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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.

  Tidewater Seduction

  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

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Copyright

  CHAPTER ONE

  IT COULDN’T be him: it shouldn’t be him; but it was. Striding towards her, across the terrace where she was having breakfast, giving every indication he had expected to find her there.

  Joanna glanced, half guiltily, about her, wondering even then if she was making a mistake. Maybe he had seen someone else—some other guest. But no. She was breakfasting late, and the hotel coffee shop was almost empty, most of the other guests all too eager to acquire that all-important tan. She was the only person sitting in her corner of the terrace, her olive skin as brown now as it was ever going to get.

  Uncle Charles, her father’s brother, used to say, teasingly, that she was the changeling in their otherwise so-English family. With her dark skin and silky black hair, she was nothing like her blonde and brown-haired parents. She had to be a throw-back to some scandalous liaison in the family’s history. But until her marriage to Cole Macallister she hadn’t found it a problem. Of course, that marriage, and the much-publicised divorce that had followed, had rather shaken her confidence. But, in recent months, she had managed to put the past behind her. Until this moment, she acknowledged tensely, experiencing an almost overwhelming urge to run, kicking and screaming, from a confrontation she had never thought to have to face.

  Happily, she succeeded in controlling that compulsion, however, and by the time he stopped beside her table she had even contrived a faintly ironic smile. What the hell! She had nothing to be ashamed of, she assured herself tautly, crossing one long leg over the other in an unconsciously defensive gesture. She had just as much right to be here as he had.

  ‘Hello, Jo.’

  His greeting was scarcely original, and she gained assurance from his diffidence. ‘Cole,’ she returned coolly, toying with the handle of her coffee-cup. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Fine.’

  And he looked it, she conceded reluctantly. Even though he had never been a conventionally handsome man, the harsh planes and angles of his lean features possessed a much more potent attraction. A latent sexuality radiated from eyes as blue as amethysts, fringed by short thick lashes, several shades darker than his hair. There were rugged hollows beneath his arching cheekbones, and she knew his nose had been broken in his youth. But his mouth was what drew her gaze, thin, and hard, and masculine, yet infinitely sensual, and gentler than when she’d last seen it.

  But the silvery blond hair was the same, she noticed, chiding the treacherous emotions that still found beauty in his face. Longer than was fashionable, it brushed the open collar of his chambray shirt, the fine strands upturned against his neck. He was not a man you could ever ignore, thought Joanna uneasily, though God knew she had done her best to do so for the past three years.

  ‘May I join you?’

  The question was unexpected, and for a moment Joanna knew the mouth-drying sense of panic she had experienced when she first saw him coming towards her. No, she wanted to say harshly. No, you can’t. I don’t want you to. I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want you spoiling my affection for these islands by your presence.

  But, of course, she didn’t say any of those things. Although she knew she was probably being incredibly stupid, she was far too—polite—to behave so childishly, so obviously.

  So, instead, ‘Why not?’ she murmured, moving her glass of orange juice aside, and relocating the cooling pot of coffee. ‘Be my guest.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  With the inherent grace that had always seemed so unusual in a man of his size, Cole pulled out one of the vinyl-cushioned plastic chairs, and, turning its back to the table, straddled it. His bony knee, clad in cream cotton trousers, brushed the side of her bare thigh as he positioned himself, and it was all Joanna could do not to flinch away from even that slight contact. But Cole seemed not to notice any withdrawal on her part, as he draped his arms along the back of the chair, and cast a casual eye over the palm-shaded stretch of sand only a few yards away.

  ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ he observed, and Joanna disciplined herself to make the obvious rejoinder.

  ‘Beautiful,’ she agreed, looking towards the ocean, creaming on to the crushed coral, beyond the coloured umbrellas, and oil-slick bodies. Although it wasn’t the Caribbean, the waters cradling the sun-rich islands of the Bahamas were every bit as warm and inviting, their blue-green depths a magnet for yachtsmen and underwater explorers alike. ‘I’ve always loved it.’

  ‘Yes.’ Cole’s mouth compressed. ‘Your family have a villa here, don’t they?’

  His brows, distinctly darker than the ash-pale subtlety of his hair, drew together speculatively, but before he could voice the question his words had provoked Joanna forestalled him.

  ‘Not any more,’ she stated swiftly, avoiding his enquiring gaze. ‘In any case, it’s not important. And I’m sure it has nothing to do with why you’re here.’

  ‘No.’ Cole agreed with her. ‘But you are.’

  Joanna stared at him. ‘You knew I was here?’

  ‘Obviousl
y.’

  ‘No, not obviously.’ She felt her nails digging into her palms, and determinedly relaxed herself. ‘I assumed you must be here on holiday. That—that this meeting was accidental.’

  ‘Hardly.’ Cole regarded her dispassionately. ‘That would be quite a coincidence, wouldn’t it?’

  Joanna took a steadying breath. ‘Then I think you’d better leave. Or I will.’

  She wanted to get to her feet. She wanted to walk away from the table, and pretend this had never happened. Perhaps, if she pinched herself hard enough, she might wake up. Oh, what she would give to find out this was all a dream—or a nightmare!

  But she had run away from Cole once before, and she was damned if she’d do it again. He couldn’t hurt her now. Not any more. And she would just be playing into his hands, if she allowed him to see he had upset her.

  So, with admirable restraint, she helped herself to a croissant, from the napkin-lined basket in front of her, and picked up her knife to butter it.

  Cole watched her. She was aware of his gaze, though she didn’t acknowledge it. He had always had the ability to make her aware of him, even when she least wanted it. There was a brooding intensity to his appraisal that pierced any façade of indifference she might raise against him. Even now, buttering her croissant, with hands that only by a supreme effort on her part remained steady, she could feel his eyes upon her. What was he thinking? she wondered. What did he want? And how had he known where she was?

  ‘Prickly, aren’t you?’ he said at last, and Joanna fought back the angry defence that sprang to her lips.

  ‘I’m—curious,’ she admitted, proud of the lack of aggression in her tone. ‘How did you know I was here?’

  ‘Grace told me,’ he replied, mentioning his aunt’s name without inflexion. ‘You must know we keep in touch. And just because she’s English, you shouldn’t automatically assume she’ll take your side.’

  Joanna swallowed hard. Grace, she thought grimly. She should have guessed. Blood was thicker than water, and the Macallisters—even estranged ones—evidently believed that stronger than most.

  ‘Don’t think badly of her,’ Cole said now, as Joanna stared down at the croissant. ‘She didn’t have a lot of choice. Not in the circumstances.’

  But Joanna wasn’t listening to him. Damn Grace, she was thinking, abandoning the untouched roll in favour of another cup of coffee. She knew, better than anyone, that for the past three years Joanna had done her utmost to forget Cole, and what he had done to her life. How could Grace have told him she was here, taking the first holiday she had had in twenty solid months of hard slog? This was supposed to be her reward to herself for finishing ahead of time. The paintings for the exhibition were completed. She hadn’t even brought her materials with her. She had intended to have a complete break. And now——

  ‘Where’s—Sammy-Jean?’ she demanded, looking beyond him, as if expecting the other woman to appear. ‘You did marry her, didn’t you?’ She forced a mocking lilt into her voice, as she added, ‘Sammy-Jean Macallister! Oh, yes, that sounds so much better than Joanna Macallister ever did.’

  Cole’s lips tightened. ‘You won’t get an argument from me,’ he retorted, but she realised to her amazement—and delight—that, for once, she had got under his skin. A faint trace of colour ran up beneath his tan, and the hands resting on the chair-back balled into fists.

  But then, exercising the same kind of control Joanna had used earlier, he expelled his breath. ‘I didn’t come here to talk about Sam,’ he said tautly, meeting her gaze. ‘My father’s dying.’

  Joanna gulped. She couldn’t help it. Ryan Macallister had always appeared invincible to her. It scarcely seemed credible that he was mortal, like the rest of them.

  Even so, he had never been any friend of hers, and her dark brows rose without sympathy. ‘Is that supposed to mean something to me?’

  Cole regarded her grimly. ‘He wants to see you.’

  ‘To see me?’ Joanna’s voice came out several degrees higher than normal, but Cole only nodded.

  ‘That’s what I said.’

  Joanna caught her breath. ‘You can’t be serious.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Why not?’ She made a sound of disbelief. ‘Why—he doesn’t even like me!’

  Cole’s eyes dropped. ‘Maybe he does,’ he said, picking up the spoon that was lying beside the unused place-setting in front of him. ‘Maybe he doesn’t.’ He spun the spoon between his fingers. ‘In any case, he says he wants to see you, and that’s all there is to it.’

  ‘You wish!’ Joanna stared at him incredulously. ‘If you think I’m going to give up my holiday to go and see an old man who never even gave me the time of day, if he could help it, you’re very much mistaken!’

  Cole looked up, and the blue eyes were as cold as steel between narrowed lids. ‘Are you really that hard?’ he asked, his lips curling contemptuously. ‘God, Ma said you wouldn’t come, but I didn’t believe her.’

  ‘Believe it,’ said Joanna flatly, pressing her hands down on the table and getting to her feet. ‘I wish I could say it’s been a pleasure, Cole, but lying was never my strong point!’

  ‘Like hell!’

  Cole had kicked the chair out from under him, and was up on his feet to confront her, before she could make good her escape. And, even though she stood a good five feet nine inches in her ankle boots, she was no match for his six feet plus. Add to that broad shoulders, a flat stomach, and long muscular legs, and she could see no means of retreat. Short of causing a scene, of course, and Joanna didn’t want to do that, when this was only the second morning of her holiday.

  ‘Isn’t this rather ridiculous, Cole?’ she asked, looking up at him rather tensely. ‘What do you hope to achieve? You can’t force me to go with you.’

  ‘Can’t I?’

  Cole’s response was predictable enough, but it lacked conviction, and Joanna realised that, for all his belligerence, he was unsure of his ground. It gave her a feeling of triumph just watching him—a rippling sensation of pleasure she hadn’t felt before.

  ‘I think you’d better get out of my way,’ she said, not afraid to meet his gaze. ‘What can you do to me—that you haven’t already done?’

  ‘Son of a——’

  Cole bit off the expletive, but not before Joanna had glimpsed the raw frustration in his eyes. It was the first time she ever remembered him being at a loss for words, and there was a tantalising enjoyment in watching him squirm.

  ‘So, if you’ll excuse me——’

  Brushing his chest with just the tips of her fingers, Joanna edged around him—and he let her. It was rather like baiting a tiger, she thought, the fluttering excitement in her throat threatening to choke her. It was so intoxicating that she felt quite high, and she could hardly contain herself as she deliberately sauntered across the terrace and into the hotel.

  She knew his eyes followed her. She could feel them, boring into her back, as she swayed provocatively between the tables. And she was glad he would see nothing to betray the emotional trauma he had once wrought in her life. Her figure was as slim now as it had ever been, due as much to hard work as careful dieting. Her legs were long, and shown to some advantage in the frayed Bermudas she was wearing with a buttoned vest. Even her hair had the shiny patina of good health, longer now than she used to wear it, and caught at her nape in a silver barrette.

  Of course, she came down to earth again as quickly as she had gone up. As soon as she was inside the glass screens, which had been folded back to allow free access between the indoor and outdoor sections of the restaurant, the sense of exhilaration she had felt while she was with Cole quickly abated. Besides, once the desire to thwart his plans had been accomplished, she was troubled by an annoying twinge of conscience. Whatever Cole thought, she was not as hard as he imagined. And, although it was true that Ryan Macallister had never accepted her as Cole’s wife, he was an old man, and dying, if Cole was to be believed.

  She paused in the lo
bby of the hotel, not sure now of what she wanted to do. She had been intending to get a book from her room and spend the morning sitting in the sun, but her confrontation with her ex-husband had left her disturbed and restless.

  She needed her swimsuit anyway, so, forcing thoughts of Cole aside, she took the lift up to her room. She was on the fourth floor just one below the penthouse suites. She had a large room, that was part-sitting-room, part-bedroom, with a wide balcony overlooking the Atlantic. All the rooms had balconies, but they were made private by the solid walls that divided them.

  As she stripped off her vest and shorts and put on a scarlet maillot, Joanna couldn’t help wondering where Cole was staying. She guessed he must have flown down from Charleston yesterday evening, and it was infinitely possible that he was staying at this hotel. But he had probably just booked in for one night. He had no doubt expected to persuade her to fly back with him later today.

  She sighed, regarding her reflection in the long closet mirrors, without really noticing how well the strapless swimsuit looked. Perhaps she should just sunbathe on her balcony this morning, she was thinking. She didn’t think Cole would know her actual room number, and even if he did he was unlikely to come looking for her.

  Then she frowned. No, she told herself firmly. She was not going to run away from this. She had proved she could challenge Cole and get away with it. Why shouldn’t she do so again, if it was necessary? It didn’t matter what he said, or what he thought of her. She was a free woman. She could do what she liked.

  In any case, she added, in a less than radical afterthought, Cole was unlikely to hang around, once he realised she meant what she said. It was early May, after all. A busy time of the year for him. And if his father was seriously ill——

  But Joanna refused to think about it. She would not allow herself to feel guilty about a man who had always hated her, and her beliefs. Dear God, he had even destroyed his own son in his efforts to get what he wanted!

  The phone rang as she was pulling an outsize T-shirt over her head. The baggy cotton garment barely skimmed her thighs, but its shoulders would keep her cool if the sun got too hot. It served the dual purpose of covering her swimsuit and providing protection, and she liked it better than some custom-made jacket.