An All-Consuming Passion. Anne Mather

       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.

      An All-Consuming Passion

       Anne Mather

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

       Table of Contents

       Cover

       About the Author

       Title Page

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

       CHAPTER SIX

       CHAPTER SEVEN

       CHAPTER EIGHT

       CHAPTER NINE

       CHAPTER TEN

       CHAPTER ELEVEN

       Copyright

       CHAPTER ONE

      ‘WE’LL be landing in less than fifteen minutes, Mr Kane.’

      The pilot had turned from the controls to address his only passenger, and Morgan lifted his head from the papers he had been studying since they left St Thomas to meet the man’s candid gaze.

      ‘Fifteen minutes,’ he echoed, his attractive voice low and well modulated. ‘Okay, Joe. Thanks.’

      ‘My pleasure, Mr Kane,’ responded the dark-skinned pilot, resuming his appraisal of the instruments in front of him. ‘Should still be light enough for you to see the island, if the weather holds up. Looks like that storm they promised us isn’t going to show.’

      Morgan hesitated a moment, cast a faintly regretful glance at the documents he had taken from the briefcase beside him, and then came to a decision. Sliding the papers back into their file, he pushed the file into the briefcase, snapping the fasteners shut before asking politely, ‘Do you get a lot of storms here?’

      ‘Hell, no!’ Joe allowed a chuckle to escape him. ‘Didn’t Mr Forsyth tell you? Pulpit Island has an almost perfect climate. Little rain; plenty of sun; and the trades, to keep the temperature just bearable.’

      Morgan acknowledged his ignorance. ‘No hurricanes?’ he enquired mildly, easing the collar of his shirt away from his neck, and Joe cast him a reproving grimace.

      ‘Not since 1973,’ he asserted. ‘Like I said, you’re going to love it here, Mr Kane.’

      ‘I don’t think I’ll be here long enough to form an opinion,’ remarked Morgan drily, looking down on to a sea as clear and blue-green as aquamarines. ‘Is that Pulpit Island down there?’

      ‘No, sir, that’s Little Orchis,’ said Joe, tipping the plane’s wing so that they turned in a south-easterly direction. ‘You’ll be able to see Pulpit Island any minute now. Would you like me to give you an aerial tour before we land?’

      ‘I don’t think that will be necessary,’ said Morgan smoothly. ‘Where do we land? In the harbour?’

      ‘Oh, the old sweet pea splashes down in Charlotte’s Bay,’ answered Joe, with another chuckle, patting the controls of the vintage seaplane, which plied its trade in island-hopping. ‘Mighty handy as it turns out. The old Gantry place is right on the bay. That way Miss Holly knows the minute her father reaches the island.’

      Morgan propped his chin on one lean brown hand and gazed a little ruefully out of the window. He hoped Holly had had her father’s telegram. It would make things infinitely more difficult if she was not anticipating his arrival. Besides which, she would have had no warning of what her father wanted her to do.

      Shifting his long legs a little impatiently, he wished, not for the first time, that Andrew hadn’t involved him in his private affairs. It was one thing to be Andrew Forsyth’s personal assistant, to know as much, if not more, than his employer about the day-to-day running of the Forsyth corporation, and to participate in the expansion of his business empire. It was quite another to be expected to persuade his twenty-year-old daughter—and only offspring—to return to London at her father’s whim, when she must know as well as he did that there had to be more to it than her father’s sudden desire to resume a paternal role.

      It was too late now to try and pretend her father had any real affection for her. From the day she was born—and Morgan could remember that day very well—she had been an unwanted encumbrance to him, a constant reminder of her mother, whose life had been forfeit to secure her own, and for which Andrew Forsyth had never forgiven her.

      Morgan had not been Andrew’s assistant then, of course. He had been a new, and very junior, executive, fresh out of university, with a double first in law and economics, and little else. It had been his first day with the company, and the personal affairs of his boss had seemed very distant indeed.

      However, twenty years had seen a great number of changes. In time, his shrewdness