Forced to the Altar, Book #3

• Marriages of Convenience
• Alpha Male
• Billionaire Romance
• Slow-burn Romance

Strike One: I was poor.
Strike Two: I came from the wrong side of the tracks.
Strike Three: My failed elopement with Annie Delacorte.

After that, the kind residents of Delacorte Island ran me out of town.

But now I’m back with all the money and power it takes to get what I want. And I want Annie. No matter what it takes, I’m going to have her.

Only one problem. The entire town is set on protecting her innocence and ensuring that the only way I’ll be allowed to bed her is to first wed her.

Forced to the Altar is a passionate, tender contemporary romance, guaranteed to make you a believer in happily-ever-after.

Note to Readers: Forced to the Altar is Book #3 in The Sinful Secrets Series, a contemporary romance series by USA Today bestselling author and eleven-time RITA© (Romance Writers of America) finalist, Day Leclaire. This story features a hot, take-charge alpha hero and the perfect woman for him, and a sizzling romance between soul mates

“He’s back!” she shouted the instant the door banged shut behind her. “It’s all over town.” Pelting down the hallway, she careered off the wall and darted into the kitchen. “And guess what that silly woman Rosie Hinkle says he wants?”

“How about my old motorcycle for starters?”

Annie skidded to a halt. Dammit all. She should have anticipated this and hadn’t. “Dang.”

Instead of Aunt Myrtle, Sam Beaumont lounged at the table. “Interesting that my bike ended up in your possession.” He tilted his chair onto two legs. “Next time I get thrown off the island, I’m going to have to insist they toss my Harley off with me.”

“I’ll be sure to make a note of it,” she replied with more composure than common sense.

His eyes glittered a warning, a warning she’d be smart to heed. “You do that.”

A dainty cup of hot tea steamed in front of him, a semitransparent wheel of lemon floating on top. The sight of this feminine delicacy coupled with such blatant power should have looked incongruous. Instead, it only served to emphasize the sheer masculinity of the man.
He was dressed all in black—a T-shirt that clung to every sculpted muscle, black jeans that outlined lean, strong thighs and black boots. The color mirrored his pitch-colored Beaumont eyes and hair. Thick curls tumbled in careless abandon across his brow, emphasizing those wicked, wicked eyes. A descendant of pirates, he was perfectly suited to the role, particularly with the skull-and-crossbones earring he’d worn for more years than she could recall. Lord help her, but she’d missed him.

Annie glanced around uneasily. “Where’s Aunt Myrtle?”
“Upstairs, talking on the phone. About me, if I’m not mistaken.” His chair banged down onto all four legs and he slowly climbed to his feet. “Whatever are you doing here, Miss Delacorte? This is Beaumont land in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Didn’t Aunt Myrtle mention?” Annie asked as casually as she could manage. “I live here now.”

His eyes narrowed as he approached. “Since when?”

She shrugged, wishing she could avoid his compelling gaze but unable to. “Not long after you left. She needed a live-in companion and I wanted to leave the nest. It was a perfect match.”

He took a moment to digest the information. “I’m surprised old man Delacorte let you anywhere near a living, breathing Beaumont.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she retorted, taking instant umbrage. “It wasn’t all Beaumonts Pops objected to.”

“Just me.” He allowed the dry observation to settle uncomfortably between them before asking, “You still haven’t answered my question. What are you doing here?”

He wasn’t going to let the subject drop, she realized apprehensively. That could be a problem. Once Sam latched onto something, he didn’t let go until physically forced to back off. Somehow she doubted there was anyone willing—or able—to force Sam to do anything he wasn’t already inclined to do. Not this time. “I told you. I live here now. As for Pops, I didn’t ask. I just did it.”

“Defied your father? You, Annie?” Sam shook his head in patent disbelief. “Hard to imagine, all things considered.”
Had she really been such a pushover? Perhaps that’s how most perceived her, as the good, dutiful daughter. Little did they know. “Well, believe it. Because it happened. I’m here and I’m staying put.”

To her relief, Sam lifted a shoulder in dismissal, apparently satisfied. “So what happened to your place?” he asked.

“Pansy and Bertie live there now. They married and moved in not long after Pops died.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “What about the beach house your grandmother gave you? I would have thought you’d want to live there instead of imposing on Myrtle.”

“I’m not imposing.” She drew a calming breath. “As for the beach house... I sold it.”

His frown deepened. For some reason, that tiny admission managed to annoy him more than anything else she’d said so far, though she couldn’t imagine why. “You sold it? Delacorte land? What the hell were you thinking?”

Annie planted her hands on her hips. “You know what? I don’t have to answer your questions. I don’t have to answer anybody’s questions. It was just a house and land and now it’s someone else’s house and land.”
“And after you sold out, you moved in with my aunt Myrtle?”

Sold out? Is that how he regarded her actions? She suppressed the momentary hurt. One of these days she’d have to toughen up and stop being so darned sensitive, particularly when it came to a certain dangerously attractive Beaumont. It was her land and she could do what she pleased. As for Aunt Myrtle...

“She’s not your aunt Myrtle. She belongs to everybody,” Annie clarified. “She’s only a distant connection of yours. Very distant.” It seemed vital to stress that point.

He didn’t take kindly to the reminder. “Aunt Myrtle raised me from the time I was ten. I think that gives me prior claim.”

“Maybe it would, if you hadn’t left.”

“Left?” His bark of laughter was downright chilling. “I didn’t leave. I was thrown off the island, remember?”
It took every ounce of self-restraint not to turn tail and run. But if she’d learned one thing about dealing with Sam, it was to stand her ground and come out swinging. He’d taught her that the day he’d crashed her sixth birthday party. “I haven’t forgotten a thing.”

“Neither have I.” He snagged her around the waist and hauled her up against him. “Well, Annie? Aren’t you going to welcome me home?”

She shoved at his shoulders, not that it did any good. He was as uncontrollable as a storm-driven breaker and twice as relentless. It left two options—to ride him out or to be swept along. “Aside from Aunt Myrtle, I’m probably the only one who will,” she informed him tartly.

“If that’s a welcome, it’s a mite lacking. I know you can do better.”

He didn’t wait for her to come up with any brilliant, let alone safe ideas, like a handshake or impersonal hug. Instead, he took what he wanted. And what he wanted was a kiss that was the most passionate she’d ever experienced in all of her twenty-five years.

How could she have forgotten what his lips felt like? How they tasted? How with one hungry touch he overwhelmed every sense, particularly her common sense? At eighteen, she hadn’t stood a chance against his raw masculinity. She’d been shaken and confused by the deep well of desire he’d tapped with such ease, the unbearable hankering he’d stirred, yet never quite satisfied.

Now, she knew precisely what those feelings were. And where they’d lead. She also discovered something she’d been too innocent to realize before. It wasn’t one-sided. His arousal ran every bit as deep and strong as her own. He was just better at hiding it. Better yet at hiding what drove his actions. While she found him impossible to resist, still cared for him on an emotional plane as well as a physical one, he remained unreadable. He was as closed to her today as he’d been all those years ago.

Eventually, she’d have to confront him, find out what he really wanted from her. But right now she didn’t care. His mouth fitted so deliciously over hers, the taste as intoxicating as wild berries, sun ripened to juicy perfection. He cupped her face, his thumbs massaging the tense muscles of her jaw. She relaxed, no doubt as he’d intended, her lips parting to allow him entry.
Dear heaven, but he was good at this. Gentle yet firm, a fierce passion bridled by unmistakable tenderness. Dusty memories were replaced with bittersweet reality, half-forgotten dreams resurrected with each thrust and nip, reminding her with heartbreaking deliberation of all she’d given up when she drove him away.

She could lose herself in this man. Lose her sanity, her self-restraint and her reputation as a “good” girl. She’d wanted to taint her image a little. No doubt Sam would be happy to oblige. Not that she’d allow that to happen.
There was too much at stake, too many people who’d be hurt if she gave in to the one thing she craved most in all the world. Fighting for strength, she wriggled from his arms. To her surprise, not to mention a wee bit of disappointment, he let her go without a struggle.