The Beautiful Widow - By Helen Brooks Page 0,1
Steel relaxed a little. He liked driving and the car was a dream, the air conditioning and state-of-the-art luxury making the experience pleasurable even in the worst London snarl-ups. He drove automatically, his mind on Annie. She and Jeff had been trying for this baby for a long time; ever since they’d married, in fact, three years previously. At twenty-six, Annie was twelve years younger than him and he had virtually brought her up when their parents had been killed in a car accident when Annie was six years old. He’d been about to go away to university but he’d got a job instead, and this income, added to his half of the nest egg which his parents had been accumulating in the bank, had meant he could continue to pay the rent on the three-bedroomed house that had been home. Annie had lost their parents, he hadn’t wanted her to lose the familiarity and security of the home she’d lived in all her life. Annie’s half of the estate had been in trust until she was eighteen and had been a nice little inheritance for her.
They had managed. His mind wandered to the years of Annie’s childhood. Their paternal grandparents had already died, but his mother’s mother and father had stepped into the breach and looked after Annie every day after school until he collected her from them. Neighbours and friends had also been kind. And now Annie was a beautiful, well-adjusted young woman, and he was in a good place. Independent, autonomous, answerable to no one and no one relying on him.
Not that he’d resented caring for Annie. His mind immediately dealt with the issue as though someone had put the idea to him. He’d done it because he wanted to. Pure and simple. But the long years until she had met Jeff when she’d been twenty-one had taught him something. He didn’t want to be responsible for another human being again. He wanted a life free of emotional liability and obligation. A life where he could take off at the drop of a hat. No involved arrangements. No explanations. No … accountability. He’d done his time with all that—from the age of eighteen until he was thirty-three. Fifteen years. And now he relished his freedom, fed on it.
He’d had girlfriends from the age of puberty: a few long term, most ships that passed after a couple of months, due—he had to admit—to his determination to continue in the single state once his parents had died. Now he dated sophisticated, career-obsessed women: females who were as wary of commitment and for ever as he was. It worked—mostly. The last lady in his life, an intelligent, fiercely independent—or so he’d thought—lawyer, had suddenly decided she wanted to move in with him.
Barbara flashed on the screen of his mind: sultry, voluptuous—the sort of attorney who could have the opposition admitting anything with one look from her feline eyes. Their parting had been less than harmonious. That had been a couple of weeks ago, and although he missed her enticing and provocative body in his bed he had no doubts he’d done the right thing in ending their relationship.
His hand touched the back of his neck briefly as he recalled the resounding slap she’d delivered. It had all but cracked the bones in his neck as his head had jerked back with the force of it, and this from the woman who had insisted forever was a dirty word when they’d first got together.
Women … His firm, sensual mouth tightened for a moment. They were another species. Not that he’d given up on them; what red-blooded man would? And nine times out of ten it worked out fine. When the end of the relationship came there were no tears, no scenes, no recriminations. He was still friends with the majority of his exes; that had to say something.
It wasn’t as if he was ever less than completely honest. He made it a rule to be clear about his intentions from the first date. No promises, no roses round the door, just two healthy human beings sharing their lives and beds for a while. Straightforward and simple. Just the way he liked it.
The traffic was a nightmare. It took him nearly an hour to reach the hospital. When he pulled into the car park he found his heart was thudding with anxiety and his stomach was turning over with fear of what he might find inside. It was further proof—if he’d needed