Read Online Stockholm Syndrome by JB Brooks - Free Book Online

tanned
than she was, with a sprinkling of black hair up the forearm. Thick veins
raised ridges under his skin, and his upper arms were the size of her thighs.
He wore three dark bands of leather thong, intricately knotted, around his
brawny wrist. Gingerly she grasped it above the leather and tried to lift his
arm away from her body. She encountered no resistance and his breathing remained
regular, but when she eased her body away from his, the arm snapped tight and
he woke up.
    “Where are you going?” His mouth right next to her ear, his
breath tickled her neck.
    She struggled against his hold. “Let me go, damn it. I need
air, I’m boiling. And I really need to pee. What are you doing in here anyway?”
Suspicion and fear made her voice shrill.
    He let her go and they sat up. She thrust away from him, as
far as she could in the cramped confines of the van, and stared at him with
open hostility. Her shirt was damp where his arm had been resting.
    “I needed to sleep. I’ve been driving for hours. I held on
to you so that you couldn’t escape.”
    He crawled to the foot of the bed and opened the doors.
Blessedly cooler air blew in. She pulled her sticky t-shirt away from her skin
and scrambled out of the van with him on her heels.
    He had parked under some tall eucalyptus trees next to a
narrow dirt road. Dappled shadows chased each other over the sandy ground as
the sun beat down through the leaves. Across the road was a small lake, with
little brown ducks drifting lazily on the surface. No buildings. No cars. No
people.
    “Where are we?” asked Evelyn, looking around.
    “We’re actually pretty close to my ranch, about an hour
away,” replied Mason. “You slept for a long time. We still have to pass through
Rockhampton, but Owen phoned to let me know there’s a police roadblock outside
the city—just the usual, checking licenses and breathalyzing for drink
driving—but we don’t want to risk them finding you in the back of the van.
We’ll have to wait until they pack up and go, so I decided to pull off the
highway for a rest.” He looked at the sky. “When I parked, the van was on the
shady side of the trees. We’ve been here for almost four hours.”
    He yawned and stretched lavishly, arching his back, all the
muscles in his arms and torso rippling and elongating. She knew she was
staring, but who wouldn’t? On his tall frame those bulky muscles looked sleek,
not brutish. On the muscle under his upper left arm was a tattoo, a stylized
cross.
    “Enjoying the view?” He grinned, catching her eyes on him.
    She snorted and turned away. “I don’t like anything about
you.”
    She marched ’round the van into the trees. “Turn your back
and don’t look. And don’t panic, I won’t try to escape.”
    “I know you won’t,” he said smugly. “There’s nothing around
for miles and you don’t even know which way the highway is.”
    “Ha! So you admit that holding on to me in the van was just
another excuse to molest me! Keep your damned hands to yourself from now on. Your
touch makes me sick!”
    ***
    Mason sighed. She’d seemed so compliant the night before,
lying in his arms when he’d carried her to the van, that he’d allowed himself
to hope she would forgive him, that she understood his profound regret over
what had happened. He’d taken a huge risk with not tying her up, but he felt so
bad about what he was doing that he didn’t have the heart to torment her any
further. Her exhaustion was palpable, and he’d gambled that she’d fall asleep
quickly, which she had.
    He’d driven for over seven hours, acutely aware of the
sleeping woman behind him, tormented by his guilty thoughts and the realization
of how terrible the consequences of his error might be.
    They had not had safe sex. He’d thought they were protected
by the rules of The Chase—she on birth control, and both of them with certified
clean bills of health—but the rules didn’t apply. She didn’t seem the type, but
that