Waterlocked: An Elemental World Novella (4 page)

“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 insulting. 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 normal 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?”

“I want…”

Her heart was thumping steadily and it made him grin. “What?” she panted.

Terry pulled back and took a deep breath. “Dinner. You hungry?”

She blinked. “I… what?”

He set her on her feet and gave her bum an affectionate pat. “I’ll just make something light. You relax, luv. Enjoy the wine. That batch really is better. Might have to give the Frenchman a raise.” Then Terry left her stunned and slipped into the galley to poach the fish he’d caught earlier. This was going better than he’d expected.

“
Bon appetit
.”

He set the dish down in front of her. It was a light meal consisting of bluefish poached in white wine with some fruit on the side. As a younger vampire, Terry still enjoyed food more than Gemma did, but she did need a bit in her stomach to remain comfortable. Occasionally, he tried to imagine her as human, but he just couldn’t. She was the embodiment of immortal beauty to him. Everything about her screamed ferocious blood-sucking predator. No wonder he was in love.

“Is it all right, Gem?”

She frowned a little, looking at the table. “It’s fine. Thank you, Terry.”

Why’d she gone all quiet and soft? That wasn’t like her at all. “Gobsmacked again, eh? Sorry. I know you don’t like being surprised by my many talents. I’ll try to be more considerate in the future.”

And just like that, her eyes sparked. “I was trying to think of a gentle way to tell you that your French accent sounds like a nineteenth century whore, but there just isn’t one, is there?”

Terry grinned. There she was. “That might tell you where I learned it, luv.”

“I’d say, ‘Do tell.’ But I’d really rather you didn’t.”

“I speak it. That’s all that’s important.
Você não acha?
”

He’d forced a smile out of her. “Your Portuguese is rather nice, though.”

“That’s because I like the language more.”

She shook her head and little and tasted the fish. “It’s not always about indulging your own wishes, Terry. France is an important trading partner and if we’re going to continue to cultivate Jean Desmarais as an ally—”

“It’s all about indulging myself
on my honeymoon
. How’s the fish? Caught it earlier. Thought it might go well with those figs and the new wine.”

“Excellent.” She set her fork down and just looked at him.

“What?”

“You never cook at home.”

“We employ a cook at home. And I’m very busy.” He squirmed a little under her unwavering gaze. “So?”

“You’re a very good cook.”

“I have to be. Someday, I might not be able to afford domestic help, and I have a very demanding wife.”

“That’s so likely,
husband
.”

Mercy, he wanted to take her on the table right then. He loved calling her his wife. Loved it almost as much as the little curl her lip made when she heard the word. He was such a contrary ass sometimes.

She was still examining him. “We do have an excellent cook at home.”

“We do.”