Sally Wentworth - A Typical Male Read online

  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.

  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.

  There he dragged on his jeans but carried the rest of his clothes, dumped them indoors and went back to the car for his bag. It was only then that he noticed the bag that Tasha had left on the back seat. Inside it was a lap-top computer and a bulging documents case.

  In London, Tasha spent the whole night and the next day listening to Sarah, not attempting to offer advice, which she knew would be a waste of time, but just being there for her. Sarah was in tears most of the time and a nervous wreck whenever the phone rang in case it might be Clyde wanting to apologise, to say that he was coming back. Then, when he'd been gone for forty-eight hours without a word, Sarah started to get angry. That lasted for about another day, but then she broke down into tears again because it was the anniversary of their moving in together.

  It was an exhausting time for Tasha and she had little leisure to think of work. It wasn't until several days later that she realised she'd left all her stuff in Brett's car. She cursed inwardly, hoping he'd noticed it was there and not just returned the hire car. Sarah had now reached the suffering in silence stage, her mouth set into a martyred line. But at least she was
over the worst and had agreed to go and stay with her parents, who were due home from their holiday the next day.

  Anxious about her work, Tasha picked up the phone and called Brett's house in Docklands. All she got was his voice on the answering machine; she left no message. Later she tried a couple more times, but when he still didn't answer she came to the conclusion that he must still be down in Cornwall. She went to call him there but remembered he'd said he never switched his phone on to receive calls there, willing to put up with the inconvenience for the sake of peace and solitude. The next afternoon she drove Sarah to her parents' house. They were embarrassingly profuse with their thanks for her kindness to their daughter, and insisted she stay to dinner. They even wanted her to stay the night, but Tasha made an excuse and managed to get away. She had only gone a short distance before she pulled into a lay-by, sat in thought for a couple of minutes, then took out her road map book and looked up the quickest route to Cornwall.

  It was a long drive, and towards the end she had to stop often to consult the map, but the full moon was almost as bright as day and at last she found the right lane and drove down to the cove. Parking the car behind the house, she was relieved to see that the hire car was still there. But the back seat was empty. There was a light on downstairs, but when she knocked there was no reply. The door was unlocked. Pushing it open, Tasha called Brett's name. Again there was no response. She went round the place, liking everything she saw, but there was no sign of Brett. Maybe he had walked to the nearest village to the pub or something. She decided to go down to the beach to wait for him. Slipping off her shoes, she walked across the soft sand dunes, then paused. Brett was sitting on the beach just above the tide line. He was hunched forward, his chin on his knees, and seemed to be deep in thought.