All Night Long. 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.
All Night Long
Anne Mather
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
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
EPILOGUE
THE man was watching her.
Ally shifted a little uncomfortably on her stool at the bar and transferred her attention to the tall glass in front of her. Despite the fact that she had come down to the bar with the avowed intention of flirting with the first attractive man she saw, the reality was proving rather more daunting than she had anticipated. Besides, although she was almost sure he was watching her, he could be staring at something over her shoulder. Young men like him did not usually waste their time with middle-aged divorcees, particularly when the divorcee in question looked considerably the worse for wear.
Ally heaved a deep sigh and permitted herself another surreptitious glance in his direction. This time she caught his eye and she could feel the heat surge into her cheeks as she quickly looked away.
Dear God, she thought, picking up her glass and taking a reinforcing gulp of her vodka and tonic. He was watching her. But why? Surely he couldn’t think she was a wealthy tourist, not with her cheap jewellery and chain store clothes.
She took a steadying breath. The trouble was, she wasn’t used to this. It was twenty years since she’d been an active member of the singles scene and she had no idea how to cope with such an obvious appraisal. All right, she’d been fairly satisfied with her appearance when she’d looked in the mirror of the hotel room vanity unit upstairs, but she didn’t kid herself that her brown hair—which had been decently cut and styled and streaked with blond highlights—or her decidedly unmodel-like figure were the stuff of any man’s erotic dream. She was—or rather, she had been—a wife and mother for too many years to start regarding herself as an attractive single woman again.
But that was why she was here, she reminded herself. Why she was spending the night at this luxurious hotel at Heathrow Airport before boarding the morning flight to Nassau and from there to the tiny island of San Cristobál. This holiday was intended to be her opportunity to escape—at least for a few weeks—from the pain and humiliation of the past year. And if, by going to stay with Suzanne, she was falling short of making a complete break from everything and everyone she knew, she was doing something she had never done before.
So why was she behaving so coyly, just because some man—some strange man—was showing interest in her? It wasn’t as if she was likely to see him again after tonight. And, besides, he was far too young for her. If he was watching her, it was probably just curiosity. She looked so out of place here; he was no doubt wondering what she was doing out alone.
‘Is this yours?’
She started at the voice. Despite her awareness of the man at the other end of the bar, she’d been completely wrapped in her thoughts, and the low appealing enquiry came as a total surprise to her.
It was him. As she’d been absorbed in finding reasons why he wouldn’t be interested in her, he’d left his stool and was now propped against the bar beside her, her black clutch bag in his hand.
‘Oh—’ How had he taken possession of her handbag without her being aware of it? ‘I—yes. Yes, it’s mine.’ She fairly snatched the bag from his outstretched fingers. ‘Thank you.’
‘No problem.’ His voice had a faintly mocking tone as if he found her rather ungracious acceptance of his kindness amusing. ‘It was on the floor.’
‘Was it?’ Too late. Ally remembered her elbow brushing something as she’d swung round in her seat. ‘Well, I’m very grateful. I’d hate to have lost it.’
Which was so true. Her traveller’s cheques, her passport, and her air tickets were all in the bag. She’d been too nervous to leave them locked in her suitcase in her room.
‘Accidents happen,’ he responded lightly, his dark eyes