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 Anneâs powerful, passionate writing has given.
We are sure you will love them all!
Iâve always wanted to writeâwhich is not to say Iâve always wanted to be a professional writer. On the contrary, for years I only wrote for my own pleasure and it wasnât until my husband suggested sending one of my stories to a publisher that we put several publishersâ names into a hat and pulled one out. The rest, as they say, is history. And now, one hundred and sixty-two books later, Iâm literallyâexcuse the punâstaggered by whatâs happened.
I had written all through my infant and junior years and on into my teens, the stories changing from childrenâs 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 Iâd 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 thatâs 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 canât imagine not having a current book on the typewriterâyes, itâs my husband who transcribes everything on to the computer. Heâs 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 Iâd be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.
THE man sitting at the table wasnât Martin Price.
Paigeâs stomach hollowed and she glanced blankly at the waiter who was escorting her across the restaurant. Thereâd been some mistake. Martinâs shoulders werenât as broad, his skin wasnât as dark, and his fair curls bore no resemblance to the thick black hair that erupted in rough splendour over the rim of white collar that was visible above his charcoal tailoring.
She was about to make her protest when the man rose to his feet and turned to face her. âAh, Paige,â he said, as her legs threatened to slip out from under her. âHow good of you to come.â
Paige didnât know what to do; what to say. There had been a mistake. She saw that now. And sheâd made it. Sheâd believed she was coming here to meet her ex-fiancé, but it was obvious that that had only been a ploy on someoneâs part to get her here. She turned frantically to the waiter but he was already walking away, and although she badly wanted to follow him people were watching them and she was too much of a coward to make a scene.
âWonât you sit down?â he said, indicating the chair opposite. His lips parted in a thin smile. âItâs good to see you again.â
Paige hesitated. âI donât understand.â
âYou will.â His dark eyes narrowed between lashes that had always been absurdly long for a man. âIf youâll give me a few minutes of your time.â
âWhy should I?â Paige was panicking now, but she couldnât help it.
âOh, I think you owe me considerably more than that,â he remarked, his expression hardening. âPleaseââ It was hardly a request. âSit down.â
Paige drew in a breath but unless she wanted to embarrass herself she didnât have a lot of choice. Still, it was with evident reluctance that she subsided into the chair across the table, wrapping her hands about the purse in her lap as if it provided a lifeline.
âGood.â Having succeeded in his objective, he resumed his seat just as the wine waiter arrived at his elbow. âNow, what will you have to drink?â
He was drinking wine, she noticed. Red wine that reflected the light from the chandeliers above their heads and gave off a ruby brilliance. She was tempted to join him; she loved wine and he knew it, but she had no intention of giving him any advantage and in her present condition it would probably go straight to her head.
âUmâjust mineral water, please,â she murmured, after a moment, addressing herself to the waiter, and he gave her a polite little bow before going to attend to her order.