Her Master's Teacher Page 3

  I admired that about him.

  “I don’t, but I can find out.” The thought of Claire Elliot tied to a St. Andrews cross was just too damn tempting to pass up, especially after her lecture this afternoon.

  Aiden considered my words, quietly pondering whether I could be trusted to choose our next courtesan. Finally, after several tense minutes, he nodded.

  “Fine. I’ve been training you for over two years now. I think it’s time to let you spread your wings. You’ll never be a true Master until you can fulfill the job from start to finish. Find out about her life, her family and her friends. I want to know her schedule, her likes and dislikes. Obtain pictures if you can and have them on my desk within the next two days.” With a flick of his wrist he dismissed me.

  Standing up, I glanced at Rebecca one more time before shaking my head and walking across the office to exit the room. Just as I stepped through the doorway, Aiden called out to me.

  “Holland.”

  Turning back, I didn’t speak, but simply waited for whatever it was he had to say.

  “I’m trusting you to do your research. If you know what’s good for you, you will not fuck this up.”

  I chuckled leaving the room. There was no way I would fuck this up. Thoughts of Claire Elliot swirled in my head, visions of her body laid out before me, of her full lips opening as she begged for me to set her free.

  She wouldn’t be easy to break. I knew that already. But I was the type of person who loved a challenge.

  Stepping out of Aiden’s house and into the bright sunlight, I tilted my face up to bask in its heat with thoughts of the fun I would have teaching Claire just how wrong she’d been in her lecture this afternoon.

  She would beg.

  She would cry.

  She would fight for her life.

  Eventually, and ultimately, she would be my next courtesan.

  Chapter Four

  Claire

  “Welcome back class. I hope you’ve started working on your papers since the last time we met. This will be your only opportunity to ask questions before break.”

  Sitting back against my desk, I crossed my legs at the ankles while looking through the mixture of expressions on the students’ faces. Some looked tired, some anxious, others completely bored. Scanning among the rows, my attention was stolen by one particular student who I’d been doing everything in my power to forget.

  Holland sat with a lazy posture in his chair, the light from the phone in his hand illuminating his features. The thick black mess of hair on his head framed his face perfectly, small strands sticking out from his head. It gave him a youthful appearance despite the regal personality he always seemed to demonstrate. An odd flutter ran through me, part relief and part pain from his lack of attention. Realizing I’d grown quiet, I shook myself of the fascination I shouldn’t have had and returned my attention to the class.

  “I’ll answer whatever questions you have. Who’d like to go first?”

  Emma, a petite blonde that didn’t look older than 19, raised her hand.

  “Yes, Emma.”

  “I found an article about a girl who escaped her attacker. He had her for several weeks, but she was able to kill him and seek help. I’m not sure if that scenario will work for the project.”

  Nodding my head, I thought I knew which victim she was discussing. “Why do you believe the story won’t be suitable?”

  “Because she killed her captor. I thought Stockholm Syndrome meant they fell in love or something. If you love someone, you’re not going to kill him.” Her tone of voice was almost condescending, as if I should have known that a victim who killed her captor couldn’t possibly have feelings for him.

  “That’s not always necessarily true, Emma. In all actuality, the victim can have several different types of responses, which may or may not include her eventual escape. Research the symptoms of Stockholm Syndrome and then apply what you know about the victim to what the leading psychologists discuss about the syndrome.”

  Shifting my attention to another student, I nodded in his direction to indicate for him to speak.

  “Um…”

  A normally shy student, Jackson stuttered over his first word, refusing to make eye contact. I believed he’d suffered terribly through school. Smaller than most of the men in this room, his slow-blooming physique would have kept him out of sight of girls and out of the circle of students considered ‘popular’. He appeared afraid of crowds, unable to keep his voice from shaking as he spoke.

  “I-I wanted to kn-know if we are supposed to include details about the c-c-c-criminal.”

  “To the extent that it shows the methods they used in seducing their victim.” A stain of pink brushed over his cheeks and I specified my response to keep him from going through the struggle of speaking again.

  “What I mean by that is I would like for you all…” I looked up into the crowd, my eyes flicking to Holland to notice that I still did not have his attention. “…to perform an analysis of the pattern of creating Stockholm within a victim, as well as the results. Your papers should begin with the actions of the abuser and end with the thoughts and behaviors of the victim. Basically, you’ll be detailing cause and effect.”

  No additional hands appeared and I nodded again, satisfied that all questions had been answered.

  “Thank you, class. Please have fun with these papers and enjoy your Spring Break.”

  The class laughed in response to my words and I quickly realized my error.

  “Okay…” Chuckling, I smiled up at the anxious faces. “…These papers won’t be fun, but try not to let them stress you out too much. If it makes you feel better, I do not expect professional psychiatric opinions in these papers. I am requesting nothing more than your opinions and understanding of the different methods of abuse and how those methods correlate with the responses of the victims of said abuse.”

  One by one, the students gathered their belongings and shuffled out of the room. All…except for one. When the students had left and Holland alone remained in his seat, I stood still, curiosity and nervousness traipsing along my spine as to the reason he hadn’t moved. He didn’t look up from his phone or make any attempt to speak.

  It was a decision between reminding him that class was dismissed and quietly grabbing my own bag to leave. Unfortunately, my inquisitiveness won out.

  “Mr. Strong, the class has ended.”

  Still not moving or looking up, he lifted one hand and indicated with one finger for me to wait.

  His arrogance knew no bounds.

  Shrugging, I refused to take part in whatever game he was playing. I grabbed my bag and made my way towards the rear exit.

  He didn’t speak or move, perhaps not noticing that he would remain the only person left in the room. I allowed the door to slam forcefully behind me, my annoyance announced by the obnoxious sound of the latch clicking heavily into place.

  …

  “So, what do you plan to do with seven days to yourself?” Julia eyed me with a hint of sarcasm in her expression. “Let me guess. You’re going to grade papers and go back to calculating just how many cats you’ll need when you turn forty and you’re still unmarried.”

  Her grin reminded me of the Cheshire Cat.

  Blinking behind the thick frame of my reading glasses, I removed them from my face. After smiling sweetly back at my friend, I paused a beat before answering.

  “Actually, I’ve rented a room at a five star resort in Florida for the week.”

  Her eyes widened and I smiled brighter in response to her shock.

  “And for seven days, I will be undergoing every spa service they have available. Mud treatments, scrubs, facials, massages….ahhhhhh.” I leaned back in my chair, lifting my arms and folding my hands behind my head. “It’s going to be amazing.”

  Her jaw dropped.

  I couldn’t help but goad her a little more.

  “What are you going to be doing? Shining your next graphing calculator and petting the two
cats you already have?”

  “You, ma’am, are a bitch.”

  Shifting in her seat, she crossed her legs, one over the other. “Seriously, though. How the hell did you get a reservation in any hotel in Florida for Spring Break? Those are impossible to get unless you want to stay in the seedy ones where the prostitutes and drug dealers live.”

  I laughed. “I thought ahead and made the reservation last year.”

  “Bitch.”

  Chuckling again, I opened my mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a high–pitched giggle filtering into my office from the corridor outside the door.

  Julia looked over as well, shrugging as she turned back to me.

  The giggle sounded again and I stood up to close my door.

  Reaching the door, I grabbed the edge with my hand, looking out into the corridor as I swung it shut.

  Against the wall stood a statuesque blonde, her lovely face tilted up with an expression of adoration towards the man who stood in front of her. I recognized Emma immediately after having spoken with her this morning in class.

  Tall, dark, with eyes that swirled like molten emeralds, Holland Strong, towered over her small frame. One hand balanced against the wall by her head and the other placed precariously on her hip. He didn’t allow my presence to distract him from the obviously love-struck girl.

  I’m not sure why I stopped the door from closing entirely, but I did as I watched the scene of seduction play out in front of me.

  He leaned in close to her face, squeezing her hip while caging her with the other arm. His thick bicep peeked out from beneath his short sleeve and I couldn’t help but allow my eyes to trace over the broad strength of his shoulders and chest. I wished I hadn’t noticed or been affected by the way his abdomen angled down into a tight waist. However, I would be a liar to say I wasn’t.

  Holland’s lips met hers and I swear Emma went up on her tiptoes to deepen the kiss. He pressed his body into her, bending his knee so that it brushed up between her legs and I watched his fingers grip into the sensitive skin at her hip.

  I wasn’t sure what filtered through me at that moment. Identifying it as annoyance, I refused to believe it was jealousy or any other inappropriate emotion I could be feeling for a student.

  Finally closing the door, I heard Emma call out so I reluctantly opened it again.

  “Ms. Elliot. Sorry.” She pushed Holland away from her. Stepping back, he glanced in my direction, a faint smirk playing over his lips.

  “I have another question about the assignment and I hoped I could catch you during office hours.”

  Still feeling annoyed at the scene that had just played out before me, I sighed before answering, “You have five minutes, Emma. I’m sorry I can’t grant you more time, but that’s on you for not managing your time wisely between school and…Mr. Strong.“

  Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Turning to Holland, she waved goodbye, adding an extra swing to her hip as she approached me. I noticed how he admired her ass before glancing at me one more time and disappearing down the hallway out of view.

  She entered my office and the breeze of her movement carried the sweet vanilla smell of her perfume.

  I hated vanilla perfume. I never understood why any person would want to smell like baked goods.

  “Please Emma, have a seat.”

  Glancing at Julia, I groaned before saying, “I’ll call you tonight if I have time. My flight is at eleven, however, and I have a lot of work to get done before I leave. I can call you from the hotel…”

  She waved me off. “Hell no. You’re going there to relax and have fun. Don’t worry about me unless you find a handsome man with a brother.”

  Emma giggled at Julia’s statement. “Ms. Chase, I never knew you had it in you.”

  Julia’s brow arched over her eye. “Just because I have ten years on you, sweetie, doesn’t mean I’ve gone cold. I can still get down like you young folks without breaking a hip.” Putting her finger to her chin, she looked thoughtful. “Well, at least, I think so. I haven’t had the opportunity to test out that theory in years.”

  Emma’s jaw dropped. “Years?” Laughing, she flipped her hair over her shoulder. “I don’t understand how you’ve survived.”

  “B.O.B.’s helped a lot.”

  I grinned at Julia’s response.

  “Who’s Bob?” Emma looked up, curiosity alight in her expression.

  It was Julia’s turn to laugh. Patting Emma’s head, she said, “Don’t worry, sweetheart. In about ten to twenty years, when you start losing that banging body of yours, you’ll meet BOB and thank the gods for him. There ain’t nothing like a little loving from a battery operated boyfriend.”

  Now rendered speechless, Emma turned her attention to me as Julia winked and left the room.

  …

  “I swear to all that is holy, the future of psychology is doomed in the hands of these students.”

  Tearing my hair out, I spoke to myself as I graded the last test sitting in a pile on my desk. I looked up at the clock and groaned to realize it was almost nine. The sun outside my window had retired two hours ago and if I hadn’t packed my car already with my bags there would have been no way for me to make it to the plane.

  Throwing the test to the side, I removed my glasses and threw them on top of the papers. I was smiling as I realized I wouldn’t have to wear the clunky things for an entire week.

  Finally, I was feeling excited.

  My computer clicked off with a millisecond long beep as I stood up from my chair with such enthusiasm that it spun around from the force. Grabbing my purse, I left my briefcase tucked behind my desk, flicking off my light and adding a little skip to my step while making my way out of the building. The halls were dead silent, almost eerie with the lack of students and teachers. I wasn’t surprised to find that I was one of the last people out. Friday was never a popular night for late classes.

  When I reached the front door, my body slammed into it. For whatever reason it was harder than usual to open and I had to throw a shoulder in the heavy glass to budge it. Hearing the wind whistle through the widening space between the door and its frame, I realized the reason. A storm was brewing outside, the stars and moon obscured, rendering the parking lot even more shadowed than normal.

  My body shivered against the chill as soon as I stepped a foot outside. That was nothing compared to the way my body jumped in response to a throat clearing from the portico outside the door.

  “Sorry, Ms. Elliot. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  My head moved faster than my body when I turned to look to my right. “Ouch.” Reaching up, I rubbed at the muscle kink that developed from the quick movement.

  Straining my eyes against the shadows that concealed his body, I recognized Holland’s voice immediately. “Mr. Strong?”

  He stepped into the light with the most charming smile I think I’d ever seen stretched across his face.

  “Like I said, I apologize for scaring you, but I was about to walk to my car when I saw you struggling to open the door. I thought I’d come up to help.”

  I stared at him silently for probably too long. Disgusted with myself for remembering what he looked liked plastered to Emma, I shook away the images of his hand on her hip and his lips pressed tightly against hers.

  “I was able to get outside, as you can see. Thank you.”

  He shrugged. “It’s no big deal.”

  Stepping forward, I walked in the direction of the parking lot hoping he’d parked in an area on the opposite side of where I was headed. The lot was quite large and sections had to be identified by large signs with letters. I was in lot A. I prayed he was in K.

  “Where are you parked, Ms. Elliot? I have some questions regarding the assignment. I’m glad I ran into you actually. Maybe you can answer them as we walk to our cars.”

  “Why didn’t you ask the question in class when you had the opportunity?”

  He smiled so that a dimple popped out on his cheek. “I was
distracted.”

  “I noticed.” The response shot out before I could filter it.

  Spoken in a smug voice he asked, “Did you?”

  Picking up my pace, I didn’t bother looking at him when I asked, “What are doing here so late at night, Mr. Strong? Shouldn’t you be out drinking and partying with your friends and girlfriend?”

  “I don’t drink unless it’s a special occasion.”

  Glancing at him, I had to crane my neck. It was odd that he walked at least a step or two behind me. “I’m parked in lot A, so…”

  “How fortunate. So am I.”

  Dammit. The same creepy feeling crawled through me that always appeared when he was around. What appalled me was the realization that it wasn’t nervousness or fear that I was feeling. After seeing him in the hall with Emma this afternoon, I was concerned that it was interest.

  I was in trouble if that was the case. A professor should never be intimately interested in their student. It was against the college rules and, more importantly, it was against every moral code inside me.

  “What question do you have about the assignment?” Dim lights hovered above us, barely lighting the ground from where they sat perched on tall poles.

  “I’d like to know if we’re allowed to include the chase as well as the captivity and inducement of Stockholm.”

  My feet stumbled over themselves and I couldn’t help but look back at him. The shadows in the parking lot cut across his cheeks, making him look years older. His eyes appeared black in the low light, but for some odd reason it suited him. It was as if I could see the man he would become during those moments when the light refused to touch his skin.

  “I’m not sure I know what you mean?” I knew exactly what he meant, but I was also curious to know why a college-aged psych student would be so interested in the most menial aspect of the crime. “The chase is menial and I’m not sure it has much to do with Stockholm.”

  My eyes set on my car and I walked faster, hoping to end this conversation quickly. Looking around, I noticed that no other cars were in the lot. “I thought you said you’re parked in lot A.”