Stockholm Syndrome (12 page)

The uneasy sense of entering a forbidden sanctuary was
strong as she crept down the passage to his rooms. She passed his study, a
spacious, bookshelf-lined room with a huge desk at one end and a comfortable reading
nook with two armchairs at the other. The passage ended in an entertainment
room, with plush seating, a gigantic wall-mounted screen, and other expensive-looking
high-tech media gadgetry. The man clearly loved his toys. In the opposite wall
was another doorway, and a quick peek through confirmed that his bedroom lay
beyond.

She decided to start in the study, since it was most likely
to have a phone, or maybe a computer with Internet.

The high-backed, padded chair dwarfed her small frame as she
slid into it behind his desk, the leather cool against the exposed skin of her
legs below her shorts. She surveyed the polished work surface, populated only
with a sliver-thin notebook computer and a giant screen. The notebook was closed,
and the screen dark.

The drawer on her right slid out to reveal neatly arranged
stationery—monogrammed pen sets, a stapler, a wicked dagger-like letter opener,
and an incongruous pad of bright-yellow sticky notes. The left-hand drawer
contained portable hard drives, flash sticks, chargers for various gadgets, a
selection of computer cables, and…a car key. On a leather and stainless steel
key ring, sporting the instantly recognizable Land Rover logo, the chunky key
with its integrated remote-control buttons could only belong to Mason’s Range
Rover, which was parked right outside the kitchen door.

Evelyn stared at the key, frozen with indecision. Her
fingers burned to pick it up. She could be on her way long before anyone even
realized that she had left the house.

But something made her hesitate. She sat back in the chair,
arms folded to keep her itchy fingers in check, and stared at the key. It
seemed to be such a simple solution, but if anything went wrong… If Mason
caught her, somehow, before she got away, all her plans would be undone. He
would know beyond doubt that her claim to have Stockholm syndrome was nothing
but a ploy, and he would never trust her again.

Could it be a trick, a test? She didn’t think so, but on the
other hand, he’d been so careful until now, that to leave the key where she
could find it so easily, seemed suspicious… Although it
was
tucked away
in his drawer, not out on the hall table where he should have left it if he’d
wanted to trick her. But he’d gone from locking her in her room to leaving her
alone to explore the house. Even if it was a test, what good would it do him to
find out that she’d lied
after
she made her escape?

Damn it, her mind was spinning! She closed the drawer
firmly. She could debate all day and never figure it out; there were just too
many
buts
! She’d think about it, although for now, her time would be
better spent trying to find a phone.

Internet would work too. She opened his notebook, but a
login screen appeared and required a password. She couldn’t begin to guess what
it might be and she didn’t want to experiment, in case his system kept a record
of failed attempts. There was no option to use the computer as a guest. She
sighed and closed the screen again.

There wasn’t much else to see. He was a neat freak, that was
certain, but all his personal and business information must be on the computer,
because she didn’t notice a single document or piece of correspondence
anywhere.

His bedroom was the next-best bet, but as she left the study
she heard the faint sounds of footsteps on the gravel driveway, so she ran back
to the kitchen. Peering out the window, she watched Edna stumping toward the
house. Damn! She hadn’t been gone for very long. Evelyn quickly topped up the
kettle with water and switched it on.

“Hi, Edna,” she greeted as the woman came in the door. “I
was about to make some coffee. Would you like a cup?”

***

Mason checked his watch. It was half past four, and time to
head back to the house.

He and George were sitting on camping chairs in a leafy
grove of trees next to the dirt lane that ran between Brady Ranch and the main
road. A blue Esky stood between them, which, at this late hour, contained only
empty beer tins, crushed water bottles, and the torn packets from their
lunchtime snacks. Two saddled horses on long leads grazed peacefully nearby,
and George’s big white ute stood in the middle of the road, where he’d parked
it late the night before. They’d chosen their spot with care; the lane was
narrow, with steep embankments on both sides, and it curved so that the vehicle
would not be visible to anybody driving from the house until they were within
twenty meters or so from the improvised roadblock.

They’d ridden out early that morning, keeping up the charade
in case Evelyn was awake and listening for them. When they’d arrived at the
barricade and set up camp, he’d been utterly certain that Evelyn would appear
within a few hours, driving his Rover, attempting to escape. He’d strained his
ears for the sound of the engine and walked up the road frequently to look toward
the eucalyptus forest that shielded the house from view.

But as the day wore on and the temperature rose, his
confidence had waned. He’d whiled away the hours reading and surfing the net on
his iPad, and chatting to George, when he could distract him from the
three-day-old newspaper that he was so engrossed in.

It was finally time to pack up, forced to acknowledge that
he’d wasted the entire day.

Maybe she hadn’t found the key. Deciding where to put it had
been tricky. Too obvious and she’d suspect a trap. Intelligence gleamed in her
blue eyes, readily apparent every time he spoke to her. He’d have to be subtle
to catch her out.

“Ready to go home?” asked George. His voice was neutral, but
Mason knew he was gloating. George hadn’t thought much of his plan.

“Yeah. I’ll bring the horses in.”

They packed up and George drove off in the ute. Mason
followed slowly, riding one horse and leading the other, lost in thought all
the way to the stables.

Later, after he’d showered and changed for dinner, Mason
went to his study where he removed the SD card from the tiny motion-activated
spy camera concealed on the bookshelf. He slotted it into his notebook, and
watched the silent video of Evelyn searching his desk and trying to use his
computer. He hit repeat several times then sat staring at a frozen image of her
looking into the open drawer.

She had found the key. She hadn’t used it. Did that mean
that she wasn’t trying to escape? But if she didn’t want to escape, if she
really wanted to stay because she had feelings for him, then why had she
searched his desk at all?

He frowned, dragging his hands through his hair, trying to
figure it out. The evidence seemed to support her story about Stockholm syndrome,
if only because he so wanted to believe her. She hadn’t tried to escape when
she had the chance, and judging by her actions of the previous day, she
certainly felt desire for him, if not the misplaced emotions of love and
empathy that sufferers of the condition supposedly developed for their captors.

But maybe she was a much better actress than he gave her
credit for. Desire could be faked, especially if the person you were trying to
fool was compliant and accepting… Letting you do what you wanted without
interfering… Making no demands, and posing no threats.

Yes, it was time to introduce his little drama queen to
Mason the Dom. She’d had it all her own way last time, pulling the puppet
strings and orchestrating the seduction to suit her ends. It wouldn’t be so
easy to keep up a facade if she had to submit to his will.

He smiled. It would be nothing too extreme, of course, just
a taste of what he liked. Something a little…different. He was in the mood for
a picnic tomorrow.

***

For dinner that night, Edna had set one end of the long
dining room table with gleaming white dinnerware, crystal wineglasses, silver
cutlery, and candles. Lots of candles.

Mason sat at the head and Evelyn to his right. She studied
him in the flickering light. Like her, he wore shorts and a vest, looking so
intensely masculine with his broad shoulders and muscular arms leaning lightly
on the white tablecloth. The soft illumination turned his body into a
wonder-scape, a textured maze of planes and ridges that called to her like an
uncharted land to an explorer. He looked barely civilized, a caveman, with his
unshaven cheeks and shaggy hair, primitive firelight glimmering over the hard
angles of his face. He should be wearing the pelts of beasts he’d hunted—an
immodest covering that could be effortlessly tossed aside when he wanted to
claim his woman, taking her down to the gritty floor beneath him, or mounting
her from behind like an animal…

“Evelyn?”

She blinked. Oh god, how long had she been staring at Mason?
Edna stood next to her, hesitantly proffering a plate. She hastily sat back so
that the older woman could place it on the table in front of her. She’d soaked
her panties again. In fact, she hoped she hadn’t made a wet patch on the damn
chair! Could Mason see her blushing in the candlelight?

She concentrated on her food. It was a starter of Parma Ham
and melon, refreshingly delicious. It appeared that, for reasons of her own,
Edna had decided to make dinner into an occasion.

They didn’t say much, but every time she glanced at him, he
was watching her. His intensity disconcerted her, and she felt flustered, all
thumbs as she handled her knife and fork.

It was a relief when Edna brought in the main meal and
served it to them. She’d made grilled salmon with aioli sauce, homemade chips,
and a delicate, herbal salad, simple but tasty fare, and they complimented her
lavishly. She left the room beaming.

But as soon as they were alone again, Mason resumed his
observation of her, a strange expression in his eyes, as if he knew something
that she didn’t. After a few minutes, she couldn’t stand it any longer.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you it’s rude to stare?”

“Hmm? Yes, I’m sure she did.”

“Then why are you doing it?”

“I’m fascinated. I can’t look away.”

She snorted. “Try harder. Watching someone chew can’t be
that interesting.”

“I don’t want to try, I want to stare. Will you come out
with me tomorrow?”

Her brows rose. “Where to?”

“Just here, around the farm. I thought we might have a
picnic.”

“Does the fact that you’re asking me mean that I have a
choice?”

“Yeah, it does.” He smiled his beautiful smile at her. “As
long as you say yes!”

Was he teasing? She couldn’t be sure. But the chance to get
out of the house was too much to pass up.

“Fine. What time?”

“We’ll leave at ten. I’ll come get you.” His voice was
rough.

She was hearing double meanings in everything he said. She
glanced sharply at him. He looked predatory, his pale-green eyes gleaming under
his dark hair. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but his manner seemed subtly
different.

She shrugged and went back to her meal. No doubt he was
plotting something. She was trying to manipulate him, to outwit him, so it was
only reasonable to assume that he was doing the same.

“Evelyn?”

“Yes, Mason?”

“How’s your Stockholm syndrome tonight?”

She looked up sharply in alarm. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that if we stay for dessert, I’m going to have you.
I’m giving you fair warning.”

“You mean—”

“Yes, you haven’t misunderstood. I’m going to fuck you,
unless you leave the room right now.”

Panic and desire swelled in her belly in equal measures. Wet
and throbbing with arousal from watching him and fantasizing about him, her
body hummed for the release it could find with his cock buried deep within her.
But this time he would not be taken by surprise. It was too much to hope that
he’d remain passive like he had the day before. She didn’t know why he’d done
that, but she was sure it wasn’t his usual style. She fancied he’d be rather
more…assertive. Like warning her that he wanted to fuck her. God, that was hot!
Just knowing that he was thinking about it was enough to send her up in flames.
What should she do?

But she’d waited too long. Edna had arrived with dessert.

“Here youse are,” she announced cheerfully, seemingly
oblivious of the fraught sexual tension in the room. “Homemade vanilla ice cream
and hot chocolate sauce.” She put the bowls down with a flourish, and
positioned a generously sized jug of chocolate sauce between them.

“I’ll just clear these plates and glasses. Do youse want
coffee with that?”

“No thank you, Edna,” answered Mason. “It’s late. Please go
home now. It was an excellent meal, and we’ll clear up these last few things.
There’s no need for you to wait on us.”

“No worries then. I’m glad ya liked it, and I’ll see youse
both in the morning.” She disappeared with the stack of dishes.

There was a long moment of silence.

“So, dessert it is then,” said Mason. Evelyn shivered at the
richly sensual tone of his voice.

“I’ve never had homemade ice cream before.” She tried to
sound casual.

“Hmm. There’s a first time for everything. Take off your
clothes, Evelyn.”

“What, here?” Her voice was a squeak. She cleared her
throat. “Shouldn’t we go to my room, er, a little later?”

He sat back in his chair and folded his arms.

“Here. Now. Don’t argue, Evelyn.” His tone was mild, but she
sensed a steely determination underlying the casual words.

She stood up uncertainly. He’d seen her naked before, so it
seemed silly to feel shy, but she did. Should she do this? What would he do if
she refused?

But he’d called her bluff about Stockholm syndrome. Caught in
her own lie.

She grasped the hem of her vest and eased it up, revealing
her braless breasts, and pulled it over her head. She draped it over the back
of her chair, avoiding Mason’s eyes. Her heart pounded, and her nipples were
painfully hard. She resisted the urge to press them with her palms.