Tilly Bagshawe - The Inheritance - Racy, pacy and very funny!

‘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 interest in him romantically. All Tatiana wanted from her obnoxious third cousin was the deeds to her house. That and his handsome head on a platter.

Brett gave her a questioning look. ‘What are you doing here, Tatiana?’

She glared at him. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, why are you in this house? This village? You know damn well you’re never going to get Furlings back. Why don’t you go back to London, find some nice, rich schmuck to marry and live happily ever after? A girl like you could get a score of beautiful houses if she wanted to.’

‘I don’t want to,’ said Tati with feeling. ‘All I want is Furlings. Anyway, what do you mean “a girl like me”?’

Brett’s questions were the same ones she’d been asking herself less than half an hour ago. But she instantly bridled hearing them from him.

‘Oh, I think you know what I mean,’ Brett sneered. He had moved close to her now, too close. Tati could smell the faint, patchouli scent of his aftershave and feel the warmth of his breath on her neck. Before she knew what was happening, he had slipped one hand around the small of her back and begun gently stroking her bare skin beneath the tatty sweater, a gesture at once affectionate, erotic and breathtakingly presumptuous.

It was the latter that Tati reacted to, pushing him away violently.

Brett laughed. ‘Why so affronted? You’re a sexy girl and you know it.’

‘And you’re a revolting old lech, whether you know it or not. You don’t seriously think I’d be attracted to you?’

‘Oh that’s right, I forgot. You prefer boys now, don’t you? Like my son,’ Brett said archly, walking away. ‘Strange, that’s not what I read in the papers about you.’

‘I haven’t the remotest interest in you or your son,’ Tati insisted furiously. ‘All I want is my house back. And whether you like it or not, I’m going to get it.’

‘You’re out of your league,’ Brett said languidly. He was mocking her now, a cruel, amused smile playing on his thin lips as he pulled his car keys out of his pocket and tossed them from hand to hand. ‘Pretty girls like you should stick to what they’re good at.’

‘Oh really. And what’s that?’

‘Shopping and shagging. And looking decorative.’

‘That’s what your wife does, is it?’ said Tati, touching a nerve at last. ‘How proud you must be.’