Sinful Pleasures. Anne Mather
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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.
Sinful Pleasures
Anne Mather
Table of 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
IT HAD been snowing when she left London. Great fat flakes that brushed against the aircraft’s windows and covered the runway in a feathery coat of white. She had wondered if the plane would be able to take off in such conditions; or perhaps she had hoped that it wouldn’t, she reflected tautly. Then she would have had a legitimate excuse for staying at home.
And it wasn’t as if she didn’t like the snow, she assured herself. It was much more the sort of weather she was used to at this time of the year. A blazing sun and blue-green seas were out of place in January, even if the shops back home were already anticipating the holiday season ahead.
Not everyone would agree with her, of course; she knew that. Indeed, most people would consider the opportunity to spend four weeks in the Caribbean a godsend. Particularly in her circumstances, she conceded. After a miserable Christmas spent in a hospital bed.
But most people were not her, Megan reminded herself impatiently, shifting somewhat uneasily in the comfortable aircraft seat. She didn’t want to be going to the Caribbean, in good health or in bad. She had no incipient longings to see her so-called stepfather and his family again. Since her mother died, she had had little or no contact with the Robards, and that had suited her very well. Very well indeed.
Below the aircraft, the turquoise waters mocked her feelings. Whether she wanted it or not, she was now less than an hour from her destination. Already the huge jet was beginning its descent towards Cap Saint Nicolas, and the island of San Felipe would soon be beneath them. However reluctant she might be to renew her acquaintance with her mother’s second family, it was no longer an option. By stepping aboard the aircraft, she had taken any alternative out of her hands.
It was a small consolation that it had not been entirely her decision. The fact that her stepsister had phoned while she was still in the hospital had been pure chance. Simon had answered the call, knowing nothing of the rift that had developed between herself and the Robards. He had had no hesitation in telling Anita that Megan was ill; had probably exaggerated her illness, in fact, as he was prone to do; and he had thought Anita was being kind when she had suggested Megan might like to spend a few weeks with them to recuperate. It had never occurred to him that she might not want to go.
And, of course, Anita was being kind, Megan acknowledged ruefully. Anita had always been kind, and in other circumstances their friendship might have survived. Anita was much older, but she had always treated the younger girl with affection. After all, if it hadn’t been for Anita and Remy, Megan would have found those holidays spent with her mother and the man who was to become her stepfather very lonely indeed.
But, even so, she would never have accepted Anita’s invitation in the ordinary way. Her stepsister might have issued the invitation, but Megan knew she wouldn’t have done so without her father’s consent. Ryan Robards probably controlled his daughter now, just as he had done all those years ago. If Megan was coming to San Felipe, it was because it suited Ryan Robards that she should.
The trouble was, it didn’t suit her, Megan thought frustratedly. And now that she was actually nearing her destination she couldn’t imagine how she had allowed herself to be persuaded to come. But her illness, and the weakness it had engendered, had left her susceptible to Simon’s inducements. She needed a break, he had told her firmly. And where better than with people who cared about her?
Only they didn’t care about her, she protested silently. Not really. Not the grown-up woman she had become. They remembered Meggie, the child, the fifteen-year-old adolescent. The girl who had been naïve enough to think that her parents would never get a divorce.
Megan sighed, and adjusted the pillow behind her head yet again, drawing the attention of the ever vigilant stewardess. ‘Can I get you anything, Ms Cross?’ she