Sally Wentworth - A Typical Male (12 page)

As if reading his thoughts,
Tasha gave a small smile and said, 'All right.' For a moment he thought that
she meant that they could make love now, this minute, and he could hardly
breathe with ecstatic delight, but then she added, 'I'll go to Cornwall with
you.'

'And then…?'

She nodded,
and a mischievous look came into her eyes as she reached down and ran her
fingertip over the stretched, rising material of his jeans. 'And then we'll see
what we can do about this.'

'When?'

'This
weekend.'

'Friday?'

She laughed. 'OK, Friday.'

'It's a long time till Friday.'

'Two whole days,' she mocked.

'You're a witch, Tasha. A gypsy witch.'

He had to be
content with her promise, and he went home at least with something definite to
look forward to. First thing in the morning he rang the neighbour
who looked after the cottage for him and asked her to get it ready for Friday
evening. 'Get lots of food in,' he instructed, adding by way of excuse, 'Just
in case the weather changes,' even though the forecast predicted that the
glorious summer weather would go on indefinitely.

It was
impossible to concentrate on work so Brett didn't try,
he just savoured the anticipation, the excitement of
knowing that she would soon be his. On Friday he turned up at her flat much too
early, and in a large comfortable car that he'd hired for a month. Because he
had every intention, once he got Tasha down there, of keeping her with him at
the cottage as long as he possibly could.

She came out
to meet him carrying a suitcase and another bag slung over her shoulder.
Tasha's eyebrows rose when she saw the car. 'What's this?'

'It will get us there quicker,'
he explained.

Laughing, she came up to him
and sent his senses reeling as she leaned close and moved against him. 'I'm all
for that.'

If he hadn't known her
will-power he would have thought her as randy as he, but maybe, now that she
was committed, she felt free to let her feelings take over. He certainly hoped
so. Because he just knew that once Tasha freely gave herself then there would
be no woman more passionate, more sensual.

They put her case in the boot
and she slung her bag on the back seat. In minutes they were on their way,
threading through the traffic and heading for the motorway that would get them
to the cottage in just a few hours. Brett had to put the thought out of his
mind and concentrate, but every now and again he would look at her and be
unable to resist reaching out to put his hand on her knee. Then she would smile
at him, her eyes promising him the most wonderful night of his life, and,
supremely happy, he would drive on, wishing the miles away.

He'd made sure that he had
enough petrol for the whole journey so didn't have to stop, but, two thirds of
the way there, the mobile in Tasha's bag began to ring. She knelt on the seat
to get it, then said, 'Hello? Sarah? What is it,
what's the matter?' She listened, tried to speak, but whoever was calling just
kept talking. Brett couldn't hear the words but he realised that the voice was
female and seemed to be highly excited. Then Tasha said, 'Sarah, listen to me.
It's OK. I'll come. Yes, as soon as I can. No, you mustn't talk like that. Please
don't even think about that. I've said I'll come. I won't let you be alone.
Yes, soon. Bye.' She flipped the phone closed and looked across at Brett.

'No!' he said
forcefully.

'Brett, I have to go back.
It's Sarah. Clyde has walked out on her and she's dreadfully—'

'I don't care!' he said
violently. 'I'm taking you to Cornwall. You're not going back!'

CHAPTER FIVE

'But you don't understand.
Sarah sounds suicidal! I've just got to—'

"That's rubbish! She must
have a hundred people she could have called. Why you?'

'Because I'm
her closest friend. Because her family are away
on holiday in America.' Tasha's voice rose forcefully. 'Because it's me she
wants, damn it!'

Made bitter by angry
disappointment, Brett bit out Scathingly, 'Yeah? And
she just happens to need you now, this minute. How very
convenient.'

Tasha stared at him. 'And just
what is that supposed to mean?'

He threw her a furious glare.
'Maybe you fixed it for her to phone. Maybe this is just a trick you've pulled
to stop us going to bed together. Just another damn delaying
tactic.'

'How dare you accuse me of
such a cheap ploy?' Her face taut with anger, Tasha said, 'Will you please pull
off at the next exit?'

'No. We're
going to Cornwall.'

She Sipped open her phone. 'If
you don't, I'll call the police. Tell them you're abducting me.'

He laughed in harsh
disbelief—but then looked at her face. He remembered her independent spirit, then cursed, 'Damn it all to hell! You would, too.'

'There would be ho point in
saying it if I didn't mean it.'

His mind full of the greatest
disappointment and humiliation he had ever known, Brett tried pleading. 'Surely
there's someone else, Tasha. You know how much this means to me.'

'I know how much it meant to us
both—not that you've given my feelings a thought.'

'Then how could you possibly
even contemplate—?'

'She's a
friend, Brett. She needs me.'

'And don't I need you? Need you
far more than Sarah ever could?'

'No. No, you don't. You're not
in trouble, and she is. My friends are very important to me, Brett They always will
be.'

In a voice full of anguished
defeat, he said, 'She's using you.'

'That's what friends are for.'
Tasha paused, then said more gently, 'I am what I am, Brett. You can't change
me.'

He didn't believe that but
didn't say so. He was sure that if they'd only managed to reach his cottage and
become lovers then he would have been able to mould her as he wished. And she
would never have agreed to leave him for some friend's so-called emergency. The
sign for a service station came up and he turned into the slip road, determined
to try to make her change her mind. When he pulled up in the car park, he
turned to her and took hold of her hand, said as persuasively as he knew how,
'Look, let's talk this through.'

'Whenever men say that it just
means they intend to talk you into doing what they want' Tasha said in

I flat statement. 'It won't
work, Brett. I'm sorry, but I'm going back to London.'

Furious that she wouldn't even
give him a chance, he said curtly, 'Oh? How?'

Withdrawing her hand, she was
silent for a moment, then said tightly, 'I suppose
that means you won't take me?'

'Why the hell should I?'

With dignity Tasha said, 'I
could think of a great many reasons, but maybe you aren't the kind of person
who would know about—'

'Don't tell me what kind of
person I am,' Brett cut in. 'You promised to come with me tonight and now
you've broken that promise just because some friend has made a panic call. Damn
it, you didn't even try to argue, to explain. You just came straight out and
said you'd go back, and to hell with me.'

'Ah,' Tasha said mockingly. 'Is
the spoilt little boy not going to get the toy he's been promised?'

His jaw jerked out and he stared
at her. 'That was a very cheap remark.'

'And just what would you call
the way you're behaving?' Not waiting for his answer, Tasha opened the door and
got out of the car.

Brett immediately came after
her. 'Where do you think you're going?'

'You know very well where; back to London.'

'And what about me?'

'Me! I! Mine!' She spat the
words at him. 'That's all you can say, isn't it? All you think about is
yourself. Your disappointment, your frustration. Your lonely bed tonight. But what about
Sarah's lonely bed? She's been living with Clyde for two years, but he's
just walked out because she asked him to make a commitment to her. This is the
worst moment of her life, but you want me to ignore her, to turn my back on
her.' Her voice grew jeering. 'And all because you just can't
wait to satisfy your sexual cravings.'

Brett's jaw thrust forward and his hands balled into fists. 'This is
much more than just sex and you know it.'

'No, as a matter of fact I don't know it.' Tasha faced up to him, her
eyes flashing lightning and her face taut with anger. 'And nor, I think, do
you. You're blinded by your own libido. You'll say anything to get what you
want because you're a typical male, completely selfish when it comes to your
own desires, and—'

Not waiting to hear any more, Brett strode back to the car, pulled out
Tasha's suitcase and threw it on die ground. Then he slammed down the boot, got
into the car and, without looking at her, drove away. He had never known such
fury in his entire life. He slammed his fist against the steering wheel in his
anger, hit it again and again. How dared she call him selfish? How dared she?
Serve her damn well right that he'd abandoned her. Let her get back to London
to her friend who was more important to ha* than he was. If
she could. She'd certainly never be able to hire a car at this time of
night, he thought with some satisfaction. Not that Tasha was the kind of girl
who would let something like that stop her. Brett suddenly had a vision of her
thumbing a lift, from a lorry driver probably. His heart went cold. She was a
woman alone and anything could happen to her. Images of rape and murder filled his
mind. And it would be his fault; he'd as good as kicked her out.

His anger completely gone,
Brett felt sweat on his Hp as he looked for signs of an exit from the motor- !
Way, a junction where he could turn round and go back for her. He was filled
with a great dread, a fear for her that consumed every other feeling. It was
miles before the next turn-off, and then he had to drive all the way back to
the service station, but it was on the opposite side of the motorway. He ran
across the bridge which connected the two, at one minute filled with panic, the
next confident that he would find Tasha where he had left her, sitting on her
ease, waiting for him to return for her. She wasn't in the car park. He ran
into the building, searching the restaurant, the shop, the snack-bar. Then it
occurred to him that of course Tasha had crossed the bridge herself; she would
have had to if she was going back to London. So he ran back and started
searching all over again. But she was gone. There was no sign of her.

Feeling sick with desperation,
he ran back to the car, found his phone and called her mobile number. After a
moment she answered, and the relief was so overwhelming it took his breath away
and he couldn't speak.

Her tone cold, Tasha said, 'If
that's you, Brett, then you'll be pleased to know I'm on my way to London.'

'Are you all right?' His voice was ragged.

'I'm surprised you bother to ask.'

'Damn it, Tasha, are you all right?'

There was a pause, then she said, 'I'm with a very nice family in their people
carrier. Parents, grandparents, two children and a dog.
The dog is on my lap. Goodbye, Brett.'

'Wait, I—'

But the phone
went dead.

Going back to his car, Brett sat
in it for a long time. The memory of his disappointment came back but was as
nothing now to the fear he had felt for her. And the worst of it was that deep
down he knew Tasha had been right; he had been completely selfish. His thoughts
and emotions had centred entirely on himself. If he
had been reasonable about it they wouldn't have quarrelled.
OK, the trip to Cornwall would have been postponed, but at least it would still
have been on the cards. As it was…

He couldn't envisage their ever
getting together again. He had lost her. Lost the wild, free spirit he had come
to admire so much. Now he would never be able to make her his. Never be able to
possess that beautiful body. His heart filled with desolation and he began to
feel angry with her again. But his thoughts came to an abrupt stop as he
realised that he was once more thinking only of himself. His mouth twisted
wryly. But what man didn't think that way? It was a natural, inbred instinct to
want a woman as an extension of himself. He wanted
Tasha as his lover, his mistress, in his bed. He wanted to possess her in every
way and to mean everything to her. He wanted her to make herself his.

There seemed no point in going
on to his cottage now, but then there didn't seem to be much point in going
back to London either. He'd made arrangements to be away for an indefinite
period and he felt too sick at heart just to go tamely back and try to take up
his life again. Besides, he needed time to think. Putting the car in gear, he
once again headed west.

It was dark when he reached the
cottage, the headlights cutting a swathe through the night as he went slowly
down the narrow, tree-hung lane that led down to the sea and the cove in which
the cottage stood in lonely isolation. He didn't bother to take his case from
the car at first, instead letting himself in and going over the house in
ever-growing chagrin. It all looked so perfect for romance: a fire laid in the big hearth, just waiting to be lit and for them
to make love on the deep rug in front of it, the bed made up and the curtains
drawn. But the wild passion he had imagined so often wouldn't now take place
within its enveloping covers or on the soft, old-fashioned counterpane. Opening
a window to lean out, he could hear the sound of the waves breaking on the
shore, but there was no moon and he couldn't see them. They wouldn't now bathe
in the sea, or stroll on the beach, or find some deserted piece of sand
sheltered by rocks where they would make love.

Brett tried to think of Tasha, tried to be reasonable and detached,
but it was well nigh impossible when he was alone here in his bedroom. She
should be back in London now, knocking on her friend's door, offering comfort
and commiseration. He could almost imagine them running men down, Tasha
explaining that she, too, had been let down tonight. That hurt, because he had
at least come to his senses and gone back for her—but she wouldn't know that,
of course. Even if he managed to reach her long enough for him to tell her, she
probably wouldn't believe him. Banging the window shut, he ran out of the house
and down to the beach, where he pulled off all his clothes and then ran into
the sea, swimming out strongly against the waves until he was tired, then
floating on his back to rest before, his frustration eased by physical effort,
he turned and swam strongly back to the shore.