Sally Wentworth - A Typical Male Page 6

'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.

  '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.

  Seeing that the anger went too deep to be just on behalf of the unknown woman that she'd interviewed, Brett went to stand behind her and gently rubbed her arms. 'Tell me,' he said softly.

  'I can't. I promised her I wouldn't.'

  'You're not thinking about her, you're
thinking about yourself.'

  She became very still, then slowly turned to face him.

  Her beautiful eyes were smudged with tears and he felt a great surge of emotion, as if someone had kicked him in the stomach. 'Oh, Tasha.' He opened his arms and she stood for a moment, then came to lean her head against his chest. Stroking her back, he said inadequately, 'It's OK, you're all right.'

  Sighing, she said, 'Sometimes the world is a bloody rotten place.'

  Brett kissed her hair and said, 'Don't worry, I'll take care of you.'

  She laughed on a sardonic note, straightened up out of his hold and pushed her hair off her face. 'I don't need a man to take care of me. I can look after myself.'

  Annoyed that she'd included him in a category she obviously despised, he said, 'Oh, sure. You know what you remind me of, Tasha? One of those chocolates that's hard on the outside, but when you bite into it the centre is so soft it just melts away.'

  'I admit that I get angry when I hear of a woman who's being ill-used,' she admitted tightly.

  'And do you think women don't ill-use men? Of course they do. Some of them. Just like it's only some men who mistreat women. You can't just lump them all together, Tasha.'

  She gazed at him for a moment, then turned and walked away, stooping to pick a long stalk of grass which she began to pull to pieces. 'Sometimes I think that men are born knowing how to abuse women.' He didn't answer and, her head lowered, she went on, 'I left school at eighteen and went straight to college. There was a lecturer there, a middle-aged married man. He was my course tutor and I often had to see him alone. He made a pass at me, and when I resisted he said that if I didn't do as he wanted he'd make sure I failed my exams. So I told him that if he didn't keep away from me I'd report him to the college authorities.'

  Her voice faltered. 'Then one day—one beautifully sunny afternoon—he tried to rape me. He did it quite deliberately, holding a cushion over my head so I couldn't scream. He half suffocated me, but I'd had some training in self-defence and I managed to get him off. I raked his face with my nails and kicked him where it hurts most. Then I left him and ran, but when I complained to the college authorities they wouldn't believe me. The tutor was a respectably married man with grown-up children. He was a grandfather, for God's sake. So who the hell do you think they believed?' She gave a harsh, brittle laugh. 'They said it would be better all round if I just left the college quietly.'