“I am not yelling,” he said in a shout.
“What do you expect me to do? You say something beyond sweet to me—the nicest thing a man has ever said to me—and then you yell at me. Of course I am going to cry.”
He hesitated for a second as if trying to make up his mind, then he stepped forward, grabbed ahold of her arms and pulled her against him.
“I’m sorry, chéri. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just…wait, you said the sweetest thing?”
She looked up at him, and she knew she was a mess. Her face was soaking wet from crying, and she was always an ugly crier.
“Yeah.”
“I told you the other day that I loved you.”
He didn’t understand that saying the words meant little to her. She had heard them so many times that she didn’t trust them. Three words didn’t hold water to what he thought of her.
“No, it’s that you said I deserved more. I don’t think I have ever met a man who thought that, and I know they never said it.”
He studied her, his gaze roaming over his face, then he laughed and pulled her back against him. “Well, darlin’, I would say that you’ve been hanging out with the wrong men.”
She chuckled.
“And I take back the coward remark.”
“No, it was true.” He opened his mouth to argue but she shook her head. “I was afraid. I love you so much, Mal, I just don’t think I could bear it if you turned out like a lot of the men I had dated, and hell, the one I married. None of them meant what you mean to me and if I drove you to it, I would have broken.”
“You didn’t drive anyone to it. They were weak men who couldn’t handle having a strong woman love them. I have no problem with that.” He pulled her back and studied her face. “You will marry me.”
He didn’t ask, and how like him to do just that. “On one condition.”
“What?”
“That we have a real wedding. I want it to be real this time. No running off to Vegas. No quickie ceremony. I want our families there as we say our vows.”
He seemed to let out a breath. “Agreed.” Then he kissed her, sweet with just a drop of heat in it.
“Where do you want to get married?”
“I don’t care. Anywhere as long as we have friends there for the ceremony, and I want my dad to give me away this time.”
“Yeah. I like that.” Then his smile dimmed. “You sure you want to be a military wife? I mean, I know losing Kyle was bad even with your problems. Moving around, dealing with the crap that comes with it…I know it isn’t easy.”
“I’m not marrying the military, I’m marrying you. I know the drill, the issues we are going to deal with. And I know better than you that your time in the field is going to dwindle. They don’t tap trained Seals to be over at the Pentagon for no reason. As long as we do it together, I can do it.”
One side of his mouth kicked up. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, although, I would like a real proposal, a ring, and I think our audience standing outside the door is irritated with waiting.”
He laughed, then surprised her by dropping to one knee. The breath clogged in her throat as she stared down at him. He pulled a box out of his pocket, opened it, and retrieved a ring. His smile faded, and he took one of her hands.
“I know you don’t like convention all the time, but…you deserve romance. All the hearts and flowers, and I want to spend the rest of my life giving them to you.”
Tears welled up in her eyes again. “Oh, Malachai.”
“I’m taking that as a yes,” he said, slipping the ring on her finger. Then he rose and kissed her, his tongue darting out to trace the seam of her lips. She opened her mouth and let him steal inside. By the time he pulled back, her heart was beating out of control and they were both breathing heavily.
She held out her hand and looked at the ring. It was a solid white gold band with a solitaire diamond.
“It’s simple, but it was my grandmother’s ring.”
She looked up at him and smiled. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. I thought you would like it because you have a soft heart.”
“Oh, I do. I really do.” The fact that he understood that meant more to her than almost anything else. No man had ever realized that she had a romantic streak, which was funny because she was a florist. Until Mal. She slipped her hand around to the back of his head and pulled him down for a kiss.
They probably wouldn’t have stopped except for the knock at the door.
“We are getting kind of sick of standing out here,” Kade said through the door.
Mal chuckled as he let her go and moved to the door. Before he opened it, she laid a hand on his arm.
“I love you, Malachai Dupree.”
He stepped back and gave her a quick, hard kiss. “And I love you, Amanda Forrester.”
Her heart full, she waited for him to open the door so they could share the news with their friends and family—not to mention the rest of their lives.
Epilogue
Mal stepped out of the bathroom to see his bride looking out over the ocean view from their room.
His bride. His wife. He couldn’t get used to hearing the thought in his head. For the first time in years everything seemed…right. She was still in her dress. It was simple, tight on top then flowing over her hips. The ivory color brought out the gold in her skin tone and deepened the green of her eyes. No ruffles, no flounces, and not much decoration, but it was…classic, just like the lady.
“Are you going to stand there all night and stare at me?”
She hadn’t turned around, but he could hear the amusement in her voice. He walked forward and slipped his hand around her waist to pull her back against him.
“If I wanted to, I would.”
She chuckled and leaned back against him.
“You’re still okay with being married in Hawaii?” he asked. She had nixed the idea of New Orleans because she had spent her honeymoon there and she had said Texas was never home to her. When he suggested Hawaii, she had jumped at the chance, but he had worried she might have had second thoughts.
She laughed and turned around to look up at him with those green eyes. “No, I’m furious my fiancé wanted me to come to Oahu and marry. What woman wants to be surrounded by all this beauty? And to say that my parents were thrilled is putting it mildly. I didn’t know they had spent their honeymoon at the Hale Koa.”
“Well, if I had known that, I would have had the reception there instead of at Turtle Bay.”
“Naw, they loved it. I love it here. I thought I would miss the cold weather the last few weeks, but I really don’t. Actually, I am starting to love the way the air feels on my skin at night.”
Now was the time for truths. He had been avoiding the issue for as long as possible. “I’m kind of glad to hear that.”
“Hmm? Why?”
“I’ve been offered a position here at Pearl Harbor. I know it sucks and that you and Addy are starting to just explode with bookings.” When she didn’t say anything, he started to panic. There was no expression on her face, and for once, he couldn’t really read her. “Never mind. I’ll turn it down.”
She gave him a small smile and shook her head. “You can’t turn it down.”
“I can and I will.”
She rolled her eyes. “No, you won’t. You will take the job. Addy and I already discussed this possibility. I knew it was going to happen, Mal.”
“Yeah?”
“I told you I knew that you were on the fast track. This happened sooner rather than later, and I hate leaving my best friend running the show, but we’ll work it out. I’ve already started to train someone to help her when I’m gone.”
He smiled. “You don’t mind?”
“Of course I do. I mind a lot. But…like my mother has told me before, it doesn’t bother me that much knowing I will have you. It isn’t about giving anything up. It’s about gaining a life. And I told you I knew this would happen.”
His heart expanded
with more joy than he thought possible. “I love you, Mrs. Dupree.”
“I love you, Lieutenant Commander Dupree.”
“I rather like being called Mr. Dupree. My career isn’t all I am.”
She gave him a knowing smile. “I wouldn’t have married you otherwise, Mal,” she whispered against his lips as she kissed him.
Coming this July from Melissa Schroeder Publishing:
Enter the world of By Blood, where an entire class of vampires operates within the glittering realm of the Victorian ton.
Desire by Blood
Melissa Schroeder
Prologue
Late in Queen Victoria’s Reign
“He was Made?” Malik asked.
Nicodemus Blackburn did not look at his friend, but nodded and continued to clean the blood from beneath his fingernails. The only sound in the dank room was the splashing of water.
“How old?”
"I would say less than two months. Definitely not completely transitioned."
Silence. When Malik didn't respond, Nico glanced at him. His friend’s face passive, his eyes cold. They had learned long ago Malik would be the whipping boy for every damned Made vampire.
"He was completely out of control. The woman..." Nico closed his eyes and swallowed back the fresh wave of nausea that threatened to bubble up. In five hundred years, he had never seen anything so brutal, so bestial. He had killed Mades before, but never happened upon one of their kills. He opened his eyes to find his friend with a knowing look on his face. "She did not die easily."
If possible, Malik's expression grew colder. "Meaning he raped her to death."
There was nothing to be said, for nothing would stop what was going to happen, what was already happening. Nico grabbed a linen cloth and started to dry his hands.
"We need to find out what the bloody hell is happening. This one had no connection to family. There has to be a reason for the Made vampires to be popping up all over the countryside"
Malik nodded. "I've heard more rumbling amongst the Borns. Not to mention the Carrier woman they found dead in London two nights ago. There might be trouble for my kind again."
Nico shrugged and retrieved another shirt. "I don't think you need to worry."
"Don't lie."
"You are always exempt from these witch hunts. You trace your roots back further than mine. Anyone who has made it through transition has no problem. They never lose control."
A cynical smile curved Malik's lips. "True. And so I shouldn't have to worry at all. But the youngest generation doesn't remember the Inquisition...they don't remember how many of us fought on your side. They will be out for blood."
Nico faced him. Irritation and worry gripped his stomach in a cold, hard fist. What Malik said was true. Before the Inquisition, the Borns regularly hunted for Mades, killing them before they gained control of their new powers. He could not defend what had happened in the past, only work to fix the present.
But, that would come later. Nico could still smell the corpse’s blood on his body. If he closed his eyes he could remember everything. The mutilation of the Carrier woman, the sickening feel of shoving a piece of wood into the vampire’s flesh. The word Suprema still echoed in his ears.
It was worse than it had been almost four hundred years ago. God, he did not want to do that ever again. But he would...he knew that down to his core. There was no way to avoid it. If he allowed someone else to lead the hunt, it would become a massacre of every Made vampire in England.
He opened his eyes and looked at his best friend. They had seen the worst mankind could throw at them and the worst. Nico feared they were about to see things neither of them were prepared for.
“The trail leads to London,” Malik said.
“Yes. My father agrees.”
“Your father is the only family leader with any intelligence.”
True, for he was the oldest of the four family patriarchs that comprised the vampire clans of England and Scotland.
“In father’s mind, he is the only one who matters. But, in this case he is correct. London would be easier…the maker could resort to the lower classes and it would not attract any attention.”
“Do you have any idea who it might be?”
Nico shook his head. “Not a clue. All I know is the sightings in the country have dwindled and those we have found all lead to London.”
“I hate London.”
Nico smiled at his friend’s irritation. Both of them hated London, the ton and all of their idiocy. But his father had asked him to go, and Nico could not refuse. "We go to London."
Malik studied him for a moment, and then nodded. "We go to London.”
Chapter One
He was avoiding her again.
Lady Cordelia Collingsworth searched through the milling crowd in the Smyth’s ballroom as irritation shot through her blood. This was the third night in a row he had lost her. The mysterious man was making it impossible to discover anything about him...or his shady businesses.
“Lady Cordelia.”
She grimaced before she could stop herself. Viscount Hurst. He had been dogging her steps at every event for the last fortnight. He always appeared at her side, a genial smile on his face, and pretty compliments. Drat the man. She smoothed her expression and turned to face the viscount.
Cordelia understood why he had been labeled “The Catch” by the ladies of the ton early this season. Just thirty years old, he sported a strong physique. Blonde hair and deep brown eyes had all the women sighing, or so she had been told. He was pleasant enough with that square jaw and all his proper manners, but there was something about him she did not like. Something that made her blood chill every time she came in contact with him. Even in the overwhelming heat of the ballroom, she could not seem to keep herself warm in Hurst’s presence.
He smiled down at her and she fought the shiver of dread that raced along her flesh.
“I hope you are enjoying yourself tonight.”
She forced her lips to curve into a welcoming smile as she offered her hand. He bent over it. Even with her skin protected by gloves, the top of her hand grew cold. Bile rose in her throat as she watched him. Most women—especially women decidedly on the shelf and with no dowry—would kill to be this close to him. The idea that she wanted to flee whenever she spotted him made no sense.
“I always enjoy the Smyth’s ball. It is very amusing.” She tugged on her hand, twisting it to free it from his grasp. “And you, my lord?”
“I thought to ask for your hand in the next dance.” The moment he said it, the first strains of a waltz filled the massive ballroom. A sick ball of dread filled her stomach. “I assume you are free?”
His smirk told Cordelia he knew she did not have one dance on her card. She rarely did. She was not on the marriage mart, far too old and poor to grab attention—except from the Viscount. Now she regretted not securing a dance partner for the first waltz.
“I--”
“Lady Cordelia.” A strong masculine voice filled the air around her and sent a rush of heat along her nerve endings. Even without turning she knew who stood behind her. The man she had been chasing for three days straight. The man she was positive ran illegal businesses in London. The subject of her now-due article.
Nicodemus Blackburn.
She turned to face him, her heart beating hard against her breast. As blood rushed out of her head, she felt a bit lightheaded. Where the viscount and his patrician features were attractive in a very English gentry way, Mr. Blackburn was dark and dangerous. If women sighed over the viscount, they fainted when Blackburn gave them his attention. Cordelia wanted to be the exception to that rule…but he was heady indeed.
“Yes, Mr. Blackburn?”
“I believe this is my dance.”
For a moment, she didn't respond. She couldn't. Her mind simply could not formulate a reply. Blackburn, who rarely danced and had been known for disdaining most of the ton, had just asked her to dance. No. He lied and said she had
promised him the dance.
One black eyebrow rose as she said nothing. The curving of his lips was enough to pull her out of her trance.
She offered him her hand and said to Hurst, “If you will excuse me, my lord.”
Hurst tossed Blackburn a nasty look before offering her a pleasant smile. “Of course. Perhaps the next waltz?”
She merely smiled but said nothing. Cordelia would make sure not to be in sight of the viscount. Blackburn led her out to the floor and pulled her closer, swinging her into the rhythm of the dance. She drew in a deep breath. The scent of bayrum filled her scenes. That lightheaded feeling returned.
“A bit of advice, my lady.”
She looked up at Blackburn trying to keep her wits about her. Everyone sought information on this man, especially her editor who had told her to dig into his character and find out just where he got his money. And he was here, like a ripe peach for the picking. She had a list of questions memorized. Unfortunately, she found herself staring into his mesmerizing eyes and could not gather her wits long enough to ask him anything.
It was Blackburn’s fault. His attractiveness did not come from a trained valet who knew how to dress his employer. He possessed the most remarkable gray-blue eyes and blacker than midnight hair—worn unfashionably long. He was put together well, solid. She could feel his muscles flex as he guided her through the waltz, maneuvering around couples with ease.
His attractiveness turned heads, but there was more to it than that. It was the strength she sensed beneath the surface of the polished veneer. Something about him, dangerous and male, seethed just beneath his polite façade. It almost made her giddy to be this close to him.
“Lady Cordelia?”
She blinked. “Yes? Oh, you had advice.”
“You should stay away from the Viscount.”
She nodded at his comment. No, not truly a comment. A command. She didn’t know Blackburn, knew nothing of his family—and he only could know of the gossip surrounding hers. But, for some unknown reason he felt the need to tell her what to do. Of all the cheek!
Surrender: A Little Harmless Military Romance Page 10
