A Hasty Wedding. Cara Colter

       “Come in for a sec,” Holly said. “I’m not quite ready. Can I get you a drink?”

      Blake stumbled in the door behind her. Where had she been hiding this figure? Those suits she wore to the office made her look like a box.

      And where had this face come from? Her glasses had hidden the curve of that cheekbone, the pert line of her nose; they had diminished the astonishing color and depth of her hazel eyes.

      She disappeared into a room at the back. Before she closed the door he caught a glimpse of a white lace bedspread that made his mouth go dry, it was so sensual and virginal at the same time.

      What was wrong with him? Because she’d been transformed from a guppy to a goldfish to an angelfish before he had time to adjust to it?

      She came out of the bedroom. She looked as tall and willowy as a model, but with legs as long and shapely as a chorus girl’s.

      His tongue was as tied as if he were a schoolboy.

      This was Holly.

      Meet the Coltons—

       a California dynasty with a legacy of privilege and power.

      Holly Lamb: Overnight Cinderella. She’s been in love with her gorgeous, serious-minded boss since the first day she started at the Hopechest Ranch, but Blake has never treated her with anything more than friendly respect. Until he invites her to a community-sponsored dance, and this virgin transforms herself into a sexy siren….

      Blake Fallon: A hero for Holly. His undemanding assistant has loyally stood by his side throughout countless crises, but can he prove his mettle—and love—when Holly most needs his support?

      Joe Colton: Town patriarch. Though he and his long-lost wife have opened their home to the townspeople during this crisis, this selfless man has more planned for the community that saw him through his long ordeal!

      A Hasty Wedding

      Cara Colter

      

www.millsandboon.co.uk

      About the Author

      CARA COLTER

      Readers often tell author Cara Colter the only thing they don’t like about her books is that they end too soon! Cara was delighted to be asked to write for THE COLTONS series, especially since the longer format allowed her the opportunity to satisfy reader requests and develop her characters more deeply. Holly and Blake, the hero and heroine of A Hasty Wedding, are a dynamic couple who have transformed the early challenges of their lives into their greatest strengths. This is a theme that is profoundly and personally meaningful to Cara.

      Cara lives in a remote area of British Columbia, and so the experience of working with other writers on THE COLTONS series was a delightful one for her. “I am absolutely in awe of the imagination, talent and intelligence of the women who wrote this series.”

      To Jeff Shatzko

       the son of my heart

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Epilogue

      One

       T he knife was sharp and cold, the tip of it pressed into the delicate flesh where her neck and her jawbone met.

      Her afternoon had slipped from mundane to perilous in a single tick of the second hand on the old grandfather clock that sat in the corner of her office, and Holly Lamb waited for her life to flash before her eyes.

      When it did not, she was amazed when her mind told her, with wry good humor that was totally inappropriate given the knife and the wild eyes of the young man who wielded it, that her life had really not been interesting enough first time around to take a repeat on it.

      Ordinary if not particularly happy childhood, college, secretarial career. No wild passions or great loves, no untamed moments of youthful hijinks, no great accomplishments in the arts or sciences.

      But even in light of that rather unexciting twenty-seven years, Holly could not persuade any regrets to come to mind. She did not suddenly wish she had accepted the invitation to bungee jump—naked—off the Prosperino Bridge. She had no regrets about not seeing the Sistine Chapel or climbing Mount Kilimanjaro.

      Of course, she might have liked to know about sex.

      Not “know” in a technical sense, as if movies and television hadn’t educated everyone quite enough in that area. Maybe know wasn’t quite the right word. Experience would be a better choice of words. While one part of her brain tried desperately to tell her that this was really not the time to be following this particular flow of thoughts, the other part continued blithely down the path, speculating what it would be like to feel so close to another human being, to have a man’s lips claim your lips, and his hands touch your body with tenderness and mastery…

      It came to her then, where this path was leading.

      What came to her in that moment with the blade pressed sharply, in uncomfortably close proximity to her jugular, was a startling clarity of thought.

      What came to her was a stunning secret that she had kept from herself for eight months. A secret that filled her with a stunning sense of warmth, again, totally inappropriate to the situation she was in.

      But she held the thought, and in it she found a great well of courage and calm inside of herself. She dipped into it.

      “Why don’t you put the knife down?” she suggested, amazed at what was in her voice. Not just calm. But a compassion born of her new self-knowledge.

      “You tell me where my sister is.” Her attacker’s voice was harsh, and his face was so close to hers she could feel the heat of his breath, smell his desperation.

      “I don’t even know who your sister is,” she said evenly. She looked into his eyes. He was just a child, despite a faint stubble that darkened his cheeks. He might have been sixteen. His eyes were dark and wild. With fear.

      Under different circumstances she might have thought he was a good-looking boy. She made herself look at him analytically. If she lived, she would have to tell the police.

      His hair was dark and curly, his eyes a dark, velvety brown that reminded her of a deer caught in headlights. He was taller than her, but lithe, and wiry. His jeans and jacket were torn and dirty.

      “You people,” he said furiously, “think because I’ve made a few mistakes, I don’t care about my sister? Don’t you understand nothin’?”

      Her clarity was holding, because she felt from her moment of studying him, she understood everything, and realized it did not have a thing to do with filling out a police report. Her voice came out gentle, filled with the most amazing tenderness.

      “I understand love.”

      The statement