And there it was. The sharp spike of desire flared just as it had every night they’d been on the ocean. And just as predictably, he left it there hanging. Terry was being… unusually standoffish. Distant, in a way. She hated it. All he had to was touch her and she was wild with desire for him, but he… It almost seemed as if he didn’t want her at times. He’d always been in control of their sexual relationship, which annoyed her to no end. They were equals in every way but that.

Suddenly angry, she turned away from him and stared out at the ocean again.

“Oy!” he barked. “What was that?”

“Nothing.” She made her voice as toneless as possible.

“Not nothing. Do you think I’m an idiot?”

“Sometimes,” she muttered under her breath. Then more loudly, “I’m fine. I told you, I’m bored.”

But maybe she could think of a way to distract him. Then she wouldn’t be bored. Gemma slowly began to unbutton the sheer white blouse she’d put on that night. She heard Terry shift behind her.

He gave a low hum. “Hmm.”

“Enjoying the view?” She slipped the shirt off her shoulders so she was in nothing but a small string bikini and a loose skirt.

“From the moment I met you.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Hard to appreciate much with those old dresses.”

“I have a good imagination.”

Gemma couldn’t hold back the laugh. “True.”

“I’m using it right now, as a matter of fact.”

“Is that so.” She slipped off the skirt. “Is that helping?”

“It’s certainly helping one thing along, luv.”

Rolling over, she stared at him, flicking her eyes up and down his body possessively. Hers. The thought was surprisingly satisfying. And annoying. Terry was her partner, it wouldn’t do to let her more base instincts take control. Emotions like that only led to broken hearts and tragedy.

“Come here,” she murmured. “I want you.”

A smile flirted at the corner of his mouth. “I’m yours.”

Her breath caught; her heart gave an excited thump. Still, she swallowed her emotion and slid the straps of her bathing suit off her shoulders. “Show me.”

Terry’s eyes left the ocean and met hers. Hungry. Predatory. It was the stare she loved. The stare that told her, no matter how he acted at times, he wanted her just as much as she wanted him. He did something with the wheel, then sauntered over the deck, turning up the music as he walked. A sultry Spanish voice filled the air.

She slipped the rest of her suit off and said, “Your turn.” He was wearing a loose button down shirt and a pair of linen pants. She could see him stiff and aching for her. “Take them off.”

“No.” He pulled her up and into his chest, wrapping one arm tight around her waist as the other grabbed her hand.

Gemma blinked. “What are you doing?”

“Dancing,” he said. “With my wife.”

“This isn’t the kind of dancing I had in mind.”

He swayed to the music, leading her as his thumb trailed down her spine. “We’ll get there.”

Why was he being like this? It set her fangs on edge, even as his hands seduced her body. Their legs brushed together and she felt the length of him pressed against her belly. The feel of him fully clothed against her bare skin was almost unbearably erotic. Every nerve in her body was on edge.

“Terry—”

“Shhhh,” he whispered as he bent down and kissed her. Slow, slow, slow. “No rush, luv.”

Rush! She wanted to scream. Release me from this maddening need, you ass!

She tried to reach for the button on his pants, but he caught her hands, holding them captive as he made love to her mouth. Gemma’s heart almost crashed out of her chest at the sudden realization. That’s what he was doing.

He was making love to her.

The bastard.

She tried to pull her mouth away, but… his tongue was curled against hers, first stroking sensuously, then flicking the edge of her lengthened fang. His hand had softened around her wrists and his thumb stroked the tender skin. His other hand slid down, caressing over the curve of her bottom until he’d reached her thigh, which he hitched up, spreading her legs so his hips rested between hers. Still, he made no move to undress and the throbbing at her center turned to an ache.

The music had switched to a slow tango that tugged at her memories. Terry held her leg up and pressed his hand to the small of her back, holding her there for one, agonizing moment. Then he let her leg down and spun her around, so her bare back was pressed into his chest and his arms wrapped around her waist.

“Do you remember?” he whispered in her ear. “That club in Santiago?”

“Yes.”

“You thought I wouldn’t learn to tango.” He began to sway with the music, running his hands down her bare arms as his stubbled chin scraped the nape of her neck.

“You told me once you weren’t a dancer.”

Grabbing her hand, he spun her around and forced her eyes to his as the music sped up. “Only with you.”

He grabbed her around the waist, kicking her leg out and nudging her into the steps they’d learned together. The deck was small, so he kept the movements close, pausing every now and then to kiss her breathless. And he still made no move to take his clothes off.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked when the song ended. He held her, watching as Gemma finally lost patience and ripped the shirt from his body. “Why are you being like this?”