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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.
Night Heat
Anne Mather
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SARA hadn’t felt much like going to the party. In fact, after what had happened that afternoon, it was probably the last place she would have chosen to go. But Vicki had been determined that she should, when she had hinted as much to her, and perhaps it was sensible, as Vicki said, not to stay at home and mope.
All the same, it wasn’t going to be easy to put on a cheerful face, when what she really felt like doing was crying her eyes out. It was so unfair, she thought, for the umpteenth time since Doctor Walters had given her the news. All those years of work for nothing. A slip on the stairs, and her whole life was ruined. Or the most important part of it, she amended, not being given to lying, even to herself.
It didn’t help to know that it could have been worse, that she could have been left with a permanent limp, or, heaven forbid! callipers on her leg. And it was little consolation at this time that she had a job which was not dependent on her being able to effect an arabesque or perform a pirouette. But all her life she had wanted to dance, ever since she was able to walk, and to know now that her dancing days were over was a bitter pill to swallow.
Her earliest memories were of tottering round on wobbly legs, to the delight and admiration of her parents. She had loved to perform for friends and relations alike, and when other children had been playing with dolls or acting out their fantasies, she had been content to practise at the barre.
But now the dream she had had, that one day she might become more than just a member of a chorus line, was over. The ankle she had thought only strained had, in fact, been broken, and in spite of a belated plaster cast and weeks of therapy, she was never going to regain the strength that had been there.
Of course, if she was brutally honest with herself, she would accept that the chances of her ever becoming really famous had been slim. It was true that when she was ten years old, she had been the star pupil at her ballet class. But her parents’ deaths in a multi-car pile-up, and a subsequent move to live with her aunt and uncle in Warwickshire, had done much to retard the modest success she had had. Her aunt, who was her father’s older sister, did not regard becoming a dancer as either a suitable or a sensible career, and not until Sara was eighteen and old enough to make her own decisions was she able to devote all her time to her art.
Much against her aunt’s and uncle’s wishes, she had used the small legacy her parents had left her to move to London and enrol at a dance academy. But after two years of attending auditions and tramping from agency to agency in the hope that someone might be willing to give her a chance to prove herself, she had had to admit defeat. A temporary office job had provided funds to take a course in shorthand and typing, and in spite of her misgivings, she discovered an unexpected aptitude for secretarial work. Her speeds at both shorthand and typing assured her of regular employment, and the comforting rise in salary enabled her to move from the tiny bed-sitter, which had been all she could afford. She had answered an advertisement asking for someone to share the rent of a two-bedroomed
