Forbidden Flame

Forbidden Flame
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.Knowing there is no future for her and the married man she had fallen for, Caroline flees to far-off Mexico. At first she is grateful for the job of companion to the young daughter of Don Esteban de Montejo – but soon Caroline begins to wonder if she is in a worse situation than the one she has just escaped! There is something disturbingly wrong about the entire Motejo family – all, that is, except Don Esteban’s intriguingly handsome brother Luis. But Luis is barred to Caroline for every kind of reason…

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.

Forbidden Flame

Anne Mather

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

Table of Contents

Cover (#u31bb67dd-1179-5b8a-88eb-62b47625731f)

About the Author (#udcb8b143-952f-5124-8bec-4b3618eb7165)

Title Page (#u33e441bb-c3b3-5884-8d32-3a8998444aaf)

CHAPTER ONE (#uc846f175-e91f-5ed5-a65e-1edc7eb9e1db)

CHAPTER TWO (#ubdeb84dc-8b0d-5888-8c43-7f4d78627113)

CHAPTER THREE (#u1811c39d-420a-501b-90e8-a700a7f4dd0c)

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)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_88de5a2b-e17e-5388-9fc7-02c1468d979f)

PEERING through the fly-spotted window of the hotel in Las Estadas, Caroline thought she must have been slightly mad to agree to come here. Whatever had possessed her to apply for this job? Why on earth had she imagined it would be exciting, a challenge, something to divert her from the sudden emptiness of her life in England? What did she, a university graduate, with honours in English and history, know of teaching an eight-year-old child, and why had she been chosen when there had obviously been others more suitable?

Of course, the advertisement she had read would have interested anyone with a spark of adventure in their blood. The chance to work in Mexico—the land of the Aztecs, steeped in history, and peopled by the ancestors of Montezuma and Cortez—but Caroline wondered now how many of those other applicants had baulked when they were expected to travel to a remote village north of Yucatan. She had spoken with several of the other girls, waiting in the drawing room of the hotel suite in London, and almost all of them had gained the opinion that they were to work in Mexico City.

But even when Caroline had learned where the job was she had not been discouraged. She knew a little about Mexico, or so she had imagined, and the idea of living within driving distance of the Mayan city of Chichen Itza had been a glowing inducement. Only now, waiting in the seedy surroundings of the Hotel Hermosa, a misnomer surely, did the full realisation of what she was committed to occur to her, and if there had been some way she could return to Merida without anyone’s knowledge, she would have surely done so.

Outside, a drenching downpour had turned the street into a muddy river, and given a grey aspect to buildings already dirt-daubed and ramshackle. This was not the Mexico she had imagined, the colourful blending of past and present in a kaleidoscope of rich mosaics and even richer architecture. This was poverty and squalor, and the simple struggle for survival against enormous odds. Las Estadas had not yet felt the impact of the oil boom that was supposedly going to transform Mexico’s economy. Here life was still held cheaply and governed by the whims of weather, and a seemingly unkind fate. To Caroline, used to the social and cultural advantages of a Western civilisation, the sight of so much deprivation was doubly shocking, and she was uncomfortably aware that she would have much preferred not to have seen what she had.

Turning away from the window, she viewed the sordid little room behind her without liking. A rag mat beside the narrow iron-railed bedspread was all the covering the floor possessed, and the water in the chipped jug on the washstand was the graveyard for the assortment of insects who had drowned there during the night. The bed itself had been lumpy and not particularly clean, but the night before Caroline had been so tired she felt she could have slept on the floor. This morning, however, she had experienced a shudder of revulsion when she saw the grubby sheets in daylight, and the breakfast of hot tortillas and strong-smelling coffee still stood on the rickety table where the obsequious hotel proprietor had left it.

A knock at her door brought an automatic stiffening of her spine, and she straightened away from the window to stand rather apprehensively in the middle of the floor. ‘Who is it?’ she called, clasping her slim fingers tightly together, and then mentally sagged again when Señor Allende put his head round the door.

‘El desayuno, señorita—it was okay?’

The hotel proprietor was enormously fat, and as he eased his way into the room, Caroline couldn’t help wondering how many of those people she had seen could have lived on what he ate. His girth was disgusting, and he brought with him an odour of sweat and sour tequila that caused her empty stomach to heave.

‘Ah—but you have not eaten!’ he exclaimed now, observing the untouched tray. ‘It is not to your liking, señorita? You want I should have Maria make you something else?’

‘Thank you, no.’ Caroline shook her head firmly. ‘I—er—I’m not hungry. Could you tell me again, what time did Señor Montejo say he would be here?’

‘Don Esteban say he will come before noon,’ responded the fat little Mexican thoughtfully, stroking his black moustaches, and viewing Caroline’s slim figure with an irritatingly speculative eye. ‘Mas, por cierto, el tiempo—the weather, you understand? It may cause—how you say—the delay, no?’