“I’m fine.” She snatched the towel from his hands and twisted away. “You just surprised me.”

“Why are you scared of water?”

He should have been expecting the punch, but it knocked him back into the luxurious pillows in the corner of the room.

“I’m not afraid of water. It can’t hurt me.”

“I know that.”

She sniffed and pressed the towel to her face. “You surprised me. That’s all. Well done.”

Not well done at all, in his opinion, but he didn’t press the point. If Gemma didn’t want to admit the weakness to him, it was her business.

Or was it? He was her husband. Her partner. Still, he was reluctant to shatter whatever had bloomed between them at dinner. For a few minutes, they’d been relaxed. Playful. Neither trying to best the other. It hadn’t been a battle of wits or bodies, but a delicate kind of dance they were both enjoying.

Then he had to fuck it up.

She’d never been strictly comfortable around water. She was an earth vampire, obviously, so it wasn’t her element, but it couldn’t kill her. Had she drowned in her human life? When Gemma was human, swimming wasn’t something women usually learned. He knew she was from inland. Terry had grown up along a river and had been at home in the water for as long as he could remember.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said. “If you like, I’ll find shelter somewhere else. The bedroom is yours.”

Her shoulders relaxed a little. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.”

“You don’t have to sleep in the water, Terry.”

He tried to lighten the mood. “Do I get points for offering?”

A glint came back to her eyes. “No.”

“Why not?” He rose and walked to her, flicking on the small heater to banish the chill from the damp air. He grabbed another towel from a cupboard and knelt down, looking up as he ran the soft cotton over her legs.

“Because…” Her eyes softened as she watched him.

Over her knees. Up her thighs. The towel draped over his hands as he slowly stood, running his fingers over her damp skin. Her hips and belly.

“Because why?”

He didn’t even remember what they’d been talking about. Lord, he wanted her. He was hard as a rock and aching to be in her, but Terry held himself back. He was more interested in banishing the tension from her shoulders, the guarded expression from her eyes. He slowly moved the towel up her body until he was standing in front of her.

“Because…”

“Will you stay with me today, Gemma?”

“Promise not to kidnap me again?”

He smiled and pressed the length of her hair between his hands to dry it. “Promise.” He draped the towel over her shoulders and rubbed his hands over her arms.

“Then I’ll stay. For now.”

Stay forever. He bent down and kissed her, his desire tightly leashed as he tortured her with soft lips and gentle hands. He felt her try to pull them back into more aggressive territory as she walked him to the bed, but Terry would not be deterred. He continued to meet her demanding lips with gentleness. It was too easy, he realized. Too easy to grab for the flash and the explosion when he wanted the low, slow burn of desire between them. Terry wanted more.

He wanted more of Gemma, not the body she offered, but the heart she guarded.

Terry wanted it, and he would have it.

Or, she might kill him when she found out he had no intention of ever letting her leave him. That was a definite possibility, too.

Chapter Four

London, 1885

Gemma was late for the party. She hated being late. Ironically, that night she was purposefully late. It wouldn’t do to arrive at Juliette’s early. After all, she hadn’t been seen in London immortal society for over fifteen years. An entrance was called for.

As the coach rolled up to the glittering house outside of the city, Gemma wondered again at the multiple invitations to the high society party. Francis Winthrop had asked her to accompany him. She’d debated for a few moments, but considering she didn’t want her first appearance back in London to be in the retinue of the current vampire lord, Gemma declined. Their hostess for the evening, an old friend, had already invited her. She would see Francis there. Maybe she’d be able to ascertain why, exactly, he wanted Gemma at his side.

The door to the carriage opened. “Ms. Melcombe. Welcome.”

“Thank you.” She accepted the gracious hand down, thankful for the more understated bustle she’d brought from Paris. The English fashions were ridiculously unwieldy.

“If you would come this way, Ms. Melcombe.” The human held out a hand toward the glittering entrance. He smelled absolutely mouth-watering.

Julie, Julie, what are you feeding the help these days? A small smile flirted around her mouth. And can I borrow this one for the evening?

She saw the hostess almost immediately upon entering the house. “Mrs. Daubry!” She walked toward Juliette. “How are you?”

Her old friend held out a hand, then greeted her with a kiss on both cheeks, much to Gemma’s pleasure. “You smell like Paris. I’m horribly jealous.” Her friend’s accent may have faded in her seventy years in England, but every now and then, Juliette Daubry let it out to play.

“It’s the perfume, my dear. I have a wonderful new man that makes it for me. Very keen nose for a human.”

Juliette sent a careless wave toward her husband, a minor earl that someone had turned around forty years before, probably for his fortune. Luckily, the Englishman had enough sense to remain alive long enough to marry her friend, who was older and more savvy about vampire politics. They seemed happy enough, in Gemma’s opinion. A good match for them both, though one that Gemma did not envy in the least.