Terms Of A Texas Marriage. Lauren Canan

      

       Shea sat on the edge of the bed as reality came slamming back.

      Willing her pulse to steady, she took a deep breath in a desperate attempt to clear her head. Still giddy and a bit light-headed, her hand trembled as she ran her fingers through her hair. It had been close. Too close. His touch left her feeling badly in need of something more.

      He hadn’t made love to her. She should be monumentally happy. Why, then, did she feel ridiculously disappointed?

      She’d almost had sex with Alec Morreston.

      Even worse, he hadn’t forced her. He hadn’t held her down or tied her to the bedposts. He’d kissed her. That was all. Apparently, that had been enough. She knew it. And worse, so did he.

      The full impact of that realization flooded her mind. Alec Morreston was here to take away her ranch, her home, everything she held dear. She would do well to remember that. He was, inarguably, a very potent package with obvious experience to back that up.

      She had to be strong.

      Terms of a Texas Marriage

      Lauren Canan

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      LAUREN CANAN, born and raised amid the cattle ranches of Texas, climbed a fence and jumped onto the back of her first horse at age three. She still maintains the punishment was worth the experience. She grew up listening to her dad tell stories of make-believe and was always encouraged to let her imagination soar. The multi-award-winning author and recipient of the 2014 Golden Heart^® Award happily spends her days penning her favorite kind of stories: those of two people who, against all odds, meet, fall in love and live happily ever after—which is the way it should be. In her spare time she enjoys playing guitar, piano and dulcimer in acoustic club jams and getting lots of kisses and wags from her four-legged fuzzy babies. Visit Lauren’s website at laurencanan.com. She would love to hear from you!

      MILLS & BOON

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      I owe my love of telling stories to my dad.

      Without his inspiration and encouragement, my journey to become an author would never have begun. This story was possible because of the love and support of my critique siblings, Angi, Jan, Jen and Kathleen, who were always there with a shoulder to cry on when I needed one. To the best literary agent in the world, Jill Marsal, who has the patience of a saint. To my dearest friend, Laurel, whose belief in me never wavered. And to Terry, my own real-life hero. He taught me the true meaning of love and happily ever after.

      Contents

       Cover

       Introduction

       Title Page

       About the Author

       Dedication

One

Two

Three

       Four

       Five

       Six

       Seven

       Eight

       Nine

       Ten

       Eleven

       Twelve

       Thirteen

       Extract

       Copyright

       One

      Shea Hardin had to admit the man didn’t look like the devil. No horns sprouted up through Alec Morreston’s thick, expertly styled, mahogany-brown hair, although a few defiant tendrils fell lazily over his forehead. The wide mouth and well-defined lips, while appearing unrelenting, didn’t make it to a complete snarl. The near-perfect white teeth, seen briefly in the forced smile as introductions were made, didn’t include fangs. In fact, the sculpted features of his face had the potential to be exceedingly handsome, but the lack of any emotion other than cold indifference reduced that potential to tolerable. Just.

      She’d sensed his glance several times since entering the conference room adjacent to her attorney’s office. She didn’t need to look in his direction to know he watched her, silently, recording his first impressions, probably sizing up her abilities, weighing her strengths, discreetly alert to any hint of weakness.

      Feminine instinct told her his assessment wasn’t limited to her ability to handle this situation. He was also taking in every curve of her body, noting every breath she took, watching every move she made. It was a frank and candid assessment of her female attributes without any effort to conceal his interest. Intuition told her here was a man who knew what a woman needed and exactly how to provide it. His subtle arrogance was at once insulting and alluring.

      She tried to swallow but her mouth had gone dry. Endeavoring not to appear affected by this man, she crossed her legs, shook the hair back from her face and fixed her eyes on the old pendulum wall clock. But in spite of her determination to ignore him, there was no denying the heat radiating throughout her body, inflaming her senses, fueling