She was still dancing to the beat.He kissed her as the lights flashed by the windows, hands stroking, teasing, keeping her fire alight, but not too bright. Nothing was certain. Not yet.He placed a hand on her leg, and then slightly higher, apart from another giggle she made no response. He kept up the gentle kissing.Unheeding of the driver, he touched cotton. Her legs parted further. She was damp. He applied gentle pressure. She moaned. He slipped a finger under. She was smooth, but for a small trimmed patch above. His finger slipped inside, she groaned into his mouth. Now it was certain.He paid the driver and led her into his flat. Two beers were opened; he led her into his bedroom. They kissed. They drank. They touched. They drank some more.His hand was under her dress, in her panties. Now he touched the areas he had been carefully avoiding, feeding the fire of her desire. She wanted release. It was easy to remove her dress. Her bra. Her panties. She helped, desperate to fulfil the. As she sat she undid the coat and slipped it from her shoulders. Jimtook the still wet coat and hung it, in an almost exaggerated show, onthe rickety coat stand. He looked at Mrs Smythe-Carter (hell he evenreferred to her this formally in his own thoughts). She wore a simple,but undoubtedly expensive cream angora sweater. Her sizeable breastsheaved slightly as she exhaled another blast of cigarette smoke and Jimrealised she had detected he was ogling her. "My husband is wealthy, very wealthy. He is heir to Carter ConsolidatedChemicals. I think he has been kidnapped." Her resolve appeared tosplinter ever so slightly."Have you received any ransom letters, telephone calls from thekidnapper?" asked Jim."No, nothing as yet. You don't understand Mr Duggan. I don't think merecriminals have kidnapped my husband. He has recently become infatuatedby um, a woman of less than perfect breeding." She paused annoyed as shesaw a smile creep onto Jim's lips. "A woman called Madame Angelique,though I.
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