Forced to the Altar

Forced to the Altar
Susan Crosby

You're not my prisoner. Unfortunately, that's exactly how she felt, trapped in Zach Keller's remote castle. The handsome millionaire was supposed to be her protector, but under his watchful gaze she felt more exposed than ever. It didn't help that he evaded all personal questions — and insisted that for her safety, they must marry.She had to find a way off Zach's property, or at least a reason to deny his proposal. Because she was on the verge of saying yes to whatever Zach demanded — especially if it meant a wedding night neither of them would ever forget.

Susan Crosby

Forced to the Altar

To my sisters of the Sacramento Valley Rose—for your love and support, your never-ending passion to achieve and your constant good cheer. You are the best!

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

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Coming Next Month

One

“This was not part of the plan,” Julianne Johnson muttered, the words swallowed by the drone of a speedboat as it raced toward Promontory, one of the San Juan Islands off the Washington coast. According to the Internet, the islands were tourist havens dotted with fishing villages, artist colonies and bicycle paths. But not Promontory—or the Prom, as the boat pilot called it—which was accessible only by private boat or helicopter, not a public ferry.

She studied the approaching island. How could it be so isolated and have tourists? Although she’d been sent here to lay low during her brother’s trial, she would earn her keep by working for the owner of the Spirit Inn, Zach Keller. If there was an inn, there must be visitors, right?

Maybe it wouldn’t be as lonely as she pictured.

“Where’s the town?” she shouted to the pilot, Mr. Moody, a sixtyish man with gunmetal gray hair and a muscular physique.

He pointed ahead. She saw nothing but trees, crags and a steep, rugged rock—a promontory—projecting into the Pacific Ocean.

Purgatory seemed like a more appropriate description to the twenty-three-year-old, Southern California, land-of-sunshine-and-malls girl about to be imprisoned by water, and without decent shopping.

And she was stuck there.

The boat slowed abruptly then eased into a slip alongside others, evidence that other human beings inhabited the island.

Mr. Moody secured the craft then offered her a hand up to the floating dock, which swayed and pitched as she moved toward the landing. A Jeep was parked nearby; otherwise, she saw no signs of life.

“Where is the town?” Julianne asked again.

“Yonder,” he said cocking his head, a suitcase of hers in each hand.

“What’s there?”

“General store. A gas pump.”

“That’s it?”

“Don’t need more’n that.”

They drove up a narrow, paved road. Within a couple of minutes, a structure appeared in the distance. She watched in increasing awe as the details came into focus. “It’s a castle,” she murmured, delighted.

“Brought stone by stone from Scotland then reassembled.”

“By Mr. Keller?” She created a picture of her new boss, wearing plaid, his red hair wind-tossed by the ocean breezes.

“Nope. Someone long ago, Angus McMahon.” Mr. Moody pulled up beside the building.

They climbed out of the vehicle and approached a stone archway sheltering a solid wood door. The late November gloom kept partner with them as they stepped into the castle. Gray stone walls and floors echoed their footsteps as Julianne followed him from a utility room into a space with a large open hearth, but otherwise a modern kitchen, with stainless steel fixtures and granite countertops.

A tall, sturdy woman with bright red hair stood at the sink washing lettuce. She didn’t quite smile.

“My wife, Iris,” Mr. Moody said.

“Welcome, Miss Johnson.”

“Julianne, please,” she said, testing her new name, her in-hiding name.