Sally Wentworth - A Typical Male (8 page)

'You mean
you've never met a girl like me before.'

'You can
say that again,' he said with sincerity.

Lifting herself on tiptoe, Tasha
kissed him lightly. 'It will be worth it; you know that.'

She left
him then but rang when she got home.

'Are you in
bed?'

'Yes, but somehow I don't think
I'm going to get much sleep tonight.'

'Why not?'

'You know why not; my libido has
been seriously damaged. I'm not at all sure it will ever recover.'

'It will!
It will! What are you wearing?'

'I don't
wear anything in bed.'

'Wow! And
do you have silk sheets?'

'Hey! I'm the one who's supposed
to ask those sort of questions.'

"This
is a free country. What colour are the sheets?'

'Come over
and find out.'

'I bet they're black. I bet you
have black silk sheets.'

'That's naff.'

'Right. And you're definitely not naff.'

'I'm not?'

'No. You're… But perhaps
I'd better not tell you.'

'You're too kind to put me
down. Right?'

'Wrong. I
just don't want to make you so frustrated that you won't be able to sleep for a
week! Goodnight, Brett.'

He liked the way she'd phoned him,
and the way the conversation had gone. As he lay in bed thinking about her he
decided that he had never met a woman who was so feminine and yet at the same
time so independent as Tasha. She seemed to make her
own rules. He wondered about the man who had hurt her and felt a fit of angry
rage, would have liked to punch his face in. But if she hadn't been hurt would
she have become the fascinating woman that she was now? His mind went back to
the way she'd let him kiss her tonight and he tossed on his pillow frustratedly. God, he'd never wanted any woman so much in
all his life! He tried to tell himself that the world wouldn't come to an end
if he didn't get an immediate gratification of his hunger for her, but her
resolve— and therefore her ability to control her own needs— made him slightly
resentful. How could Tasha possibly want him as badly
as he wanted her if she could say no, even threaten to just walk away? Again a
feeling of panic at the thought swept over him, and he knew that he would go to
any lengths to keep her. Because he just had to have her.

'I'm sorry,
Miss Briant, but there's nothing I can do until a new lock can be fitted.' It
was a week or so later, and Tasha stood in angry frustration at the entrance to
her garage. Pranksters had super-glued the lock on the gates that closed off
the driveway and none of the tenants could get their cars out. And she'd
arranged to meet the employee of a Middle Eastern big-shot this afternoon for
what could turn out to be one of the most important interviews for her
programme. Darn! The girl was only in England for a couple of days and they'd
arranged to meet at the home of her sister, which was half way across the
country, and being Sunday it would be impossible to hire a car.

Tasha hesitated for only a
moment and then rang Brett's number. Quickly she explained about the car. 'I've
got an important appointment and I've just got to have a car,' she told him.
'Can I possibly borrow yours?'

Guessing what kind of
appointment she'd have on a Sunday, Brett thought fast and said, 'Of course
you're welcome to borrow it, but have you ever driven a four-wheel drive
before?'

'Well, no, but surely it's
the same as any other car?'

'Not really. And I'm afraid
mine's so old that it can be touchy and temperamental if you're not used to it.
How about if I drive you where you want to go?'

'That's kind of you, Brett,
but I'm sure I'll be able to handle it.'

'Why don't I bring it over
and you can try it out?' he offered.

She accepted gratefully and
Brett drove across London to a street a couple of blocks from Tasha's place
where he stopped and made one or two adjustments to the car. Then he drove on
to her building.

Tasha ran to meet him and
gave him a hug. 'This is brilliant of you.'

'Try
it first,' he cautioned.

She got in the driver's
seat, confident of her ability to handle the vehicle, but listened patiently
while Brett ran through its idiosyncrasies. There seemed to be an awful lot of
them. He insisted on sitting beside her while she tried it out. She started off
and within seconds was exclaiming in horror, 'This steering is all over the
place!' She tried to stop but the brake pedal went down to the floor without
anything happening. And they were coming up to a busy junction with the traffic
lights against them!

Kicking her foot off the
pedal, Brett pumped it and they came to an abrupt stop.

Her eyes wide with horror,
Tasha said faintly, 'My God, how on earth can you get around in this thing?'

'I
told you it was temperamental.'

'Yes, but you neglected to
add that it was a time- bomb on wheels.'

'Perhaps you'd prefer not
to use it? Can you borrow a different car?'

Tasha looked down at her
watch. 'There isn't time.' She frowned in impatience, then
said, 'Can you really drive it safely?'

'Oh,
sure, I'm used to it.'

'Then would you take me,
please? I can't miss out on this interview.'

'Of
course.' They changed places and Brett drove cautiously along. 'Where do
you want to go?'

'It's a village called Highclere St Mary's, in Derbyshire.'

'Quite a
way, then. I'd better get some petrol.' Stopping at the first service
station they came to, he said, 'I don't have a map for that area; do you think
you could buy one from the shop?'

Tasha hurried off to get
one and, as soon as she was out of sight, Brett lifted up the bonnet of the car
and reversed the adjustments he'd made earlier. When she returned he was calmly
filling the tank. Afterwards they seemed to make better progress and Brett had
no difficulty in handling the car, although he was careful not to let it seem
too easy.

'You said you were going to
do an interview; is that for the television programme you're working on?'

'Yes.'
She was less than informative.

'Don't you have to take a
camera crew and all the equipment along when it's television?' Brett asked in
what he hoped was a casual query.

Relaxing a little, Tasha
said, 'Yes, of course, but at the moment I'm just doing the research—working
out who to include in the actual programme and who to leave out. Some people
might not even want to appear, although they're willing to contribute.'

'What do you do in that
case? Black them out or hide their faces or something?'

'Yes, or we can use just
their voices over some ordinary film shots. Perhaps of the area they're
describing, that kind of thing.'

'It must be fascinating.
I'm afraid I know very little about how a television programme is put
together.'

Which wasn't completely
true, but it gave her an opening and, thankfully, it was one into which Tasha
innocently stepped. She described the work involved and told him several really
funny stories about the programme she'd made for schools.

She told the stories well,
making Brett laugh so much that he coughed and had to take his hand off the
wheel while at the same time changing gear. The car didn't veer an inch from
the straight. Tasha looked at the steering wheel then raised her eyes to his
face. 'You fixed the car, didn't you?'

'I wasn't happy about you
driving it yourself,' he admitted. 'So I—er—accentuated
the faults a little.'

'I ought to punish you for that.'

He raised a wary eyebrow, but
she didn't look as annoyed as he'd expected her to be. 'Yeah?'

'Yeah.
And I would if I didn't think that you'd probably enjoy it.'

He laughed at that, relief in
his voice, and tried to gain her trust even further by getting her to help him
with a snag in the plot of his new book. Brett knew she enjoyed discussing his
work with him and hoped that she would do the same with her own work. But he
had to ask, 'Is this an important person you're seeing today?' before he got
anything at all out of her.

'No, not
really. She's just an ordinary kind of woman.'

'And do ordinary women make good
television programme material?'

She looked at him for a moment
but he kept his eyes on the road. 'Only when they've had something—out of the
ordinary happen to them,' she said after a long moment

'Such as?'

But she wouldn't tell him and
changed the subject. When they found the address she was looking for, Tasha
went to get out of the car and said, 'I'm sorry, but I can't take you with me;
I promised I'd see her alone.'

'No problem. I'll go and find somewhere to have lunch. You can call me
on my mobile when you want mc to pick you up.'

He was rewarded with a brilliant
smile. 'I really appreciate this, Brett.'

Raising a suggestive eyebrow, he
gave her a wink find said, 'It might cost you later.'

Although he had said it in fun
it had been the wrong thing to say, and she didn't smile. 'I hope you don't
mean that.'

Leaning across, he kissed her
lightly. 'Your terms,' he reminded her.

Her eyes grew warm and she put
her hand on his cheek as she kissed him back, her mouth open, sensuous,
immediately arousing desire. Lifting her head, she opened languid eyes that
smiled into his, making him feel as if he were the only man in the world. 'See
you later.' And then she was gone, running up the driveway to the house and
lost to his sight. Brett sat there for a long moment, wondering why no other
woman had ever had the ability to make him feel so special before, then slowly drove away.

The girl Tasha had come to see worked as a stewardess
for a man who had his own private jet. He was immensely rich and paid very
well, but he expected a great deal for his money. 'I had to send a full-length
photo before I even went for the interview,' the woman, Anne, told Tasha. 'And
when I got the job I had to sign a two-year contract. I thought that being from
the Middle East he would want me to wear discreet, if not demure clothes, but
the owner chose the uniform himself and it had a very short skirt. Well, OK,
I've got good legs, and I wear short skirts all the time at home, so it didn't
worry me too much. But then he made it clear that there were other
"services" he wanted while he was on the plane, besides serving him
meals.'

'What did you
do?' Tasha asked, fascinated.

'I refused. I decided to quit as
soon as I could get another job, and I told him so. But he said that I'd never
get another job, that he'd make it his business to see that my name was
blackened with every airline I applied to. On the other hand, he said he would
make it well worth my while to do as he wanted. He offered me a really
luxurious apartment in the capital of his country and promised me a huge bonus
when my two years were up.'

'Couldn't you get any other kind of
a job here in England?'

'Only as a waitress or something
similar, and even those jobs aren't that easy to find—especially if you need to
live in, as I did. And besides, he took away my passport; he said he kept all
his staff passports together.'

'Can he do
that?'

Anne shrugged. 'When you have that
much money you also have unlimited power; you can do what you damn well like.
It didn't matter at first because when I got the flying job I was over the
moon, until he made it plain he wanted to join the Mile-High Club.'

'What on earth
is that?'

'You haven't heard of it? It's a
very select membership. You can only join if you've had sex when you're at
least a mile up in the sky.'

'Wow!'

'He has part of the plane fitted out
as a bedroom. I have to make myself available during every flight.' Anne gave a
short laugh. 'And I save a bomb on underwear because I'm not allowed to wear
any under my uniform.' The two girls gazed at each other for a moment, then Anne looked away from the growing anger in Tasha's
face. 'He gives me presents,' she said. 'Jewellery,
that kind of thing. And with the bonus he promised me I'd have enough to
live on for a long time if I was careful.'

'How long have
you been working for him?'

'Twenty
months.'

'So you'll
soon be free of him.'

'Yes.' But
Anne gave her a haunted look.

'What is it? Why have you decided to
tell me all this?'

Anne hesitated a moment, then said,
'Sometimes he has guests on the plane, other men. He knows my two year contract
is nearly up, and he's told me that unless I do for these other men what I do
for him, and—and let him watch, then I'll have broken the conditions of the
contract and I won't get a penny.'

'The louse!' Tasha exploded. 'The filthy
rat.'

She was still furiously angry when
she called Brett and he came to collect her. He was about to ask her how the
interview had gone, but took one look at her face and changed his mind.

Tasha was seething, her hands
clenched in her lap. They had gone only about a mile when she could stand it no
longer. 'For God's sake stop this car.'

Luckily it was an open, minor road
and Brett was able to immediately swerve into the side and pull up just near
the entrance to a field. Jumping out, Tasha ran to the five-barred gate into
the field, pushed it open and began to storm up and down, muttering furiously.

Following her, Brett said, 'What is
it? What did you say?'

'Men!' She swung round on him. 'They should all be castrated
at birth.'

He stared in
shocked amazement. 'Are you including me in that statement?'

'You're a man, aren't you?'

'Now hold on
there.' He went to take hold of her arm but she hit out at him. Angry, he
grabbed her shoulders and shook her. 'Tasha!'

She glared at
him for a moment, then suddenly slumped, and he saw
that she had tears in her eyes. 'It's so unfair, so cruel. The way men use
women, coerce them, humiliate them. God, it makes me
so darn mad.' She pushed herself away and stood with her back to him, her arms
crossed, hugging herself in distress.