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       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.

       Raw Silk

       Anne Mather

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

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      Table of Contents

       Cover

       About the Author

       Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

       CHAPTER FOUR

       CHAPTER FIVE

       CHAPTER SIX

       CHAPTER SEVEN

       CHAPTER EIGHT

       CHAPTER NINE

       CHAPTER TEN

       CHAPTER ELEVEN

       CHAPTER TWELVE

       CHAPTER THIRTEEN

       CHAPTER FOURTEEN

       Copyright

       CHAPTER ONE

      THE sunset was spectacular, spilling its crimson light over clouds that already had a tinge of purple about them. It wasn’t gentle, and it wasn’t peaceful, but its sombre, brooding presence mirrored Oliver’s mood.

      He stood at the apartment window, long legs braced, shoulders set, hands thrust deep into his trouser pockets, gazing out at the view that encompassed half the Tsim Sha Tsui peninsula. It should have soothed him, but it didn’t. By anyone’s reckoning it was impressive, with the hillside falling away to give an uninterrupted view of the harbour. And there was the Hong Kong skyline rising across the water, acres of solid real estate in concrete, steel and glass. But Oliver was not impressed; he scarcely even saw it.

      ‘But, darling, you have to come with me!’

      Behind him, Rose Chen’s voice persisted in its persuasive refrain. For over an hour the delicate Chinese girl had been trying to convince him that she couldn’t go to England without him, and for equally that long Oliver had been insisting that she must.

      ‘Why?’ he asked again, for at least the tenth time. ‘You’re not a child, Rose. You don’t need me to hold your hand.’

      ‘Oh, but I do!’ With a little cry, Rose Chen abandoned the provocative position she had been sustaining on the wide, oriental-quilted bed, and came to drape herself about him. With the sole of one foot sensuously caressing his calf, and her arms wound around his waist, her soft cheek pressed against his spine, she repeated her assertion. ‘Darling, I’ve never been to London. You have. I need you to come with me. They’re going to hate me, aren’t they? I need your support.’

      Oliver withstood her concerted

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