Captive Loving. Carole Mortimer

at once felt panic, and pushed at his shoulders. ‘Please—don't do that,’ she said awkwardly, feeling his tension even in her inexperience.

      Matthew looked down at her with puzzled eyes, dancing slightly away from her now. ‘You must have been very young when you married,’ he said gruffly.

      She nodded, not looking at him. ‘Eighteen.’

      ‘Do you love him?’

      Her lashes fluttered nervously, and she looked hastily away from probing tawny eyes. ‘Of course I love him,’ she answered sharply, too sharply, realising how defensive she sounded. ‘Andrew is my husband,’ she added simply.

      ‘For better, for worse?’ Matthew scorned tightly.

      ‘Exactly.’

      ‘Jessica——’

      ‘I think the music has stopped, Mr Sinclair.’ She moved away from him.

      He made no effort to leave the dance floor, attracting several curious looks. ‘You want me to take you back to Andrew?’ he asked huskily.

      She knew there was much more significance behind the words than appeared on the surface. And this had to stop now. Not even for Andrew and the sake of his promotion would she put up with this man's familiarity.

      ‘Yes, I would,’ she replied stiltedly. ‘And isn't it time you returned to your wife?’

      ‘I don't have a wife, Jessica,’ he told her deeply. ‘Unlike you, I was patient.’

      ‘Patient …?’ She shook her head. ‘I'm sorry, I don't know what you mean.’

      ‘No,’ he sighed, ‘I can see you don't. And I'm not in a position to tell you, not any more. Come on, I'll take you back to your husband.’

      ‘Thank you,’ she nodded coolly.

      Matthew's hand on her elbow was impersonal as he guided her back to Andrew's side. ‘Maybe I could borrow your wife for another dance later?’ he said with stilted politeness.

      ‘Of course, sir,’ Andrew agreed eagerly, without even consulting her. ‘Jessica would like that,’ he added enthusiastically.

      ‘Jessica,’ Matthew nodded abruptly before leaving them.

      Andrew dragged her over to a vacant table near the bar. ‘I don't know how you did it,’ he said excitedly, ‘but you certainly made a hit with Sinclair!’

      ‘Don't be silly, Andrew.’ She looked away, blushing unconsciously, noting that Matthew Sinclair was now dancing with a tall black-haired woman, her voluptuous figure shown to advantage in the green gown she wore, the two of them dancing even closer together than he and Jessica had. She turned back to Andrew. ‘I merely met him outside—in the corridor.’ She didn't want to tell him she had gone into the wrong room, he would only berate her for her stupidity. ‘He—he offered to escort me in here.’

      ‘He likes you,’ Andrew insisted. ‘Sinclair has always seemed a very cold fish to me. But he certainly didn't act that way with you.’

      No, he certainly hadn't, although she thought she had got her feelings of uninterest over to him now. ‘He isn't acting that way with his partner now either,’ she pointed out dryly.

      Andrew looked towards the dance-floor, easily locating Matthew Sinclair and his partner. ‘Don't be ridiculous, Jessica—that's Lisa,’ he scowled.

      Jessica's eyes widened as she looked at the other woman with new eyes. Yes, she would be the sort of woman who appealed to Andrew, her sexuality oozed from every pore in her body.

      And it was just like Andrew to be jealous of Matthew Sinclair's attention to his mistress, and consider the same attention shown to his wife an asset!

      Lisa—or Alicia, to give her her real name—was strikingly beautiful, in her early twenties, with a figure any model would envy, except perhaps that her bust was a little too full to suit their slenderness. And she certainly didn't look as if she minded having Matthew Sinclair's arms about her; her own arms were entwined about his neck as they moved slowly in time to the music.

      Andrew was scowling heavily now, his anger deepening as Matthew Sinclair and Alicia went to the bar together once the music had stopped. ‘Excuse me,’ he mumbled, and stood up, making his own way to the bar. After buying himself a drink he sauntered over to join the other couple.

      Jessica turned away to hide her shame. He was making himself so obvious, making a fool of himself.

      ‘Hello there, love,’ greeted a cheery voice. ‘All alone, are you?’

      She looked up into the face of a man who had obviously had too much to drink already, a man in his forties, very overweight, an alcoholic flush to his flabby cheeks. And he seemed to have singled her out for his inebriated attention. ‘No, I'm not alone,’ she told him in her coldest voice. ‘My partner will be back in a moment,’ although by the look of Andrew he wasn't going to leave Alicia's side for some time to come, and Matthew Sinclair was noticeably absent from their group now.

      ‘Not if he's Andrew Baxter, he won't.’ The drunken man pulled out a chair and sat down. ‘Randy Andy, we call him in the office.’ He gave a suggestive laugh, his expression leering. ‘That's because he is.’ The man leant forward over the table, breathing beer fumes all over her. ‘Randy, I mean.’

      Jessica had stiffened at his insulting tone. ‘The—nickname you have for Andrew is of no interest to me.’ She stood up. ‘If you'll excuse me …’ She had no idea where she was going, just away from this man.

      ‘Hey, not so fast!’ His hand came out and caught her about the wrist, surprisingly strong. ‘If you don't want to talk about Rand—er—Andy, then we won't. I can understand you being annoyed with him, he shouldn't really have bothered to bring one of his little friends when he already has Alicia,’ he chuckled. ‘You can be my little friend if you like.’

      The idea nauseated her. ‘Andy brought his wife with him this time,’ she snapped. ‘Now, would you take your hands off me?’

      He let go of her as if she had burnt him. ‘Cold little bitch, aren't you?’ he glared his dislike. ‘No wonder Andy says you're frigid! You should give the man what he wants——’

      Jessica didn't wait to hear any more, but turned to rush out of the room, her face deathly white. Andrew had talked about her to that man, had discussed their sexual differences with a total stranger. God, she could just imagine the crudeness of that conversation, the ribald remarks! Did everyone in that room know she didn't sleep with her husband?

      ‘Jessica!’

      She stopped her mad flight at the sound of that familiar voice, and turned to find Matthew Sinclair striding down the corridor to join her.

      He grasped her forearms, searching her pale features. ‘Jessica, are you all right? Did Taylor insult you?’ he demanded in an angry voice.

      ‘Taylor?’ she echoed dully. Did this man know of her marital difficulties too? If he did then Andrew bringing her here tonight was a waste of time.

      ‘The man you were talking to——’

      ‘I wasn't talking to him, he was talking to me.’ She blinked back the tears.

      ‘Jessica …’ Matthew groaned.

      ‘Please, let me go.’ She shook off his hands, regaining her composure with effort. ‘Mr Taylor didn't insult me, he—he's just a little drunk, I think.’

      Matthew nodded grimly. ‘More than a little. I'll get someone to take him home.’

      Jessica would have liked to go home too, but Andrew had disappeared from the hall by the time she got up to leave—and Alicia was noticeably absent too.

      ‘Come with me,’ Matthew said tersely, leading her over to the lift.

      Jessica hung back. ‘I—Where are