Fallen Angel

Fallen Angel
Anne Mather

Mills & Boon are excited to present The Anne Mather Collection – the complete works by this classic author made available to download for the very first time! These books span six decades of a phenomenal writing career, and every story is available to read unedited and untouched from their original release.An unexpected complication!Jason Tarrant doesn’t want a teenage boy foisted upon him. And he wants it even less when the boy turns out to be artless – and decidedly female – Alex Durham. His estancia in South America is definitely no place for someone as naïve and beautiful as Alex. And when an irresistible attraction develops between them, the situation is soon completely out of hand!Could it be anything other than sheer infatuation? And was there any way they could avoid real disaster?!

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 mystic-am@msn.com (mailto:mystic-am@msn.com) and I’d be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.

Fallen Angel

Anne Mather

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Table of Contents

Cover (#u1191bf6d-f5ae-564e-868b-81dad83121df)

About the Author (#u9b4a82fa-ace9-579f-80ed-e780ae83fe97)

Title Page (#u68270a59-df9b-51e6-a537-7d2698ae7628)

CHAPTER ONE (#u4c0c7bf0-e029-5484-82a7-0dd1164bc6c2)

CHAPTER TWO (#uf136ed43-6802-586f-abe9-3054bc241bfd)

CHAPTER THREE (#u1a1b48ef-d815-5660-8b90-1310d7690660)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_b7ebab34-6c90-503d-a878-902b930f9606)

JASON did not like London. He had not liked it when he was a student, and he liked it even less now. The crowded thoroughfares, all confusingly one way, the noise of the traffic, the sickly smell of diesel; all these things combined to make him yearn for the open spaces of his estancia; though it must be added that anyone observing his tall, immaculately-suited figure and darkly cynical features would never have suspected he felt more at home on the pampa.

It was strange, he reflected, when he had been born and brought up in England, albeit in the care of the local council, that he should feel more at ease in the South American republic where he had his home. The well-trammelled spaces of his fatherland held no interest for him, and as soon as he had obtained the engineering degree he had worked for, he left for more adventurous climes. But building bridges in Australia or pipelines in the Middle East soon began to pall, however, and because the money was good he joined a mercenary force fighting in Central Africa. But even money would not compensate for the lack of self-respect he felt facing a barefoot enemy, equipped with only the meanest kind of ammunition, with weaponry of the most sophisticated kind. He left for America with funds to pay the deposit on some land of his own, and succeeded only in blowing it all in on a speculative land deal that left him broke and jobless.

And that was how he met Charles Durham …

Jason moved to the window of his hotel suite now and surveyed the busy street several floors below without enthusiasm. Was it really fifteen years since that bar-room brawl? He could hardly credit it. And yet so much had happened in the years since, he should not find it so difficult to believe.

Durham was an archaeologist, taking a break from a dig he was working on in Mexico. He was holidaying in New Orleans at the time, and his initial encounter with Jason took place in the street outside one of the many bars and taverns. He, Jason, had been rolling drunk at the time, he remembered wryly, and was losing the fight he was having with the burly bartender when Durham recognised a fellow Englishman and intervened. He had settled the bill, which had been the cause of the fight, and the bartender, recognising the fact that sober Jason would have little difficulty in laying him out, had been more than willing to accept the settlement. Durham had taken Jason to his lodgings, sobered him up, and eventually persuaded him to admit to his abortive foray into the real estate business. Subsequently, he had offered him a job working with him in Mexico, and although Jason had known little about archaeology, he had been willing to learn.

He worked with Durham for almost two years before they discovered the ruins of the Mayan pyramid, and beneath, untouched for hundreds of years, the burial chamber. Even now, so many years on, Jason could remember the thrill they had felt upon discovering the necklaces and rings and bracelets that decked the crumbling skeleton the chamber had contained, and the jade mask that hid the hollow eye-sockets and gaping mouth.

With his share of what was left after the government had taken their dues, Durham intended to create a research institute in England, but Jason had decided to spend some time in South America. He lived in Brazil for a year, and then twelve years ago he had bought some land in Santa Vittoria, a tiny country sandwiched between Brazil and Uruguay. Although he and Durham had intended to keep in touch, England was a long way from his home at San Gabriel, and somehow he had never found the time to write letters. He had had much to learn—about growing maize and flax, planting orchards of fruit trees, so that he could harvest his own oranges and lemons, peaches and grapes, but mostly about breeding the horses and cattle which were his real love. It was almost as if he had spent his whole life searching for that one reality, and once he found it, he held it fast. And then, six weeks ago, he got the letter …

The ringing of the telephone interrupted his train of thought, and moving lithely across the room, he lifted the receiver.

‘Tarrant,’ he supplied tersely, and then relaxed when the hotel operator said: ‘There’s a young lady here to see you, Mr Tarrant. She says you’re expecting——’

‘That’s right,’ Jason interrupted the flow. ‘You can send her right up.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Oh——’ Jason chewed on his lower lip for a moment, ‘I’m—er—I’m also expecting someone else. A boy. When he arrives, let me know at once, will you?’