Captive Loving

Jessica recoiled back to her own side of the car, looking down at her hands as they moved nervously in her lap. She stopped their convulsive movement, clenching them tightly together. ‘I'm sorry, Andrew,’ she said huskily.

‘So I should damn well think,’ he snapped. ‘Just who do you think you are to tell me how to behave with my own daughter?’

She could have said his wife, but she knew what his answer to that would be. Besides, she daren't antagonise him too much, not when he could ultimately use the threat of divorce, a threat which he knew would cow her once and for all.

She forced her voice to be controlled, reasoning. ‘I just don't think it's a good idea for Penny to meet—your friend Lisa,’ she chose her words carefully.

‘Her name is Alicia, actually,’ he drawled. ‘Only her—intimates, call her Lisa.’

‘Oh.’

‘And I think it's a very good idea for Penny to meet her, she could be her stepmother one day,’ he added tauntingly.

Jessica's breath caught in her throat. ‘Is——is that probable?’

He shrugged. ‘Anything is possible.’ He made no effort to reassure her.

‘Andrew——’

‘Jessica!’ he mocked, turning the low sports car into the car park of the Sinclair office building.

‘Are you——’ she swallowed hard, licking her lips nervously, ‘are you thinking of divorcing me?’

He swung out of the car, bending down to speak to her. ‘It's never far from my mind,’ he told her cruelly. ‘It's no picnic being married to a silent iceberg.’

‘I——’

‘Don't make the same grand offer to share my bed again,’ he said sneeringly. ‘I wouldn't have you as a gift. I like co-operation in my bed, not complacency.’

Sharing a bed with Andrew had been the last thing on her mind, although she knew she would do even that if it would stop him talking of divorce. Thank God she no longer held any attraction for him!

‘I just wanted to say——’

‘It can wait until later, Jessica,’ he dismissed impatiently. ‘Right now I want to go in there and make an impression on Sinclair. And you're going to help me. A beautiful wife is always an asset.’ He took hold of her elbow as she joined him on the tarmacked car park, his mouth twisting mockingly. ‘Only I will know that the provocation in those pansy-blue eyes of yours is just a façade, a lie.’

Jessica ignored his jibe, having already taken too much of a battering for one evening. ‘Will Lis——Alicia be there?’ she persisted as they entered the ultra-modern building with several other couples, who Andrew greeted as they all stepped into the lift together, making no effort to introduce her.

‘Of course,’ Andrew muttered tersely, not even looking down at her. ‘She's Sinclair's secretary. Always go to the top, I say,’ he added crudely.

Jessica felt ill, recoiling as they stepped out on to the eighth floor, the noise from the party already under way filling her with dread. She never appeared well at these sort of functions, her basic shyness holding her back from joining in the merriment, although sometimes she wished this weren't so, wished she could be the sort of woman that men were attracted to.

‘I have to go to the powder-room,’ she told Andrew in a whisper.

He sighed heavily. ‘Down the corridor,’ he instructed curtly. ‘Second door on the left.’ He turned in the direction of the party.

‘Andrew!’ she called in a panicked voice, already selfconscious as several of Andrew's work colleagues stared at her curiously. No doubt every single one of them knew of his affairs, especially this latest one with the boss's secretary. Andrew liked to boast of his conquests.

‘Yes?’ His patience, what there was of it, was wearing very thin.

‘I——My jacket,’ she said lamely.

He wasn't exactly gentle as he helped her off with it. ‘And don't be long,’ he ordered.

‘You'll wait for me?’ she asked anxiously.

‘I'll meet you inside.’

Jessica looked into the darkened room, the noise from the live music and chattering people suddenly seeming louder to her. ‘But I won't be able to find you in there,’ she said in dismay.

‘Then I'll find you,’ he dismissed. ‘And for God's sake hurry up, Jessica. I want to introduce you to Sinclair.’

There was no point in arguing further, Andrew would only do what he wanted to do in the end, so she made her way down the badly lit corridor, blinking back her tears. God, she was tearful tonight! Andrew had said much worse things to her in the past and she hadn't even flinched. But tonight she was feeling particularly vulnerable, especially with Andrew's mention of divorce. Could he really be serious about Alicia?

She knew almost immediately that she had entered the wrong room, the overhead fluorescent lighting showing this to be an office, the teak desk cleared of all work, the swivel-chair behind the desk turned towards the window. The view of the surrounding countryside had a beauty of its own from this height, and she spent a minute or so drinking in the peace and tranquillity, finally turning to go in search of the powder-room.

‘Don't go.’

Jessica froze, slowly turning in the direction of that silky voice. The swivel-chair had been spun round to reveal a man, a ruggedly handsome man who was looking at her with open admiration, a man of perhaps thirty-five or thirty-six.

Tawny eyes were narrowed appreciatively, the hair a deep burnished gold, worn rather long, his skin deeply tanned, as if he had recently been on holiday. Beneath the tawny eyes the nose jutted out slightly aquiline, his mouth curved into a smile, sensually so. As he stood up, easily over six feet, a good foot taller than her own meagre height, Jessica could see how well the white dinner jacket fitted across his powerful shoulders, tapering to a narrow waist, and muscular thighs clearly outlined in the black tailored trousers he wore. He was tall, and powerful, and he made her feel uneasy.

The way he was looking at her now made her blush, every inch of her having known the fire of his gaze. ‘I——I'm sorry,’ she stuttered. ‘I was looking for—I came in the wrong door.’ Hot colour flooded her cheeks.

His smile deepened to humour, his teeth very white against his tan. ‘The ladies’ room is next door,’ he drawled.

‘Er——yes.’ She turned to go.

‘Stay,’ he repeated his earlier request.

Her lids flickered up in surprise, her lashes long and dark, tipped with gold. ‘The dance …’

‘Can get along without us very well for a few minutes.’ He took her arm, steering her over to the swivel-chair he had just vacated. ‘I wonder who you belong to,’ he muttered almost to himself.

‘I don't belong to anyone,’ Jessica surprised herself by snapping at him.

‘Good,’ he smiled. ‘Because I think I'd like you to belong to me.’

She struggled to get out of the chair, but found her way blocked by his powerful frame as he sat on the desk in front of her, his legs either side of her stopping her turning the chair.

‘Will you let me go, Mr——’

‘Matthew,’ he murmured softly, gently touching the silver of her hair. ‘Just Matthew.’

She squirmed away from him. ‘Don't do that!’ Two spots of angry colour darkened her cheeks.

‘Why not?’ His hand didn't move away from her, caressing her cheek now. ‘Your name—what's your name?’ he demanded impatiently.

‘Jessica. But——’