Tawny Weber - Coming on Strong

TAWNY WEBERis usually found dreaming up stories in her California home, surrounded by dogs, cats and kids. When she’s not writing hot, spicy stories for Blaze®, she’s testing her latest margarita recipe, shopping for the perfect pair of boots or drooling over Johnny Depp pictures (when her husband isn’t looking, of course). When she’s not doing any of that, she spends her time scrapbooking and playing in the garden. She’d love to hear from readers, so drop by her home on the web, www.TawnyWeber.com.

To the Writers At Play:

Beth, Kath, Janice, Sheila, Anna, Kimmi,

Terri, Stacey, Carla, Betty, Marlene, Lisa, Trish,

Tammy, Heather, Angi, Leslie, Mona,

Anne-Marie, Cheryl and Terry.

Wild, crazy, amazing.

I love you all!

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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About the Author TAWNY WEBER is usually found dreaming up stories in her California home, surrounded by dogs, cats and kids. When she’s not writing hot, spicy stories for Blaze®, she’s testing her latest margarita recipe, shopping for the perfect pair of boots or drooling over Johnny Depp pictures (when her husband isn’t looking, of course). When she’s not doing any of that, she spends her time scrapbooking and playing in the garden. She’d love to hear from readers, so drop by her home on the web, www.TawnyWeber.com. To the Writers At Play: Beth, Kath, Janice, Sheila, Anna, Kimmi, Terri, Stacey, Carla, Betty, Marlene, Lisa, Trish, Tammy, Heather, Angi, Leslie, Mona, Anne-Marie, Cheryl and Terry. Wild, crazy, amazing. I love you all!

Title Page Coming on Strong Tawny Weber www.millsandboon.co.uk

Prologue

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

Copyright

“I DON’T THINK I can go through with it,” Belle Forsham said, one hand pressed to her chest. Beneath the beaded silk of her bodice, her heart raced like a terrified rabbit. “I mean, this is crazy, you know? What the hell was I thinking?”

“If I recall, you were thinking that Mitch Carter was the hottest piece of ass you’d ever seen,” Sierra Donovan said absently, her attention focused on getting the fluffy white tulle arranged just so over Belle’s blonde curls.

“I said I thought he’d be the hottest piece of ass,” Belle corrected, frowning at the image in the mirror. It was like watching herself through a Halloween filter. “I haven’t been able to find out how hot he really is, though, have I? Which is why I’d be insane to go through with this, isn’t it? Like, you know, buying a poked pig or something?”

“Pig in a poke?”

“Whatever.”

Sierra just laughed and, with one last fluff of the veil, stepped back to gauge the results. “You look so…virginal.”

Her best friend’s tone said it all. Virginal was the last image Belle had ever aspired toward. Then again, she’d never figured on being a bride, either.

Wild and free, that was Belle’s motto. Or it had been, right up until she’d met Mitch Carter. Then mottos had been nudged aside for her new obsession. Getting Mitch into bed.

Mitch was her daddy’s new VP of development. The man was gorgeous. Rich auburn hair, cinnamon-brown eyes and the tightest butt she’d ever ogled. He exuded an energy that fascinated Belle. Power, definitely, and drive. A kind of intense focus that promised a woman that once she had his attention, he’d give her the most incredible sex of her life.

And Belle wanted his attention. But while she’d practically panted at his feet, he’d barely acknowledged her. For a woman used to men drooling on her buffed and polished toes, he’d been a total challenge. She threw herself at him, he gave her polite acknowledgment. She flirted, he watched. She pursued, he evaded.

Hard to get? Hell, Mitch Carter was damn near impossible.

At least, to get into bed. For some bizarre reason, after about a month of chasing him, he’d turned the tables. To use his own words, he’d started courting her. She smothered a baffled laugh at the idea of it. They’d mostly attended business functions, family events with her father, the occasional romantic dinner.

Unable to pace in the voluminous dress, Belle fidgeted on the stool where she sat. Her fingers fiddled with her late mother’s pearl necklace, so sweetly innocent as it circled with a heavy weight of expectation around her neck. Like the white dress and delicate veil, the pearls really didn’t suit her. Of course, neither did marriage.

Three months of dating. A smoking-hot kiss at the end of the evening. A little touchy-feely to add to the thrill. But never more. God, she’d wanted more. Then he’d scared the hell out of her when, out of the blue, he’d popped the question. Marriage. He wanted to make an honest woman of her…which was just plain weird since he hadn’t tried her dishonest ways first.

She’d been so hot for him, she’d agreed instantly. She’d rushed the wedding plans, pulled out all the stops and organized a ritzy society event in less than three months. Through all the planning, something she’d proven to be amazingly skilled at, she’d had one thought and one thought only.

Hurry it up so she could get to her wedding night.

But now, when faced with the actual nuptials, she wasn’t sure it was the right thing to do.

“Sierra, am I crazy to marry Mitch after only knowing him six months? I mean, is this too fast?”

Her friend opened her mouth, most likely to offer some dumb platitude about bridal jitters. It wasn’t nerves, though. Belle didn’t know what it was, but the lead weight in her stomach made her feel trapped, terrified. She’d much rather feel jittery anxiety instead.

Then Sierra shrugged, her own worry clear.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, chewing off her lipstick as she started to pace the room. Her typical in-your-face honesty and her maid-of-honor duty to keep Belle from freaking out were obviously at odds.

“Does it matter, though? You’ve wanted Mitch since you first saw him and now you’re getting him. Long-term, even. You’ll have killer sex tonight and blow his mind. Happy-ever-after, all that crap—that’ll come with time.”

Crap, indeed. The last thing anyone would call Belle was naive, but compared with the cynical Sierra she was a wide-eyed romantic. Whenever she thought past the honeymoon, let herself focus on anything besides the killer sex she was anticipating, she felt ill. She understood honeymoons. They were all about indulging in decadent sex in as many ways, places and times as possible. But marriage? Oh, God. She pressed her hand to her stomach, hoping she didn’t get sick all over her dress. Was she ready to get married?

Belle stared at her reflection. White satin, seed beads and tulle. It all went perfectly with the pearls. Sweet and innocent. Definitely not her style. Her first choice for a dress had been sexy and edgy, but she’d thought Mitch would like this better.