by Lili Valente
But he’d imprisoned a former psychology student, not a sculptor with a well-documented anxiety disorder. Hannah knew all about Stockholm Syndrome and she refused to fall victim to it. She would not mistake the absence of cruelty for kindness, she would not empathize or identify with her captor. She would remain focused on her deepest sense of self and her right to human decency.
Even if she were Harley and had done something worthy of punishment, she would still deserve that much. Even criminals on death row were allowed to eat, exercise, read, and lift their face to the sun for a few hours each week.
As soon as Hawke returned, she would demand that she be allowed a book and the right to walk outside in the back yard. She would make him see that she deserved a reward for her obedience.
He wants to push you into a breakdown, Hannah. You’ll be lucky if you’re not tortured, let alone rewarded.
Her thoughts were chilling, but she refused to dwell on them. She had to remain in the moment and face challenges as they arose. If she let herself start imagining all the things he might do to her, she would be doing his work for him and she refused to be complicit in her own destruction.
She went to bed that night determined to stay strong and woke the next morning three times as stir crazy as before. By the time she’d eaten her breakfast and the equally delicious lunch Eva delivered—scurrying in and out of the room so quickly it would have been funny if Hannah didn’t know the poor woman’s speed was born out of terror—she was near the end of her rope.
Not only was her captivity mind-numbingly boring, it gave her far too much time to think.
For the past six years, she’d been so busy struggling to keep the bed and breakfast afloat and scrambling to recover from one tragedy after another that she hadn’t had time to dwell on how empty her life was in so many ways.
But now, with nothing but four silent walls to stare at, she had time to think about the dreams she’d abandoned in the name of survival. She’d never finished her education or opened the children’s therapy practice she’d dreamed about since she was eleven years old. She’d never met a man who loved everything about her—the strong and the weak, the sweet and the sour—or started a family. She’d never been able to find out if she would have been a better parent than her cold father or shadow of a mother and now her dreams might never come true.
What if Hawke intended to do more than break her? What if he decided to end her life, here on this island where no one would lift a finger to help her?
And even if he let her live, was she strong enough to survive the kind of mental abuse he had in mind? Would she look back on these long lonely days later and curse herself for being too afraid to run for her life? Should she at least step far enough outside to get a better idea of where she was?
She stood at the sliding door leading out onto the patio, her mouth flooding with saliva and her palms and bare feet itching. She could practically taste how good the sea air would feel on her skin and the cushion of carefully manicured grass beneath her feet. She wanted to go outside so badly her bones ached with the need for freedom and movement and sun on her face, but she couldn’t fight the feeling that he was watching and would know the moment she disobeyed his order.
His quiet threat that his promises would be revoked if she violated his commands was all that kept her from throwing open the door and racing across the lawn.
She was as terrified of rape as any other woman, but she was even more terrified of being raped by him, the man who had given her the greatest pleasure she’d ever known. It would be even more heinous and unbearable. It would be seeing something holy and beautiful mutilated and covered in blood.
She was quickly growing to fear Hawke, but she still treasured the memory of that one night and the pleasure he’d given her.
You’d better get over that, Hannah. Fast. You’re giving him power he doesn’t deserve.
“Easier said than done,” she muttered as she paced away from the window, deliberately refraining from looking at the place on the floor where he’d driven her crazy before releasing himself on her bare breasts.
She’d replayed every moment of that encounter at least a dozen times in the past two days, looking for clues to what he had planned for her, but each time all she’d succeeded in accomplishing was making her body long for his touch. He was terrifying, out of his mind, and dangerous, but he was also the sexiest man she’d ever met.
It was sick, but during her shower that night, she couldn’t keep from imagining that the fingers slipping between her thighs were his. She craved his touch almost as much as she craved a break from the anxiety soaked air inside her makeshift prison. She craved release, too, but after several long minutes of sliding her fingers through where she pulsed and ached, it became obvious she wasn’t going to be able to find it.
Her mind was afraid to violate his order not to make herself come while they were on the island. And her body didn’t want her soft touch. It wanted him, his rough hands and commanding voice ordering her to come.
With a soft curse, she shut off the water and dried off with hands shaking from denied satisfaction. She brushed her teeth with her eyes fixed on the marble countertop, refusing to look her pathetic reflection in the mirror, and crept in to curl under the covers fighting the urge to sob.
She had barely spoken more than a few sentences to anyone in two days. It wasn’t that long in the scheme of things, but she felt so profoundly alone. She was unraveling faster than she would have thought possible.
For years, she’d been the shoulder her aunt could lean on, and had been Harley’s steadying force long before that. She’d thought she was strong, but he was proving how wrong she’d been.
She should hate him for it, for ripping off her blinders and showing her all the cracks in her armor, but she couldn’t stop thinking about the last time she’d seen Harley.
Her sister had been up to something, and Hannah’s gut had insisted it was something bad. There was a chance that her stranger had been her twin’s last victim and had every right to be hurt and angry. But how would Hannah ever convince him that she’d learned the error of her ways if she had no idea what Harley had done to him?
“His name,” she whispered to herself, curling more tightly under the covers, her overly sensitive nerve-endings irritated by the feel of the sheets against her bare skin. “Start with his name and go from there.”
If she could learn the rest of his name, she’d have something to type into a search engine the moment she had access to a computer. His name was the first step.
That’s all she should focus on, taking one step at a time until she found a way to survive this nightmare with her mind intact.
CHAPTER FIVE
Hannah
On the fourth night of her captivity, after more long fear-laced days of monotony and going to bed with tears running down her cheeks, Hannah was awoken by her own groan of relief.
She sucked in a breath and held it, her eyes blinking fast as she peered into the near darkness. For a moment, she had no idea where she was, but then she saw the palm trees waving in the moonlight outside the window, heard the gentle rustle of their leaves in the breeze, and felt big, strong hands hot on her breasts.
Waking up fast, she breathed into the fingers playing with her nipples. Her stranger plucked and teased at her swollen flesh, sending fissures of excitement washing through her. After days of silence and solitude, his touch was a glass of water in the desert.
“You awake, princess?” he asked, his lips moving against her bare neck, sending another rush of awareness sweeping across her skin.
“Yes.” She moaned as her bare bottom brushed against where he was hot and hard. He had crept naked and uninvited into her bed in the middle of the night and touched her without her consent. She should be scared or angry, but all she felt was relief and she was too worn down by loneliness to fight it.
Besides, there was nothing to be gained by lashing out. She needed to arouse his empathy, not remind him wh
y he wanted to punish her.
“You feel so good,” she said, teeth digging into her bottom lip as he intensified his efforts, rolling her erect nipples until she squirmed in the circle of his arms.
He thrust forward, pressing his thickness between her ass cheeks. “So you’ve missed me, then?”
“Yes.” She arched her back, tilting her hips until her wetness brushed against the base of his erection.
He was as massive as she remembered. His cock was so thick and long she would be afraid he would do her damage if she hadn’t already experienced the harmony of how perfectly they fit together. She knew there was nothing better than the feel of him buried to the hilt, filling her up until there was nothing but him, nothing but pleasure so intense it was almost painful.
“You missed this?” One of his warm hands slid down her stomach and between her legs, setting her on fire.
His fingers circled her swollen clit, bringing her body even more fiercely to life. She was tempted to let go and get lost in the bliss he sent cascading through her, but she had to come away from this night with something she could use.
She had to learn his full name. It would give her a reason to hope, something to hold on to as he continued to do his best to break her.
“Yes, sir,” she said, heart leaping as he hummed softly in approval. “I’m sorry I smiled.”
He grunted. “Is that right? Why are you sorry?”
“Because it made you angry,” she said, circling her hips, grinding back against his cock as his skilled fingers drove her higher. “Because it made you leave.”
“You’re wrong,” he said, a smile in his voice. “I set my own course, princess. I’ve just been too busy to spare time for you. I have a business to run.”
“What kind of business?” she asked.
“The kind wrongly convicted criminals turn to after their lives are ruined,” he said, pleasantly. “Illegal business. Bad business.” He pinched her nipple harder, sending a sharp wave of pleasure pain coursing through her and drawing a gasp from her throat. “Turn over.”
Before Hannah could obey—or properly digest the fact that she was in bed with an ex con—he flipped her onto her back and roughly nudged her legs open with his knee. His touch wasn’t gentle, but that wasn’t what she wanted from him. Her twisted libido craved his rough use.
Fresh heat rushed from her body as he reached down, using his thumbs to spread her sex wide. “I love how wet you get. I love that I can smell how much you want me to fuck you.”
“Yes,” Hannah said, anticipation making her shiver. “But first I want to give you what you asked for.”
“What’s that?” he asked, his gaze still directed down at her pussy, though she wasn’t sure how much he could see in the dim moonlight drifting through the window.
“Marlena Renee.” She gasped as he plunged his thumb into where she ached, but fought to keep her thoughts on track. “That’s my name. My parents tried to call me Marley, but I insisted on being called Harley instead.”
“Why’s that?” he asked, setting a steady rhythm in and out of her body that threatened to destroy her ability to concentrate on anything except how much she wanted him.
“I thought Marley sounded like a dog’s name,” she said, leaving out that Harley had also been firm in her belief that twins should have names that started with the same first letter.
Harley was only six years old when she’d informed their parents that she would be Harley Mason from now on and that they should take the steps needed to facilitate the change, including ordering a new monogrammed pillow for her and Hannah’s shared princess canopy bed.
Their mother had fought her at first—Marlena was a family name dating back five generations—but Harley had won out in the end. Harley always won in the end, a thought Hannah drew strength from as she tried to channel her twin’s cunning.
“What about you?” she asked, lifting into his thrusts. “What was the name on your birth certificate?”
“Jackson Xavier Hawke,” he said, but his next words banished the thrill of her small victory. “But you can call me sir. We won’t be on a first name basis while we’re here, Harley, and you’re mistaken if you think stories about your childhood will make me rethink what I plan to do to you.”
“I didn’t,” she said softly. “I just wanted to please you.”
“Then you should roll over and get on your hands and knees.” He sat back on his heels, watching her calmly, clearly certain that she would obey.
But suddenly Hannah wasn’t feeling in the mood to be a good girl. Being a good girl had gotten her nothing except trapped in this room and driven half out of her mind with desire, fear, and frustration.
Compliance was failing her. It was time to see what defiance would do.
“No,” she said, scooting back toward the headboard, gasping as he grabbed her behind the knees and jerked her beneath him.
“That word isn’t in your vocabulary when you’re speaking to me,” he said, capturing her wrists in his hands and forcing them above her head, pinning them to the mattress. “Especially when we’re in bed. You will say yes sir or nothing at all. Now get on your hands and knees.”
“Go fuck yourself.” The words sent a giddy rush through her overheated skin. She had never spoken that way to anyone, but this man brought out all kinds of unexpected sides of her.
“No, I’m going to fuck you,” he said, dropping his hips and grinding his hot length against the top of her. His erection slid through her slick folds, teasing her swollen clit, but she refused to let the pleasure he sent rushing through her show on her face.
“I thought you were going to make me beg,” she said, glaring up at him. “I don’t hear any begging, do you?”
“No, I don’t,” he said with a smile. His lips were so close she could smell the smoky, astringent smell of bourbon on his breath and wondered how much he’d had to drink before he had come to her bed. If he’d had too much, he might not remember his promises, or care about honoring them if he did.
Her jaw tightened and her captive’s hands balled into fists as he kneed her legs wider and shifted his hips, bringing the thick head of his cock to press against her entrance. She tensed against him, though she knew that would make it hurt like hell when he pushed inside. He was obscenely long and thick, almost more than she could accommodate even dripping wet and eager, but she refused to make this easy for him.
“Then beg me, Harley,” he whispered, nudging ever so gently against her wetness. “Beg me to fuck you.”
“I’d rather you go to hell,” she said, pushing on before he could respond. “If you’re going to rape me, at least use a condom. I’m not on any birth control.”
His hands tightened around her wrists until her bones began to ache and murder flashed behind his eyes, but after a moment he lifted his hips, moving his erection away from her entrance. “You think I want to doom an innocent baby to having you for a mother?” he asked in a cold whisper. “You think I would do something like that to my own child?”
She swallowed, but didn’t know how to respond or how to make sense of the shame that washed through her.
“I have respect for life, Harley. Just not yours,” he continued. “I also have a condom on the bedside table. Now shut your mouth and get on your hands and knees or I promise you will be very sorry.”
Electricity flashed across her skin and sweat broke out on her upper lip. Her gut screamed for her to obey. If she did, he would keep his promise to make her beg, to make her feel good for a little while before he made her feel bad again. No matter how angry, confused, and frustrated she was, she sensed that she could trust him to keep his promises.
He was angry, but he was in control. It was one of the things that had devastated her the first time they’d made love. He was deliciously in command of himself and his lover, Dominant in a way that made her feel safe giving herself to him completely, trusting him to catch her if she got so lost in pleasure that she couldn’t find her way back to her
body again.
But he was not the man he’d been the first time they were together. He didn’t care about her and she couldn’t trust him as far as she could throw him. Which, considering he was twice her size, with muscles on top of muscles and a powerful body chiseled to a cruel kind of perfection, wouldn’t be very far.
So instead of rolling over like an obedient mouse, she lifted her chin and whispered, “No.”
The moment the words passed her lips, she realized she had made a serious mistake. Because her words made him smile, a dangerous smile that promised pain.
CHAPTER SIX
Jackson
Suddenly the fog clouding Jackson’s thoughts burned away and the path forward was perfectly clear.
He’d been going about this all wrong. Isolation and unpredictable, erotic visits at all hours of the night might throw the average woman off her game, but Harley wasn’t average. And she wasn’t the kind of enemy who could be bested by planning and forethought. Trying to catch her in a trap like that was like trying to swat flies with a fifty-pound cinder block.
She would see him coming and dart away every time. She was too quick, too determined, and too malleable.
Harley’s biggest strength was in how swiftly she could read a person and adapt her behavior to get what she wanted from them. Whether it was kindness, hate, fear, or sympathy, Harley was skilled in eliciting the responses she needed. And for some reason, tonight she’d decided she wanted to make him angry, to push him into breaking his promises and taking her by force.
But he wasn’t the fool he’d been six years ago. He refused to let her under his skin or allow her to call the shots. He was in control and he was going to make that abundantly clear.
“All right.” He rolled off the bed, flicking on the bedside lamp before reaching for the black silk pajama pants he’d left on the floor when he climbed into her bed. “Then I’ll go get your clothes and tell Adam you’re ready to leave.”
