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       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      All about the author…

      Maggie Cox

      MAGGIE COX loved to write almost as soon as she learned to read. Her favorite occupation was daydreaming and making up stories in her head, and this particular pastime has stayed with her through all the years of growing up, starting work, marrying and raising a family. No matter what was going on in her life, whether happiness, struggle or disappointment, she’d go to bed each night and lose herself in her imagination.

      For many years she secretly filled exercise books and then her word processor with her writing, never showing anyone what she wrote. It wasn’t until she met her second husband, the love of her life, that she was persuaded to start sharing those stories with a publisher. Maggie settled on Harlequin Books as she has loved reading romance novels since she was a teenager. After several rejections, the letters sent back from the publisher became more and more positive and encouraging, and in July 2002 she sold her first book.

      The fact that she is being published is truly a dream come true. However, each book she writes is still a journey in courage and hope and a quest to learn and grow and be the best writer she can. Her advice to aspiring authors is “Don’t give up at the first hurdle, or even the second, third or fourth, but keep on keeping on until your dream is realized. Because if you are truly passionate about writing and learning the craft, as Paulo Coelho states in his book The Alchemist, ‘the Universe will conspire to help you’ make it a reality.”

      To Kate

      For your faith and trust in me and for giving me this wonderful chance.

      Mere thanks are not enough.

      CONTENTS

      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 ONE

      HE HAD no idea what drew him to the window just then. A sudden movement, perhaps, a glimpse of something white he’d caught out of the corner of his eye… If he’d wanted to dig deeper he would have said it was a feeling that drew him; a sense of something unexpected about to happen.

      For some reason tension coiled in his stomach and made it hard to breathe. Evan put it down to the debilitating effects of burnout. Work had been the driving force in his life for too long and he was no longer able to kid himself that he could give himself up to its demands indefinitely—not unless he wanted an early death. That last bout of flu had damn near killed him. But what was he supposed to do now? He’d done what his doctor advised and taken a month off from his business to relax, walk on the beach, catch up on his reading…get his head on straight. As far as Evan was concerned, all were prospects that frankly held little appeal. Life for him equalled activity, and he’d always pushed his body to the maximum, whether in the gym or working ridiculous hours to promote his business. If only he had known that one day there would be a price to pay for such single-minded recklessness…

      A sudden frisson of fear biting on his nerves, he clenched his jaw, green eyes narrowing at the sight that met his gaze through the window. Past the tumbledown, mildewed fence that needed mending, a woman, white straw hat, white cotton dress down to her ankles, stood amongst the crestfallen weeds of the neighbouring garden looking as if she’d somehow wandered on to the scene from the pages of House and Garden. Secateurs in one hand, a wicker basket in the other, it seemed to Evan that she glanced disconsolately at the sight before her, as if she might have taken on more than she could handle. Not that he could blame her. The old, run-down cottage had been empty for at least three years, maybe more. It had had a ‘For Sale’ sign stuck outside for maybe the same length of time. He should have noticed it had gone, but then he rarely came down to the coast these days—his sister, Beth, used the house more than he did. The evidence of her presence was everywhere, from the feminine paraphernalia dotted round the bathroom to the box of kids’ toys stacked in the living-room behind a chintz curtain.

      For some reason, the appearance of the woman in white irked him. He’d wanted peace. OK, so maybe he wasn’t sure that he could handle it, but peace was what he’d had in mind as he’d made the long drive down from London yesterday. Now that peace had been infringed upon by the presence of an unexpected and unwanted neighbour. Rubbing at his forehead, Evan sensed the tension gathering there like a building thunderstorm. As long as she didn’t bother him, everything would still go as he planned. Maybe she hadn’t bought the house at all—maybe she was ‘staging’ it for a potential buyer? Wasn’t that how they referred to it these days? But the face partially shielded by the big straw hat and the slender almost ethereal demeanour of the woman didn’t immediately shout ‘estate agent’ to Evan. Angel, or ghost, but not estate agent.

      Irked by such a ludicrous flight of fancy, he drew away from the window before she caught him staring. He glanced at the pile of hardbacks on the coffee-table, and walked moodily past them into the kitchen to make himself a drink. When he’d had his refreshment he’d take a long walk on the beach to help ease out the kinks in his tired, aching muscles. Perhaps his dour mood would improve after that.

      Her train of thought suddenly lost, Rowan came to a standstill in the middle of the neglected little garden, staring down at the secateurs in her hand as if she couldn’t quite fathom how they’d appeared there. She hated it when her thoughts were suddenly snatched away by this…this awful blankness. It was like wandering into a blinding mist after walking beneath a clear blue sky. Her fingers tightening round the smooth wooden handle of the pruning shears, she chewed down on her lip, willing herself to take charge, to be whole again—as she had been before Greg had died. But that girl had long gone, and the feeling of being apart from the rest of the world that had seized her that morning grew instead of lessened. Her heart galloped and her breath hitched, as if someone had sabotaged her oxygen supply. Instead of scrubby weeds, cheerful yellow dandelions and trailing bindweed,

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