Phoebe Morgan’s feelings went well beyond concerned catapulting directly to outright worry.
As Colin grew older and matured, their son’s seemingly easy accomplishments, his determination and aggressive competitive streak set him up as a target. It didn’t help matters that he was unbelievably handsome, fabulously sexy, unusually tall, mentally and physically strong and inordinately rich.
Colin had it all and what he didn’t have, he obtained.
Many people didn’t like that.
Colin was a target to those who wanted to best him or those who Colin bested and who wanted vengeance.
These were mostly men.
Colin was also a target for those who wanted to tame him, trap him or wished to bask in the blazing spotlight of his glory.
These were always women.
Therefore Colin Morgan understood innately that nearly everyone was capable of betrayal, anyone could be (and was) devious and no one lived their lives without ulterior motives.
He cared for his family, had close friends but anyone not in his private circle mattered nothing to him. Colin rarely trusted; he knew from a wealth of experience that people did not deserve to be trusted.
And the majority of those “people” were women.
It had started with a girl who became besotted with him when he was still a young man. She’d written him long, lovesick letters and posted them to Harrow. He had little interest in her but didn’t have the desire to tell her to stop writing. Yet when he came home for a holiday, he found her kissing another boy at the tennis courts at their club. Upon seeing his knowing face, she assured Colin she did, indeed, love him, but she certainly wasn’t going to be bored and lonely on Saturday nights while he was away at school.
Then there was the first woman he actually felt some emotion for, a bright woman at Cambridge, a woman with raven hair who reminded him, somewhat, of the portrait of Beatrice.
They had been seeing each other for some months when he’d come across her at a pub when they were out separately one night, her with her girlfriends, he with his friends. Colin had been pleased to see her and approached while her back was to him.
“I cannot believe you’re dating Colin Morgan. He’s gorgeous!” he heard her friend say.
“Yes,” his girlfriend replied, “and he’s got a huge trust fund.”
All the girls had laughed. Colin had walked away and the next day when she phoned, he hung up on her. He completely cut her out of his life, turned away from her if he met her on the pavement and put the phone down on her the dozens of times she called. He never told her what he heard, he never gave her the chance to explain herself, indeed, he never spoke a word to her again.
Then there was Portia.
Colin had met Portia in London shortly after starting his own brokerage. Slowly, over time, she’d broken down the barriers that seemed, for no reason at all (and yet every reason), to have been around his heart since he was born. Eventually, after a great deal of effort on her part, he’d fallen in love with the passionate, chestnut-haired beauty.
On the verge of asking her to marry him, he’d come home far earlier than normal and found her na**d on the floor in the living room of his flat. She’d been on all fours, his best friend, Kevin, on his knees behind her. He could still remember when her face, looking strangely bored and definitely resigned, turned to him. He could still remember how her expression melted to horror at being caught.
Colin had never been so furious in his life. He’d nearly torn Kevin limb-from-limb and he could have easily struck Portia and not regretted it.
Instead, he’d walked out of the room, moved out of the flat they shared and remorselessly turned his back on the both of them, never seeing either one of them again. Though, she had phoned. He could still remember the pleading in her voice when she tried to win him back.
“Colin, I’ve been with you for months and you didn’t ask me to marry you. I need to get married, I have to. Don’t you understand? That’s what girls like me do,” she explained as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
She was hedging her bets, pursuing Colin with Kevin waiting in the wings.
Kevin married her. They divorced after a year with Portia in possession of a good deal of Kevin’s trust fund and personal earnings.
That had been over a decade ago. Since then many different women drifted in and out of Colin’s life. At six foot two, he had a lean, muscular body that he kept fit with relentless determination. He had thick, waving hair, only a shade lighter than black, light brown eyes the colour of clay, strong, prominent cheekbones, a hard jaw and, incongruously, an immensely sensual, generous lower lip.
What he didn’t have was any problem attracting women. His family name, the quantity of his money, his good looks, his arrogance and cold heart (that many women felt they could melt) made him an object of great attraction.
He considered himself lucky, women were a banquet before him and he had a lusty appetite. Colin took what he wanted, devoured it mercilessly and then left the remains without a backward glance.
However, his mother was complaining. Both his sister Claire and brother Tony had made good marriages. Claire, nearly immediately after being wed, had two children one after the other. Tony’s wife was now pregnant.
Colin’s mother wanted her eldest son settled. She wanted him to provide her more grandchildren to spoil, more opportunities for her to meddle and dote and lastly, she was simply just too tired after thirty-six years of worrying after Colin. She didn’t understand his heartlessness and she was deeply concerned about his antipathy towards women. She wanted proof that his heart was mended (from whatever had rendered it broken) so that she could live out her old (ish) age knowing he was happy.