Stockholm Syndrome (10 page)

“Oh, look at that black one! He’s like a horse from the
movies, like warriors or warlocks ride! His feet are all furry!”

Mason smiled. The horse had seen them, and was running to
greet them.

“Yes, he has feathers. And you’re thinking of Friesian
horses. They’re the kind that you often see in movies.”

“Well, isn’t he one of those? He looks like one!”

“Yes and no,” said Mason, with a laugh. “Come, I’ll show
you.”

He grabbed her hand and led her quickly past the stable
building, down to the fence where the horse was waiting, snorting impatiently.
When they got there, he let her hand go and reached up to pat the horse’s
massive head, rubbing around the ears and scratching gently down the side of
the heavily muscled neck.

“This is Dojo, my stallion.”

The horse showed his pleasure, nuzzling and rubbing his head
against Mason’s shoulders and chest.

Evelyn hung back a little. “He’s really big.” She looked
nervous.

“He’s seventeen hands, so yeah, he’s huge. But he’s got the
sweetest nature… Haven’t you, boy?” He laughed as Dojo started to body search
him for treats, pushing his nose against his pockets and snuffling while his
prehensile upper lip probed the fabric. Mason turned him a little so that
Evelyn could see the side facing away from them.

“You see that big light-colored patch on his hindquarter?
That means he’s not a true Friesian. Friesians have to be completely black. No colors
or markings other than maybe a small white star on the forehead. Something went
wrong with poor Dojo here. The people who own the stud that he came from are
friends of mine, so I know his history. His mother was a Friesian, and mated
with another Friesian, both of them with perfect bloodlines, but he popped out
with that big mark. It’s a mystery, but my friends think the mare might already
have been pregnant. One of the neighbors’ horses might have jumped the fence
and impregnated her without anyone knowing.”

“Would they do that?”

“Definitely! When a mare’s in heat, stallions will do
anything to get to her. They go crazy. Anyway, they couldn’t sell Dojo, and in
fact, he was really bad marketing for their stud, raising doubts about their
bloodlines. So they wanted to get rid of him as quickly as possible. They were
going to geld him and donate him to one of the local riding schools, but he
wouldn’t have done well there. He’s not exactly a jumper, and most mothers
wouldn’t want their little darlings put up on something this size anyway. So I
took him.”

“And he’s lived happily ever after?”

“Yeah. I guess you could say he’s found his place in the
world. He’s only eight years old, so he’s still quite a youngster.”

“Do you ride him?”

“Yeah. Not as often as I’d like to, but whenever I can. Come
on, boy, let’s get you up to the stable. That’s where the carrots are.”

Dojo snorted and walked along the fence, stopping at the
gate, which Mason opened. Then he stood aside as the horse walked past him and trotted
briskly toward the stable. Evelyn laughed as they followed.

“Did he understand you?”

“Absolutely. He’ll do anything for carrots.”

The stable was empty except for Dojo, who walked into the
last of the five stalls and stood waiting patiently.

“Why so few stables when you have so many horses?” asked
Evelyn, looking around curiously.

Mason went into the tack room and came out with a handful of
carrots.

“The horses live out in the paddocks. The climate here is so
warm all year they don’t need stabling, and they’re much happier outside
anyway. We just use the stables if a horse is sick or hurt, or if there’s some
other reason that we want to keep one in. I’m leaving Dojo in here tonight,
because I’m going to ride him very early tomorrow morning and it’ll be quicker
to tack him up if he’s already here.”

As he spoke, he went into Dojo’s stall and started feeding
him the carrots. “As you can see, this end stall is bigger than the others, so
we always use it for Dojo. You can come in if you want to give him a carrot. It’s
perfectly safe.”

She came in hesitantly, obviously nervous of the large
animal. He passed her a carrot and moved back. Dojo swung his large head toward
her, tracking the movement of the treat.

“Will he bite me?”

“Not unless you stick your fingers in his mouth. When the
carrot’s long, hold it in your fist and let him bite it off. When it’s short,
give it to him on your palm and keep your hand flat.”

She followed his instructions, and Dojo bit off half the
carrot with a satisfying crunch. She offered him the rest on her palm.

“Ooh, he’s put spit all over my hand. But his lips are so
soft.”

Mason laughed. “You can pat him. He likes you.”

She tentatively touched the big, blunt nose. Dojo’s nostrils
flared as he smelled her hands.

“Here, give him the last carrot.”

She turned to take it from him, looking up at his face with
shining eyes.

“He’s so cute! Can you call such a big thing cute? I think—”

But what she thought, Mason never discovered. Impatient for
his treat, Dojo planted his great head between Evelyn’s shoulder blades and
shoved her. With a startled shriek, she stumbled forward into Mason’s chest. He
closed his arms around her, tossing the carrot to the floor, where Dojo
instantly scooped it up.

Evelyn remained plastered against him, still looking up, her
mouth open in surprise. As quick as a flash, he bent his head and covered her
lips with his. One taste, just one quick taste, and he’d let her go. He shouldn’t,
but god help him, he couldn’t deny himself this.

He plunged his tongue into her mouth and her flavor burst
over his taste buds like electric sparks over a million nerve endings, almost
bringing him to his knees from the force of the sensation. But instead of
falling, his body jerked to attention when, after a moment of fraught
hesitation, she flattened her tongue against his, pressing him to her palate,
and sucked him in deeper.

His stunned brain realized that she wasn’t fighting, and his
arousal roared to life along with his instinctive need for control. He eased a
hand into her hair, pressing his fingers to her scalp, angling her head into a
better position for his possession.

How much time would he have before she came to her senses
and pushed him away? He was kissing her with uncharacteristic desperation and
urgency, crushing her soft lips and ravaging the vulnerable interior of her
luscious mouth. She moaned and moved her arms around his body to knead his back
and grab handfuls of his t-shirt.

He fought for self-restraint and settled in to explore
methodically, feeling, probing, tasting, learning her reactions to the
different things he liked to do. She seemed to respond with the most pleasure
when he slowly slid his tongue across hers, stroking sensuously. Her mouth
softened under his, allowing him to shape their kiss, and when he pressed her,
she opened wider to give him greater access. He surged in possessively, taking
everything that she gave him, and demanding more.

He finally managed to catch her slick tongue and suck it
into his mouth with a growl of satisfaction. He was so hungry for her! She
tried to withdraw, but he tightened his hold on her scalp warningly, and she
acquiesced with a breathless sigh and gave it over to him. Her warm hands crept
under his t-shirt to explore his back, gentle fingers tracing his muscles then
gripping convulsively as her excitement rose.

He kept his own hands firmly in check, focusing all his
skill on the manipulation of her mouth. He was sure that she was enjoying the
kiss, if indeed she was able to think about it at all—more likely, her
attention was wholly captured by the onslaught of sensory pleasure. He didn’t
consider that assumption overly arrogant, since it was based on his own
reaction. Despite all his experience, and his normally ironclad self-control,
he was almost undone.

Nevertheless, he slowly eased them out of the kiss, drawing
back to nibble at her lips and lick the sweet corners of her mouth. It was not
the time to push her for more, although his body protested painfully at the
restraint that he forced on it. There were too many unanswered questions, too
many unresolved issues.

He lifted his head and watched her open heavy-lidded eyes.

“Why?” he whispered.

She moved back, out of his arms. “I… I need to go back to
the house. I’d like to talk with you in the morning.”

“No, wait… Evelyn!”

But she was already gone, not running, but walking
determinedly back along the road. He could chase after her and try to make her
explain why she’d let him kiss her and what she wanted to talk about, but was
there any point? He wanted to gain her trust and, ultimately, her forgiveness,
so if she wanted to talk in the morning, he’d be there.

He looked at Dojo. The horse was dozing. One rear hoof was
cocked, and his lower lip drooped, but he opened his eyes as Mason left his
stall.

“I guess I should thank you, mate, but I honestly don’t know
if we’ve made things better or worse.”

He followed Evelyn back home at a much slower pace, but he
didn’t see her again that evening. Edna took dinner to her room on a tray and
locked her in. Some time later he went to her door, but no light escaped
through the cracks from the room beyond, and there were no sounds from inside.
He stood in the hall for a few minutes then wandered to his own bed.

Chapter Five

The morning came too soon for Evelyn. She’d tossed and
turned for hours before falling asleep, her mind racing and her body throbbing.
The kiss in the stable had been an excellent start to her plan, but her
reaction… God, there was no way she could have planned that. But then, he could
kiss so well he should come with a warning label!

She dressed in another shorts-and-vest combination, ruefully
folding away the legs of her light-brown hiking slacks, which she’d hacked off
with her nail scissors to turn them into hot pants. They lay buried deep in her
backpack, a tangible testament to her manipulativeness, on top of the olive-green
remnants from the day before. She’d liked those shorts!

Still, Mason’s reaction had been all she could have wished for.
She’d watched him from under her lowered eyelashes as she climbed off the bed
and stretched, and she’d seen the desire flash across his face as she flaunted
her body.

Today it was even more important to keep him wanting her.
This was the day she would convince him that her feelings had changed. It wouldn’t
be easy to overcome his skepticism, but her freedom depended on her ability to
allay his suspicions, so she would use every advantage she had, including
turning his lust against him.

Lust. She shivered, reliving her reaction to that kiss. This
time, there had been no other way to explain the wetness in her panties,
discovered when she got back to the house. It was almost enough to make her
call it off.

But that was plain stupid, wasn’t it? After all, if kissing
Mason turned her on, wouldn’t it just make her task a little less unpleasant?

He arrived at nine o’clock. She’d just finished breakfast
when he rapped on her door and let himself in without waiting for her to
answer. He was wearing black jeans, a dark-gray t-shirt, and a serious
expression. He hadn’t shaved and dark stubble shadowed his jaw and framed his
hard, lean lips. He looked broodingly sexy, but also tired and anxious.
Kidnapping didn’t seem to agree with him, she thought.

He sat down in the green armchair. She sat on the side of
the bed. They looked at each other.

Now that the moment had arrived, she didn’t know how to
begin. Even though she’d spent all night planning this conversation, the words
stuck in her throat. Fortunately when she didn’t say anything, he started
instead.

“Look, Evelyn, about yesterday at the stable… I’m sorry if
what happened upset you, but… You didn’t seem to mind. And while I’m really
glad that you didn’t slap me and scream, I’m also very confused…” He trailed
off, obviously disconcerted.

She guessed that it was a foreign experience for him—not
being in control of a conversation or situation—given that he was such an alpha
type of male.

But he’d given her a perfect opening. Now she must take care
not to sound too rehearsed. A helpful blush crept up her neck and face.

“It’s okay, Mason. I’m not upset about the kiss. In fact, I
enjoyed it very much.”

He frowned, and she hurried on. “I realize this is going to
sound strange, but I’m not angry with you anymore. I’ve forgiven you.”

He sat back in the chair, his expression morphing from
confused to knowing. “Ah, of course you have. And I should be so happy to hear
it, that I should immediately let you go? You disappoint me, Evelyn.”

“No! No, Mason. It’s not a trick, that’s not what’s going on
here!”

“Really? Then you’ll have to explain it to me.”

She met his gaze squarely. “I don’t
want
to leave. I
wouldn’t go, even if you said I could.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I’ve
got…feelings…for you.”

His brows shot up. “Yes, Evelyn. I know about your feelings
for me. You told me two days ago that you’d never forgive me, and you wanted to
see me punished for what I did to you. You accused me of rape. My memory works
perfectly well, you know.”

“So does mine, damn it! I know what I said, but now
everything’s changed. And I’m not happy about it, but I can’t ignore what I’m
feeling. It’s too powerful.”

“Evelyn,” he said, managing to sound patient and annoyed at
the same time, “how can you expect me, or anyone in their right mind for that
matter, to believe you’ve gone from despising me to powerful feelings almost overnight?”
He started to laugh. “I know I’m a great kisser, but please!”

She stared at him until he stopped chuckling.

“Have you heard of Stockholm syndrome?”

“What?”

“Stockholm syndrome. You must have heard of it—they’ve made
movies about it and from time to time it pops up in the news when there are
hostage situations. It’s when a victim falls in love with the person who
kidnapped them and starts to sympathize and identify with them.”

“Well, yeah, I
have
heard of it. But it’s just a load
of nonsense.”

“No, it’s not! I’m doing my thesis on posttraumatic stress
disorder and you know
that’s
real, don’t you? Stockholm syndrome is
quite closely related. And it can happen really quickly because of the stress
of the events that lead to it. It’s one of the ways the subconscious tries to
deal with the trauma of being victimized and helpless—if it can trick the mind
into believing that it loves the aggressor and agrees with what they are doing,
then the situation is no longer perceived as a threat.”

He looked guilty, unable to make eye contact, and she
guessed that using terms like
victim
and
aggressor
made him feel
uncomfortable. Still, he shook his head. “Okay, but even if it
is
true, you
can’t have it because you know about it.”

She gave a short gasp of laughter. “Oh, that’s a ridiculous
thing to say! Do you think people with psychological disorders aren’t aware
that they have them? They often understand their own problems better than their
doctors do!”

“That’s not what I meant. What I’m trying to say is that if
you know why you’re getting these feelings, then you also know that the
feelings aren’t real. They’re caused by something else, so you shouldn’t
believe in them.”

“It doesn’t work like that!” She huffed in exasperation.
While she hadn’t expected him to fall for her story hook, line, and sinker, she
hadn’t expected him to take this avenue of argument either.

“Look, have you ever been jealous of somebody?”

“Obviously,” he said guardedly. “Hasn’t everybody?”

“I’d imagine so. Now when you were jealous, you were aware
of your feelings, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And you probably thought they were wrong, that being
jealous is bad. Maybe you tried to stop.”

She didn’t mean it as a question, but he answered all the
same. “Sure. It gets drummed into everybody as kids that you mustn’t be
jealous.”

“Right. But when you tried to stop being jealous, did you truly
manage it? Could you really make those feelings go completely away?”

“No,” he admitted reluctantly. “I’d say and do the right
things, but inside I still felt jealousy. I just wouldn’t let anybody else
know.”

“Exactly! You can’t just switch emotions on and off. So even
though I know my feelings for you are wrong, and caused by external stress, I still
feel them, very strongly, and I can’t just make them go away. Believe me, I
wish I could!”

“I still don’t think it’s the same. It just seems
so…farfetched.”

Damn but he was stubborn! He looked so skeptical. In fact,
he looked downright annoyed. She needed to step up the persuasiveness.

He rose from the chair. He was going to leave! It might be
hours, or even the next day, before he came back.

She hopped lightly off the bed and moved quickly toward him.
Placing her hand in the middle of his chest, she gave him a little shove.

“Wait, Mason. Sit down, please.”

He sank back into the chair and she followed him quickly,
climbing onto the seat on her knees, straddling his thighs.

“If it’s so farfetched, would I want to do this?”

She shuffled as close to him as possible, her body pushing
against his, the buttons of his jeans pressing into the juncture of her wide-spread
thighs, chafing against her pussy through their clothes. In this position, her
face was higher than his. She grabbed two handfuls of his hair and yanked his
head back then plastered her lips to his.

She felt shock course through his body with a palpable
shiver and his muscles go rigid in surprise. He grabbed the arms of the chair
and pressed his lips closed firmly. Resisted.

Tumultuous emotions rose inside her—heat, frustration, and
raging, unwilling lust. The bastard had made her want him against her will, and
now he was resisting!
Now
he was being cautious and careful and all
concerned about the consequences!
Not acceptable
.

She sank her teeth into his lower lip.

“Fuck!” he shouted, his body jerking.

She took the opportunity to jab her tongue into his mouth
and begin a ravishing exploration, as he’d done to her the night before. He
didn’t resist, nor did he respond, sitting passively as she pulled his head
from one side to the other to better reach all the dark spaces of his mouth.
But there was no way he could hide the erection that sprang to life beneath
her, and triumph surged through her veins at the evidence of his almost instant
arousal.

He tasted of minty toothpaste and coffee, and she lapped at
the slick skin of his inner cheeks. The friction of his stubbly upper lip and
chin against her smooth skin was a sensual contrast that drove her wild. She
dragged her mouth over his rough cheek and down the side of his neck, licking
and biting at the thick tendon above his collarbone. With one hand, she tugged
his head to the side to better expose his throat, while her other hand dropped
from his hair to his bicep, fingers wrapping over the clenched muscle. Her head
whirled from the concentrated scent of aftershave and clean, musky male skin,
and she opened her mouth wide over the sweet spot where his neck met his
shoulder, sucking hard and rubbing her tongue against the patch of flesh that
she’d trapped. His involuntary shudder thrilled her, and she wondered if she
was bruising him. But she couldn’t ease up. In evoking his arousal, she had
summoned her own. Moisture throbbed from her cunt, and her clit was a tight
ball of nerve endings as she ground herself against him. She had to get closer.

***

Mason’s head was spinning. He was utterly shell-shocked by
Evelyn’s sensual assault. She’d been so set against him, so full of hate and
cold anger, that he would never, in a million years, have expected her to throw
herself at him in this manner. Although deeply suspicious of her motives, the
searing desire ripping through his body rendered him incapable of thinking, of
reasoning. She’d caught him on the proverbial back foot, and all he could do
was react as she turned his head this way and that to invade his mouth with her
sweet, darting tongue.

Or try not to react. Some tiny part of his brain insisted
that he should not play along, not meekly do as she wished, at least not until
he understood more of what she was about. Whatever she was trying to prove, he
should not help her, for to do so might be to his own detriment. So he held on to
the chair with a death grip, and wondered exactly how far she’d go.

She was a sinuous nymph astride his thighs, a goddess turned
lap dancer, and she embodied everything that he thought beautiful and
desirable. She could bewitch him with a touch, a taste, even a look. Never in
his life had he been so close to losing control.

Her aggression was an unexpected aphrodisiac to him. He had
some idea of how far from the norm it was for her to take the upper hand in any
sexual encounter, and the fact that she was doing so with him lent an appealing
desperation to her clumsy seduction. Unfortunately he couldn’t bring himself to
believe she was desperate for
him
, and not just desperate to escape.

On a sudden impatient gasp, she sat back and pulled her vest
over her head, throwing it to the floor. Her spectacular tits bobbled under his
nose, swollen and sensitive, the nipples already stimulated to hard, pointed
buds from the way she’d rubbed against him.

He stifled a groan, his body clamoring for action. He tried
closing his eyes, but that was worse. It intensified the stimulation from her
grinding, writhing body against his hard stillness, and, oh god, he could smell
her, the tang of female arousal. He opened his eyes again and gritted his
teeth, fortifying himself to endure without retaliating.

***

Damn his stubborn hide! Even when she took off her vest,
Mason still didn’t move, but his eyes darkened and his cock surged beneath her.

She caressed her breasts in rough circles and plucked at her
nipples, then with a sudden flood of desperation, grabbed the front of his
t-shirt and dragged it up his body, revealing his powerful stomach and chest.
He was as solid as a brick wall, each perfectly defined muscle taut and
straining, begging to be touched.

He refused to help take off his t-shirt so she left it
rucked up under his arms, in a thin band across his pecs. Then, with a groan of
anticipation, she lowered her torso to his and dragged her aching breasts
across that enticing display of muscle. Skin glided across skin in a sweeping
wave of heat, and they both groaned at the incredible sensation.

His knuckles turned white as he gripped the arms of the chair,
but she didn’t care. She didn’t need him to do anything. Just the sight and
feel of him were enough to drive her to a frenzy of wanting, and she rubbed
herself against him like a lithe animal. She licked his chest, trying to
capture the essence of him, and sucked at his nipples until he cried out in a
strangled voice, but it wasn’t enough. She needed more, more of his taste, more
of his smell.

She backed off the chair, sliding her body down his and
insinuating herself on her knees between his legs. Her gaze never wavered from
his as she undid the buttons of his jeans and parted the heavy fabric,
revealing the bulge of his erection, tenting his boxer shorts. She slid her
hand under the waistband, and his body went as still as a stone as he waited
for her to touch him.