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Indy stood there like she was in a trance. Ice glanced up at her. This was obviously her first close-up experience with lethal violence, maybe the first time she’d seen a dead body.
“You’ll get used to it,” he grunted, perhaps a bit too casually. “A dead body won’t seem so shocking to you next time—and I suspect there will be a next time. Now get on the damn bike, Indy. Don’t make me ask again.”
Ice kicked the bike to life, the four-stroke engine thundering beneath him, sending a surge of adrenaline through his body. Back when they were teenagers he and Jack used to ride their Kawasaki Ninjas through the winding empty highways of upstate New York, racking up tickets like it was a contest. It was only when Ice realized that if he got booked for reckless speeding it might nix his chances to get into West Point that he hung up his riding boots.
But it felt damn good to be back in the saddle again.
Now he felt Indy slip into the seat behind him, her feminine fragrance cutting through the smoky Mumbai air, adding a sexy spice to the scent of gasoline and gunpowder.
“Put your arms around me,” Ice said gruffly. “All the way around, so your hands are in front of me. That’s it.”
Ice’s breath caught as Indy slid her arms around his hard abdomen, her fingers clasping each other dangerously close to his suddenly stiffening cock.
Swallowing hard Ice slipped that plastic tie around her wrists and drew it closed tight, securing her close to his body, feeling her sidle up against his back, her soft breasts pushing against his hard frame and making it difficult to see straight, to think straight, to feel anything else but her body against his, her hands tied around his core, her crotch nestled up against his ass.
Indy said nothing from behind him.
No protests, no wisecracks, no challenges, no complaints.
Ice considered explaining that he could have tied her to the frame of the bike, but that would be dangerous. She might get tossed off if Ice had to take a hard turn, and she’d be dragged along with the bike, maybe even drag the bike down and kill them both.
But Ice said nothing either. Didn’t explain a damn thing.
Maybe because hecouldn’texplain a damn thing.
Sure as hell couldn’t explain why it felt like this, Ice thought as he kicked the bike into gear and rumbled slowly down the side street towards the main road, where they’d be lost in traffic within minutes, lost in the moment within seconds, perhaps lost in each other forever.
4
Indy was lost.
Lost in the throaty rumble of the engine throbbing between her legs, the pistons pumping behind her ass, the heavy shudders vibrating her entire body.
Her nipples were pricked to hard points against his broad back, her legs spread wide on the leather seat, her crotch searingly close to his muscular butt. She’d never been on a motorcycle before, certainly not pressed up against a muscled beast with abs that felt like ridged stone and a way about him that signaled both danger and safety, pain and pleasure, protection and devastation.
“You called me Indy,” she murmured against his back as he weaved the heavy bike effortlessly through the chaotic clusters of scooters and buses, taxicabs and bullock-carts, lorries packed to the point of overflow, rickshaws teetering under the load of more people than should reasonably be able to fit in a three-wheeled vehicle. “Which means we’re friends now, so you have to tell me your name.”
She didn’t think he would hear over the rumble of the bike and the screech of brakes and the orchestra of horns, but he turned his head and glanced back at her.
“Ice,” he said curtly, turning his attention back to the road, revving the bike like maybe he wanted to drown out the sound of his heart beating faster.
Because Indy could hear his heart speed up as she pressed her ear to his back, listening like a spy searching for secrets. Her own heart thrummed like an excited rabbit behind her boobs, and it felt so wonderful that Indy refused to think about how her feelings right now made no sense, how itcouldn’tmake any sense that she was feeling . . .
Happy?
Was that even possible?
Was that evenhealthy?
Was she in shock, perhaps? After all, she’d just been through an intense couple of hours, starting with this particular man slamming her into a wall, pushing her to the floor, grabbing her hair and making her crawl like an animal on the floor, crouch down in front of him while he sat above her on that chair, manspreading in her direction like his balls were instruments of interrogation, his cock a tool of torture.
But at the same time he’d patted her down with cold dispassion, Indy remembered as she wondered what she’d have done if he’d taken his time with that full-body search, popped up her bra and lifted her breasts, pulled down her panties and inspected her ass, spread her legs and parted her slit, just in case there was something important hidden inside.
The thoughts made her gasp.
The images made her wet.
And the memory of when she’d stepped out of the lavatory and seen the carnage in the room, understood in a flash that Ice had defended her, protected her,killedfor her . . . shit, that did something to her too, didn’t it?