Long Cold Winter

Long Cold Winter
PENNY JORDAN

Penny Jordan needs no introduction as arguably the most recognisable name writing for Mills & Boon. We have celebrated her wonderful writing with a special collection, many of which for the first time in eBook format and all available right now.Freedom was all she wanted from him.Autumn was desperately struggling to put behind her the bittersweet memories of her marriage to Yorke Laing. He'd nearly destroyed her once with his cold brand of loving, but time and a demanding job had given her a new strength. Now she needed only a divorce from him to break their last link.The Yorke flew back into her life, dangling temptation in front of her. He'd give her a divorce - but at a price she was sure she could never pay…

Long Cold Winter

Penny Jordan

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

Table of Contents

Cover (#u7f272314-e908-5550-bbb5-89efa594a680)

Title Page (#uae4ba922-92d7-5428-bd89-1dacf643744e)

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE (#u34c18bcf-d1a4-5bb0-bf6f-f4e8f199d8e0)

AS the light sea-plane circled the small Caribbean island of St John’s, Autumn stared up at it, shielding her eyes from the brilliance of the sun.

‘Here comes our big fish,’ Alan said humorously, sliding an arm round her shoulders and pulling her against him. ‘I hope you’re going to do your courier bit well and help me hook him.’

They were standing on the smooth pale sand in front of the hotel, a tall, almost too finely drawn girl with a cloud of sunbleached honey blonde hair and eyes the misty violet colour of the bougainvillea that smothered the walls of the double-storey blocks of bedrooms scattered discreetly in the hotel grounds, and a slightly shorter, thickset man in his early thirties, his lightweight tropical suit over-formal next to the golden-toasted, bikini-clad body of his companion.

Autumn moved away automatically, a reflex action where men were concerned and one she barely noticed any more, but Alan Shields saw it, and his mouth compressed slightly. He had taken Autumn on to the staff of his package holiday business, Travel Mates, on the recommendation of his secretary, Sally Ferrars. As far as doing her job went, he had no complaints, but Autumn had displayed a steadfast refusal to respond to his advances which had aroused at first disbelief and then, when he realised that she meant it, curiosity.

Autumn was twenty-two and must surely have had relationships with other men; she was too attractive sexually not to have done, so why the cold shoulder for him? He was not bad looking; comparatively wealthy, free, white and over twenty-one.

He had tried to pump Sally, but she had refused to be badgered. ‘Leave Autumn alone,’ was all she would tell him. Sally was engaged to a British Airways pilot and she treated him with a sisterly forbearance. He glanced thoughtfully at Autumn.

‘We’ve really got to pull out all the stops on this one,’ he warned her. ‘If this guy doesn’t come up with the goods, we’re well and truly sunk, and Tropicana will take us over. If that happens we’ll all be out of a job.’

Autumn knew that Alan wasn’t exaggerating and sympathised. The success of St John’s as the ultimate Caribbean holiday retreat was very close to his heart, and he had invested heavily in the small island and the hotel complex he was having built there. His business, Travel Mates, had been doing very well and there had been no reason to suppose that St John’s wouldn’t be hugely successful. The hotel’s first season had been booked up well in advance and building was on schedule. But then a freak hurricane had virtually destroyed the main hotel building; holidays already booked had had to be cancelled and money refunded, and as a result Alan was facing ruin unless he could find someone willing to invest in the venture.

The larger holiday operators were hovering like vultures, waiting to see what pickings they could get if he failed, and Autumn didn’t need to be reminded how important it was that this possible backer Alan’s merchant bankers had found them invested in the island of St John’s.

Even so, she disliked Alan’s suggestion that she could make some effort to ‘charm’ the man, and she frowned slightly. She liked Alan, and owed him a great deal. Without the job he had given her… She sighed and glanced at her watch. Nearly four o’clock. Every afternoon she spent a couple of hours in the hotel foyer, answering the questions of the holidaymakers who needed advice or help.

‘We’re having dinner alone tonight, just the three of us in my bungalow,’ Alan told her, ‘so wear something pretty.’

‘Pretty? Don’t you mean sexy?’ Autumn queried, giving him a sharp look. ‘I won’t be used as bait, Alan. I’m not making myself available to your backer. Let’s get that understood right from the start.’

Alan assumed a hurt expression.

‘You’ve got it all wrong. All I want you to do is smile nicely and make him feel welcome. Nothing wrong in that, is there?’

‘I think I’ll reserve judgment,’ Autumn said dryly.

She was well aware that Alan thought her something of an enigma, but his earlier determination to break through her defences had waned when he realised that she was not going to give way, and now he tended to treat her more as an efficient member of his staff and less of a challenge to his masculinity. There were still times, though, when his conversation held distinctly sexual overtones, but Autumn had grown adept at keeping him at arm’s length.

‘Want to come with me to welcome our visitor?’ Alan asked lazily, seeing that she wasn’t going to be drawn.

Beyond the reef the small bi-plane had landed safely and was bobbing gently on the smooth water.

Autumn shook her head.

‘I’m too busy. I’ll see you later.’

While Alan headed for the beach and the waiting motor launch, Autumn took the cool, shady path which led through the luxuriant tropical gardens, winding its way past the children’s play area, the tennis courts, and the huge Olympic-size swimming pool with its palm-roofed bar and tempting sun-loungers.

Inside the foyer, the discreet hum of the air-conditioning was the only sound to break the silence. The pretty dark-skinned girl behind the reception desk smiled warmly at Autumn.

‘No customers for you today,’ she chuckled. ‘They’re all too busy enjoying themselves to want to waste a minute!’

Autumn smiled back. It was true that her job here, in some ways, was something of a sinecure, since so far she had received not one complaint. She wandered into the main bar and sat down. Like everything else in the complex, its design had been carefully thought out to complement its surroundings. A large, low-roofed building, open to the sea on one side, and the gardens on another, it had a cool mosaic-tiled floor and simple white walls. Terracotta urns full of bougainvillea and other exotic tropical plants broke up its starkness and provided brilliant patches of colour.

An archway led to the restaurant and dance floor, and Autumn could hear the two brightly plumaged parrots in their huge aviary calling stridently to one another. These two birds had proved a great attraction to the children and their vocabulary seemed to increase by the day.

As she relaxed in one of the cane lounging chairs and watched the soothing, almost hypnotic motion of the waves, Autumn reflected that St John’s really was a dream tropical island paradise come true.

Alan had wanted to create a luxurious and yet unrestricted holiday atmosphere for people who wanted to get away from humdrum normality, and Autumn felt that he had succeeded, or would succeed if he could persuade their visitor to invest in the venture.

The hotel boasted two pools and had five hundred bedrooms, but as these were located in small blocks of eight double rooms, or in some cases, luxuriously equipped chalet bungalows with two double bedrooms, a sitting room and even a small kitchen, spread over fifty acres of beautiful gardens, there was no sense of overcrowding.

For the amateur sportsman the tiny island had everything his heart could desire, from tennis courts and golf, to scuba diving and every known type of water sport, all with expert tuition. Alan’s design for the complex had been on a grand scale, every tiny detail carefully considered so that guests would lack for nothing, whether it was French cuisine, or the ability to buy their own food from the small supermarket and eat al fresco should the mood take them. Every room or bungalow had a veranda or balcony, with a superb view of the sea and the gardens, and behind the main hotel block rose the magnificent backcloth of the volcanic mountain from which the island was formed, clothed in tropical rain-forest.

‘Hello there! Alan said I’d find you here!’

Autumn smiled lazily at the small brunette walking towards her. ‘Hello, Sally. Has he sent you to soften me up?’