No Gentle Possession
Mills & Boon are excited to present The Anne Mather Collection – the complete works by this classic author made available to download for the very first time! These books span six decades of a phenomenal writing career, and every story is available to read unedited and untouched from their original release.Once a heartbreaker, always a heartbreaker…Seven years ago Karen Sinclair fell in love with gorgeous playboy Alexis Whitney – but despite their vibrant chemistry, Alex was not the settling-down type. Now Karen has a good job and a steady boy-friend – and it’s all very calm and pleasant, perhaps a little too much so!But unexpectedly, Alex is back in her life again – and as disturbingly attractive as ever… and yet if Alex wasn’t interested in commitment all those years ago, why should he be bothered now? Especially in view of the interest he clearly feels in the beautiful Michelle…Karen knows she is playing with fire, but when the other alternative is extreme boredom, perhaps it is worth the risk!
Читать No Gentle Possession онлайн беплатно
Mills & Boon is proud to present a fabulous
collection of fantastic novels by bestselling, much loved author ANNE MATHER
Anne has a stellar record of achievement within the
publishing industry, having written over one hundred and sixty books, with worldwide sales of more than forty-eight MILLION copies in multiple languages.
This amazing collection of classic stories offers a chance
for readers to recapture the pleasure Anne’s powerful, passionate writing has given.
We are sure you will love them all!
I’ve always wanted to write—which is not to say I’ve always wanted to be a professional writer. On the contrary, for years I only wrote for my own pleasure and it wasn’t until my husband suggested sending one of my stories to a publisher that we put several publishers’ names into a hat and pulled one out. The rest, as they say, is history. And now, one hundred and sixty-two books later, I’m literally—excuse the pun— staggered by what’s happened.
I had written all through my infant and junior years and on into my teens, the stories changing from children’s adventures to torrid gypsy passions. My mother used to gather these manuscripts up from time to time, when my bedroom became too untidy, and dispose of them! In those days, I used not to finish any of the stories and Caroline, my first published novel, was the first I’d ever completed. I was newly married then and my daughter was just a baby, and it was quite a job juggling my household chores and scribbling away in exercise books every chance I got. Not very professional, as you can imagine, but that’s the way it was.
These days, I have a bit more time to devote to my work, but that first love of writing has never changed. I can’t imagine not having a current book on the typewriter—yes, it’s my husband who transcribes everything on to the computer. He’s my partner in both life and work and I depend on his good sense more than I care to admit.
We have two grown-up children, a son and a daughter, and two almost grown-up grandchildren, Abi and Ben. My e-mail address is [email protected] and I’d be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.
Table of Contents
THE long room with its pine-logged walls and low-beamed ceiling was full of people, most of whom were stamping their feet and clapping excitedly to the sound of Tyrolean music gone slightly mad. The small band of local musicians had all imbibed rather freely of their host’s hospitality, as indeed had everyone else, and by now the party was totally uninhibited, dancing and singing, or keeping time with their feet. At the far end of the room a huge fireplace was filled with logs which blazed brightly, adding their own illumination to the scene, while the atmosphere, thickened by cigar and cigarette smoke, exuded the mingled scents of perfume and shaving lotion, wines and lager, or plain body heat.
At the opposite end of the room to the fire, a man sat apart from the rest, lodged on a tall stool beside the long buffet tables where food and drink were being dispensed by several white-coated attendants. For time to time, someone would approach him with the obvious idea of rousing him from his solitude, but from their expressions when they turned away it was just as obvious that they had not succeeded.
Alexis Whitney was bored. It was no new experience for him. He was often bored, more frequently with people than with places, and right now he was in no mood to appreciate the kind of bonhomie that was created at such a gathering. He was well aware that his attitude would have been noted and commented upon; it wasn’t very kind, it wasn’t even very polite, but quite honestly he didn’t particularly care. He was all too compellingly aware that no matter how rude or objectionable he might be, his so-called friends would forgive him, and if that forgiveness was conceived all the more rapidly because of his father’s undoubted wealth and social position, then who was he to complain? It was a cynical attitude, he knew, but events had generated that cynicism, and looking ahead he could see no reason to change his opinions.
Finishing the remaining Scotch in his glass, he rose to his feet, flexing his back muscles tiredly. He Had spent the day on the ski slopes above the village and although during the past couple of weeks he had done a lot of skiing, today he had really taxed his strength and endurance. It had been another attempt to shed the boredom that seemed to be seeping like a poison into his soul.
His amber eyes surveyed the room critically. There must have been about forty people present, almost all the guests from the Grüssmatte Hotel, in fact. But Axel Fritzlander was like that. He threw open his chalet without reserve, inviting anyone and everyone to his parties. Alexis had known him for about twenty years. He was a contemporary of his father’s, and Alexis could remember coming here years ago when he was only a child and his mother had been alive. They had spent many winter holidays at the Grüssmatte Hotel, and in consequence they knew its owner intimately. Now, of course, Grüssmatte was much busier than it had been then, and there were other small hotels and
