gemma went to the door and opened it. At the end of the hall, she saw him. Dashing and deadly at the same time, Terry was clad in a elegantly tailored jacket that encased his muscular frame, but did not hide it. He locked eyes on her with the focus of a predator. She would have no courtly lover. No deferential husband. Here was a man she would fight with and fight alongside for the rest—
For as long as she found him agreeable. That was all.
Terry walked toward her slowly in the lavish hotel suite. Their friends and family were gathered in the ballroom downstairs. “Gemma.”
“Terry.”
He never took his eyes off her as he held out his hand.
Why was Gemma so worried? This was a partnership of two like-minded individuals, nothing more. She took his hand, ignoring the slow melt of desire she felt as his touch reminded her: This was why she had to avoid him. It was also why it was so hard to keep away. She could lie to others with ease, but she couldn’t lie to herself. Terry was the finest, fiercest lover she’d ever had, and she wanted him with a desperate kind of desire that infuriated her. Even as they walked down the stairs, his thumb traced along the delicate vein at her wrist, causing her blood to pulse.
“I’ve been missing you, luv.”
“Lots to do with the wedding details.”
“Of course.”
He knew she was lying.
“Are Carwyn and Brigid here?” she asked.
“And Deirdre. Daniel, of course. Your brother from France. Max and Cathy. Even Tavish came.”
“Don’t tell me he’s wearing a tuxedo. That might give me nightmares.”
He gave her a low chuckle and winked as they turned the corner. She could do this. It was just a party. A friendly party where she would have to sign a few papers and that would be—
She halted when the doors open and she saw the man in vestments standing at the front of the room.
“Terry,” she hissed between a forced smile. “Who is that?”
He nodded diplomatically as he pulled her into the room crowded with friends and business associates. Political connections, allies, the powerful and the rich from all corners of Britain, mortal and immortal alike. “That, luv, is my good friend, Father Banner.”
“That is a priest, Terrance. A priest.” Her cheeks were sore from smiling.
“Well, of course it is, luv.” They reached the front of the room and Terry locked his intense blue eyes with hers. “I want to do this properly.”
Sad, really. She liked London. But Gemma was going to have to kill him.
Chapter Three
“I will never share your day-chamber again.”
“Is that a promise?” He cocked an eyebrow at her. She hated going back on her word, so if she was actually promising… Terry might have been screwed. Or not, as the case may be. “It was meant to be a pleasant surprise, luv.”
She clamped her mouth shut, but her blue eyes turned frosty in the balmy air. Though Gemma didn’t know where they were, they were actually headed to her favorite vacation house on the coast of Northern Spain. The air and water were growing warmer. Sadly, she’d decided to put on clothes.
She looked around. “I could always swim to shore.”
“Think you could get there by sunrise?”
She glared. “Maybe.”
“I’d hate to be wrong on that one. Know where we are?” He glanced up. “It is a clear night. How’re your navigation skills?”
His were excellent. He’d resisted learning to sail for years, preferring the fresh waters he’d been born near, but once he’d finally given in, Terry discovered a passion for the sea. This particular boat was his favorite. It was docked in a very private location. No one except Carl and Roger even knew he owned it. The Conquest was a 35 foot sailing vessel he could manage himself. Truthfully, he could steer any boat smaller than a freighter with his elemental ability, but it just took a bit longer than this swift little prize. Gemma had never stepped foot on it.
“How did you get me into that chamber?”
“With help.”
“Are we secure here?”
Ever the security conscious vampire, he’d known she would raise the question. The fact that she was just as fierce about his security was the part that gave him hope. “We are on a ship that only two beings know about. You didn’t even know about it prior to this evening, so that should tell you something. There is a single secured day chamber that can only be accessed by a trap door in the bottom of the hull.”
“I noticed.”
“So you did. We have enough supplies here for three months of independent living, should we choose it.”
Her breath caught. “You’re not going to keep me here for three months, are you?”
Of course not. “Maybe.”
“You can’t be serious! Who’s running things at home?”
“Roger and Mina, of course. Max and Cathy are staying for security, should anything come up.”
Gemma nodded. “That was a good choice. It’s a good-will gesture from us toward the MacGregors, and no one will cause problems with Cathy around. Roger can take care of the day-to-day. Mina has all the details for… yes, this might not be an utter disaster.”
“Never seen a woman so opposed to a vacation. You work too much, Gem.”
“And Max will take care of Daniel. Make sure he doesn’t cause any problems. He could smooth things over with anyone who’s angry…”
He finally saw her start to relax. She trusted her family more than she did him. It irked him, even though he knew it shouldn’t.
After all, one of the reasons Terry had pursued Gemma was because of her family, and not for the reasons she suspected. Yes, Carwyn’s clan was hugely influential and powerful, but they also reminded Terry of his own human family. It was that dependability and trust he’d hungered for in their connection at first. Now, of course, it was much more.
But he wished she trusted him more. In hindsight, that might be one drawback to the whole kidnapping scheme. Still, one did what was necessary to achieve the desired results. Gemma was here, on his favorite boat, and he was going to spend the next week seducing her into falling in love with him.
Not a bad plan, really. He just hoped it worked.
Gemma was staring over the water. “Who had access to me while I was in day rest, Terry?”
His head fell back in frustration. “No one I don’t trust implicitly.”
“Who?”
He snapped down the book he’d been reading. “Why? So you can kill them?”
“Maybe.”
He shook his head and picked up the biography again. “No.”
“I knew I should have never stayed with you yesterday. Serves me right for being sentimental. I won’t make that mistake again.”
It set his teeth on edge, but he swallowed his anger. “There’s only one secure day-chamber on this vessel, so you’ll have to share unless you want to spend the day at the bottom of the ocean, Gemma.”
She sipped the blood-wine he’d stored in the galley. “I still can’t believe you kidnapped me.”
Time to change the subject. “How’s that batch?”
She gave a noncommittal shrug and rose to pace the deck. “Better, but I still think Rene could do more with the flavor of the port. The blood… actually tastes quite good. Very little of the no
rmal staleness.”
Blood wine was their newest venture, and one that Terry hoped to have ready for export within the year. Vampires had experimented with preserving blood in alcohol for hundreds of years with mixed results, most of them bad. Wine, possibly for color reasons, was the most popular, but tended to leave the blood stale. Gemma had hired a brandy distiller from France two years before with the idea that a distilled liquor would have better results. Brandy hadn’t worked as well as she’d hoped, but port seemed to have real possibilities. The fortified wine’s sweet flavor masked the staleness of the blood and the higher alcohol content had kept some batches preserved for almost six months in a traditional wine cellar. If they produced it successfully, they would become some of the richest vampires in the world.
“Give me a taste?” He reached out a hand, aching to have her closer, even if she was just sharing a drink.
She wandered over, the white shift she’d put on fluttering in the night wind. He swallowed hard. She held the glass out, and Terry snatched it from her fingers before he pulled her down to his lap. She sat with a huff, but he nudged her chin up, pressing a soft kiss to the spot on her neck he knew she loved. Then he lifted the glass to her lips.
“Drink.”
She did. He pulled the glass away before he ran his tongue along the seam of her lips, tasting the heady sweetness before he captured her mouth. He pulled back, taking a drink himself so his mouth was stained with the rich taste of the blood and wine. Gemma followed the scent, and he saw her fangs descend. She hungered. For him. For blood. He’d give her a taste, but it wasn’t time to slake her thirst just yet.
“Gemma?” His hand ran to the nape of her neck, tugging on the damp hair until he’d taken her lips again.
“Yes?”