Sally Wentworth - A Typical Male Read Online Free PDF Page B

saying
hello and hearing her voice, so husky and intimate, telling him that she was
sorry, that she'd been away, had only just got back. But the phone didn't ring.
    In the end, unable to stand it
any longer, he threw pride out of the window and went round to her flat. It
took him a while to find it because when they'd gone there before she hadn't
given the taxi-driver her exact address, had just told him to go to the British
Museum and had directed him from there. And when they'd driven away together
there had been a van obscuring the sign showing the name of the road. So he had
to drive around the streets until he eventually found it, but when he rang the
bell beside her name there was no answer and his spirits fell to zero again. He
decided to wait.
    It was almost three hours later
and day had turned into evening before he saw the little yellow sports car turn
into the driveway between the houses, and another few minutes before Tasha
appeared and walked along the pavement. Not that most people would have known
it was her, because her top half was completely obscured behind the large
framed picture she was carrying. But Brett had no difficulty—he recognised her
legs.
    He had intended to wait until
she got to her flat but instead got out of his car and crossed the street to
meet her. She couldn't see him so he peered at her over the top of the frame.
'I heard the Mona Lisa had been stolen,' he remarked.
    'Brett!' Tasha looked surprised
to see him, but not at all embarrassed, he noted. 'Oh, good.
I was just thinking that I could do with some muscle to carry this.'
    She handed over the picture,
which he saw was a modern, cubist still-life. 'Haven't you got enough pictures
on your walls—or are you planning on opening a
gallery?'
    'I saw it in a second-hand shop and
couldn't resist it.'
    'Is it the real thing?'
    'No, only a signed
print, unfortunately. Do you like it?'
    Brett held it out in front of
him, his head tilted to one side in consideration, as they went down the steps
to the door of her building. 'Yes. Yes, I do. And are you going to give me the
great pleasure of carrying it up all those stairs to your place?'
    Tasha laughed. 'Of course.' She gave him a mischievous look. 'But you will
be suitably rewarded.'
    'I suppose that means you'll
give me the kiss of life if I pass out at the top,' he said wryly, which made
her laugh again.
    But when they reached her flat
she immediately made him hold the picture in several different places until she
decided just where she wanted it hung. 'Are you any good at knocking in picture
hooks?' she asked hopefully.
    He held out a hand. 'Where's the
hammer?' he asked resignedly.
    When the picture was in place
they both stood back to admire it. Brett longed to ask her why she hadn't
returned his calls, and he also badly wanted to know
just how far she'd got with her research into the sexual exploitation
programme, but instead he said, 'Do you deliberately leave yourself open to
suggestive remarks?'
    Tasha gave him an amused look, her
mouth twisting into the exact smile of the Mona Lisa he'd accused her of
stealing. 'You don't rise to the bait,' she admitted.
    'What would happen if I did?'
    'Nothing.'
    'Just—nothing?'
She nodded, watching him, and he couldn't resist saying, 'Not a lot seems to be
happening now.'
    Then she completely startled and
delighted him by saying, 'But you're here,' and coming to put her arms round
his neck and kissing him, her lips soft and sensuous under his. But after all too short a moment she stepped back, her eyes
teasing. 'And that was your reward.'
    'Was it?' Reaching out, Brett
caught her hand and pulled her to him, his eyes holding hers. She was wearing
one of what he thought of as her 'business outfits', a grey suit with a
pearl-coloured blouse under it. Her hair was drawn back from her face and he
lifted a hand to free it, sending it cascading onto her shoulders. He gave a
small sigh of satisfaction as he let it run through his fingers, like