Anne Mather - Nights of Passion

Nights of Passion

MENDEZ’S MISTRES

BEDDED FOR THE ITALIAN’S PLEASURE

THE PREGNANCY AFFAIR

ANNE MATHER

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ANNE MATHERsays “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 wrote only for my own pleasure, and it wasn’t until my husband suggested that I send 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, more than one hundred and fifty books later, I’m literally staggered by what happened.

I had written all through my childhood and on into my teens, the stories changing from children’s adventures to torrid gypsy passions. My mother used to gather these up from time to time, when my bedroom became too untidy, and dispose of them! The trouble was, I never used to finish any of the stories, and Caroline, my first published book, was the first book actually 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.

I now have two grown-up children—a son and daughter—and two adorable grandchildren, Abigail and Ben. My e-mail address is mystic-am@msn.com, and I’d be happy to hear from any of my readers.”

MENDEZ’S MISTRES

ANNE MATHER

‘HE WAS everything a woman might ever want in a man: tall, dark, ruthless good looks masking a dangerous will that had made him a millionaire before his twenty-fifth birthday. He sat beside her on the sofa, too close for comfort, and oozing the kind of blatant sexuality that weakened her defences. Power and determination had made him successful in business, but Lavender had no intention …’

‘I don’t have to go if you don’t want me to, Mum.’

Rachel had been lost in the intriguing love life of her latest heroine when Daisy appeared in her office doorway, but her daughter’s words brought a crushing end to that imaginary world.

‘Oh, Daisy!’ Rachel exclaimed, getting up from her desk to give the girl a swift hug. ‘When did I say I didn’t want you to go?’

‘You didn’t,’ said Daisy, recoiling from her mother’s embrace with all the youthful independence of a thirteen-year-old. ‘But I know what you think of Lauren. I don’t like her much either. And the last time I visited them they were still living in England.’

Rachel sighed. She was always amazed at Daisy’s capacity to understand her feelings. She wasn’t always amenable. Like any teenager her age, she and her mother didn’t always see eye to eye. But where her father was concerned, there was no contest.

Daisy had known that his invitation to spend at least two weeks of her summer holidays with him and his second wife at their home in Florida could prove controversial. For the first three years of his marriage to Lauren, Steve had only seen his daughter a handful of times, even though Rachel had agreed to share custody. But suddenly, since Steve’s move to the company’s headquarters in Miami last year, he’d been eager to have her spend every holiday with him.

Rachel hadn’t voiced any objections. She wanted Daisy to know her father. But there was still a twinge of apprehension at the thought that Daisy might find life in the United States far more exciting than living here in Westlea, a quiet English country town.

‘Look, I don’t mind,’ she assured Daisy now, refusing to consider how she would feel if Daisy did decide to live with her father. Rachel’s unexpected success in recent years as a romantic novelist had proved satisfying, but it certainly wouldn’t compensate for the loss of her daughter as well as her husband.

‘Well …’ Daisy still looked doubtful, and Rachel wanted to hug her again. ‘If you’re sure?’

‘You’ll have a lovely time,’ said Rachel, unable to resist tucking a strand of dark hair behind her daughter’s ear. She paused. ‘I just wish your father hadn’t arranged for you to travel across the Atlantic with some strange man.’

Daisy laughed then. ‘He’s not a strange man, Mum,’ she protested. ‘I have met him before. When Daddy lived in London. He’s his boss, actually. His family owns Mendez Macrosystems. Lauren really likes him. I know she thinks he’s hot.’

Rachel’s jaw dropped. ‘Hot?’

‘Yeah.’ Daisy stared at her. ‘Duh. As opposed to boring? Honestly, Mum,’ she grimaced, ‘if you’re writing for a modern audience you ought to know these things.’

‘I know.’ Rachel was defensive. ‘But what makes you think Lauren regards this man as hot?’ She pulled a face. ‘For heaven’s sake, she and your father have only been married for four years.’

‘And your point is?’ Daisy was sardonic. ‘Oh, Mum, get real, will you? Women like Lauren are always on the lookout for the next good thing.’

Rachel shook her head. ‘I don’t think we should be having this conversation, Daisy.’

‘Why not?’

‘Well … because Lauren is your father’s wife.’

‘You were Daddy’s wife when she decided she wanted him,’ pointed out Daisy shrewdly. ‘Honestly, Mum, I don’t know what you’re worried about. If she and Dad get a divorce, you and he could get back together.’

Could they?

Rachel didn’t answer her, aware that that option was no longer as attractive as it might once have been. Experience had taught her that Steve Carlyle was not and had never been the man she thought she’d married. Lauren Johansen hadn’t been the first female to attract Steve’s attention during the nine years of their relationship. She’d just been the richest, and the most determined.

‘Anyway, you’ll get to meet him yourself before we go,’ Daisy went on, reverting back to their earlier discussion. ‘Mr Mendez, I mean. When he picks me up to take me to the airport.’ She dimpled. ‘Wait until I get back and tell Joanne. She’ll be so hacked off. I can’t wait.’

Rachel groaned. ‘"Hacked off"? Daisy, what kind of language is that?’

‘Okay, green with envy, then, is that better?’ Daisy pulled a face. ‘Like I say, Mum, you really need to update your vocabulary.’

‘Not with words like that,’ said Rachel a little prudishly,and then, realising she wasn’t going to get any more work done that morning, she switched off her computer and followed her daughter out the door. ‘Anyway, it’s lunchtime. Do you want an omelette or a salad?’

‘Couldn’t I have a ham-and-cheese toastie?’ asked Daisy wheedlingly. Lately, since she’d got her period, she was inclined to put on weight rather too easily, and Rachel was trying to wean her onto a healthier diet.