“Lord, you’re a good fighter,” he grunted. “Knew I married you for a reason.”

“Take me back!” she yelled, wrenching one arm around to pin his neck to the deck.

“No.” His voice was hoarse, but it wasn’t as if he was really hurting for air. Still, it was uncomfortable.

“I hate you!”

“You said that already.”

“First—” She dug her nails in his neck, drawing blood. “—you trick me into that sham of a wedding. Then, you kidnap me and bring me out here to the middle of nowhere—”

“Enough!” He bared his teeth, finally losing patience with her. Terry had been right. On land, she was far, far more powerful than he was. He liked it. Liked being the partner of a woman who others feared. It had always been part of her appeal to him. But on the water? They were equals. That was part of the plan. He rolled her over and pinned her to the teak deck, grabbing her hands and pushing them up over her head as his thighs locked around her waist. They were both naked, the unmistakably erotic position did little to quell his desire, but what she’d said…

“…that sham of a wedding…”

He leaned down and hissed in her ear, “Say what you want, Gemma. Curse me and punch me if you will. I know you’re spitting mad, and that’s fine. But do not lie. There was nothing about our wedding that was a sham.”

She turned her head to meet his eyes. “Bullshit. You promised to lo—”

Terry leaned down and stopped her mouth with a furious kiss. Then he pulled back a fraction of an inch and whispered, “Nothing was a sham.”

Gemma looked up at him in frank shock, no doubt remembering the vows he’d spoken. Vows he spoke before God and their clans. She knew, better than anyone else, that Terry didn’t make promises he didn’t keep. He slid sensuously down her body and kissed her open mouth again, flicking her tongue with his own, teasing the inside of her mouth as his amnis reached out to follow the drops of water that still covered her skin. Feeling the rush of energy, she gave a completely involuntary moan of pleasure.

His thighs pressed around hers, but his hands loosened their grip on her wrists. His fingers dove into the wet strands of her hair, twisting them as he pulled her closer. And the desire that bound them—the desire she fought and bucked against—pulled them both closer. Her amnis, the electrical current that hummed under her skin and animated her immortal life, reached toward his, wrapping around him and causing his skin to throb in response.

Her power utterly floored him.

With a surge, she rolled Terry over so she was the one pinning him down. She pulled her lips from his and looked on in triumph, but Terry kept his expression carefully blank. She couldn’t know. Couldn’t. He’d lose any advantage he ever had. If Gemma knew how madly he was in love with her, she could destroy him.

She threw her head back and the wet hair slapped against her skin. “Concede?”

“No.”

She didn’t look surprised, only annoyed.

He stretched his arms up again and knit his fingers together behind his head, flexing the muscles in his arms and chest. Gemma looked down again.

“Forget what you were sitting on, luv?”

“Cocky.”

“You’d know.” He thrust his hips up and arched an eyebrow at her. “Might as well put it to good use, wife. We’ll be here until I say we can leave.”

Chapter One

Two weeks earlier…

The night sped past, shocks of light slashing through the backseat of the black sedan Terry’s driver maneuvered through the twisting streets of the city. He’d lived in London for over two hundred years, but he still loved it. He loved the pulse and life of it. The dirty corners and the ragged edges where the street collided with the more refined elegance of what London had become. The city reeked of money some nights, the same way that it had stunk of garbage and coal one hundred years before.

Terry liked money. Money and power. Money, power, and the occasional bright spot of beauty that reminded him it was all worth it. Was he a good man? He lifted a finger to tap on the glass, ticking a staccato rhythm against the lights as they drove. A smile curled the corner of his mouth.

Good was highly subjective.

“The Spanish delegation will be here tomorrow evening, Mr. Ramsay.” The sound of his human secretary’s voice cut through his ruminations.

“How many?”

“Five. One of Leonor’s lieutenants and four others.”

“No introduction?”

“None that they’ve requested.”

“Hmm.” So it would be someone Terry had met before. Five vampires from Spain. Who would his old associate send? Raul? Melinda, maybe? It all depended on what she wanted and how hard she was willing to tug on their tenuous connection. A connection that had mostly been formed by Gemma’s machinations, if the truth were told.

“I’ve called the office and they’ve already arranged a conference room with some donors available. We’ll have a selection of cocktails before the meeting, as well as some—”

“I want them at the house, Carl.”

His secretary looked confused for a moment. “Excuse me? The house?”

“And call Wilhelmina. Clear it with her, but I want Gemma there. Have her rearrange her schedule if it doesn’t fit.” The Spaniards wouldn’t be expecting the house in Mayfair, and he wanted his fiancé’s read on the situation. She knew Leonor better than Terry did.