When they got back to the cottage, Brett took in the food while Tasha carried the shopping bags full of her new clothes. She went to take them upstairs but found that Brett had just dumped the groceries and was behind her, chasing her. In the bedroom he didn't even give her time to take her clothes off, his eagerness for her was on fire and had to be satisfied now, now!
It was only afterwards that he undressed her slowly, unbuttoning her shirt to stroke and caress her breasts, pulling down the zip of her skirt and running his hand inside. Tasha stood it for a while, then reached out and began to take off his clothes, too. When they were naked they made love again, but slowly, oh, so slowly, each endeavouring to give the other maximum pleasure, to lift them to new heights of sensual excitement. Brett felt that his body had become an instrument on which Tasha could play the most delectable tunes, first taking him close to rapture then away again, to give him a small respite, before stroking and kissing him into brimming delight that threatened to consume him until she drew back and his quivering body began to relax again.
'You witch!' he groaned. 'You enchantress.' Opening his eyes a little, he saw her bending over him, her eyes heavy with desire. 'Come here,' he said thickly, and pulled her down to kiss her. Then he began to do some teasing of his own.
It was quite some time afterwards before they found the strength to move. Tasha went to the bathroom and when she came back, still naked, began to sort through the things she'd bought that afternoon. 'Can I use one of the drawers in the chest to put my things in?'
'Sure. Just sling my stuff into one of the others.'
Brett watched her, glad that she hadn't dressed or wrapped a towel round herself. He wanted her to feel that it was natural to be naked with him, to be always ready for more lovemaking. Her body was pale, showing that she hadn't sunbathed much that summer, but there was a faint flush of colour on her arms and face from their walk round the town that day. He decided he wanted her to be tanned all over, with no white bikini marks. Tomorrow he would take her down to the beach, find a private spot, and they would both sunbathe naked—and make love as often as he could manage it.
Having taken his clothes and put them into another drawer, Tasha went to replace them with her own, then paused. Reaching into the drawer, she drew something out and looked at it for a long moment. It was an earring, a rather garish one of rolled gold with a large red-coloured stone dangling from it. Clipping it onto her own ear, she pushed back her hair, then finished putting her clothes away before going to join Brett on the bed.
He reached for her happily and would have kissed her, but she turned her head so that her profile with the earring was towards him. Even then he hardly noticed, nuzzling her neck, until she swung her head and the earring hit him. Blithely unconcerned, he saw it at last and said, 'Just one earring?'
'Only one had been left behind in the drawer.'
'In the…?'
'Do you bring all your women here, Brett?'
Unable to read anything in her face, he brazened it out. 'My sisters bring their families here for holidays, you know. One of them—'
'Liar!' She pinched him hard.
'Ouch!' Brett hoped it meant she was jealous. If she was, then she must care about him. He held up his hands in mock-surrender. 'OK, I don't know who left it behind.'
'So you have brought other women here?'
He shrugged. 'I'm no monk, Tasha. You must have realised that by now.' He put his hand on her thigh. 'Just as you aren't exactly inexperienced.'
'So we're to play tit-for-tat?'
'You started this,' Brett pointed out.
'A typically masculine remark.' Swinging her legs off the bed, Tasha began to dress.
'Hey, what are you doing? I thought we were going to spend the afternoon in bed.'
'I don't feel like it.' Tasha pulled on a blouse and knotted it round her waist. 'Where have you put the work I left in the car?'
Brett sat up and folded his arms, a grim look to his mouth. 'Is this supposed to be some kind of punishment, Tasha?'
She glanced at him and raised her eyebrows. 'For you abandoning me at the service station, do you mean?'
'I went back for you.'
'Really?' The word wasn't openly disbelieving, but neither was it pleased. 'Where's my work, Brett?'
Capitulating, knowing that in this fight he would never win, he said, 'Downstairs. In the cupboard by the fireplace.'
She went to go out through the door, but stopped and took off the earring, then tossed it to him. 'Here. You may want to return this.'
Catching it, Brett threw it with unnecessary force into the wastepaper basket. But Tasha had already gone. Moodily he got out of bed to dress, thinking that he had lost control of the situation, which wasn't something he was used to—not where women were concerned at least.
When he went downstairs Tasha was seated at a gateleg table, which she had opened, and had set up the lap-top, her papers piled beside it. Getting himself a beer, he leaned against the wall nearby. She looked up at him and smiled. The smile surprised him; he'd expected her to be sulky if not downright cold. Brett hesitated, then his jaw set; he didn't want to start this particular conversation but he knew it had to be done. Abruptly, he said, 'I read through your notes.'
Tasha became very still. 'You had no right to do that.'
'I knew that.'
'So—why?'
'Because, from the little you'd told me, I'd begun to suspect that the programme you were planning could be dangerous.'
She turned to look at him, her eyes frowning. 'Dangerous?'
'For you—and for the women you've been interviewing.'
'How could it possibly be—?'
'Think about it, Tasha,' he interrupted forcefully. 'These are famous men you're dealing with, not nonentities. Famous people have power, otherwise they wouldn't be able to exploit the women in the first place. If just one of them finds out what you're planning—and you can be sure as hell it will be found out—then they'll use every means in their power to stop you. And powerful men play dirty, Tasha. The more powerful the more unscrupulous and ruthless they can be. Just talking to these women will have shown you that.'
'I'm not afraid.'
She lifted her chin as she said it, a fierce light of determination in her eyes. She looked so incredibly beautiful that he felt something like pain in his chest, but Brett ignored it as he said with all his persuasive power, 'You're just a young woman at the outset of your career. Some of those men could break you in an hour, make sure you never work in television again. They could even have you hurt physically. An "accident" in your car, being mugged in the street. Even a fire in your flat,' he added with deliberate brutality. She gave an incredulous gasp, but he went on, 'You've picked on men in high places and they've a lot to lose. Do you really think they'd take a chance on you exposing them when they could put you out of the way?'
Tight-lipped, she said, 'Yes, you're right; it's because they are in responsible positions that I chose them, and that's why they should be exposed for what they are. Are you saying that I should drop the whole idea?' Tasha added indignantly. 'That I should let them get away with it?'
'You're digging up too much dirt. It will only rebound on you. At the very least untold pressure will be put on your boss to stop the programme. Has he read your notes? Does he know exactly what you intend?' She didn't answer, looked away. 'I thought not. I bet you're deliberately keeping him in the dark, stringing him along. When he finds out, the programme will never be shown. But there are other ways to—'
But she interrupted angrily, 'I won't give it up. Those women are putting their trust in me to avenge them.'
He looked at her, saw that she was completely unconvinced, so he said deliberately, 'Are you avenging them—or yourself?'
She stiffened. 'What do you mean?'
'You told me about the college tutor who tried to rape you. You plan to denounce him in this programme, don't you?'
'So what if I do?'
Striding ov
er, Brett put both hands on the table and leaned towards her. His voice harsh, he said, 'So take a look at your motives for doing this programme. You may have convinced yourself you're on a crusade for others, but in reality you're completely governed by your own desire for revenge. The only reason you went looking for those women was to pad out the programme. You want to get your own back, Tasha, and you're using those women to help you do it. You are exploiting them, just as ruthlessly as the men who used them.'
Tasha's face had gone pale, but there were bright spots of anger in her cheeks as she said, 'That isn't true.'
'No? Have you thought about what will happen to those women once the programme is shown? You only have their word for it that they've been used. Have you tried to corroborate their stories?'
'How can I when there weren't any witnesses? The very basis of sexual exploitation is that it's between two people and is done in secret.'
'Exactly! So what's to stop every one of those men suing you? They'll take you to the cleaners, Tasha. You'll still be paying off your debts when you're a hundred years old.'
'I'm not afraid of that.'
She had such courage that his heart smote him, but he said, 'It's not just you. Those women will be sued for slander, too. Have you told them that could happen, warned them of what they might have to face? No, of course you haven't—because all you can think about is getting revenge on the man who hurt you. You, Tasha. This is what it's all about.'
In sudden rage, she pushed herself to her feet and burst out, 'Why shouldn't I have justice? I got thrown out of college. I lost my chance of a degree. And I had done nothing. Nothing! But he wasn't even punished. It was all hushed up. He was just pensioned off. They even made a ceremony out of it and the college gave him a presentation! It was a clock. They gave him a damn clock as a reward for raping his students!'
Suddenly tears were coursing down her cheeks. Brett caught her to him and held her close in his arms. 'Oh, my sweet. My poor darling. I know it's unfair. Life is bloody unfair. But you can't do this. Believe me, my darling, you've got to let it go.'
She sobbed against his shoulder, murmured incoherently. Brett stroked her hair, said soothing words of comfort and kissed her forehead. 'I know it's rotten, but you'll hurt yourself far more than you'll hurt him. Believe me, sweetheart.'
Her tears still flowed and she made a protesting noise, but not so vehemently as before. But it was a while before she gulped and raised her head from his shoulder. Brett gave her his handkerchief and Tasha wiped her face, then gave a croaky laugh. 'I can't believe I broke down like that. I've never cried about this before. Not even when it happened.'
'Maybe that's been the problem; you've been bottling the whole thing up all these years, letting it grow out of all proportion.'
She looked at him, her eyes still wet and deeply troubled. 'Could those women I've interviewed really be harmed if I go ahead?'
'I think you already know the answer to that one,' he said gently.
She sighed in deep unhappiness. 'Why are men so cruel to women?'
Realising that she had given in, Brett smiled and said lightly, 'Who knows? In another generation it might well be the other way round.'
But Tasha shook her head. 'Somehow I don't think so.'
'Hey, this isn't like you. Where's your optimism?'
She gave him a sombre look. 'I'm sorry I soaked your shoulder; I'm not usually this weak. This stupid. This feminine. This—'
Brett stopped her words with his mouth, kissing her gently. 'You just got lost for a while, that's all. But you're OK now, aren't you?' There was a question in his voice; he wanted to be sure that she'd been persuaded.
Stepping away from him, she said, 'I promised those women. Especially that girl who works as an air stewardess. She's depending on me.'
'She won't thank you if something happens to her because of it. She's in a foreign country working for an all-powerful man. She wouldn't stand a chance, Tasha.'
Her eyes widened, then she said bitterly, 'You seem to know all about man's inhumanity to woman.' Then she shook her head a little and sighed. 'Sorry, I didn't mean to be nasty. I think I'll go for a walk, try and sort things out in my mind.'
'Do you want me to come with you?'
'No.' She shook her head. 'I'd rather be alone. I've got a lot of thinking to do.'
Tasha walked down to the beach. The tide was out and she kicked off her shoes and began to walk along the water line. The sun was low in the sky, deep red, turning the shore and the rocks to a delicate pink and leaving shadows where her feet sank in the wet sand. She realised that since she had first had the idea for this programme she hadn't even considered the consequences it might have. It had seemed such a beautiful way of getting revenge at last. And the same for all those other women. She had been looking for a way of getting her own back for such a long time, and she could still remember the thrill of excitement she'd felt when she'd first realised she could do so through this programme.
It had all seemed so simple and straightforward. A friend had told her about someone she knew, a personal secretary to a powerful businessman, who'd had it made clear to her that she was expected to be available sexually whenever they went abroad or to conferences together. Career girls talked to each other, confided their problems, their secrets, and one had led her on to another, until Tasha had known she had the makings of a really good, controversial programme.
Looking back, Tasha now saw that once the idea of taking part in it herself had taken root in her mind, then all qualms had been lost beneath the obsessive idea; she was going to get her own back at last. But Brett had ruthlessly made her question her own motives. She didn't thank him for it. She wanted revenge. Needed it badly. And she would have been quite happy to take any consequences arising out of her actions. But what about the other women she'd planned to use? Use. Her thoughts dwelt on the word. Brett had said she was exploiting them herself, that they would be doubly injured if she went ahead. But maybe some of them, too, would be happy so long as the men who'd used them were exposed for what they were. Perhaps she could ask them, perhaps the programme could still go ahead. But did she have the right to let them risk it?
Tasha kicked moodily at a sea-shell. She knew she was just kidding herself; there was no way now that she could go on with the programme. All that work, all the hopes and all the trust that had been placed in her would all be for nothing, would all go to waste. And, once she told her boss that she'd decided to abandon the project, it would probably cost her the job with the television company as well.
She felt stunned by the suddenness of realising how completely selfish she'd been, but most of all by the way she had blinded herself to the consequences. It made her feel dreadfully unsure of herself, not only in this but in every aspect of her life. There seemed to be only one thing of which she was absolutely positive, and that was that right now she needed Brett very badly. She needed his strength and his closeness, his clear-headedness and—most of all—his comfort. With a little sob, Tasha turned and ran back to the cottage.
He was waiting for her at the door. Catching her in his arms, Brett held her for a long moment, saying nothing, just letting her feel his strength enfolding her. Then he picked her up and carried her into the sitting-room. He had lit the fire, and he laid her on the deep, soft rug in front of it.
They stayed at the cottage for three more days— days of unbridled passion. But their relationship had subtly changed. It was no longer an equal partnership; Brett was now the more dominant one. Tasha, made vulnerable by guilt and uncertainty, had turned to him for comfort and let him take control, and without realising it was becoming dependent on him. Her work was abandoned, rejected, and she even went to destroy her notes, to throw them on the fire. But Brett stopped her. 'No, don't do that. Never throw work away. Here, give them to me; I'll put them away for you.'
He locked them in his desk, then took her down to the beach again to swim and make love. For him those days were near perfect; he gloried in her
willing body, in the feminine weakness that had made her so submissive. Soon, he thought, she would admit that she was in love with him. But, strangely, it wasn't somehow as satisfying as he had expected. He was vaguely aware that there seemed to be something missing, but he couldn't figure out what. But then, he was so sated by sex that he hardly had the energy to think about anything else.
It was Tasha's mobile phone ringing that broke up the idyll. It was her boss demanding to know where the hell she was and what was happening about the programme. Reluctantly, feeling full of guilt, Tasha told him she'd be in the office the next day.
Listening to the call, Brett came up behind her. Putting his arms round her waist, he kissed her neck, then said, 'You don't have to go back.'
Tasha leaned her head back against his shoulder and put her arms over his. 'But I must.'
'Do you want to?'
'No.'
'Why not?'
Part of the truth was that she didn't want to have to go back to face the consequences of her own actions, to face reality. She didn't want to have to contact all those women she had interviewed and tell them that the project had been ditched. To do so was to acknowledge failure, to admit that she'd made a terrible mistake, one that could have led to complete disaster if it hadn't been for Brett. Tasha had come to see that now and to be grateful, so she told him the other part of the truth, which was what he wanted to hear. 'Because I don't want this to end, of course.'
'Sweetheart.' Unbuttoning her dress, he slipped his hands inside. She was naked underneath; he had soon put a stop to her wearing a bra. He caressed her gently at first, then more firmly, expert now at what aroused her the most. 'We still have the rest of today and all tonight,' he said thickly. 'We must make it special.'
'How?'
'I'll think of something.' He turned her within his arms so that he could bend to kiss her breasts.
She watched him through half-closed lids, giving little gasps as his mouth pulled at her so-sensitive nipples, and she smiled a little, thinking that they must surely have explored every way to have sex during the last few days. Sitting down on a chair, Brett pulled her astride him so that he could go on kissing her while they made love.
Sally Wentworth - A Typical Male Page 11
