'OK.' Coming to her, he kissed her again. 'You know something; I've an idea I'm extremely happy,' he said, and added, 'Don't worry, sweetheart. Everything's going to be fine.'
'Is it?'
'Yes. I'm going to look after you—both of you. Take care of you for the rest of your life.'
When he'd gone Tasha stood in the middle of the room, gazing blankly at the door through which he'd left, her thoughts in turmoil. That last thing he'd said, about him being extremely happy, she just couldn't believe. Brett was a free agent who was experienced with women, the kind of man who liked his lifestyle, his freedom to have affairs, to pick and choose. Tasha couldn't imagine him ever wanting to give that up. And besides, men like that didn't make either good husbands or fathers; they were always yearning for their lost liberty, always looking at other women until they finally stopped just looking and became unfaithful. And from what Tasha had heard they went on being unfaithful until their wives either divorced them or they became too old to be attractive to women any more. Usually the former. Tasha had been on the receiving end of enough propositions from married men to know. Not that she'd ever accepted any; it was a tacit rule among her friends that they never went with married men, never did the dirty on another woman.
She got ready for bed, but sat up against the pillows, still slightly stunned by Brett's proposal. He had seemed so sincere, as if he really meant it, but she couldn't get out of her head the possibility that he might be just kidding her along, keeping her sweet until he'd talked her into letting him use her work for his own gain. But to go to such extraordinary lengths just for that? It seemed incredible. It occurred to her that she was thinking as if she really was pregnant, but as she wasn't there was no way that she would even contemplate marrying him.
She wondered if she would have been happy if this hadn't been just a trick she'd thought up to get her revenge on Brett and she really was pregnant. It wasn't something she'd ever really thought much about. But she wouldn't have minded. It would have given a whole new meaning and purpose to life. A soft smile curved her mouth. No, she wouldn't have minded at all.
The phone rang and she picked up the receiver, expecting it to be Sarah. But it was Brett. He said, 'Hi, I thought I'd ring to make sure you're OK. Are you?'
'Of course. It's only an hour since you left,' she pointed out with some irony.
'But I've never left you in quite these circumstances before. Are you still thinking?'
For a moment she felt a pang of guilt, though why she should in the circumstances Tasha didn't know. Taking defence in coolness, she said, 'Not really.'
'Ah.' Not pushing it, Brett said, 'I didn't get round to telling you about my surprise. But I think I'll save it until the next time I see you. When will that be, do you think?'
'I don't know. I'm busy.'
There was a pause before Brett said on a puzzled note, 'I don't know what you want from me, Tasha.'
'Maybe I don't want anything.'
'That wasn't how you seemed early this evening. You seemed pretty pleased to see me again—up until the time you told me you were pregnant. Then everything seemed suddenly to change.'
'No, it changed when you walked out.' Even as she said it Tasha was appalled at herself; she was behaving as if she really was pregnant again.
'I explained about that. And I apologised. I can't do more, Tasha.'
She heard the note of warning in his voice and knew that his pride was in question here. So she said curtly, 'I don't want to talk any more. I'm tired.'
'Of course. Sleep well, then, my darling. And remember that I love you.'
Slowly she replaced the receiver, suddenly wishing with all her heart that this was for real, that neither of them was playing a deep game of their own. It could have been so good, so wonderful. But it was all a sham that left a bitter taste in the mouth, her own pretence now seeming small and petty, as humiliating as Brett's betrayal.
Switching out the light, Tasha lay back on the pillows. Only then did she realise that, having been so sure that Brett would walk out on her, it had never occurred to her that she would have to tell him that it was all a he, that she wasn't pregnant at all.
She slept late the next day but was woken by a ring on the doorbell down in the basement area. Craning out of the front window to see who it was, she saw the local florist's van outside and yelled down at the driver to leave what he'd brought on the doorstep. When she finally went down, dressed for a day of first the office and then tramping round London on an afternoon of research, Tasha found a box on the doorstep. It contained two red roses: one in full bloom the other still a bud. With it was a note from Brett. 'One for each of you.'
Tasha stared at the note, somehow more overcome with amazement and consternation now than by all Brett's declarations of love last night. Squatting down on the doorstep, she gazed at the flowers, then slowly lifted out the bud and touched the soft, furled petals with her fingertip. How could a man who'd cheated her think to do something as kind, as feeling, as this? It just didn't add up.
Sarah caught her at the office later that morning. 'Why didn't you phone and let me know what happened? You didn't chicken out, did you?'
'No. No, I told him,' Tasha answered, but felt strangely reluctant to discuss it.
'So what happened? Surely you didn't let him talk you round. Tasha, for heaven's sake! You didn't let him stay the night?'
'No, of course I didn't,' she said crossly. 'What do you take me for? Look, I can't talk now. My boss is here,' she prevaricated. I’ll ring you tonight. Bye.'
Leaning her elbow on her desk, Tasha looked at the two roses that she'd brought to work with her and put into a vase that she'd pinched from the reception area. She was trying to work but her eyes kept going to them, her mind to Brett. Suddenly she came to a decision. Whatever Brett had done to her, she couldn't go on with this pretence. It belittled her, took her down to his level. Picking up the phone, she called his house.
The answering machine came on but as soon as she said her name Brett switched the machine over and said, 'Hello, Tasha. I've been hoping you'd call.'
'I want to see you,' she said shortly. 'Can you come round to my place tonight?'
'Yes, of course. Shall I bring a take-away for us?'
'No. What I want to say won't take long. See you tonight, then.' And she replaced the receiver with a sigh of relief. Explaining, and his reaction, definitely wasn't going to be pleasant, but at least it would be off her conscience. And it would, of course, serve the purpose of finally getting rid of him for ever.
When Brett arrived she was waiting for him in the sitting-room, her arms crossed and a look of determination in her face. Seeing it, Brett at once assumed that she'd decided to have an abortion. A cold feeling stole across his heart, as if all the warmth had suddenly gone from him. Before she could speak he held up his hand and said, 'Look, I know I said that I'd abide by whatever you decided to do, but I really would like you to think really hard about this, Tasha. It isn't the end of the world. I know we're both as green as hell, but so are all parents the first time round. We'll cope, I'm sure of it,' he finished persuasively.
Tasha gave him an odd look. 'Parenthood isn't easy,' she said abruptly.
'No, I don't suppose it is. But we're mature people. I'm sure we'll work it out together.' He smiled. 'Maybe we can work together in other ways, too.'
Her eyes settled on his face. 'What had you in mind?'
'Well, with all those ideas you have, and my experience as a writer, maybe we'd make a winning combination.'
She gave a small, slightly crooked smile. 'My ideas—and your writing expertise?'
'Yes. In fact I—'
Her voice as cold and sharp as a knife blade, Tasha cut through his words to say, 'You mean your expertise gained in all the years you worked as a journalist?'
Brett's head came up sharply. Seeing the rage in her eyes, he said slowly, 'How did you find out?'
'Oh, it was quite simple.' Crossing to the shelf unit, she o
pened a box on one of the shelves and took the newspaper clipping from it, then held it out to him. 'I just had to read this.'
Brett glanced at it but didn't take it from her. Watching her warily, he said, 'That doesn't have my name on it.'
'But you wrote it.' She said it as a flat, definite statement, with no trace of a question in her voice.
He nodded, gave a slightly crooked grin. 'Yes— but I'd like to know how you found out.'
Having no intention of revealing her friend's part in this, Tasha said acidly, 'You made a mistake. You copied my notes verbatim, and there were a couple of sentences I'd written at the time, not things that Anne had told me. You really ought to check, you know, before you plagiarise other people's work.'
'You've got it all wrong. As a matter of fact this was the surprise I had for you. You see—'
But her incredulous laugh cut him off. 'You steal my work and have the sheer audacity to have it printed in a national newspaper, and then you tell me I've got it wrong! What the hell kind of moron do you take me for? Or did you think that you'd undermined my confidence enough for you to talk your way out of it?' Her face grew grim. 'Or was it just that you were convinced that I was so besotted by you that I wouldn't care?'
'If you'll just let me explain—' He tried to take hold of her hand but she shook him off.
'And just what did you mean by working together?' He hesitated and she laughed again. 'Oh, don't put yourself to the trouble of trying to think up a he; I know darn well what your idea of our working together means; you just want to use the rest of my notes to write more articles like this. Well? Do you deny it?'
Brett looked at her for a long moment then dropped his hand. 'No, I don't deny it. That was my intention.'
Despite her knowing all along that she was right, Tasha gave an amazed gasp. 'You admit it, then?'
'Yes, because you couldn't go ahead with the exploitation programme yourself, and you wanted—'
'No, because you'd talked me out of it! God, what a fool I was to listen to you.' Tasha flung away from him, her face furious, her body rigid with anger. 'What a stupid, besotted fool!'
'Tasha, please listen to me.' Brett took a purposeful step towards her.
'Listen to you—while you talk your way out of it? Oh, no, not this time. Not now I know you for what you are.'
He came to a halt as he stared at her. His voice low, almost menacing, Brett said, 'And just what do you think I am?'
'A liar. A cheat. A plagiarist. Do you want me to go on?'
'No.' His face grew very grim. 'I think I get the message. But you couldn't be more wrong, Tasha, and if you'd just listen to me I'd prove it to you.'
Her eyes cold and contemptuous, she said, 'I'm not interested in your lies.'
Brett drew in his breath with a rasp, then said through gritted teeth, 'You don't have any choice but to be interested in me. There's the little matter of your pregnancy still between us.'
'Oh, that!' She threw him a scornful glance. 'You didn't really think I'd have the child of a swine like you, did you? No, I made that up. I wanted you to see what it was like to be on the receiving end of a lie for once.'
Brett stared at her, unable to believe his ears. For a moment he didn't believe her, thinking that she was so angry she was saying it just to punish him. But then he saw the vindictive triumph in her eyes and the dreams of the last twenty-four hours went crashing round his feet. He realised that she had planned this, had been acting a part all last night. A feeling of utter rage ran through him, an emotion more intense than any he had ever known. Catching hold of Tasha's arm, he swung her round to face him. 'I suppose you think you've been very clever. Duping me, using your cheap little trick to entrap me. And I walked right into it, didn't I? I really fell for your lies. Well, you got what you wanted. Spilling my heart out. Telling you how I felt about you.'
'Rubbish! The only reason you wanted to stay around was to persuade me to let you use the rest of my notes. My ideas, your writing expertise; that's exactly what you said.'
'And you thought I meant—' Brett broke off, then laughed bitterly. 'Boy, have you got a twisted mind.'
'Don't you dare denigrate me.' She glared at him, then said forcefully, 'This isn't about lying or cheating. This is about power. Your power over me. You thought you'd undermined my self-confidence, that you had me under your thumb and that I'd believe anything you told me, would do anything you wanted.
Well, I won't! I'm free. I'm my own person. You thought that telling me you loved me would keep me sweet, would have me simpering and drooling over you. Huh! Fat chance.'
Brett's jaw grew rigid and his hands clenched into balled fists. 'Is that right? It didn't mean anything to you?'
'Oh, it meant something all right—it gave me a good laugh.'
'Really?'
She was so angry that Tasha missed the silken menace in his voice. 'Yes. You think that sex can conquer any woman, but it damn well can't!'
'That's your considered opinion, is it?' He moved closer and, too late, she saw her danger. Before she could do more than open her mouth to cry out a protest, Brett said, 'Well, let's see if you're right, shall we?' And with a quick, neat movement he picked her up and slung her over his shoulder as he carried her into the bedroom and dropped her onto the bed.
Tasha tried to fight him, but his mouth was on hers while he was pulling at her clothes. She made furious noises deep in her throat and tried to bite him, but his strength was overpowering, she had never known that a man could be that tough, that determined. She bucked and struggled but his weight held her down. She swore at him and went to scratch his face, but when she looked into his eyes Tasha became suddenly still. She had expected to see rage and fury, but his face was very cold, detached even. It took her aback and she stopped struggling, but then thought, if he can be cold then so can I, and she held herself rigid in his hold.
Deeply humiliated, Brett determined to teach her a lesson. Always before his lovemaking had been deeply passionate, with a need to arouse her as much as he himself was aroused, in a mutual search for excitement and the fulfilment of desire. But now it was different. He didn't use words to tell her how beautiful she was as he had always done before, and his kiss wasn't a means of getting close, wasn't a way of showing his need for her. Instead he used his lips merely to arouse her sensuality, as part of his insidious determination to unlock desire. Having made love to her so many times before, he knew in intimate detail just what pleased her, what excited her the most. Using that knowledge, and his own experience with women, he touched, toyed, caressed, knowing that she was determined not to give in to the deliciousness of what he was doing to her, but equally determined that she should.
They were both strong-willed people, and both were full of anger and bitterness. Tasha kept her eyes open, defying him, daring him to do his worst. His breath was hot on her skin as his lips left her mouth and moved to her neck. He found a particular spot at the base of her ear. It was a sensitive area, a place that always made her squirm with exquisite pleasure when he kissed her there, but now she resisted it. His mouth moved to her earlobe and bit gently. Ordinarily she liked that, loved it, but now she kept her head completely still, her eyes the blue of glacial ice. Brett looked at her for a moment, smiled cynically, and let his hands and his mouth move on down.
Then he was touching her skin, letting his fingers trail over her, caressing her, and she was fighting the tremors that threatened to run through her. His lips were hot, so hot, reaching into her soul for the submission he craved. Even then she tried to withstand her growing awareness, her own sensuality, but suddenly her body betrayed her. The fire of awakened sexual desire took hold, engulfed her. With a moan she stopped fighting and said, 'Yes. Oh, Brett, yes.' She moved voluptuously under his hands, wanting more, never wanting him to stop. It was exquisite, bewitching. Closing her eyes, Tasha let herself drown in the overwhelming pleasure of it, smiling as she gasped and cried out.
But to take wasn't enough, she wanted to share
, and pushed aside his hand to open his shirt so that she could caress him in return. Then her hands were at his belt, pulling at his clothes, setting him free of them. She cried out with pleasure when she touched him, stroked him, then put her arms round him to hold him closer and arched her body to take him in. She was kissing his neck, had pulled off his shirt to kiss his shoulder, to bite until he cried out. It seemed a century since they had last made love. She couldn't get enough of him, couldn't get close enough, and she moaned out his name over and over again.
When she had begun to respond, when she had closed her eyes, Brett had been filled with triumph, knowing that he had won. It had been his intention, when they both knew that she couldn't resist him, to just get up and walk away, to leave her with the knowledge of her own humiliation. To make her punishment complete it had to be all one-sided, he must show no emotion at all, stay ruthlessly aloof from what he was doing to her. No less than her complete submission, her utter surrender to his caresses would do. When she reached out to touch him he tried to stop her, took hold of her hand and held it still. But the backs of her fingers brushed against his nipple, and before he knew it she had escaped him, was opening his shirt. So what the hell? he thought. If I show her that she can't reach me it will be an even bigger victory. There was still time to walk away.
Her little fingers were featherlight but wrought such havoc with his intentions. He had to stifle a groan, and against his will felt his body harden. Brett bent to caress her again, still intent on her subjugation. In just another minute he would make her look at him, make her realise that she was now the one who must beg for fulfilment, be the suppliant. And then he would show her that he no longer cared, could just turn his back on her when she needed him most. Prove to her that her sexual power over him had died with the trick she'd played on him.
But then her hands were on him and he knew that it was already too late, much too late. There was no way now that he could stop himself from loving her. It was heaven on earth. The lightness of it engulfed him along with the exquisite pleasure. And as sensuality took hold so anger and bitterness left. This was Tasha, for God's sake. The woman he had waited so long to find, who was a constant delight to his heart. They would sort it out. Nothing mattered so long as she was his, so long as they could be together like this. And he surrendered himself to her as surely as she had to him.
Sally Wentworth - A Typical Male Page 14
