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Spirit Of Atlantis
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. Choosing a husband… is never easy!Julie was spending a restful holiday in Canada on the shores of lovely Lake Huron. Restful? Not when Dan Prescott was there at all times, arousing feelings in her that she had never experienced before and didn’t know how to cope with…And where would it all lead anyway? For apart from the fact that Dan was well out of her league and was expected to marry someone much more suitable, Julie had her own fiancé to worry about…
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.
Spirit of Atlantis
Anne Mather
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover (#ue09e4c55-4248-5a7f-ac58-431ff2940f09)
About the Author (#ucd1f13ab-eede-5617-9c88-67177505ad13)
Title Page (#u96e87e70-e59f-5b88-8e46-e8268226490d)
CHAPTER ONE (#ue705c896-ef4d-57f0-9c5f-349b0356d122)
CHAPTER TWO (#u1777624d-bfc7-54e1-951e-0b7e3988ef9a)
CHAPTER THREE (#u7217e3ae-1ee6-57de-9cf4-7223a2ae852a)
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_237f30ce-62b9-5c3a-969c-e25cb4d228f0)
JULIE MADE her way down through the trees, her sandalled feet sliding on the needled slope. The smell of pine and juniper was all around her, mingling with the earthy scents of the forest, and although there were occasional scufflings in the underbrush, she was no longer alarmed. After making this particular descent every morning since her arrival, she was used to the shy retreat of the small animals that lived in these woods, and she had no real fear of meeting any human intruder. Pam and David’s cabin-style hotel was situated way off the beaten path, and she doubted any intrepid motorist would risk the forest track. Their visitors came by yacht or canoe or motor launch, and just occasionally on foot, but as no one new had arrived within the last couple of days, Julie felt safe in assuming she would not be disturbed.
At this hour of the morning, and it was only a little after six o’clock, the lake held no appeal for their predominantly middle-aged clientele, and Julie had grown accustomed to considering it her private time of the day. Soon enough, the vast reaches of Lake Huron would be invaded by speedboats towing sun-bronzed water-skiers, and paddle steamers giving their passengers a glimpse of some of the thirty thousand islands for which the lake was famous. But right now, it was quiet, as quiet as in the winter, when the lake was frozen over to a depth of several feet. Then, the animals had it all their own way, and the summer settlers returned to their centrally-heated homes, and dreamed about the long sunny days at the lake.
Georgian Bay—even the names had a special sound, Julie thought. Beausoleil Island, Waubanoka, Penetang Rock, the Giant’s Tomb—she had visited them all in the three weeks since her arrival, and she loved their natural beauty and the timeless sense of space. She was grateful to Adam for giving her these weeks, weeks to recover from the terrible shock of her father’s suicide, and she was grateful to the Galloways, too, for making this holiday possible.
She heard the splashing in the water long before she reached the rocky shoreline. It wasn’t the usual sucking sound the water made as it fell back from washing against the numerous rocks, but a definite cleaving of the lake’s surface, followed by a corresponding in-surge of rippling waves right to the edge of the incline.
Julie frowned as she emerged from the trees and saw the dark head in the water. She had half suspected it, of course, and yet she was still disappointed, the more so when she saw the heap of clothes lying on the rocks at her feet. They looked like a man’s clothes, but these days who could be sure? Jeans were asexual, and the denim shirt could have belonged to anyone.
Her brain flicked swiftly through a mental catalogue of the guests at present staying at the hotel. Perhaps it was one of them, and yet none of them seemed the type to take an early morning dip. There were the Fair-leys, but he was fat and middle-aged, and unlikely to shed his clothes in anything less than a sauna, and she was simply not the type. The Meades? Again she dismissed the idea. They were much younger, but they seldom appeared before noon, and Pam had already speculated on their being a honeymoon couple. So who? Only the Edens were left, and a Mrs and Miss Peters, but she couldn’t imagine Richard Eden being allowed to go anywhere without his wife and their two whining children, and neither Geraldine Peters nor her mother would wear anything so inelegant as jeans.
A feeling of intense irritation gripped her. This man, and she was pretty sure he was male, had ruined her day, and she felt vaguely resentful. She was in the annoying position of not knowing what she ought to do, and while it would obviously be simpler to turn and go back to her cabin, she didn’t see why she should behave as if she didn’t have the right to be there. She probably had more right than he had, even if no one had troubled to put up signs saying it was private land.
She was still standing there, gazing rather morosely in his direction, when he turned and saw her. There was no mistaking his sudden reaction, or the fact that he was now swimming strongly towards her. It made her unaccountably nervous, but she stood her ground as he got nearer. It was only as he got near enough for her to see his face that she realised his appraisal was coolly insolent, and her denim shorts seemed unsuitable apparel for someone who wanted to appear distant.
‘Hi!’
To her astonishment she realised he was addressing her, and indignation at his audacity made her gulp a sudden intake of breath. He was obviously under the delusion that she had been watching him out of curiosity, and perhaps he thought she was interested in him.
Ignoring him, she deliberately turned her head, shading her eyes, and making a display of gazing out across the water. Perhaps if she showed him she wasn’t interested, he would take his clothes and go away, and she could enjoy the solitary swim she had looked forward to.
‘Hi—you!’
The masculine tones were faintly mocking now, the familiar salutation suffixed by an equally annoying pronoun. Just who did he think he was? she thought indignantly, and turned glacial green eyes in his direction.
He was treading water a few feet from the shore, making no apparent effort to get out. The lake bed shelved quite rapidly, and he was still out of his depth, but she could see how brown his skin was, and how long the slick wet hair that clung below his nape.
‘Will you please stop bothering me?’ she exclaimed, unhappily aware that the skimpy halter bra of her bikini was hardly the kind of attire to afford any degree of dignity, and his crooked grin seemed to echo her uneasy suspicions.
‘Those are my clothes on the rock beside you,’ he called, and she was momentarily struck by the familiarity of his accent. Was he English? Was it possible to meet another English person in this very Canadian neck of the woods, or was it simply his accent didn’t match that of the Galloways or any of the other residents staying at the hotel? Whatever, she quickly disposed of her curiosity, and in her most frigid tones, she retorted:
‘I can see that. Now will you please put them on and get out of here?’
‘I will—put them on, I mean, if you’ll be a good girl and go away,’ he replied, allowing his mocking gaze to move over her in admiring appraisal. ‘Unless you’d like to join me?’
‘No, thank you.’ Julie was not amused by his invitation. ‘And why should I go away? This land belongs to the Kawana Point Hotel. You’re trespassing!’
‘The lake belongs to everyone,’ he retorted, pushing back his hair with long fingers. ‘Now will you let me get out of here? It’s pretty damn cold.’
‘I’m not stopping you,’ Julie responded coldly, flicking the towel she carried against her legs. ‘And no one asked you to swim.’
‘No, they surely didn’t,’ he agreed, his accent sounding distinctly southern at that moment. ‘But I don’t have no swimsuit, little lady, so unless you have no objections—’
Julie turned away before he had finished speaking, her features burning with indignant colour. How dare he go swimming without a pair of trunks? It was disgusting, it was indecent!
‘Okay, you can look now.’
The mocking voice was nevertheless disturbing, and she glanced round half apprehensively to find he had put on the denim jeans and was presently shouldering his way into the matching shirt. He had obviously not brought a towel either, and the pants clung in places Julie would rather not look, emphasising his lean hips and the powerful muscles of his thighs. He was tall, easily six feet, with a lean but not angular build, and he carried his height easily, moving with a lithe and supple fluidity as he crossed the rocks towards her.
Julie took a backward step. Somehow he had seemed less aggressive in the water, but now he was all male, all forceful energy, and evidently sure of himself in a way Adam could never be. But then Adam was older, more mature, and infinitely less dangerous, although how she knew this she couldn’t imagine.
‘Hi,’ he said again, holding out his hand. ‘My name’s Dan Prescott. What’s yours?’
Julie was taken aback. ‘I don’t think that’s any of your business,’ she exclaimed, in faintly shocked tones, making no attempt to return his gesture. ‘I—er—how did you get here?’
‘Motorbike,’ he said laconically, bending down to push navy canvas shoes on to his feet. ‘It’s parked up there.’ He nodded towards the trees. ‘How about you?’
Julie debated whether to answer him, and then decided it would be easier if she could prove her right to be here. ‘I’m staying at the hotel,’ she declared distantly. ‘As I told you, this land—’
‘—belongs to the Kawana Point Hotel,’ he finished lazily. ‘Okay, so I’m trespassing. What are you going to do about it?’
Julie had no answer to that. Glancing up at him, she was intensely conscious of his size and his strength, and she didn’t think she altogether trusted him. Perhaps she had been a fool to challenge him. After all, she was at least a quarter of a mile from the hotel. What could she do if he suddenly decided to attack her? No one was likely to be about at this hour of the morning.
‘If—if you’ll just leave, we’ll say no more about it,’ she said, with what she hoped sounded like calm assurance, and long thick lashes came to shade eyes that were the colour of the lake on a stormy day.
‘And if I don’t?’ he countered, half amused, and Julie realised she had as much chance of controlling him as she did one of the wild cats that occasionally roamed down to the cabins in search of food.
With a helpless gesture she turned aside. His accent was confusing her again. Sometimes he sounded almost English, but at others he had a definite transatlantic drawl. She couldn’t make him out, and she was infuriatingly aware that he was getting the better of the discussion.
‘You’re English, aren’t you?’ he asked, regarding her intently. ‘Are you on holiday? Or do you work at the hotel?’
‘You really don’t give up, do you?’ she flared, giving him an angry look. ‘Why don’t you just go back to wherever you came from and leave me alone?’
‘I’m curious.’ He shrugged. ‘As to where I came from—I’m staying along there …’ He indicated the curve of the lake.
‘I didn’t ask,’ she retorted sharply. ‘I really don’t care who you are or where you’re staying.’
‘No?’ He tipped his head on one side, drops of water from his hair sliding from his jawline to the strong column of his neck. ‘That’s a pity, because you interest me. Besides,’ the grey eyes danced, ‘we’re almost fellow countrymen. My mother is English, too.’
‘How interesting!’ Julie’s tone was full of sweet acid. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, Mr—er—’
‘Dan,’ he supplied softly. ‘Dan Prescott. You never did tell me your name.’
‘No, I didn’t.’ Julie forced a faintly supercilious smile. ‘Now, do you mind …’
‘You want to swim?’
‘Yes.’
‘Go right ahead. Don’t let me stop you.’
The inclination of his head was mocking, and Julie was infuriated. Did he really expect her to step into the water under his insolent gaze? She had no intention of giving him that advantage, and the glare she cast in his direction was venomous.
‘What’s the matter?’ he probed. ‘Afraid I may decide to join you?’
Julie tapped her foot. ‘Even you wouldn’t risk that. I might decide to run off with your clothes. Then what would you do?’
He grinned. ‘You have a point.’
Julie sighed. ‘Will you go away now?’
‘Aren’t you afraid I might steal your clothes?’
‘I don’t swim without them,’ she returned sweetly.
‘You should.’ His lazy gaze dropped down the length of her body. ‘Try it some time. There’s nothing like it.’
‘You’re insulting!’ she exclaimed.
‘And you’re over-reacting,’ he retorted. ‘Where have you been these last ten years? In a convent?’
Julie turned away, and began to scramble up the slope towards the trees. He could not know how accurate his guess had been, but it hurt all the same. Besides, it was obvious she was not going to be allowed to enjoy her swim this morning, and his particular kind of verbal fencing was alien to her.
‘Wait …’
She heard his feet crunching the shingle behind her, but she didn’t turn, and when his hands suddenly caught her she panicked. No one, not even Adam, had gripped her thighs, and those hard hands encircling the flesh at the tops of her legs seemed disturbingly familiar.
‘Let me go!’ she cried, struggling so hard that she overbalanced both of them, his feet sliding away on the loosely packed surface, and pulling her down on top of him.
‘Crazy!’ he muttered, as they slid the few feet down the slope to the rocks, and Julie, trapped by the encircling pressure of his arm, was inclined to agree with him.
‘If you hadn’t grabbed me—!’ she declared frustratedly, supremely aware of the hard muscles of his chest beneath her shoulder blades, and felt the helpless intake of breath that heralded his laughter.
‘Okay, okay,’ he said, as she scrambled to her feet, lying there looking up at her. ‘It was a crazy thing to do. But—hell, what did I do to make you so mad at me?’
Julie pursed her lips. ‘I’m not mad at you, Mr Prescott. I—I have no feelings in the matter whatsoever. I wish you’d go.’
