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.
Dark Enemy
Anne Mather
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
IT was hot, uncomfortably so, and inside the cloistered dwelling with its thick hanging tapestries and richly carved ceilings there was little air. A huge lamp made of bronze and burnished to a rich tone burned what little oxygen penetrated the thick walls, and not even the glowing arches, picked out with lapis lazuli, or the gold and blue mosaic of the floor could compensate for the cloying atmosphere of heavy perfume, strong wines, and the inherent scent of perspiring bodies.
The Sheikh Abi Ben Abdul Mohammed, lounging on cushions of satin and silk idly helping himself to handfuls of grapes, was every inch the eastern potentate and seemed totally oblivious of the heat or the unhealthy atmosphere. But Jason Wilde was aware of it, just as he was aware that the effort to control his temper was causing rivulets of sweat to slide down his spine, plastering his shirt to his back.
‘Look, Mohammed,’ he said tautly, ‘we’ve got to get this settled. You know that and I know that, so we might as well come to an agreement.’
Sheikh Mohammed studied his companion rather appraisingly, and then said coolly: ‘You must make the agreement, Wilde. After all, it is in your interests much more than mine!’ His tones were smooth and slightly derogatory, and Jason felt an immense urge to lift him out of his bed of cushions and thrust his fist down his throat. It would be so easy and so enjoyable. The man was like a snake, deliberately causing unrest, arousing the men so that they didn’t know where to turn, uncertain of their loyalties.
But he couldn’t touch him. They were not individuals, and no amount of wishful thinking would alter the fact that he was the representative of Inter-Anglia Oil, just as the Sheikh was the ruler, and therefore the spokesman, of this small state of Abrahm.
So instead of reacting violently he said, equally coolly: ‘Neverthless, Mohammed, it would be ludicrous of me to attempt to make any kind of agreement when I don’t know exactly what it is you want.’
The Sheikh leaned forward and with slow and purposely languid movements helped himself to a cigarette, and after one of the attendants who stood rigidly to attention behind him had dashed forward to light his cigarette he drew on it deeply before speaking again.
Jason got to his feet. Sitting on the floor was not conducive to comfort when one’s legs were long, and besides, the inactivity was infuriating. The Sheikh looked up at him rather derisively, and said:
‘But, Wilde, you know what I want. I want my men to have a – square deal, just as your own men do. I do not feel that at present this is so. Besides, you are visitors here, never forget that, and as such are only welcome so long as your presence is not annoying to me.’
Jason thrust his hands into the pockets of the cotton pants he was wearing, and controlled his features. ‘Without the resources of my company, Abrahm would not be able to mount such an operation,’ he replied, quite expressionlessly.
The Sheikh shrugged. ‘No. I agree, this is so. Nevertheless, without Abrahm’s natural resources there would be no operation.’
Jason heaved a sigh. As always in matters of this kind, the Sheikh was overwhelmingly obtuse, constantly creating impasse in their discussions by remarks of this kind. There was no answer to him, and Jason knew that no matter how impatient he might become he would just have to wait until the Sheikh was prepared to state his demands without preamble.
But it was difficult to remain impassive when to add to the overheated atmosphere of the Sheikh’s magnificent habitation there was Jason’s own impatience at this needless delay. They met enough obstacles in the course of their work without meeting the unnecessary obstinacy of the Sheikh.
But now the Sheikh seemed to decide a change of subject was warranted, and with annoying urbanity, he said: ‘Tell me, Wilde, what does a man like you derive from working here? You do not strike me as the kind of man who eschews the fleshpots for more, shall we say, aesthetic pursuits.’
Jason controlled his anger.