Sally Wentworth - A Typical Male

by Sally Wentworth

  That evening they cooked a spectacular meal which they ate by candlelight by the open windows, the sound of the sea soft in the background. They drank a lot of champagne, and later went hand-in-hand down to the beach where they undressed each other and waded out through the waves, the phosphorescent spray licking their legs, their thighs, their chests. In the water they kissed, touched, caressed, until they were both aroused to fever-pitch.

  They had made love in the sea before, but this time Brett picked her up and carried her back across the beach to the garden behind the cottage. There he laid her down among the thick bed of foxgloves, their riotous colours lost in the moonlight. But the scent of them filled the air as her body crushed the tender blooms. Tasha gave a small sound of protest, but Brett caught hold of some of the flowers and scattered the petals on her, letting them fall from his fingers onto the soft, shadowed curves of her body.

  They felt like butterflies' wings on her skin, and where Brett's fingers had bruised them the perfume was so strong, heady as any wine, filling her senses. He took her with controlled passion, deliberately holding back to prolong her pleasure, making her cry out, moan with frustrated desire. His own breathing ragged, Brett lifted himself on his elbow and gripped her waist with his free hand. 'Look at me,' he commanded. 'Open your eyes. Look at me.'

  Tasha did so with difficulty, it was almost impossible when he was making her gasp like this, when he was giving her so much pleasure.

  'Do you want to go back, Tasha?'

  'N-no. I told you so.'

  'Do you care about me, then? Do you?' He rasped out the words, his voice rough with the effort it was taking to control himself.

  'You know I do. You're…special.' He drew back a little and she put her hands on his shoulders, feeling suddenly empty and desperate, yearning for him again.

  His hand tightened convulsively on her waist. 'Then say it.'

  Her eyes opened wider and she frowned. Brett was poised above her, his face all black and silver planes and angles in the moonlight. She could see the intensity in his eyes and guessed what he wanted. But she said, 'Brett?' on a questioning note.

  'Say it,' he commanded again, his voice harsh with insistence.

  She hesitated, feeling coerced, but suddenly felt unsure of herself all over again. And right at that moment he was everything to her; she wanted his closeness, didn't want it ever to end, so she said breathlessly, 'I—I love you. I—yes, I know I love you.'

  'My darling!' His voice filled with happiness. He stooped to kiss her, and now he released his own pent up passion, thrusting forward to lift them both to the heights of prolonged excitement.

  Afterwards, he murmured happy words of endearment, kissed her and paid her lavish compliments. Once Tasha would have rejected such flattery, but now she found she liked it; it made her feel pleased that her body, at least, wasn't a failure, that it could give such evident pleasure. And she was glad that Brett seemed to want her to love him so badly. It made her feel needed and gave her back some of her confidence, even though at the back of her mind she sensed that by saying she loved him she was also giving away a great deal of her independence.

  Eventually they went back into the house and to bed, and early the next morning were standing together in the shower when Brett said, 'I want you to move in with me.'

  Tasha looked up, startled. 'You mean here?'

  'I mean that I want you with me wherever I am. Either here or in London.'

  'Oh, sir, this is so sudden!' she prevaricated, putting on a mock coy simper.

  'No, it isn't. You want to be with me, don't you?'

  'Well, yes, but—'

  He put his finger over her lips, then kissed her. 'No huts. As soon as you get to London I want you to give up your flat and move your stuff into my place. I'll give you a key so that you can start moving in straight away.'

  'Aren't you going to London?'

  'No, I have to go away for a week or so, to do some research on my book.'

  Tasha had thought that he'd already done as much research as he needed, but didn't question it. He had done hardly any work during the last few days, having devoted himself entirely to her, and she felt guilty about that. But she said, 'Brett, I don't know. I'm not used to living with anyone, and—'

  'If you love me, as you said, then you'll want to live with me.' Picking up the soap, he began to lather her back. 'Besides, I've an idea I'll go insane with lust unless I have this gorgeous body of yours in my bed every night. Now that I know how wonderful making love to you can be, I don't ever want to stop.'

  'So I've noticed,' Tasha laughed. 'Hey, you don't have to give me a demonstration… Brett, I have to get back to London…Brett!'

  Later, when they were dressed, he gave her a key to his house. 'I'll expect to find you waiting for me there when I get back.'

  'I don't know how long it will take to get my place sorted out.' Tasha sighed. 'And I'll have to put in a lot of time at the office—that's if I still have a job after what's happened.'

  'Don't worry,' Brett told her as she packed. 'You're too good to get the sack. Just point out that the company would have been sued into bankruptcy if you'd gone ahead. Sell your boss another idea, tell him you've been working on it.'

  'I wish you were coming with me.' For Tasha to say such a thing was unlike her, and was convincing proof of her growing dependence on him, of the fact that she had become so insecure.

  'I wish I could. But I have to do that research for my book. I'll be back in London as soon as I can.'

  He kissed her goodbye and waited at the door until the little yellow car was out of sight, then Brett went into the sitting-room and opened the drawer where he had locked away Tasha's notes. Taking them out, he selected those that referred to her interview with the air stewardess and put them into his briefcase, then ran upstairs to pack a case and within half an hour was heading for the nearest airport.

  Tasha got into a row with her boss, but accepted his anger so meekly that he was completely thrown and merely told her to come up with something else— fast! Going back to her flat, Tasha went through her files looking for inspiration but found that she was strangely unsure of herself. Where formerly she would have been fired up with enthusiasm for a project, now she felt reluctant and doubtful. Taking out the videos of the previous programmes she'd made, she watched them again, looking at them with new eyes, wondering if she'd exploited people to make those, too. What if she made another mistake? She wished Brett was there so she could discuss it with him, but he would be deep in the research for his book. Feeling deeply depressed, she rang Sarah, who was equally low.

  'I take it you haven't got back with Clyde?'

  'No, and I don't want to now. I'm going to sell this place and find myself somewhere new to live. Where have you been? I rang you several times while I was staying with my parents.'

  'I went down to Cornwall for a few days.'

  'Tell you what; why don't we doll ourselves up and go and find ourselves a couple of men?' Sarah suggested.

  'I don't need a man. But I would like to talk. How about dinner?'

  They met late at a Soho bistro and began to discuss Sarah's decision to sell her flat. 'I've decided it's best to make a clean break,' she told Tasha. 'To completely cut Clyde out of my life and start over. I've thrown out everything he left behind, burnt his photographs, donated all the presents he gave me to Ox- fam. There's nothing left of him in my life now.'

  'Except memories. They aren't so easy to lose.'

  'No—but I'm trying.' Sarah looked up. 'How about you? How are you getting along with the writer? What was his name?'

  'Brett King. OK. It was his place I went to in Cornwall. He has a cottage by the sea.'

  'You stayed with him? You must be getting serious about him, then?'

  A troubled look came into Tasha's eyes. 'He's special, yes. And he's great in bed. But…I don't know. He wants me to move in with him and I suppose I agreed. I care about him. I really do care, but…' Her voice trailed off.
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  'You don't sound very certain. Usually you're so sure of your own feelings.'

  'Yes, I suppose so. But something happened down in Cornwall. I was working on a programme about sexual exploitation, was perfectly happy about it, but Brett made me see that what I was doing was all wrong. It's shaken me. I seem to have lost all my confidence.' She told Sarah about some of the women she'd interviewed, of the air stewardess that she felt really bad about.

  'It sounds as if he was right. You could have been playing with fire. But if you're going to move in with him you must be really keen on him. Are you in love with him?'

  Slowly, exploring her feelings, Tasha said, 'I feel that I want to be with him, especially since this happened. I'm worried in case I choose a project that's going to work out badly again. I feel I need his advice.'

  'But that's work. How do you feel about him as a man?' Sarah persisted.

  Tasha shook her head. 'I told him I loved him. He seemed to want me to so much. And I owe him a lot. But I just don't know. Telling someone you love them is really committing yourself.'

  'Don't I know it. Clyde was always wanting me to tell him I loved him, but look what he did to me!'

  They talked on, finding some comfort in sharing their problems, and both went home to their lonely beds.

  Finally making up her mind, Tasha began to work on a new project and started looking round for someone to take over her flat and to pack some of her things. But she didn't do so with any great urgency. Brett had rung her several times and had said he wouldn't be home for at least another couple of weeks.

  Towards the end of this period, when Tasha was at the office one morning, Sarah rang her. 'Have you seen today's New Millennium?' she asked, naming a national newspaper.

  'No. Why?'

  'You remember what you were telling me about the stewardess who was being sexually exploited by a Middle Eastern potentate? Well, there's an article in this morning's paper that sounds exactly like the situation. Tell you what, I'll fax you a copy.'

  Tasha waited by the fax machine and eagerly tore off the sheet, then stood spellbound as she started to read. There could be no doubt that it was about the same girl. Although it didn't give Anne's name, all the facts were the same, and there was a photo of the bedroom on the plane. The New Millennium was a quality newspaper and it had treated the subject in a serious way, but the article was a scathing accusation against the magnate. It pointed out that he was supposed to be a philanthropist, and was involved with many charities, and yet he had no compunction in exploiting a woman who was dependent on him for a livelihood. Once she'd read it through, Tasha's eyes ran over the article, eagerly looking for the reporter's name, but it just said, 'By our Middle Eastern correspondent'.

  Tasha had contacted the stewardess to tell her she wouldn't be going ahead with the programme as soon as she got back from Cornwall, so it looked as if the woman had gone to another reporter with her story. Tasha hoped fervently that Anne—and the reporter— knew what they were doing. She went through the article again, more slowly, and stopped, puzzled. She recognised a phrase in the text, not as something she'd been told, but as an observation she herself had written when she'd been interviewing the girl. But that was impossible. Unless… Tasha became very still, her mind racing. Only one other person could have seen what she'd written and that was Brett. And he had stopped her from destroying her notes, had them all locked away down in Cornwall.

  Sitting down at her desk, Tasha gazed into space for a while, then checked her watch and put a call through to Hong Kong. When she got through she said, 'Guy, how are you? It seems ages since your farewell party.' They talked a little and then she said, 'Your friend Brett King—you remember he was at the party? I'm looking for a reporter for a programme I'm doing, and I seem to remember he said he was a journalist. Do I have that right?' She listened, then said, 'Oh, I see. He used to be a journalist. Which paper? The New Millennium. Thanks, Guy, I expect I'll be able to contact him there. When are you coming over?'

  Her face was very tense, very cold when she put down the receiver. Tasha then flipped through her file of contacts and found the name of a girl she knew who worked for the newspaper and called her. She talked very persuasively for a few minutes and the girl promised to call her back. Gripping her fists, Tasha waited. At last the call came. 'You're right,' the girl told her. 'The name of the reporter who wrote the piece was definitely Brett King.'

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  It was another week before Brett returned to London. In that time he rang Tasha several times but she didn't take the calls, merely listening to the messages on the answering machines. Brett's voice came over as warm, intimate, full of confidence in his possession of her. He spoke of when they would be together again, how he couldn't wait to take her to bed. His tone was rich with sexual need and also the sure knowledge that she shared it, that it would soon be satisfied. The later messages asked whether she had moved into his house yet, said that as she hadn't answered the calls to her flat he hoped to find her waiting for him there. But there was still no uncertainty in his voice; he was still very sure of her.

  Tasha listened to the last message along with Sarah, who was at the flat with her.

  'What are you going to do about him?' Sarah asked when the answering machine clicked off. 'Ditch him?'

  'Oh, definitely.' Tasha was coldly decisive. 'But he used me, and I don't intend to just let him get away with it.'

  'That might be difficult. He sounds clever.'

  'Oh, he is. But he thinks that he's brainwashed me into letting him take control. Which is where he's wrong,' Tasha added venomously.

  'Will you tell him you've found out he wrote the article?'

  'That he plagiarised my notes, you mean? You can bet your life that if I do he'll try and talk me round, use sex to dominate me.' She got angrily to her feet and paced the room. 'The rat! He deliberately set out to undermine my confidence, to make me think that I was making a huge mistake in putting together the programme. And like an absolute fool I believed him. I've never felt so unsure of myself in my life. And all the time he was just using me—!' Breaking off, she glared at Sarah. 'I've got to think up something that will absolutely devastate him.'

  'You could take him to court for plagiarism,' Sarah offered.

  With a dismissive gesture, Tasha said, 'No, that wouldn't do any good. It would cost the earth and take too long. Don't forget, he still has all my notes; he only has to destroy them and then it would be my word against his. And anyway, to sue him just isn't personal enough. It has to be something that will not only knock him for six but will get rid of him at the same time.'

  'Can't you just tell him that you've met someone else who's far better in bed?'

  'That's an idea!' For a moment Tasha contemplated the thought with some pleasure, but then frowned. 'Somehow I don't think he'd believe me. There can be few men who are better lovers than Brett. The sex side of it was really good. Really good,' she repeated, remembering. 'That's why he'll use it to subdue me again.'

  'Maybe he won't try,' Sarah suggested. 'He's a man, isn't he? Now he's got what he wants he'll probably drop you, instead of the other way round.'

  But Tasha shook her head firmly. 'No. You heard his message on the phone; does that sound like he wants to be rid of me? No, my guess is he wants to use the rest of my notes, to do newspaper articles on all those other cases too. But even I, stupid fool that he thinks me, would be likely to notice if he did that. So he needs to talk me into letting him use them.'

  'Yes, I see. So he'll try to hang onto you like grim death. It really would have to be something mind- boggling, then. Especially if you want to frighten the life out of him at the same time. What on earth could you do to…?' Sarah's voice faded as she looked at Tasha and saw that she had come to a stop, her eyes widening as an idea came to her. 'You've thought of something!'

  'Yes. Yes, I rather think I have.' Tasha's face gleamed with excitement. 'I think I've come up with the very thing to put the fear of God i
nto Brett and get rid of him at the same time.'

  'On a personal level?'

  Tasha smiled, her eyes full of vengeful triumph. 'Oh, yes, on a very personal level.'

  'Tasha?' Brett's next call came while she was at the office a couple of days later, and this time she didn't duck it. 'Hey, what happened to you? I've been leaving messages for you everywhere.'

  'Sorry, I've been away,' she lied glibly. 'Doing research for my new programme. The boss wants it in a hurry because I ditched the last one. I only got back late last night and fell into bed completely exhausted. How about you? How's your research going?'

  'Fine. All done. I'm at home. I expected you to have moved in but none of your stuff is here.'

  'Like I said; I've been working like a mad thing, shooting all over the place.'

  'Well, let's get together tonight. Your place or mine?' Brett said with a suggestive chuckle, still totally sure of her.

  Playing along, Tasha said, 'Anywhere,' on a breathy note.

  He laughed. 'That's my girl. I've really missed you, darling.'

  'And I've missed you,' she responded, her words warm but her face cold, adding for good measure, 'I can't wait to see you again.'

  'I've got a great surprise for you.'

  'Really? I've got lots to tell you, too. Where shall we meet?'

  'How about you cooking a meal at your place?'

  'OK. I'll see you there about eight, shall I?'

  'Make it seven. I'll go crazy if I don't hold you in my arms again soon. I thought I was frustrated before we were together in Cornwall, but having made love to you, knowing how fantastic it was, I just long to be with you again every minute of the day.'

  'Oh, do you really, Brett?' She made her voice full of gratified pleasure. 'You really have missed me, then?'

  'Haven't I said so? You're mine, Tasha, now and for always.'

  You mean until you get what you want out of me, you skunk! Tasha thought angrily as she replaced the receiver. Then smiled as she thought of the shock Brett was going to get tonight.