Sally Wentworth - A Typical Male (7 page)

So he
avoided his usual haunts and let Tasha pick where she wanted to go. With the
result that he found himself in some bizarre places.

'I'm taking
you out tomorrow.' Tasha had called him at one in the morning, when he'd been
in bed for an hour. 'Be ready at six and wear old clothes.'

'Do you
mean tomorrow as in a few hours, or tomorrow as in after I get another night's
sleep?' he asked, looking at his watch.

Tasha
sounded surprised. 'In five hours, of course. I'll pick you up. Night.'

'Wait!'

'Yes?'

'That is no way to say
goodnight.'

She laughed
in that rich, husky tone he loved. 'So what would you like me to say?'

'Can't you think of
anything?'

'You want me
to flirt with you, right?'

'Yeah. Come on, turn me on.'

'What do you
think I am—one of those women you pay to talk sexy over the phone?' She
pretended indignation but he could hear amusement in her voice.

'I bet you
could do it if you tried.'

'Of course I
could—but could you afford the fee?'

'Expensive, huh?'

'Absolutely.'

'I could
take out a loan,' he offered.

Tasha
laughed again. 'Go to sleep, Brett. See you in the morning.'

Slowly Brett
put down the phone, and realised that she hadn't had to talk sexy to him at
all; he was already turned on.

She was on
his doorstep on the dot of six, pulling up in the yellow sports car, the roof
open, and waving to him through it as he looked out of his window. Brett lived
in a small house in Docklands. Not one of the new places that had been built in
the recent boom years, but a Victorian terraced house in a street that had once
housed dockers and their families, people who had
been dependent on the work they got from the river but who had been forced to
move away in search of other work when the dockyards had folded. He had found
the house in a half-derelict condition, the roof leaking and windows smashed by
vandals, so had got it cheap and repaired the place himself, building on a new
kitchen at the back, with a bathroom above it. The house was as good as
finished now, although he still spent time on it when the writing wouldn't
flow.

He ran out
to her and got in the car. Tasha looked wide awake and full of life; anyone
would think she'd had a dozen hours' sleep last night. Her hair was woven into
a thick plait tied with a green ribbon and she was wearing hardly any make-up.
He kissed her and she smelt gorgeous, of flowers and scrubbed- clean freshness.

'Where are we going?' he demanded,
taking in her jeans and pale blue shirt.

'It's a
surprise.'

'I hate
surprises,' he declared untruthfully.

'You'll love
this one.'

Brett had imagined a host of
things but never that she would take him fishing. But not
just any common or garden fishing. Not Tasha. She drove him down to the
country to a lake where a friend of hers was waiting for them. He was a
middle-aged man who, it turned out, had once appeared in one of Tasha's
television programmes and had become a friend. He
walked to a boathouse with them and pointed. 'There she is.'

'She' was a canoe, the large
version that held two people and which the man told them had been made by
Canadian Indians. 'I used it a lot when I was out in Canada for a few years,
and brought it back with me,' he explained.

Brett eyed the frail craft in
disbelief. The owner was only about five feet six and skinny, but Tasha
obviously expected him, Brett, with his six feet two frame, to get in the
thing!

'You don't really expect me to get
in that piece of plywood, do you?'

'Mounties
use them all the time,' she pointed out.

'That was a hundred years ago—I
doubt if they even use horses now; they're probably all trained helicopter
pilots.'

‘Stop arguing, King; anyone would
think you were afraid.'

'I just don't feel like drowning
today, Briant, that's all.'

Gingerly he lowered himself into
the canoe and sat on the stern seat, then hung on as it rocked dangerously when
Tasha blithely jumped in to join him. Brett quite expected it to sink and marvelled when the thing floated with them inside it. The
owner, grinning hugely, handed down a couple of fishing rods and a picnic
hamper. He watched them as Brett paddled out into the centre of the lake and
they took out their fishing rods, then walked off and left them alone.

It was a large lake, the banks
mostly overhung by trees, and with a small island in its centre. Brett had done
some sailing, which helped, but he found keeping his balance while trying to
hook a fish more than a little difficult. When he got a bite he leaned forward
eagerly and nearly ended up in the river, just managing to right himself but
dropping his rod in the water and getting very wet retrieving it. Tasha, of
course, laughed at him, then pretended to ogle him
when he took off his shirt to let it dry in the sun, knowing full well she was
safe from him.

'Mmm,
dig those pectorals,' she enthused. 'I had no idea you had anything so gorgeous
tucked away under that shirt.'

He made a face and scooping up a
handful of water splashed it over her. 'Now you take yours off to dry and let's
see what gorgeous things you've got hidden away under your shirt.'

'Cheat!' She leaned back so that
her breasts stretched the wet material, knowing it would tantalise
him. 'I think I'll just let the heat of my body dry it.'

His mouth dry, Brett said,
'Vixen.'

Brett enjoyed that day enormously: the gentle lapping
of the water, the sun and the peaceful countryside; it was a long time since
he'd done that kind of thing and it made him feel young and content. Or almost content. Tasha was tormentingly
close enough to see but not to touch, so he let his line become entangled with
hers so they had to move close together to untangle them.

'You did that on purpose!'

'Of course.
I want to kiss you.'

'If you do we'll both end up in
the lake.'

'I'll chance it.' Reaching out, he held her as he
kissed her, but when he tried to pull her close the boat rocked alarmingly and
he had to hastily let go. 'You are driving me mad with frustration,' he told
her. 'Come home with me tonight.'

'All right'

He nearly upset the boat in
surprise. 'You will?'

'Yes, I haven't seen your place
yet.'

Brett managed to catch a couple of decent-sized fish,
and in the late afternoon they paddled over to the island and built a fire on
which they cooked them, eating them between hunks of bread and washed down with
beer. Afterwards Brett leaned back against the trunk of a tree and Tasha sat
beside him. Her thoughts on Canada, she began to sing 'Rose Marie' in a clear,
sweet voice, and made him join in, the sound drifting across the lake. When the
last note had died away he pulled her closer to rest against him and nuzzled
her neck as they watched the sun set into rich golds
and purples, the flaming colours made doubly beautiful by their reflection in
the water. Tasha smiled, gave a long sigh, then turned her head and let him
kiss her.

'We must do
this again,' he said, meaning it.

She smiled in delight. 'I knew
you'd enjoy my surprise.'

They paddled back to the jetty,
leaving the canoe securely tied, and drove unhurriedly back to London, to
Brett's house.

Tasha wanted to see everything, to
hear about the restoration work he'd done and see all his before and after
photos of the place. Her interest was gratifying but he was on tenterhooks; it
was only a month since they'd met and she'd said it had to be at least three
months before she'd let him make love to her. But had she changed her mind? Was
she sure enough of him, of her own feelings to…?

Brett found himself clenching his
fists in hope and fear of disappointment.

In the sitting-room he had a huge
settee that nearly filled the room, even bigger than the one Tasha had in her
flat. He put on a CD and got drinks and she snuggled up to him like a child.
They talked about the day for a while but then he kissed her longingly. Tasha
put her drink aside, put her arms round his neck and sent his senses reeling as
she returned the kiss more ardently than ever before. And this time, when his
fingers began to undo the buttons of her shirt, she didn't stop him.

Her breasts were beautiful; not
full enough to fill his unsteady hands but soft and rounded, the pale pink
nipples at first unawakened but then hardening
delightfully as he gently caressed them with his fingertips. They tilted pertly
at him then, and he was unable to resist bending his head to gently take them
each in turn into his mouth, to toy with them, kiss them, caress
them with his tongue. Satisfied at last, his lips moved on to trail across her
shoulders and kiss her neck. Tasha sighed and lifted her head, squirmed deliciously
as he bit her earlobe, and whispered his name as he took her mouth at last.

By now his
senses were on fire, but Brett kept them banked; it was early yet and he fully
intended to make love to her all night, so there was time to linger, to
lengthen each moment, to enjoy each new discovery to the full. Tasha returned
his kiss, her hands with a delicate fingertip touch on each side of his face.
Her kiss was warm, tender, responsive, but that was all. The passion had died, there was no eager searching, no hunger. At first he
thought that she, too, was holding desire in check, but then recognised her
kiss for what it was: participation but not encouragement. Raising his head,
Brett looked at her questioningly.

'That was
nice.' She smiled at him—and reached for her clothes.

'"Nice?"'
For a moment he was angry and, reaching out, caught her wrist. 'Is that all? Just "nice"?'

She became
still, her eyes fixed on his face. 'You know the terms, Brett.'

'Damn it, I
thought—' He broke off, biting his lip. 'Does there have to be terms? Does
there have to be a time limit?'

Tasha looked
away from him for a moment, then lifted her head to
look steadily into his eyes. 'Yes, I'm sorry, but there does.' Drawing her
wrist from his hold, she reached for her bra and put it on, covering up all the
loveliness that he thought had been his.

Getting to
his feet, Brett strode over to the sideboard and poured himself a drink, his
hand shaking.

'Do you make a habit of this?'
he demanded, desperately trying to control his disappointment.

'Of what?'

'You know damn well what! Of leading a man on and then slapping him down.' He turned
and saw that she was completely dressed and standing up, her hands thrust into
the pockets of her jeans.

'You
think it unfair, do you?'

'Yes,
of course I do.'

She grew suddenly angry. 'And
do you think it fair to kiss me and caress me and turn me on when you know that
I want to wait?'

He stared at her in surprise.
'But that must mean that…'

'That I want you? Yes, of
course it does. Did it never occur to you that I might want you as much as you
want me? I told you that you were special!'

Putting down his glass, Brett
strode over and took hold of her arms, desperate pleading in his face. 'In that
case what is there to wait for? I ache for you, Tasha. I long to—'

'No!' She pushed him angrily
away. 'Why won't you listen to me? All you're thinking of is yourself. I have
to be sure. I couldn't bear to be hurt again. Now do you understand?'

'You
mean someone in the past…?'

'Yes.'

'Who? What happened?'

'You have no right to ask me
that question. You don't know me well enough to ask it. I don't ask you about
the women in your past.'

'That's
different. A man—'

'No, it damn well isn't! Men
always assume they have the right to know everything about a woman.

Well, they don't. And you
have no right to assume that I'll go back on my terms just because you want me
to. When I give myself to you it will be when I'm good and ready, and not
before.' Her eyes flashed fire at him as she drew herself up defiantly. 'And if
you can't handle that, then you don't have to stick around!'

Brett stared, completely
taken aback. For a blinding moment he saw a future when she was no longer a part
of his life, when he didn't spend all his time looking forward to seeing her
again, thinking about her and longing to make love to her, a time of not having
this agonisingly familiar ache for her deep inside.
It was unthinkable. His mind refused to accept it, even to envisage it. 'Don't
say that!' His hands tightened convulsively on her arms. 'Don't ever say that
again.'

'Then don't try to coerce
me. You must take what I'm willing to give.' She gazed at him intently, waiting
for his answer, his promise.

Brett gave a long sigh,
then straightened up and relaxed his hold a little. 'You're a strong woman,
Tasha.'

She
didn't deny it. 'I've learned to be.'

'Tonight—could we do that
again from time to time? You know—drive me mad with frustration?'

Her eyes filled with
amusement. 'Drive both of us mad,' she corrected him.

He
nodded. 'Yeah.'

Happy again, she slipped
her arms round his neck. 'I think that could be arranged.'

Touching the end of her
nose with his, Brett said, 'Will I ever understand you?'

'Perhaps. In time.'

'Time!'
He said the word on a raw, wry note.

'We have all the time in the
world,' she pointed out.

'I just hope I'm not too old by
the time you get round to making up your mind.'

That made her
laugh. I’ll try to make sure you're not.' She moved her hips
provocatively against his. 'In fact I'll promise that you'll still be very,
very active.'

For a moment he closed his eyes,
letting desire rise and then die. 'This has never happened to me before,' he
murmured.