Sally Wentworth - A Typical Male (9 page)

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.'

Consumed
with the deepest rage, Brett said harshly, 'Who is he? Just tell me who he is.'

A small
smile creased her mouth and he saw deep satisfaction in her eyes. 'Oh, you
don't have to worry; I made sure he'd never misuse another student long ago.'

Brett
stared at her, wild ideas chasing through his mind. 'What did you do?'

'Oh, nothing melodramatic. I went straight to the Rape
Crisis Centre in the town and told them about it. It seemed I wasn't the first
who had complained about him, but I was the first who was willing to give
evidence in a trial. They took up the case and forced the college to listen. He
tried to say that I had seduced him, that I was willing, but he had the
scratches on his face. So he was eventually made to leave. But it was all
hushed up, of course,' she added bitterly.

'So you went back to university?'

Tasha
laughed again. 'You're joking! I got kicked out before I'd even been there a
whole term. The principal tried to buy me off. He said I could stay on at the
college if I would drop the charges against the lecturer. When I refused, there
was no chance of going back, to that or any other college. It's like a men-
only club; they all stick together, try to protect then- own. But at least his
reputation was ruined, and will be even more so when my television programme is
shown.'

Brett's face tightened as he took in the implications. 'Can you do
that? Haven't you had revenge enough?'

She looked him steadily in the eyes. 'He ruined my life and that of
several other girls. Do you really think it fair? After what he did to me it
was a long time before I could even be alone in a room with a man. There were
times when I didn't want to live, knowing that people were looking at me, talking.'
She put on a gossipy voice. '' 'She must have asked for it. I bet she flaunted
herself until he couldn't resist." That's the kind of thing they said. And
besides—' her eyes hardened '—there were a lot of girls, some of them married
women, who wouldn't give evidence but who had suffered at his hands over the
years. And most of them had taken the easy way out, had been forced to do what
he wanted. They, too, need to be avenged.'

Brett gave a long, low whistle. Then, able to open up the subject
himself at last, he said, 'So what is this programme going to be about? The way
men use women?'

Tasha hesitated, a rueful look coming into her eyes as she realised
she'd given herself away. Briefly she nodded. 'Yes.' She gave him a challenging
look. 'Do you have any problem with that?'

Slowly Brett shook his head. 'I don't, no. But I can see that you might
have problems, Tasha. Very big problems.'

CHAPTER FOUR

'I don't want to talk about it.'
Striding past him, Tasha headed for the car.

Brett didn't
push it. He felt that he'd made some progress, even though Tasha had given him
the information inadvertently. But he would have to go carefully, show no undue
curiosity, or she would shut up like the proverbial clam.

So as they drove
back to London he talked of other things, but when he saw that Tasha wasn't
listening, was sitting with a brooding look on her face, he switched on a music
channel on the radio and drove the rest of the way in silence. When they
reached her flat he made sure he got out of the car with her. Tasha hesitated
for a moment, wanting to work on the notes she'd taken
of the interview, but then smiled and said, 'Are you hungry? I could make an omelette or something.'

'Sounds great.'

Being on the top
floor, the rooms felt hot and stuffy. Tasha pushed open all the windows,
letting in what breeze there was, and the noise of traffic from the streets
below. They ate and he helped her wash up, then
settled on her sofa with a cool drink.

'It was nice to
get out into the country for a while,' Brett remarked. 'I went for a walk while
I was waiting for
you; I think I'd almost forgotten what the countryside smelt like.'

Tasha
smiled. 'Cow-pats and pigsties.'

'Manure heaps and mangel-wurzels,' he agreed with a grin.

'What
on earth are mangel-wurzels?'

'I haven't the faintest
idea, but they are definitely very countrified.'

'You're more likely to
find farmers breeding llamas and ostriches than cows and sheep nowadays,' Tasha
said prosaically.

'Possibly.'
He stroked the back of her hand with his finger. 'Personally I prefer the sound
of seagulls to that of rooks cawing, and the smell of the ocean rather than
manure heaps. And I like to walk for miles along the open beach instead of
hopping over gates and stiles to cross fields.'

'Are you getting
nostalgic for your cottage in Cornwall?'

'I
think I must be.'

'But there's a lot going
on in London. The summer festival starts soon. There'll be jazz concerts in the
parks.'

'And in Cornwall the deep
lanes will be like cloisters, overhung with trees, and the banks heavy with flowers
and blossom.'

'And nose to tail with
cars. And the beaches crowded with tourists.'

'Not
in my cove,' he said positively.

'Your cove! Hark at the man.'

His hand closed over
hers. 'If I go to Cornwall, will you come with me?'

Turning her head, Tasha
studied his face. 'As a friend?' 'Yes—and as a lover.'

'As your mistress.' There was a faintly disparaging note in
her voice.

'No. As a lover. An equal partner in a
wonderful experience.'

She
gave a small smile. 'Will it be wonderful?'

'Oh,
yes,' he said with sincerity. 'I guarantee it.'

She hesitated
a moment, then said, 'When are you going and for how long?'

Hope soared. 'As soon as you like and for as long as you like.'

'It would be
nice to get out of London for a while,' Tasha said on a wistful note. 'But I'm
so busy with my programme.'

'You
could spare a few days.'

She
smiled, her eyes on his face. 'Could I?'

'Mmm.' She had this knack of
studying him with such warmth in her eyes that it was like a caress. And with
that little teasing smile on her lips so that he was never sure what she was
thinking. 'Would you like a preview?'

Her brows
rose. 'Of what it would be like at your cottage?'

'Of what we would do there, yes.'

Her gaze grew
very innocent. 'You mean walking on the beach, and that kind of thing?'

'No, I meant
lying on the bed—and that kind of thing.'

'Oh!' She
pretended to understand. Then filled him with delighted surprise when she
added, 'You mean this.' And, pushing him back on the settee, she kissed him and
began to undo his shirt.

Her hands
roved delicately over him, so cool against his suddenly over-heated skin. She
explored freely,
caressing his tiny nipples, curling the hairs on his chest round her fingers.
He loved every second of it and squirmed when she found that he was ticklish.
Tasha laughed. 'So I've found your weak spot, have I?'

'I'm
afraid I have a great many weak spots where you're concerned.'

‘Really? And is this another one?' She was half lying over
him and lowered herself a little so that she could kiss his neck, the line of
his strong jaw, the minute cleft in his chin. Brett stood that easily enough
but then she moved on down and her tongue trailed across his chest until it
found his nipple. He groaned then and clumsily reached to pull off her blouse,
but she lifted her head and said huskily, 'No, this is just for you.'

So he lay
back and let her caress him, his senses burning, on fire, his skin trembling
where she touched him, kissed him. His body was fiercely aroused and his
fingers dug into her hips as he held her. Tremor after tremor of awareness ran
through him, and he groaned as she gently bit him. To have her kiss him, toy
with him like this, when he knew that she wouldn't let him touch her in return
or let him make love to her, was an exquisite torture. Overwhelming pleasure
mixed with the most terrible sexual frustration. He felt like a toy, a
plaything, an inanimate object that longed to spring to life.

At last
she lifted herself and kissed his mouth. Brett grabbed her and held her head as
he kissed her passionately in return. 'Come to Cornwall,' he said against her
mouth. 'Oh, God, you've got to come. You're driving me mad. Crazy! I want you
so much, so much.'

Lifting her head, Tasha
looked at his lean, hungry face. 'All right.'

He
hugged her in exuberant joy and relief. 'When?'

'Soon.'

Beyond that she wouldn't
go; he could get no definite date out of her. And soon she stood up and said
pointedly, 'Would you like another drink before you go?'

Brett
groaned. 'Are you throwing me out?'

'I want to write up the
notes on my interview while it's still fresh in my mind. Decide how I'm going
to handle it.'

He sighed, stood up and
pulled on his shirt. 'Will I see you tomorrow?'

'No,
I have a date.'

'Male or female?'

Tasha
smiled. 'Do I ask you who you see?'

'No—but
I wish you would.'

'Why?'

'Because I want you to be
very, very jealous,' Brett said feelingly.

She came and put her arms
round his neck, ran her fingers through his hair. 'Have I reason to be
jealous?'

For a moment he was
tempted to make up a girlfriend, an old flame or something, but then knew that
she wouldn't believe him. 'No,' he growled. 'You know darn well you haven't.'
He looked at her keenly. 'Have I?'

She moved away from him
and her voice was cool as she said, 'I'm seeing an old friend that I used to
work with. A gir/friend. We
meet up every couple of months.'

'Will
you tell her about me?'

Her
mouth twisted in amusement. 'Perhaps.' 'What will you
tell her?'

Tasha laughed
openly. 'That you're a man—but I'm trying to turn you into a civilised human
being.'

'Ouch.' He picked up
her hand, kissed it, his eyes on her face, then asked a question he knew he
shouldn't, but couldn't resist. 'Do you ever run into the man you were seeing
before me?'

'No.' She shook her head, but there was a wary look in her eyes.

'Who was
he?'

'No one of any importance.'

He
frowned. 'Was he ever—important?'

'Goodnight,
Brett.'

He saw that she
wasn't going to answer him, that he would never know
if she'd been to bed with this other man. Provoked, he said, 'I could almost
feel sorry for him, if he felt for you as I feel.'

Tasha's voice
hardened a little. 'If he wanted me as much as you do, you mean?'

'Yes, I
suppose so. Did he?'

She turned away and
walked to the door to open it for him, said again, 'Goodnight, Brett.'

Picking up his
jacket, he slung it over his shoulder and walked over to her. 'So when will I
see you?'

She
shrugged. 'I'm pretty busy at the moment.'

He paused, looking
into her face, then said softly but with intense feeling, 'Don't punish me
because I want you, Tasha. You know it's beyond my control.'