Bitter Memories

Bitter Memories
Margaret Mayo

Table of Contents

Cover Page (#uf1e3808c-a45f-53a6-b263-761ff6093fee)

Excerpt (#u9a56c873-66f3-58f2-ac50-9d503336e510)

About the Author (#u4be370e8-53df-5cc3-8dca-2a2c62e107e7)

Title Page (#u254d7538-79bb-54dd-ab5b-f50cd6622c1a)

Chapter One (#u18813ef3-9ed8-58e4-8233-f03f78b61de5)

Chapter Two (#ufe452e60-2838-5620-baa5-8d3433f27a03)

Chapter Three (#u1016adf8-9a00-5528-abe1-fb969db6ec2b)

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)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

It was bliss. Sheer, sweet heaven.

The party went on around them but neither was aware of it, and when Alejandro’s mouth left hers to burn a trail down the arch of her throat, Tanya could not stop him. It was a mutual hungering of like souls; it was the sweetest torture imaginable, setting her body on fire, pulses pounding, desire coursing through each and every one of her veins.

Born in the industrial heart of England, MARGARET MAYO now lives with her husband in a pretty Staffordshire canal-side village. Once a secretary, she turned her hand to writing her books both at home and in exotic locations, combining her hobby of photography with her research.

Bitter Memories

Margaret Mayo

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_6b60d5ee-84c1-5845-9908-04f5e7d50e4e)

TANYA could not believe her bad luck. The reason she had consistently put off visiting her sister in Tenerife was because she was afraid of bumping into Alejandro. And now, almost before she had set foot on foreign soil, he was here at the airport, instantly recognisable, instantly causing her heart to quicken its beats, instantly causing confusion in her mind.

He was as devastatingly handsome as she remembered, taller than most of his compatriots, his shiny black hair cut well above the collarline, his eyes—— those soul-searching brown eyes which had frequently reduced her to jelly——enviably large and thickly fringed, his lips full and sensual. She would have lied had she said she did not feel anything, but her pain over the way they had parted, and the subsequent news that had filtered through to her that he was married, was a much more dominant emotion.

‘Tanya! Tanya! Over here.’

Her sister’s excited voice reached Tanya above the noise and general confusion of exiting passengers. She was not the only one to hear it. Alejandro turned his head and looked in Charlene’s direction, and then from her to Tanya. It all happened in a split second; their eyes met and she saw the sudden narrowing in his before his attention was taken up by the beautiful woman who threw herself into his arms, a woman with jet-black hair piled on top of her head, perfectly applied make-up, elegantly dressed. Tanya’s bitterness deepened. She had wondered what his wife looked like. Now she knew. And she would have given any-thing to be able to turn right round and catch the same plane back to England.

By this time Charlene had pushed her way to Tanya’s side and was welcoming her sister enthusiastically. When Tanya next looked in Alejandro’s direction he had gone. Maybe she had even imagined him? Although she knew she hadn’t. It was all wishful thinking. She ought to have followed her instincts and never let Charlene persuade her to come here. The holiday was going to be a disaster. The next instant a card was being pushed into her hand and a well-remembered voice growled low in her ear, ‘I would like to talk with you. Give me a ring.’

He disappeared as quickly as he had approached. Charlene looked at her sister in amazement. ‘Was that who I thought it was?’

Tanya nodded. ‘The very same.’

‘I cannot believe it. In the two years I’ve been out here I’ve never seen him, not once.’

‘I know, you told me,’ muttered Tanya unhappily. ‘It was what finally persuaded me to come. Hell, I wish I hadn’t; he’s going to ruin my holiday.’

‘Rubbish, you won’t see him again.’ Charlene’s tone was positive, her arm protectively around her younger sister. ‘What did he want anyway?’

‘He said he wanted to talk to me.’

‘What a nerve.’ Charlene was incensed. ‘Is this his address?’ She plucked the card from Tanya’s hand and tore it into pieces, throwing them into the air where they fell like confetti.

Charlene was the elder of the two sisters, taller and heavier, and had always had more to say for herself. Not that Tanya was lacking in confidence; far from it. Having lost both their parents at a very tender age, they had been brought up separately by a succession of foster-parents, some not always happy experiences, and they had frequently needed to stand up for themselves.

Tanya’s shoulder-length hair was a soft honey-gold, in complete contrast to Charlene’s raven darkness. The only things they had in common were their eyes, sloe-shaped and a beautiful azure-blue.

‘Come along.’ Charlene picked up Tanya’s case. ‘My car’s in the car park. Let’s forget we ever saw that man; he’s bad news without a doubt.’

Tanya followed her sister through the line of people waiting for taxis and over the road to the busy car park. The warmth of the day after England’s freezing winter temperatures was blissful, and she shrugged off her jacket as she walked. Seeing Alejandro at the airport had put a damper on her spirits, but she was determined not to let it get her down. Charlene was probably right; they wouldn’t see him again.

‘Here we are.’ Her sister’s voice cut into her thoughts. She opened the boot of a smart white car and threw Tanya’s case inside. ‘Let’s go.’

Alejandro was forgotten as they left the airport and hit the motorway. Tanya gazed with interest at her surroundings; the bare, jagged mountains in the distance, their tops draped in mist; the brown, barren countryside with just the odd shrub or clump of prickly pear growing tenaciously in the dry earth; the occasional flush of buildings, some industrial, some purpose-built holiday developments close to the shore.

It was all new and exciting, and she did not want to miss a thing. Charlene had recently moved in with a family whose daughter worked in the same hotel as Charlene, and they had become good friends. The girl’s mother had agreed to Tanya’s spending her holiday with them as well. Tanya found it difficult to believe the woman’s generosity to a complete stranger.

They soon left the motorway and headed up into the hills, the road curving and climbing, bushes of white daisy-like flowers and clumps of spiny cactus adorning the roadside. They passed through a dusty village where old men sat outside bars and children kicked balls or rode BMXs, and passed several isolated houses on the outskirts; square, box-like dwellings built out of blocks. Some had been whitewashed, some were still bare concrete, looking, to Tanya’s English eyes, as though they were not finished. One or two had pantiled roofs and looked more attractive, but when Charlene turned off the road and pulled up beside one of the unpainted buildings Tanya looked at her with a frown. ‘Is this where you’re living?’

Charlene smiled and nodded. ‘It’s not like it looks, I assure you. It’s heavenly inside; most of them are. You can’t go by external appearances. I was once told that it was because the Canarians didn’t care what a house looked like on the outside, as we do—but I later learned that the real reason is that they don’t have to pay taxes on unfinished buildings. The government run campaigns sometimes to try to get people to paint their walls white, but they’re always a failure.’

Still looking doubtful, Tanya followed her sister. The single-storey building was an odd shape, as though it had had further rooms built on as and when the need arose. There was a wall, built yet again out of grey blocks, denoting the boundary of the property, but there was no garden as such, just a few straggly plants growing and a dog foraging. Coming from her smart semi-detached house on the outskirts of Sheffield, with its tidy green and abundant garden, Tanya found it difficult to feel happy about spending a month here.

All the windows were shuttered—wooden, varnished shutters—and the front door was wooden too. In fact it was an ornately carved, expensive-looking door which looked oddly out of place with its surroundings. And once inside Tanya could see what Charlene meant. The cool, clean hallway boasted a tiled floor, a polished chair in the corner and a profusion of healthy plants which hung and sat and filled every corner. It was like an oasis m the desert.

In the shadowy living-room Charlene’s friend’s mother waited to greet her. The tiny woman was dressed all in black, her greying hair secured in a neat bun. She smiled warmly as Charlene made the introductions in fluent Spanish and held out her hand. Tanya smiled back. ‘It’s very kind of you to let me stay here.’ she said.