The Beautiful Widow - By Helen Brooks Page 0,2

any—that he didn’t want anyone else other than Annie to have a piece of his heart.

Steel straightened his shoulders, reached for the enormous bouquet of yellow roses and white freesias he’d picked up en route and got out of the car.

Her hands were shaking, not something that was likely to inspire confidence in a prospective employer. And from what she knew of Steel Landry he would expect a cool, composed and completely professional approach.

Toni willed the tremors to cease as she tried breathing slowly and deeply. She’d read somewhere that worked for nerves.

It didn’t. All it did do was to make her feel slightly light-headed and now she was ten times more panic-stricken. What if she fainted at Steel Landry’s feet?

Rising from the edge of the sofa she was perched on, Toni walked across to the large bay window and stared down into the busy London street three stories below. The excellent double glazing meant traffic noise was reduced to a mere whisper, and although the pavements were crowded no sound from the people below penetrated her luxurious surroundings. And they were luxurious …

Turning, she surveyed the fabulous room Steel Landry’s ‘daily'—as the small bustling woman who had answered the door had described herself—had shown her into when she had arrived at the impressive South Kensington flat ten minutes ago. The cream and dove-grey sitting room was all soft leather sofas, glass tables and light maple wood. Several bowls of fresh flowers scented the air and a beautiful cream marble fireplace with floor-to-ceiling glass bookshelves in the alcoves either side provided the focus of the room.

Luxurious, stunning and clearly meant to impress any visitors, but a little … cold for her liking, Toni decided. It was as though the person living here had no intention of giving anything of himself away. Which would fit the little she knew of Steel Landry to a T.

She didn’t have time to reflect further. The door opened and a tall, dark-haired man strode into the room. ‘Sorry to have kept you waiting; an urgent call I had to take which couldn’t wait. Steel Landry, and you must be Toni George? Sit down, won’t you? Maggie’s bringing us coffee in a moment or two,’ he added, shaking her hand.

Toni was glad to sink down on one of the sofas. James had described Steel as a handsome so-and-so, and he hadn’t been wrong. The dark, rugged good looks were certainly attractive but it was his piercing silver-blue eyes that had thrown her. His lashes were thick and black and framed the metallic orbs dramatically, emphasising the silvery hue to his blue eyes perfectly. Many a model would have paid a fortune to have eyes like his, she thought inconsequentially. It didn’t seem fair nature had wasted them on a man.

Before she could voice the polite ‘It’s nice to meet you’ social opening appropriate for such occasions, he further threw her when he said, ‘May I take your coat?’

This necessitated her standing up again and as he helped her off with the coat she caught a faint whiff of his aftershave, a subtle blend that held warm, woody notes and a hint of citrus fruits. She shivered involuntarily, glad he had turned away to lay her coat over the back of one of the sofas so he didn’t notice. Toni was tall at five feet ten, but he had towered over her by another six or seven inches and she had found it disconcerting. She found him disconcerting.

Nevertheless, by the time he had sat down opposite her she was outwardly composed, her voice calm and smooth when she said, ‘Thank you for seeing me today, Mr Landry. I know how busy you are. I hope your sister is feeling better.’

He frowned. It clearly hadn’t been the best thing to say.

‘She’s pregnant and things aren’t going too well,’ he said briefly, the tone of his voice ending further comment.

Toni knew her cheeks had turned pink but there was nothing she could do about it. Gamely, she struggled on. ‘I’ve brought my portfolio for you to look at with a list of past clients who would be only too pleased to give me a reference should you require it. I—’

The cutting motion of his hand stopped her in mid-flow. Leaning forward, he fixed her with his eyes. ‘I’ve already made my own enquiries before I agreed to this interview. James is the best architect I know but he’d be the first to admit he’s no interior designer. When he