Stockholm Syndrome (6 page)

It was midmorning by the time he pulled off the road, his
head pounding, and tried to arrange his big body in some way that would allow
him to sleep in the cab, but it was hopeless. At last he climbed in the back
next to Evelyn. He didn’t have the heart to tell her, but it was she who closed
the small distance between them a little while later, snuggling her delectable
denim-clad ass into his groin and leaning back against his chest, her hair catching
lightly in the stubble on his chin. Against all odds, comforted by her
acceptance of him at least in sleep, he dozed off.

But now they were awake again and the long hours of sleep
had revived her fighting spirit. He would have to take precautions for their
drive through Rockhampton.

He called Owen for an update. “How’s my Range Rover doing?”

“Is that how you greet your only brother? What possessed you
to get it in black? It gets so fucking hot!”

“Don’t you know how to switch the air-con on?”

“As a matter of fact, smart-ass, I’ve been parked for hours.
I’m at a fuel stop on the edge of town waiting to see when the roadblock
clears.”

“Can you see them?”

“Yeah. They’re still in business. But it’s already half past
two. I reckon they’ll pack it up in about an hour. How’s my van?”

“Underwhelming.”

He saw Evelyn emerging from the trees. “I gotta go. Let me
know when it’s safe for us to go on.”

He leaned into the van and pulled out the Esky that Owen had
provided.

“Come get something to eat.”

“Oh, so you don’t starve your prisoners?”

“Come on, Evelyn. You know I’m not going to harm you. I
haven’t hurt you and I’m not going to.”

“Oh no, of course not! You’re the most considerate rapist
I’ve ever met. Or should that be the kindest kidnapper?”

“Do you want food or not?”

She peered into the Esky and grabbed a bottle of water,
twisting off the cap eagerly and gulping it down. When she handed back the
empty bottle, he passed her a packet of crisps and an apple. They munched in
silence for a while. Owen’s selection was classic convenience store, but they
were hungry, and the food was soon gone.

“So where exactly is your ranch?” asked Evelyn, licking chip
crumbs from her fingers.

“Don’t do that. There’s a pack of hand wipes on the
passenger seat.” He tugged surreptitiously at his jeans, trying to ease the
strain on the hard-on that sprang up, in defiance of all logic, every time he
saw her, or even thought about her. “My ranch is about sixty kilometers
northeast of Rockhampton, on the Capricorn Coast. It’s five hundred hectares.
I’ve got fruit trees, cattle, and horses.”

“You said you’re wealthy. Are you a farmer?”

“Hell no! That’s a hard way to make a living. The ranch is
just for my enjoyment. I like the privacy. I’m a software developer and a
businessman.”

“Oh.” She opened the passenger side door of the van to find
the hand wipes. “Oh! Here’s my backpack!”

“Yes. Owen went past your place last night. He found it by
the door and decided to bring it along. Were you going on a trip?”

“I was going to Africa to climb Kilimanjaro. I was supposed
to fly out this morning. Now all that money and planning’s wasted, thanks to
you.”

He ignored the jibe, adding the trip to his mental list of
things he had to recompense her for. “That sounds quite adventurous. Who were
you going with?”

“Nobody. I was going to join a guided tour when I got
there.”

“You were traveling to Africa alone?”

“Don’t sound so surprised. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I am surprised! Don’t you have a boyfriend or something?”
He was suddenly very interested in her answer.

“No, and I don’t want one. Men are nothing but a headache! I
had a husband for three years and that was enough, thank you very much!” Her
bitter tone intrigued him.

“So what do you do for sex?” He shouldn’t have asked, but it
was the first thing he thought of. In fact, sex was just about the only thing
on his mind when she was around.

“I don’t do anything, not that it’s any of your bloody
business!” She glared at him. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.
Sex is vastly overrated, and if I didn’t think so before, I sure as hell do
now.”

“If you think that, then you’ve obviously never had great
sex.” Some inner demon made him taunt her.

Her cheeks flushed. He loved the way her color heightened
when she got angry. He hastily changed the subject as she opened her mouth, no
doubt to tear a strip off him.

“Nobody’s going to be looking for you then, are they?”

Her mouth clamped shut with a snap and the blood drained
abruptly from her face.

“Of course they are,” she said faintly, but they both knew
it was a lie.

She wiped her hands clean then unzipped one of the
compartments of her backpack. He saw her hastily transfer something to the
pocket of her jeans.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, and turned toward the trees.

“Wait! What are you doing? What’s in your pocket?” He moved
toward her.

“Nothing!”

“Evelyn, I saw you take something out of your backpack and
put it in your pocket. Tell me.” He crowded her up against the van, resting his
hands on the metal on either side of her shoulders.

“Oh, for goodness sake! It’s just panties.” She waved the
lacy scrap of cloth in front of his face. “You cut my others, remember? My
jeans are hurting me so I want to go put them on… Or aren’t your prisoners
allowed underwear?”

Lust pounded through his body, coalescing in his throbbing
cock. He fought the urge to lean closer and press his hips against her. She was
naked under her jeans, and her pussy was tender—because he’d ground his cock
into her mere hours ago. The thought stirred his possessive instincts, a
slumbering beast prodded to wakefulness. He spoke through gritted teeth.

“Since I think of you more as my guest than a prisoner, of
course you can go put your panties on.”

She ducked sideways under his caging arm and rushed into the
trees, but not before her saw the alarm in her eyes. A rush of
self-recrimination threatened to swamp him. What the hell was going on with
him? He’d frightened her again, which was the last thing he wanted, but god,
she did something to his self-control! He felt as if he were waking out of a
four-year coma.

***

Evelyn stopped in the middle of the grove of trees, her
heart pounding in painful squeezes. Mason wanted to fuck her again! She’d seen
it in his eyes, pupils dilated so wide that the green was hardly visible.

She didn’t think he’d actually act on his impulse beyond
intimidating her, as he just had. In fact, she rather trusted him, to a limited
extent, because he was so obviously upset about what had happened. In no way
would she relent in her quest to see him brought to justice, especially since
he had added kidnapping to his list of crimes. Arrogant and spoiled, he needed
to learn that people were not just objects to be manipulated for his amusement,
but she didn’t think he’d try to have sex with her again even if he wanted her
badly.

She toed off her trainers and carefully stood on top of
them, trying not to get sand on her feet. Getting her tight jeans off was a
tricky balancing act but she managed it, and breathed a sigh of relief as she
pulled her panties up her legs. Before settling them into position, she pressed
her fingers against her pussy, trying to soothe the aching flesh. Her cunt was
hot and swollen, and sore ’round her opening. She hadn’t had sex since her
divorce, and although he’d climaxed quite quickly, Mason had given her a real
pounding last night.

She pressed more firmly, gently massaging herself, and then
looked down at her fingers glistening with silky moisture. She ran her thumb
over the wetness then brought her fingers to her nose and sniffed. She could
smell her own familiar scent of arousal, combined with a hint of something
strange. Mason. His come was inside her, mixing with her own excretions,
creating a new odor. She inhaled again.

But why was she so wet?

Yes, she’d been admiring his naked torso while they picnicked,
but not in a sexual way. He was a strikingly handsome man with a magnificent
body. She’d have to be dead not to appreciate how his muscles bunched and
flowed with effortless strength as he moved. He was like a sculpture come to
life, hard marble hidden under golden skin. However, she’d been to many museums
and galleries around the world, and admired many works of art, and other than
pleasing her aesthetic sense, they hadn’t affected her at all. So why should
Mason Brady?

Yes, when he’d crowded her against the van, her heart had
raced and her body had flushed and tingled with adrenaline, but that was from
fear. Nothing else could explain the intensity of the reaction. She was so
jumpy around him that her body obviously panicked when he was in close physical
proximity to her. She nodded firmly to herself. It didn’t explain the wetness
though…

She shrugged and pulled up the panties then struggled back
into her jeans, wishing she’d thought to change into a pair of shorts for the
heat. But she wouldn’t put it past him to come looking for her if she took too
long, so she yanked on her trainers and jogged back to the van. He wasn’t
there, but she heard him whistling in the bushes on the right.

She checked the cab of the van. He’d taken the keys with
him, of course. She took the opportunity afforded by his absence to dig out her
birth control pills from her backpack and swallow one of the tiny orange
tablets. She’d just started a new card, having timed her period to end right
before her African trip, so she had a whole month’s supply. Thank goodness Owen
had found her pack.

She jumped when Mason spoke just behind her. Damn, how had
she not heard him?

“Are you ready to go, Evelyn? Owen texted me a few minutes
ago. The roadblock has gone.”

“Do I have a choice?” She stuffed the pills away and faced
him.

“Not really.” He smiled at her, and she blinked, so disarmed
by the transformation it brought to his otherwise uncompromising features that
she almost missed what he said next. “I’m going to tie you up for the drive
through Rockhampton.”

“What? No! Why? Please don’t!”

“I’m sorry, but I just can’t take the chance that you might
do something foolish, or try to attract attention.” He went to the back of the
van and leaned inside, reaching for something.

‘“I won’t, Mason. Please, I’ll just stay in the back.” She
was furious to feel tears prickling behind her eyelids, but she’d be damned if
he saw her crying.

“Come here, Evelyn. Give me your hands.” He held the lengths
of soft black rope that he’d used to tie her up before, running them through
his fingers caressingly.

She looked around frantically. There was no obvious escape
route, and running was pointless since she didn’t know where to go. Her heart
thrummed. He stood waiting patiently for her to figure it out.

She approached him slowly, reluctantly, her unwillingness
evident in the taut lines of her body. She stopped an arm’s length away from
him, pressing her arms stiffly to her sides.

“Hold them out, Evelyn.” His voice was barely more than a
rough whisper.

Hesitantly she extended her arms toward him, holding them
awkwardly, palms down, fingers curled into fists. He took her hands gently and
turned her palms inward, placing them together.

“Keep them like that now.”

He folded a length of rope in half and, starting near the
folded end, looped it around her wrists, once, twice, three times. Then he
passed the long end between her arms and started wrapping it around the loops
that encircled her wrists, filling up the space between them so that there was
no slack. He worked carefully and unhurriedly, and she found herself staring at
the rope, entranced, as he pulled it caressingly between her hands. He took
particular care not to chafe her skin or pinch her as he layered the neat
coils. His tanned hands were strong and his fingers were long with short,
neatly squared-off nails. Capable hands. Sexy hands. She wondered which fingers
he’d penetrated her with, and flushed in shock at her thoughts.

“How does that feel?” he asked when he finally tied off the
ends and tucked them away.

“Er… Okay,” she answered, glancing at him curiously. He
sounded so strange, and he was staring at her hands intently.

“Yeah, it looks good.”

Now what did he mean by that? It was a tidy job, and she
certainly wouldn’t be escaping anytime soon, but his tone was so…appreciative.
But before she could ponder his strange mood, he lifted her and sat her in the
back of the van, with her feet dangling out the open doors.

“Ankles too.”

He folded up her jeans neatly, exposing her legs to the
calves, then repeated the procedure with the rope to tie up her ankles. She sat
quietly, watching him twist and knot the rope with rhythmic movements.

When he was finished, he sat back and looked at her, as if
admiring his handiwork. She watched his eyes darken with desire and a
realization tingled through her body. Mason Brady got a kick out of tying up
women.

She had no time to process this new insight about her captor
because he grabbed her legs and flipped them sideways into the van, rolling her
onto her side on the mattress. Working quickly with a third length of rope, he
looped it ’round the bindings between her hands then secured it to the ropes
around her ankles, pulling it taut. She squawked, realizing that he’d
immobilized her in a deeply bent position, with her hands close to her feet.

He slammed and locked the doors then climbed into the cab
and started the engine.

“Don’t make this unpleasant, please, Evelyn. Just lie down
and keep quiet. We’ll be home in about an hour.”

“I can’t stay like this for an hour! It’s extremely
uncomfortable!”