she was on her own.
Stubbing out her cigarette, she pulled herself up out of the bath and stood in front of the mirror. Clumps of bubbles stuck to her wet skin like cuckoo spit on a stem of sticky jack. Tendrils of wet hair escaped from the wide white linen hairband she always wore in the bath, coiling themselves into spring-like ringlets that kissed the top of her neck and shoulders. Naked and without make-up she looked younger than her 24 years, except for the green eyes that stared back at her, knowing and cynical beneath dark, wet lashes.
Tatiana was beautiful and she knew it. A small smile escaped her as she admired her reflection. But it soon turned to a shriek of terror. The figure of a man suddenly appeared behind her, looming ominously in the bathroom doorway.
‘Get out!’ Panic manifested itself as anger as Tati reached for the nearest heavy object – a solid pottery vase filled with plastic poppies that stood beneath the mirror – and hurled it at the intruder’s head. He ducked, narrowly missing being knocked out cold, then lunged forwards, grabbing Tati by the wrists.
‘Calm down. I’m not here to hurt you.’
Luckily for Tati her skin was still wet from the bath. With a quick twist of her arms she was able easily to escape his grip. Having no other weapons to hand, she lashed out wildly, kicking, scratching and biting, before finally aiming her left knee towards the man’s groin.
Unluckily, his reactions were as quick as her own. Turning to one side so that her knee collided with nothing more sensitive than his thigh bone, he advanced towards her, forcing her back against the bathroom wall. There he was easily able to pin her down, his weight and strength more than compensating for the lack of a firm grip as he pressed her against the plaster, waiting for her breathing to calm down and her struggling to cease.
‘Please stop screaming.’
‘Fuck off!’ Tati screeched. ‘There’s nothing here to steal, you arsehole!’
‘I’m not a burglar.’
‘I don’t care who you are. Get out of my fucking house!’
‘I’m Brett Cranley.’
It took a few seconds for this information to sink in.
Feeling Tati relax beneath him, Brett cautiously released her. ‘I’m sorry I frightened you. The front door was open. I called your name but there was no answer so I came in.’ Turning around he grabbed a towel, holding it out to Tatiana at arm’s length, waving it like a white flag.
‘Here. You’d better take this.’
Tati stood in front of him, quivering with rage. Brett felt his libido start to stir, like a roused lion. Stark naked, her perfect, high round breasts jutting out at him defiantly, Tatiana was quite simply magnificent, one of the most beautiful girls Brett had ever seen. And he’d seen quite a few. Slim but not skinny, her long legs tapered up perfectly into softly curving hips and waist, like the sides of a cello. A sleek, dark triangle of pubic hair, like the wet hide of a mink, nestled proudly beneath a perfectly flat stomach. Brett did like a woman with some hair down there. Back in the early nineties the explosion of bare, Brazilian-waxed pussies had been new and exciting. But these days it was so commonplace, he’d come to prefer the mystery of the more natural look. It showed confidence. Although not as much confidence as the way that Tatiana steadily met his gaze, acknowledging the hunger in it, taking the proffered towel slowly rather than jumping to grab it. Clearly she was not remotely embarrassed by her nakedness.
‘Get out of my house.’
Her voice was quiet now, and controlled, but there was no mistaking the anger in it.
‘Not yet. I need to talk to you,’ said Brett.
He knew he ought to leave but he was congenitally incapable of taking orders, especially from a woman. He fully expected Tati to lose it and start pushing him out the door, and/or calling the police. But to his surprise she merely said icily ‘Fine. Go downstairs and wait while I dress.’
Ten minutes later, perched uncomfortably on the ugly brown sofa in Tati’s sitting room, Brett began to wish he’d left when she’d asked him to. He’d made a complete balls-up of his first encounter with the Flint-Hamilton girl. Barging up the stairs uninvited had been a foolish thing to do. But he’d been so damn angry, and the open door had felt like an invitation. Now he was very much on the back foot, waiting around for Tatiana to grant him an audience like a nervous kid on a first date. Worse, he now very obviously owed her an apology, which was not the way he’d hoped to begin this evening’s tête-à-tête.
‘So, Mr Cranley. You want to talk.’
Tati came downstairs in a pair of chocolate brown corduroy trousers and an old, sludge-green sweater that looked bizarrely good on her. She was barefoot, her wet hair pulled back in a messy bun, and hadn’t bothered to put on make-up. It was a look that told Brett very clearly, ‘You are not important to me.’ A second jolt of desire surged through him, like the aftershock of a major earthquake.
‘Yes,’ he said gruffly. ‘I apologize for startling you earlier. It was stupid of me to barge in on you like that.’
‘Yes, it was. Not to mention illegal. But perhaps they don’t have breaking and entering in Australia? I daresay in a nation descended from convicts, one shouldn’t be surprised.’
Brett’s eyes narrowed. You arrogant little minx.
‘The door was open,’ he said coldly. ‘As for stupid, I guess you would know. Challenging your father’s will is downright moronic. You haven’t a prayer of getting Furlings back, you do realize that?’
‘Well, we’ll see, won’t we?’ Tati said brazenly. She knew she must not show weakness in front of this usurper. ‘You’ll find I’m not the only person in this village who wants you out, Mr Cranley.’
‘I don’t give a fuck what the village thinks. I won’t have you coming around my house upsetting my wife.’
‘It’s not your house,’ Tati hissed.
‘You can explain that to the police when I have you arrested for trespassing,’ said Brett.
‘You have me arrested?’ Tati laughed. ‘You just assaulted me, naked, in my own bathroom!’
‘Don’t be so melodramatic.’
He stood up and started wandering around the room, picking up random objects and examining them idly. In her shocked state up in the bathroom, Tati hadn’t got a good look at her enemy. Although clearly he’d got a very good look at her. Now, she examined Brett Cranley more closely. Her first thought was how much he looked like his daughter, or rather how much Logan looked like him. Man and girl both had the same dark eyes and blue-black hair, the same swarthy, pirate-like complexion. But whereas Logan was a slender, delicate little thing, Brett had the broad, stocky build of a cage fighter. Moving around Greystones’ drawing room now, he seemed too big for the space, like a bear stumbling around a tea room.
He’s not especially tall. But he has presence, thought Tati.
She’d witnessed the same effect before in countless other powerful, successful men, men who she’d delighted in seducing and bending to her will. Brett Cranley, she suspected, might prove a more difficult fish to catch. Not that she had the remotest
