Sally Wentworth - A Typical Male (11 page)

He let a few days go by then
bought a large sea- shell and sent it to her with a note. 'Hold this to your
ear and you'll know the sound I wake to every morning at my cottage.' Over the
next couple of weeks he sent her various books, both fiction and non-fiction,
all set in or glorifying the county of Cornwall, and
these were followed by a photograph of the cottage, an old building of
weathered grey stone set in a garden ablaze with foxgloves. Brett daily
expected some reaction, but it wasn't until the day he had a hot Cornish pasty
delivered to her office that Tasha at last phoned him.

'I think you're trying to tell
me something.'

'Could be.'

'I'm very busy, Brett.'

'How's it going?'

'Very well.
I've interviewed nearly everyone I want to see and I just have to work out how
I want the programme to go before we start shooting.'

'Have you got a lap-top?'

'I can borrow one. Why?'

'You could take all your notes
down to Cornwall and work on your script there in peace and quiet No phone
calls, no interruptions,' he added persuasively.

'No one
wanting to make love all day long?'

'Only all night long,' he
assured her, but not meaning it

Tasha laughed and he heard her
speak to someone, then she came on the line again and said, "That was my
boss. He wanted to know if you were the nut who sent the pasty. And he says if
you're into sending things from Cornwall he'd liked some clotted cream.'

'Tell him you'll send him some
yourself when you're down there. When am I going to see you?'

'Why don't you stop by the
office and take me out for a drink tonight?' Tasha invited.

They arranged to meet at six,
but Brett got held up in the rush hour traffic and then had difficulty parking
so was a little late. Tasha was standing outside the building, chatting to a
man who had just come out. There was something vaguely familiar about him, so
Brett paused in a shop doorway and let the man leave before he joined Tasha.
She was wearing a deep green fitted jacket and a Black Watch tartan skirt that
was well above her knees. She looked sensational and he felt a thrill of pride
to be with her. He wanted to feel the joy of possessiveness and ownership too,
but that emotion was still denied him. But he kissed her lingeringly before
saying, 'Who was that? A colleague?'

'My boss.'

'Oh? What's his name?'

'Joe Hedley.'

Brett cursed
inwardly, immediately recognising the name. Hedley
had once worked on a news programme for a national broadcasting network and
they had sometimes covered the same stories. If Tasha mentioned Brett's name
Joe Hedley would be bound to remember him.

'Have you told him about me?'

Tasha looked
a little surprised. 'No. My private life is just that—strictly private. He
wouldn't have known about you at all if you hadn't sent the pasty. It was very
good, by the way; I had it for lunch. Who did you get to make it for you?'

'What makes you think I didn't
make it myself?'

'You mean you
can cook on top of everything else?'

'Of what
else?'

'Oh—just
being gorgeous and handsome and sexy, I suppose.'

He stopped and caught her round
the waist, stared down
at her in delighted disbelief. 'You paid me a compliment!'

'Well, don't get carried away;
I don't intend to do it too often in case you get big-headed.'

'I don't think I stand in much
danger of that.' ! Keeping his arm round her waist, he
began to walk on, then said, 'I didn't make the
pasty.'

'I didn't think you did,'
Tasha laughed. 'Who did?'

'I got my next door neighbour to do it.'

'What's she like?'

'In her late twenties, blonde
and very curvaceous,' he responded at once.

Tasha gave him an
old-fashioned look, not sure whether or not to believe him. 'Is that supposed
to make me jealous?'

'Are you?'

'No.'

Brett sighed theatrically.
'She also happens to adore her husband and is very pregnant with her third
child. And her mother lives nearby and supervised die pasty.'

'You see how right I was not
to be jealous,' Tasha said with satisfaction.

'I feel very frustrated,'
Brett complained. 'It's all very well getting to know me as a person but when
am I going to become a sex object?'

That made
her gurgle with laughter, the sound rich and happy. 'Believe me, you
wouldn't like it'

'How do I know when I haven't
tried it? I'll let you exploit me any time.'

She threw him a quick glance,
surprised at his choice of the word, but he gave her a mock-lascivious look and
she laughed again. They found a pub and sat outside on the pavement under a big
sunshade. It was a very warm evening and there were many workers there, having
a drink before they caught the train home, avoiding the worst of the rush hour.
Like Brett, most of the men had taken off their jackets and removed their ties.
Tasha, too, took off her jacket and draped it on the back of her chair. The sun
caught her hair, turning it into a gleaming, burnished halo around her head,
and her long lashes cast misty shadows on her cheeks. Brett thought that she
had never looked lovelier, but then he seemed to think that every time he saw
her.

Glancing at him, Tasha saw the
flame of desire in his eyes, in the sharpened features of his face. Often, when
she caught him looking at her like that, she would raise a mocking eyebrow and
turn away, but tonight she looked him fully in the face and slowly ran the tip
of her tongue across her lips. It was so sexy that Brett could have laid her on
the pavement and taken her there and then! He let out his breath in a deep sigh
of frustration, and said feelingly, 'Jezebel!'

Demurely, she said, 'But, Brett,
I'm awfully thirsty.'

He got up to get the drinks and
Tasha watched him go, enjoying his back view in the tight jeans. There must
have been a stack of people waiting to be served because Brett was gone for
some time. After a few minutes a middle-aged man carrying a briefcase walked
by, stopped, then came back and sat down on the seat next to her. 'Hello. You
look rather lonely. My name's Rob. What's yours?'

'I'm with
someone,' Tasha returned calmly.

'Obviously no one of any
importance if he can only afford to bring you to a place like
this. How about having dinner with me? We can go anywhere you like. The Savoy,
The Trocadero, just name it'

'Thanks, but I'm not interested.' And Tasha turned her head away.

But the man only moved closer along the bench and put a familiar hand
on her shoulder. Angrily Tasha shook him off and swung round to tell him to get
lost, but before she could do so she heard Brett behind her say, 'Take your
hand off her, you creep.'

The man's head came up and he paled when he saw the venomous look in
Brett's face as he loomed over him. Quickly he got to his feet and picked up
his case, but as he moved away he said spitefully, 'What else did she expect
when she makes eyes at every man walking by?'

Brett had put down one of the drinks he was car- lying, but at this he
lunged forward and grabbed the man by his belt, then, holding his terrified eyes, he very deliberately tipped the pint of beer he was
carrying down the front of the man's trousers. 'Explain that to your wife, you
old goat.'

The man scuttled away and some girls sitting at a nearby table gave
Brett a cheer as he came to sit with Tasha again. He grinned at them and said
with satisfaction, "That should suitably dampen
his ardour.'

But Tasha gave him a tight look. 'Did you have to react so strongly?
In fact, did you have to react at all?'

Brett gazed at her in complete astonishment 'You did want to get rid
of him, didn't you?'

'I'm quite capable of dealing with types like him myself. I didn't
need any help, and I certainly didn't need the big he-man act.'

'Did you really expect me to
just stand by and let that creep paw you?'

Tasha's eyes grew cold. 'You paw
me—you do it all the time.'

'That's
different,' Brett protested.

'Is it? And do you suggest I use
that method to dampen your ardour the next time you
get the hots for me?'

Becoming annoyed now, Brett said
shortly, 'You're being ridiculous.'

'Am I? Am I really?' Bright
spots of anger came into Tasha's cheeks. Standing up, she said curtly, 'Thanks
for the drink, Brett. Why don't you go and get yourself another one? You might
even get to drink it this time. And sit with those girls, why don't you? They
obviously admire your "me Tarzan, you Jane" act.' She gave him a
fulminating look. 'But I don't!' And, turning on her heel, she strode away.

Brett caught her up in three
strides, furious at her lack of understanding, furious that she could do this
to him. Catching her arm, he swung her round to face him. 'What the hell's the
matter with you? Anyone would think you wanted the man to pick you up.'

'How dare you say that?' Tasha
returned with equal anger.

'So what is
this about?'

'It's about taking over, about
you thinking you have the right to interfere whether you're needed or not.'

'Any other
woman would be grateful for—'

'I am not any other woman,'
Tasha interrupted acidly. 'I'm me. And if you haven't realised that yet then we
might just as well say goodbye now, because—' , r.
Brett shook her. 'I told you never to say that to me �gain. How can you build
up something so trivial iato—?'

.« 'It wasn't trivial. Not to
me.'

Struggling to contain his
anger, Brett ran a hand through his hair, then said,
'So what are you trying to say?'

'Just don't
interfere in my life.'

His voice became urgent. 'But I
want to be a part of your life; you know that.'

'Be part of it, yes—but don't
try and take it over. OK?'

It wasn't, and he still thought
she was making far too much of the incident, but he wasn't yet sure enough of
her to openly argue, so he held up his hands placatingly
and said, 'OK. I'm sorry. It won't happen again. Now, will you come back and
have that drink?'

Tasha hesitated, aware that his
apology had been too pat, too makeshift for him to have really thought about
her feelings. But maybe he would later; she hoped he would. So she nodded.
'Yes, all right.'

Brett got himself
another drink, inwardly cursing; he had fully intended to exert all his powers
of persuasion tonight to get her to come to Cornwall with him. His hopes had
been high but now they were at zero. He guessed she would at least make him
wait for a couple of weeks just to punish him, and fully expected her to be
cold to him for the rest of the evening. But he was prejudging Tasha on his
experience of other women.

She wasn't like other women, as
she'd told him, and he was gratified to find that she smiled at him when he
went back to her and behaved as if die nasty little incident had never happened
and that nothing had come between them. They had their drinks and he told her a
couple of anecdotes that made her delicious laugh turn heads, and she looked at
him with that special look, the one that made him feel he was the only man in
the world. Really, he supposed, he couldn't blame that old creep for trying to
chat her up, but to say that his feelings for her were the same was utterly
ridiculous.

He was even more pleased when
she took him back to her place and cooked him a meal, which they ate by
candlelight, sitting at the window and feeling the air gradually cool with the
night. Afterwards he stretched out on the settee and she came to lie beside
him, her head on his shoulder as they listened to a new classical CD. But it
wasn't long before he tilted her head and took her lips. As always, she
immediately set his blood on fire. Soon his kisses became demanding,
impassioned, and his fingers, fumbling in his eagerness, pulled off her top and
undid the delicate lace of her bra.

He groaned as he touched her,
his breath already hot and unsteady. He had never known such a deep ache of
need, such hunger for a woman. It was so strong it was like a physical pain
that sawed at his insides. He took her nipple in his mouth and it was so
wonderful that he wanted to eat her. He wanted to kiss every inch of her, to
leave no part of her that he hadn't caressed and fondled, that he hadn't loved.

His hand moved down to her legs.
They were bare, soft like silk, long and beautiful. He caressed her ankle,
moved to her knee and up to her thigh. There was sweat on his face and his
breath was burning in his rasping throat His hand tightened on her thigh and he
kissed her fiercely, then said her name in raw,
desperate need. Tasha! Oh, God, Tasha, I want you. I can't go on like this. Not
any longer. I'm mad for you. Crazy.'

Her own voice unsteady, she said
breathlessly, ‘Brett, I—'

But he wouldn't let her finish.
'Do you know what you're doing to me? Do you?' Catching her hand, he put it on
himself and held it there. 'Here. Feel for yourself. You can't leave me like
this, my darling, you just can't be so cruel.'

Slipping her hand from under
his, she raised it to his face, made him look at her. Her eyes in the semi-
darkness were like brilliant jewels, but she frowned and said, 'Do you really
think I'm being cruel?'

He groaned, then
said, 'We've known each other for two months. If you don't know me well enough
to trust yourself to me by now…' Forgetting his own deception, he said
harshly, 'What more is there to know, for God's sake?'

Rolling off the settee, Tasha
got to her feet and looked at him. Her hair was dishevelled
and a lock of it hung down over her shoulder to caress her breast, to touch the
nipple that he had made hard with aroused desire. To stop himself from pulling
her down to him and taking her Brett had to ball his hands into fists so tight
that they shook with frustration.