Sally Wentworth - A Typical Male Read Online Free PDF

way
to Bath?'
    Tasha's lips twisted in
amusement. 'Oh, sure, I'm fine.'
    'I'm not doing anything special
today; I could come with you and give you a break, if you like?'
    She laughed openly. 'Admit it;
you've fallen in love with the car!'
    That was an opening for a
flattering compliment if not something far deeper if ever he'd heard one, but
Brett didn't fall into the trap. Instead he grinned in return and said, 'You should feel very sorry for me; I only have a beaten up
four-wheel drive model. I have to park on the street and anything else would
get either stolen or vandalised.'
    'Ah, I
feel so sorry for you,' she mocked.
    'So you should.' His voice had
softened because he'd turned to look at her and seen that a wayward tendril of
hair had escaped and now caressed the line of her cheek. He would have liked to
reach out and touch it but knew better than to do so. 'So, do I come with you?'
    'No.' She
shook her head but there was no real rejection in her tone. She pulled into the
kerb and Brett saw they were outside a tube station.
'I'm meeting someone for lunch.'
    'So when will I see you again?' Behind them a red double-decker, unable to get by, honked
impatiently. One didn't argue with a London bus. Brett got out quickly
but ducked down to look in the door. 'When?' he demanded.
    But Tasha only lifted a hand in
hurried farewell. 'If I don't get out of the way he'll ram me. Bye.'
    He had no choice
but to let her go, and stood on the pavement, inwardly fuming, as he watched
her pull away.
    It was almost a week before
Brett saw Tasha again. She had proved to be singularly elusive. Figuring that
she wouldn't be back from Bath until late, he hadn't tried to phone her until
the evening and then, to his annoyance, had found that her number was
ex-directory. His only contact with her was Guy, so the next day Brett had gone
to his flat, but the place was empty, the caretaker telling him that Guy had
already moved out and gone to stay with his parents for a few days until his
departure for Hong Kong. And Tasha hadn't told him the name of the company she
worked for, so that was no help. In the end he had managed to trace Guy's
parents' address and had rung him there.
    'Tasha's phone
number?' Guy laughed. 'Wouldn't she give it to you? Maybe I shouldn't
let you have it, then.'
    'Cut it, Guy. Just tell me the
number.'
    'This could cost you; I shall
need somewhere to stay when I come over to London and—'
    'You can stay,' Brett
interrupted. 'Stay as long as you like. Now give me the number.'
    Again laughing with enjoyment,
Guy said, 'You have got it badly. All right, I'll get it for you.' He paused a
moment and his voice had changed to a warning as he added, 'But be careful,
Brett.'
    'What do you mean?'
    'Just that… Well, other men
have fallen for Tasha, fallen heavily, but I haven't yet known her let anyone
get really close.'
    It was impossible not to wonder
if Guy was referring to himself, but Brett didn't ask. He wrote down the number
Guy gave him and immediately rang it. All he got was a message on the answering
machine. It was admittedly in Tasha's gorgeously husky voice but the tone was
businesslike. He became used to that tone over the next three days, because it
was always the recording that answered. And Tasha didn't return his calls. The
first two or three times he left messages giving her his number and asking her
to call him back, but after that he just replaced the receiver without speaking.
    At first he thought that she was
probably out doing an interview or at work; he made excuses for her, but after
a couple of days he began to feel first angry, then anxious. Was this her way
of letting him know that she didn't want to see him again? But he had to see
her again. Brett cursed himself for behaving like a
lovesick schoolboy, but found that he couldn't concentrate on his work and kept
looking moodily at the phone, trying by sheer will-power to make it ring. He
could imagine himself stretching out his hand to lift the receiver,