Waterlocked: An Elemental World Novella (3 page)

“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.

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.”